Edge of Black

by J. T. Ellison

  “We heard. Xander, how far are we from Boulder?”

  “About a hundred miles, maybe one hundred and ten by road. Less than forty as the crow flies.”

  “It’s possible he’s ahead of us, and it’s possible we’re going to walk right in on him. Xander, here. Talk to Fletcher. Tell him where we are.”

  She handed the phone to Xander, who pulled a face but put the phone on speaker and said, “Hey, Fletch. Think you got him?”

  “We do. Where are you?”

  “Halfway up to Eagles Nest. We took a vertical trailhead off Colorado State Road 9, about fifteen miles south of Kremmling. Rumor has it there’s a geothermal hot spring in this area, it triangulates to the most logical spot to have a private camp. It’s basically uninhabited, hard to find and harder to hike, so there’s not going to be any foot traffic accidentally stumbling into his camp. We’re following the steps of a friend of mine who I think knows where this guy is—”

  “Ryan Carter’s the name.”

  “Roger that. My friend took off after Carter, like Sam said. He’s got half a day on us. We’re three hours on foot from the site where we’re assuming he’s hunkered down.”

  Fletcher didn’t hesitate. “You turn around and go back down that mountain. We are sending teams in. Just give us your coordinates and we will have them there shortly. Loa Ledbetter gave us a pretty detailed map of the area, we know exactly where we’re headed.”

  “At this point, Fletch, you’re going to have to fly them in to make it in time. And that’s just going to spook him. Coming in on foot from below will take too long. My friend will have eliminated the problem by then. I’m assuming you want him alive?”

  “We do.”

  “Then we’re your best shot. I arranged for backup, the police chief in Dillon, Reed McReynolds, is probably already on our tail. And we’re losing daylight.”

  Fletcher went ballistic. “Goddamn it, Xander, you are not a cop. Park your ass and wait for the cavalry. That’s an order, soldier.”

  Sam watched Xander’s face shut down. It got blank as an empty sheet of paper. Uh-oh.

  “Can’t hear you, Fletch. You’re breaking up.”

  “Whitfield, so help me God, you get one hair on her head hurt—”

  Fletcher’s voice was drowned by static, and then there was silence.

  “Whoops,” Xander said, grinning. “Looks like we dropped the call. Maybe you should switch carriers when we get home, Sam. This one really sucks.”

  He handed her the phone and she didn’t know whether to laugh or hit him. A small ding indicated she’d received a text. It was the photo of Ryan Carter. She passed it to Xander and Roth so they could see who they were hunting.

  Xander stared at the photo for a moment, then handed her the phone. “Okay. Break’s over. Time to go.” He and Roth shouldered their packs.

  “Xander. You heard Fletch. We really should stay here, or go back down.”

  Xander fingered his M-4. He looked incredibly formidable, and she wouldn’t want to have him tracking her up the side of a mountain. He was not fooling around.

  “Darren Fletcher is not my commanding officer, Samantha. We are his best chance of capturing this Ryan Carter character alive. Crawford didn’t set out to have a fireside chat. If he gets to him first, we’re screwed. The fact that Carter’s coming in from Boulder is probably the only reason he’s still breathing, if he actually still is. So let’s quit jawing about it, and let me go make sure a friend of mine doesn’t go to jail for life for homicide. Okay?”

  Sam took a deep breath and sat back down.

  “What—”

  She cut him off with a sigh. “Just give me two seconds. I’m putting a Band-Aid on my heel, just in case.”

  She got out the bandage and unlaced her boot. When Xander and his father bowed their heads over their map, she took their moment of distraction to send Fletcher a text.

  Didn’t work. We’re going in. Hurry up.

  Two hours later, the hike became a study in pain. It was getting dark, the moonrise only just beginning, shining flat and silver through the trees. Not only was Sam scared and tired and hungry and worried, the pack had grown much too heavy on her shoulders and the imaginary blister she’d patched up when they’d last stopped had become a reality. There was no service on the cell now, and the forest had grown dense and dark around them. Little scurries in the bushes made her jump, and the lonely howl of a coyote twenty minutes earlier had completely freaked her out.

  Xander and Roth seemed completely unfazed by their surroundings. Sam was a bit embarrassed, chalked it up to the fact that they were alone in the woods with a killer.

  The irony of the fact that her boyfriend could be called by the same moniker wasn’t lost on her.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. He looked dark and dangerous, his beard growing in, the weapon cradled in his arms like a baby. He was carrying a modified M-4 assault rifle, and she knew he was more than accustomed to using it. It was simply an extension of his body, an extremely lethal metal hand. Part of her grieved for him in that moment, knowing what he’d been forced to do in the name of securing freedom, how he became so intimately familiar with the weapon, probably knowing it better than he knew the curves of her body.

  She wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of him, that was for sure. He was so very different from her late husband, mild-mannered Simon Loughley: scientist, romantic, appeaser. They shared an incredible intellect, but that’s where the similarities stopped.

  Life with Xander was never going to be boring, of that she was absolutely certain.

  Just when she thought she was going to have to ask them to stop for a break so she could catch her breath, Roth whistled once, freezing in his tracks, his right hand up in a fist.

  She recognized that move from the movies. It meant stop.

  She did, grateful for the break, but her concern rose when Roth ducked down to his knees and gestured for them to do the same.

  She listened carefully, trying to ascertain what had drawn his attention. All she could hear was the low hooting of an owl. A parade of goose bumps ran up and down her arms. Death was coming. She could feel his cool embrace on the wind that started rustling through the trees. The temperature dropped, and she realized the breeze had increased.

  Xander slithered away, practically on his stomach, and Roth leaned back and squeezed her shoulder, whispered so quietly she had to strain to hear him.

  “I smell a fire. We thought he would be farther up the mountain, but looks like he, or someone, is here, about a quarter of a mile to the west. Xander’s going to investigate.”

  They stood carefully, quietly, and she followed Roth off the path into the woods, where they stood against a tree. Xander was back in a few minutes, speaking low so he wouldn’t be heard over the wind.

  “I think this is it. There’s a cabin, and a barn. The fire’s down to embers, though, and I can’t see anyone there. It looks deserted. Could be Crawford was waiting for him. Maybe he banked the fire and took off when he wasn’t here.”

  “Or it’s Carter, and he heard us coming and scatted.”

  “Would he have lit a fire to eat or something?” Sam asked.

  “Possibly. Or get rid of evidence. But if you don’t put a fire out properly, it can take hours to settle down and that’s damn dangerous in these woods. I think we should walk past and swing back around, come down from the high ground. He may have come back and gathered things and set off again in a hurry, worried he was being followed.”

  “Or Will got to him,” Sam said.

  “Or that. Let’s do some recon before we make any decisions, okay?”

  They regrouped and started again, stealthier this time, off the trail, careful not to make too much noise. Sam thought they were a damn sight noisier than the rabbits or grouse or turkeys o
r whatever they kept passing on the trail, but for a tired, scared mad bomber, who possibly had some percussive damage to his eardrums from his latest blast, maybe they wouldn’t be noticeable.

  Sam could smell water. There must be a lake nearby. Sure enough, fifteen slow paces later, the edge of the forest began to slope, and below them shimmered a moonlit mountain lake. Sam had never seen anything so stunning. She couldn’t help but stop and stare. Wildflowers paraded down into the valley below, marked like gray frost by the moon’s path, and the water lapped gently at the edges of the soil, which looked nearly black.

  They stayed still, watching. An elk, a stag by the size of him, ventured to the water’s edge, drinking long and deep, secure in the knowledge that he was safe from predators for the moment. Then the wind shifted, and his head jerked up in surprise, and he crashed away into the brush, sounding like a small army moving through.

  They took advantage of his thrashing to move again, traced their steps back and up the hill, and Roth found a sinuous deer path, which they started up. There was a small clearing ahead, Sam could see where the branches lessened, and knew that would be the right place for them to stop and regroup before entering the camp again.

  They stepped from the trees and froze.

  Ryan Carter was squatting next to a man Sam had to assume was Will Crawford, who was on his back, blood bubbling from his mouth and nose. He wasn’t dead, but damn close to it.

  Carter reminded Sam of a child who’d just pulled the wings off a fly and was watching, mildly curious to see what would happen next, not understanding or caring about the pain the fly was experiencing.

  He didn’t seem to hear them, or mind their presence if he did. Crawford, on the other hand, seemed to sense movement and tried to turn his head to see what was happening.

  Xander swung his M-4 toward them and used a tone Sam had never heard before, his voice ringing with authority. She couldn’t imagine anyone hesitating for a moment to obey him.

  “Carter. Step away. Step away and get on your knees, facing me.”

  Carter didn’t move. Crawford whined, a high-pitched sound laced with pain, and it was all Sam could do not to rush for him, to help.

  Xander tried again, louder and more forceful, and this time, Carter turned his head, slowly, to face them. Sam was surprised by how normal, how plain he was. He didn’t have the face of evil that she’d seen before. He just looked like a man, a regular guy, neither handsome nor ugly, just plain. His face didn’t change, or even acknowledge that he was looking at the business end of a weapon.

  Before she could blink, he took off, leaping to his feet and rushing away through the trees. With a muttered oath Xander followed, and Sam heard the shouts and shots as he tried to catch him.

  Roth followed his son into the darkness, and Sam was left there, motionless, until her system finally responded to her mental commands and her legs started to work again. She ran to Crawford and fell to her knees at his side.

  She ripped off his shirt and saw the entrance wounds, three of them, a tight grouping midsternum. He was losing a lot of blood, and having trouble breathing. She used the shirt as a compress, pushed hard with her palm to stop the bleeding. But she could see the damage was done. The blood coming from his mouth and nose was the indicator; without some sort of serious intervention, he would drown in his own blood.

  She ripped apart her pack until she found the first-aid kit Xander had packed. His was a bit more sophisticated than the average bear’s, and was full of trauma items necessary to save a man’s life. She assessed the wound in the moonlight, listening to the man’s breaths shorten. She didn’t have much time.

  She ripped a wound-seal kit from the pack. She yanked it open, pulled out the clear thick shield and slapped it over the wounds. It molded to his skin, and the horrible sucking sound from the air moving through the holes stopped. She ripped open the brown packaging of an Olaes bandage, hurriedly wrapped his chest, effectively putting a second sealed compression dressing on the open wounds. There was also a catheter and scalpel in the kit. She threw on some gloves and doused the side of Crawford’s chest in alcohol, then made a deep cut into the flesh, ignoring his high grunt of pain, and stuck her fingers in behind the scalpel to get to the right spot. Confident now, she inserted the tube into the fifth intercostal space. Blood poured from the catheter and Crawford took a huge, deep breath as his lung began to inflate.

  It was a temporary fix—he needed real medical treatment, immediately, or her efforts would be in vain. She stood and looked for Xander and Roth, saw only silvery blackness. The shouts and gunshots were gone, and it was just her and Crawford—Crawford lying on the ground, going into shock, trying to stay alive.

  A cloud passed across the moon and it was suddenly pitch-black. She shut her eyes for a moment then opened them, knowing they’d adjust in a few seconds.

  He came out of nowhere. She didn’t hear the footsteps, just a sudden weight against her, forcing her back against a tree, his forearm to her throat. She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe, and started to kick, clawing at his arm with her hands. When that did nothing, she reached out for his eyes, his face, anything she could get a grip on. She connected with something, heard him gasp, then snarl, “Fucking bitch.”

  His hand replaced his forearm, choking her, pressing down hard on her windpipe. She started to see stars, the edges of her vision blackening. She could see his outline now, and smell the coppery tang of fresh blood. It was Carter. At least one of Xander’s bullets had found its mark; Carter stank of blood and fear. She struggled against him but he was too strong, too big, and she was losing strength, losing her balance, her will. The bark scraped painfully against her spine, tearing the flesh, and she knew she was close to passing out.

  Go limp.

  It was her best friend Taylor’s voice in her head.

  Go limp, and the second he shifts, jam your hand into his throat, that spot I showed you, and run like hell.

  Sam sagged back against the tree, let her arms drop to her sides, deadweight against him. The sudden lack of activity made him shift his hand to get a better grip, and she lashed out like a cobra, hit him square in the windpipe with her stiff fingers. He let go, stumbled backward coughing, and she took off. She could hear him behind her, running, cursing, coughing. She veered off onto the main track. Where the hell was Xander?

  She was afraid to call out, she didn’t want Carter to know where she was. She ducked under a fallen tree and froze there, a spiderweb brushing her face. She imagined small things climbing up her arms, and it was all she could do to stay planted, to stay hidden. She heard him coming, crashing through the brush, and prayed he couldn’t see her.

  He stopped, growing quiet, the noises of the forest dead, too, the silence so pervasive she thought maybe he’d succeeded; maybe she was lifeless, lying at the base of that tree, and her flight was just a dream.

  Then she heard him start again, slowly, carefully. Stalking her. Hunting her.

  Her heart took off. She bit her teeth together so she wouldn’t cry out. She should have taken the gun Xander wanted her to carry. Stupid not to carry it on her, like he wanted. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She’d thought she was safe with him and Roth to guard her. She didn’t think Carter would come after her.

  His voice was soft, cajoling, and no more than ten feet away. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  Something was definitely crawling on her now, along her neck. She tried not to shudder and hoped to God whatever it was wasn’t poisonous.

  “You’re a pretty little thing. You and I could have a lot to talk about. Do you believe in God, pretty thing? Have you ever given much thought to your great Creator? He made you for me, from my rib. You are imperfect. You are sin. But you can be cleansed. I can show you the way. I know things. About how the earth moves, and the stars spin. How he made them, and how we can honor him.”

&
nbsp; Where was Xander? The panic was building in the back of her throat, and the soft, feathery touches of many-legged things quested across her cheek.

  “I think we can risk it. Just a little light.” She heard a small click. He’d turned on a flashlight. “The two you came with are gone. On their journey to the great beyond. It is just us now. Come out from your hiding spot. We will go back to the house, and I will feed you, and honor you in the way our God has taught me. You know how to say the words, don’t you, pretty thing? Were you properly taught? Try them with me. Our father, who art in heaven...”

  Her heart constricted. She couldn’t allow herself to think that he might be telling the truth, that he’d bested Xander and Roth, or she would begin to sob and give herself away.

  He was getting closer. Two more steps and he’d see her. He was still singing out The Lord’s Prayer, one she was more than familiar with. She said the words with him in her head.

  Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

  She made a snap decision. She didn’t want to be dragged out from under the log kicking and screaming. If she was going to go, she was going to do it facing the man, looking into his eyes.

  She rolled out from the log and stood, the words coming from her mouth, a terrible prayer.

  “Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

  He stopped, five feet from her, a look of sheer delight on his face.

  “There you are. Go on.”

  Her voice didn’t shake, though she hardly knew how that was possible, she was shivering in fear. “And lead us not into temptation. But deliver us from evil—”