To my surprise, Ginger responded immediately, and we trotted towards the house, right where I was steering her. I silently thanked Mindi for being such a good teacher. I realized that I’d be in full view from the barn on my way to the road, but I didn’t have much choice. I crossed my fingers that everyone would stay inside long enough for me to get to the road. I cast the barn a nervous glance. So far, so good; the coast was clear.
I forced myself to breathe and think about all the things Mindi had taught me about riding. Then I squeezed my legs, dug in my heels, and guess what? Ginger picked up speed and cantered. I was so pleased with myself that I almost didn’t look over and check the barn again. But I did, and to my alarm, the door opened. Morchan and Cheng stepped outside. Morchan was waving his arms about and pointing at the truck.
“Oh, no,” I whimpered.
I pulled Ginger to the left and we plowed into the woods. “Please don’t see me, please don’t see me,” I chanted, not daring to look back again. I ducked my head low against Ginger’s neck, trying to avoid the slapping branches as Ginger trotted through the trees. Finally, we emerged onto the road.
We were free! We made it!
“Good, girl, Ginger!” I exclaimed.
Then I leaned forward, squeezed my legs into Ginger’s body like Mindi taught me, and pushed my heels down into the stirrups. Ginger picked up speed. Big-time. I hadn’t gone very fast on a horse up to then, but I ground my teeth and refused to pull her back as I struggled to stay in the saddle. Heavy drops of rain needled into my face and blurred my vision. I blinked the water out of my eyes and prayed I made it home to Dad — before it was too late.
The journey home was like a blur of various sensations. I remember squeezing the reins tightly; bouncing about on the saddle, struggling to stay on Ginger’s back; blinking as the rain pelted my face; and splashing through puddles. More than once, Ginger’s hooves slipped on the sleek, wet pavement, and at one point, a low crack of thunder startled her badly and just about sent me flying. I have to give Ginger credit, though, she turned when I wanted her to turn and she went as fast as I could handle.
All the same, my house never seemed so far away. You know the saying that just before you die you see your life flash before your eyes? Well, I was watching the big-screen 3-D IMAX edition for the eighth time just as Ginger hurtled down my driveway. I was never so happy to sit back and yell, “Whoa!” in my life. I pried my stiff, whitened fingers loose from their death grip on the reins and slid weakly off Ginger’s back. We were both drenched, Ginger with sweat as much as rain. Her nostrils flared as she gulped in huge amounts of air. I wondered when she’d last worked so hard.
I hurriedly led Ginger into the garage, my whole body quivering like jelly. I murmured promises of apples and carrots as I closed the door, shutting her inside. Then I took the porch steps two at a time, splattering mud and water this way and that.
“Dad! Dad!” I yelled, bursting into the house. “Where are you?”
Dad appeared, looking quite irritated. “Sarah, what have I told you about ...” he began.
Dad, you were about to start telling me off for yelling in the house, weren’t you? Then with one look at your poor, sodden, muddy daughter, your expression changed from irritation to shock and concern. You rushed right over to see if I was hurt. Thanks for caring, Dad. It was nice while it lasted, because it only took a moment for you to start yelling at me after all when you heard what I had to say...
“Roy and Mindi are in trouble,” I blurted. “They’re at Mr. Braemarie’s barn ...”
“I told you not to go there!” Dad shouted.
“... and these men took them inside. They have guns! They might have killed Mr. Braemarie!” I gasped.
“Roy and Mindi are ...? Colin ...?” he stuttered in disbelief.
I nodded, wondering how he knew Mr. Braemarie’s first name. Then his expression hardened.
“When did this happen? How many men are there?” he asked, grabbing my shoulders, either to steady me or to hurt me. Who knows, he was pretty mad.
“I don’t know, maybe twenty minutes ago,” I moaned. “Roy and Mindi were coming here to get you, but then they went back to the barn in Mr. Stedman’s Jeep, and then Gorely had a gun on Mr. Stedman and he made Roy and Mindi go inside, then Morchan got a big rifle out of the car that I hope was a tranquilizer gun, and then a big truck came ... and Cheng was already inside ... so ...” I was rambling but I couldn’t seem to help it.
“So five men. How do you ...?” His gaping mouth snapped shut. “Never mind. I need to get over there. I’ll use the radio in the car.” He ran up the stairs to his office, leaving me shivering in the hallway. In record time, he was bounding down the steps two at a time while strapping on his shoulder holster.
“You are going to stay here!” he yelled at me, holding a finger right up to my face. “Call your mother on her cell and tell her to get back here and keep an eye on you. Do not leave this house.” The look he shot me with that last remark could have cut glass. I flinched. Literally.
He reached the door, then stopped and turned, his eyes boring into mine, his voice now controlled and steady. “You have a lot of explaining to do when this is taken care of, young lady.” He ran out into the rain.
Then I remembered Ginger.
“Oh, oh,” I said, running after him. “Dad!”
I was too late.
“Sarah! There’s a horse in my garage!”
Dad was standing at the open garage door, already dripping, looking ready to kill someone.
“Sorry, Dad, that’s how I got here.”
I moved fast, leading Ginger out of the garage while Dad jumped into his unmarked police car. He immediately used the radio to call into the station. Of course, I was standing right there with Ginger, so was able to catch Dad’s side of the conversation.
“It’s going down now,” he said. “Colin’s in trouble. We were expecting these jokers tomorrow morning ... It’s going badly. There’re two kids in the barn against their will, one of them is Roy ... and Stedman from the MNR ... I have no idea ... I’m heading over immediately ... Yes, I’ll meet the team there. Proceed with extreme caution.”
Then the engine roared and Dad was moving, tires splashing down the driveway.
I stared after him, frozen to the spot.
“Colin’s in trouble? We were expecting these jokers tomorrow?” I repeated dumbly. Understanding dawned. I’m thick, but I’m not entirely stupid. “Colin’s in on it,” I told Ginger. “He’s one of the good guys.” She bounced her head up and down as if in agreement. I suddenly felt a strong connection with Ginger, the horse who got me home safely, hopefully in time to save Roy, Mindi, and the bears. I threw my arms around her. “You’re a good girl, Ginger. I just hope Dad isn’t too late.”
I led Ginger back into the garage. I started to unbuckle her girth, but I just couldn’t make myself do it. I stared at it, willing my fingers to work the buckles, but they wouldn’t. I couldn’t imagine staying at home all alone while Mindi, Roy, and Mr. Braemarie were in mortal danger. I had to know what was going on. I had to help.
“We have to go back, Ginger,” I said. She nudged my arm with her nose in response. I swallowed. Dad was going to kill me for this. Ah, heck, he was going to kill me anyway, what did I have to lose? Before I really knew what I was doing, I had my foot in the stirrup and I swung my aching leg back up over Ginger. I groaned and wondered if my muscles were up for more punishment. I turned Ginger towards the open garage door. My heart raced, keeping in time with my chattering teeth, but now that I’d made up my mind, I wanted to get back to that farmhouse more than anything else in the world. It didn’t matter how much my body protested.
TO THE RESCUE!
DATE: FRIDAY, OCTOBER 5
(CONTINUED)
LOCATION: THE FARMHOUSE
I tried to kick-start Ginger into action, but she was reluctant to head back into the cold rain. I had to use all the tricks Mindi taught me to get her moving at all. I cluc
ked my tongue, leaned forward, and dug in my heels over and over again, but only managed to get her to take a couple of steps. It seemed that as far as she was concerned, she’d already done her part and now only wanted to hang out and get some food. Part of me didn’t blame her; I wouldn’t have gone back out in that rain either if it wasn’t a life or death situation.
“C’mon Ginger,” I coaxed. “Let’s go. Mindi needs us!”
Finally, she picked up the pace — a little — and we were out of the garage. Unfortunately, she headed for my house, not the road. I tugged on the left rein, trying to get her to turn. What was with her? I had to get back to that farmhouse and find out if Roy and Mindi were okay!
A bolt of lightning flashed overhead followed almost immediately by a deafening clap of thunder. Ginger startled and bolted suddenly towards the road, the way I’d been pulling on the rein. For one frightening moment, I was hanging on sideways, almost right off the saddle. With a grunt that was probably louder than the thunder we just heard, I hoisted myself back upright, finding the left stirrup again with difficulty. It’s amazing what you can do when you’re scared to death of falling off a horse!
Some heroic exit. But it didn’t matter, Ginger was moving. We were cantering down the driveway. I got her turned onto the road and we were on our way to the farmhouse! I remembered what Mindi told me about how Ginger always travelled faster on the homeward trek, knowing that hay and water waited for her at the stable. I relaxed and figured the rest of the ride would be a breeze; she’d head straight for home.
Another flash of lightning and thunderous crack startled both of us — the storm seemed to be right overhead. Ginger reared and broke into a gallop. I think I screamed and tightened my grip, my heart pounding out of control. I know I wanted to get back to the farmhouse quickly, but this was craziness. We were ripping up the road like we were in the Kentucky Derby! I was being jostled about on the saddle so roughly that I could barely keep my feet in the stirrups. I leaned forward, pushed my heels down, and concentrated on staying on. The road looked blurry beneath our feet and made me dizzy. I forced myself to look up and not think about Ginger stumbling and falling on the wet, pot-holed road. I also tried not to think about how loudly she huffed with each stride, like she might be having a heart attack. Mindi wouldn’t be too happy with me if I killed one of her beloved horses.
In no time, we were approaching the farmhouse. Up ahead, I saw my dad’s unmarked vehicle parked on the road; he didn’t appear to be inside. I had to get Ginger to slow down. She was puffing like a crazed beast. As for me, I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to hold on much longer. Problem was, I didn’t know how to get her to stop; I’d never gone that fast before. I tried to remember what Mindi told me to do if a horse bolts, but it isn’t easy to think when you’re on the back of a wild, raging monster trying with all your might not to fly off a wet, slippery saddle while being blinded by rain. And to think I once thought of Ginger as a calm, gentle horse!
“Whoa! Whoa!” I yelled in desperation. I don’t even think she could hear me over the rain and ever frequent rumbles of thunder. “Stop! Stop!” I screamed even louder. It made no difference. What should I do? What should I do? Another rip of lightning lit up the sky almost directly above us, and the thunder boomed impossibly loud. Ohmigod! Were we going even faster now?
We flew past my dad’s deserted car, my sopping hair streaming out behind me while the rain continued to fall, pelting my skin right through my jacket. We flew past Mr. Braemarie’s driveway — I had to get this nag to stop! How did I ever think I had a connection with this out-of-control creature? She wasn’t cooperating at all! Didn’t she want to go home and eat hay? I kicked in my heels in frustration before realizing that was how to get her to go faster, not slower. Duh. I’m supposed to sit down! Believe it or not, it just occurred to me then. I forced myself to sit back; believe me, it wasn’t as easy as it sounds. I was bouncing all over the place and terrified that I’d be flying off long before Ginger would be slowing down.
“Whoa girl!” I yelled as I desperately tried to sit down in the saddle. “Whoa! Stop!” I kept yelling and sitting, yelling and sitting, yelling and sitting until finally, whether it was because of anything I did or simply because Ginger was tiring out, we were actually slowing down. I don’t really know or care why, the main thing was that we were finally at a manageable speed and I was still in one piece. That’s all that mattered.
I turned Ginger around and we walked back towards the Braemarie farmhouse. I wanted to get there quickly but there was no way I was urging Ginger to pick up speed again. Lightning flashed overhead, and I clenched the reins tightly and spoke to Ginger in a soothing voice, trying to keep her calm when the thunder hit so that she wouldn’t bolt again. As expected, she startled at the resulting boom but with much less enthusiasm than before and I was able to keep her under control. Maybe that connection was there after all.
“Good girl,” I congratulated her, leaning down to pat her neck. “Let’s get you back to the stable.”
We stopped at the bottom of the Braemarie driveway and I peered down it, anxious to see what was going on. Nothing. No sign of anyone; the place looked deserted. Where was my dad? Why weren’t the men all arrested and being taken away? I had to see what was going on, but first things first, I had to get Ginger back to the stable, and the last thing I needed was for my dad to see us. We clopped past the driveway and I steered Ginger into the bush where Roy and I first trespassed. We went slowly, following a twisting path of least resistance. As it was, I was constantly ducking out of the way of branches.
Then I saw my dad. He was standing in front of the house. He wasn’t even in the barn yet! What was he waiting for? He was speaking into his radio headset and looking at his watch, his back to me. I turned Ginger a little farther to the right, staying as far away from him as possible. I kept watch as we passed and as a result received a good stinging slap in the face by a tree branch. Blinking back the tears, I silently urged Ginger forward.
We got safely past my dad and I took Ginger out into the open just in front of those prickly raspberry bushes. Once there, I swung my leg over and slid off her back, just about falling to the ground when I landed, my legs were so weak. I ignored them, threw the reins over Ginger’s head, and tugged her towards the stable. We moved faster that way. Poor Ginger was used up. I knew how she felt. I led her into her stall, unbuckled her girth, and pulled off her saddle and pad. She was soaked underneath.
“Thanks for the crazy ride, girl,” I mumbled. “Better than the midway.”
She swung her head straight to her water bucket and I left her gulping noisily. I ran to the back of the stable and peered around. No sign of my dad or any other officers over at the barn. How could he just stand around doing nothing while Roy and Mindi were being held prisoners? Who knew what those men were doing to them! I’d be going nuts standing there waiting. Then I remembered what happened to Mr. Stedman when he didn’t wait for backup and knew Dad was doing the right thing.
As for me, I didn’t have to wait for anybody, and nothing was going to keep me from finding out what was going on in that barn. I made a dash straight through the open field. The ground was sopping. At one point, I lost my footing in a particularly large puddle and just about went down. Luckily, I managed to windmill my arms enough to save myself at the last minute. In any other circumstances, I would have been the first one to laugh at my klutziness, but as it was, I was in no laughing mood. I made it to the barn without being seen and kneeled down in front of our secret doorway, ignoring the puddles my knees formed in the mushy ground. I slowly pulled away the top board, leaned down, and peeked inside, hoping that my ragged breathing wouldn’t echo, announcing my arrival to everyone inside.
The first person I saw through the bars of the cage in front of me was Mr. Braemarie. He was locked inside the food supply cage ... along with Roy and Mindi. I breathed a sigh of relief: they were still alive! However, Mr. Braemarie looked like he’d seen better days. From my vanta
ge point, his face looked a mottled purplish-blue colour and one of his eyes was closed and puffy. His chin was streaked red like he’d hastily wiped blood off it onto his red-smeared white T-shirt.
Roy and Mindi, in contrast, looked untouched. Scared and shocked but otherwise healthy. I sat back and thanked my lucky stars. I could never have lived with myself if either of them got hurt. Now where were the police? It was time to get them out of there before those thugs decided to get rough with them, like they had with Mr. Braemarie. As I watched, Mindi and Roy turned towards an approaching sound from the secret room we had discovered together.
“We’ve got all the stuff from the freezer,” said Morchan, emerging from the corner of the barn carrying a box. He was followed by Cheng and Tipper, the transport truck driver. They were also carrying boxes. I pulled more boards away and stuck my head right through the opening in order to get a better view. Gorely and Mr. Stedman were also there, in front of the doorway leading to the small front room. Gorely was still holding a gun aimed at Mr. Stedman, who was kneeling on the floor over the open black bag that Morchan had retrieved from the black car earlier.
“Good,” said Gorely. “We’re about to start with the bears. You got the darts ready yet?” he asked Stedman, nudging him with his foot.
“Just about,” said Stedman, frowning in concentration. “This is the last one.” He was filling a cylinder the size of a finger with gleaming liquid. He wiped his forehead and pushed a stopper into the cylinder before setting it inside the black bag. “Done,” he announced, pushing himself up from the floor with a grunt. “Twelve darts filled for eleven bears, with one extra, just like you asked.”
I felt a pang of sympathy for him. I couldn’t believe they were actually making Mr. Stedman, a Conservation Officer, help them with this heinous crime! He must be dying to arrest them, not help. And I was sure he must feel horrible about Roy and Mindi getting locked up with Mr. Braemarie, especially since he was the one who brought them back to the barn with him. What had he been thinking, anyway? Did he honestly believe he’d just walk into the barn and stop a bunch of poachers single-handedly? Did he think he was some kind of superhero? I’m sure he was kicking himself now.
The Whole, Entire, Complete Truth Page 14