by Brian Shea
“What? Declan’s hurt?” Nick asked, wrought with guilt.
“Bee sting or something,” Izzy said. The fog of confusion still evident in her disjointed explanation.
“I don’t understand. Bee sting?” Nick asked.
“Strangest thing. We saw the girl as she was about to get on a Greyhound bus. We were talking to her, and then all of a sudden, Declan went down,” Izzy said, slowing the pace of her words.
“The girl?” Nick asked.
“Gone. I’m assuming she got on the bus. I was distracted by Declan’s situation,” Izzy said, expressing her frustration.
“At least we know she is on a bus. We can get some local assistance and pick her up. Keep me posted on Declan’s condition,” Nick said.
“Thank goodness a doctor was standing by when he went down. Who would’ve thought that tough old Declan could be brought down by a bee sting?” Izzy paused as she spoke the words. Realizing the improbable likelihood of the occurrence, she froze.
“Crazy,” Nick said.
Izzy didn’t hear him. Her mind quickly replayed the events that just transpired.
“Izzy?” Nick asked.
“Shit! Gotta go. Keep me posted on the girl,” Izzy said, hanging up the phone without waiting for a response.
The bus moved onto I-57 heading north. Cain followed a few cars behind in his Ford Escape. The disappointment of the failed intercept at the bus station plagued his mind, causing him to press hard into his injured thigh. With the sharp pain came a temporary relief.
He would have to wait for the bus to stop again. He knew his timeline had just been extended. A need to hear some reassurance from the Pastor overwhelmed him, but he refrained from relaying his latest missed opportunity. Instead, he inserted a new CD and allowed the words to provide comfort, like that of a worn blanket.
It is in the deepest moments of desperation that we seek His strength. For to turn your back at those times is a recipe for certain disaster. But don’t be fooled. Another hand will reach out for you. That hand will feel familiar. It will give you hope, but then it will pull you deeper. Into that dark place. For the seeker of souls will use those moments of weakness to twist you. To confuse you.
How do you see the difference? How do you know which hand is the Way? The answer is simple. In the darkness, you will feel that light cascade upon you. You will know because it will be brilliant.
As if on cue, the high-beams of a passing 18-wheeler momentarily blinded Cain. He smiled faintly, knowing he was on the right path.
46
The red light seeped in through his eyes as they opened. He was moving and could feel the shake of the vehicle. On his back, he tried without success to sit upright. His chest was restrained. His wrists slid along a railing and were also secured. Declan replayed the events, and he recalled finding the girl, Mouse. He was talking with her, and then it all went dark.
Still dizzy from whatever caused him to blackout, he no longer fought against the restraints. Looking up, he saw a man wearing a light blue shirt with an EMS patch on the sleeve. The man was leaning forward and talking with the driver. It was hard to make out the conversation through the noise of the ambulance’s rumbling. It was in the mannerism of the EMS worker that Declan noticed something was off, an intangible but defining quality in the man. He felt a wave of nervousness rush over him, and he began to wiggle his wrist, attempting to find a way to free himself from the restraint.
“How far out?” the man in the EMS said, shouting over the noise to the driver.
The answer was muffled, but it sounded like he said, not long. And then his voice became clear as he yelled, “What the hell is she doing?”
“Who?” the man in the EMS shirt said, not having a clear visual through the small window.
“The damn lady from the bus station! She’s passing us,” the driver said, nervously.
“So? She’s probably trying to get to the hospital before us,” the man in the EMS shirt said. He showed little concern and added, “Better for us, anyway, since we’re not going to the hospital.”
With that last comment, he turned to look back at Declan. Seeing that he was awake seemed to cause him to panic slightly.
“He’s coming to,” the man in the EMS shirt relayed.
“Not to worry. Those restraints are tight,” the driver said.
It was obvious that the man in the EMS shirt was not convinced, and he shifted his body to the bench seat adjacent to Declan. He began checking the straps one at a time, starting with the chest. Hovering over Declan, he checked the far side wrist strap.
“Shit!” the driver yelled as he slammed the brakes, causing the ambulance to lurch forward hard.
The sudden movement caught the unbalanced man in the EMS shirt off-guard, sending him forward over Declan and into a hard metal cabinet above. The ambulance jerked violently to the right as more expletives escaped the mouth of the driver. The hard turn pitched the boxed vehicle to the left. It teetered, fighting against the inertia as it pulled. The burping sound of the skidding tires and then split second of silence before the ambulance crashed down on the driver’s side. Declan was jostled hard, but the tight restraints and the floor-locked gurney proved to be his safeguard.
The screech of metal on asphalt was deafening as the ambulance slid on its side until it came to a stop. The tires were still spinning hard but without the street underneath they just made a loud whirring sound.
The engine stopped and the noise from the wheels went silent. Declan craned his neck and saw the man in the EMS shirt pressed into a corner. He looked like a crumpled laundry heap, except for the bloodied face that protruded. His body had been folded into an unnatural state. Declan couldn’t tell if he was dead, but he was definitely temporarily out of commission.
He could hear the crunch of glass under foot as someone approached. Someone was walking around the front of the ambulance.
“Hands! Show me slowly! Slower!” Izzy’s voice was loud but controlled. “Keep ‘em there and don’t move!”
Declan heard the familiar metallic clink of handcuffs.
“Izzy, one’s down in here. Not moving. Not sure his status,” Declan called out to his friend.
The rear door opened and made a loud crashing sound as it swung down onto the pavement. Izzy entered and looked at Declan suspended sideways on the gurney like a fly trapped in a spider’s web. He was smiling.
Gun out, she moved past him and headed straight for the man in the EMS shirt. She pulled two pairs of zip ties from the small of her back. She went to work, securing his hands and ankles. She ran an additional tie to connect the restraints behind his back, effectively hog-tying him. The crumpled man grunted as Izzy ratcheted down the final tie, indicating that he was still among the living. She searched him and came up holding a gun she’d removed from his waistline.
“Healthcare ain’t what it used to be,” Declan said with a laugh.
“Are you just going to hang out all day or what?” Izzy asked as she unstrapped Declan’s sinewy frame from the gurney.
As the straps came free, he plunked down, landing on his hands and knees. He took a moment to orient himself before standing.
“How’d you know?” Declan asked.
“It happened fast. You going down, I mean. But as I was getting in the car to follow, I realized something was off. You going down with a bee sting and a doctor right there were clear red flags in hindsight. But the real aha moment came while I was driving behind the ambulance. I knew you were in trouble. That doctor called for an ambulance but never gave a location. Yet, moments later it appeared,” Izzy said. “Sorry it took me so long to piece it together.”
“Thank God you figured it out. I’m not sure things would’ve ended well for me if you hadn’t,” Declan said, rubbing at the friction burns on his wrists.
“I’m going to call this location into Nick and let him work out the details with local authorities. We can’t be here when police show up. We need to find the girl, and getting tied i
nto this ambulance crash is just going to slow us down,” Izzy said, assuredly.
“Agreed,” Declan said, hopping out of the crashed ambulance.
He looked at his phone. The red dot on the screen was on the move. He assumed that whoever intervened at the bus station wouldn’t be far behind.
As he sat in the passenger seat of the blue Camry, his eyes had a steely focus to them. Like the calm before a storm.
47
The vibration of the bus had a soothing quality and was lulling Mouse toward sleep as the wave of adrenaline from the strange encounter at the Memphis bus terminal receded. She couldn’t allow sleep. No chance that her guard would be let down again.
She went from row to row, scanning the bus’s occupants, unable to discern friend or foe. Everyone around her was an unknown. It was an awful feeling to be surrounded by people but feel completely alone at the same time. It was in these moments that Mouse longed for her mother and father. She tried to fight the sudden upheaval of emotion. She was caught off-guard as a tear fell from her eye.
The sensation of the salty drop rolling down her cheek was a foreign one, and she could not recall the last time she’d shed one. But the release had caused an unsuspected chain reaction. Mouse pulled her feet up on the seat cushion and wrapped her arms tightly around her legs. Rocking back and forth, she pressed her face into her thighs and let go. She cried silently for several minutes, allowing her tough exterior to soften for a moment. It was a cathartic release.
Once the wave of sadness had passed, she wiped her face against her sleeve, removing any evidence of her exposed feelings. She tucked them back into the deep recesses of her heart, where they would return to their dormant state.
Her thoughts returned to the man and woman at the station. They called her by name. They knew Nick and Anaya. It didn’t matter. Nobody could protect her. The bald man proved that. He was able to come for her when she was under their protection.
Poor Nick, she thought, wondering if he was still alive. The last time she’d seen him he was covered in blood with the bald man on top. She shivered at the image.
The bus began to slow, the hiss of the brakes as they engaged, protesting the work. They’d only left the Memphis station about half an hour ago. Not a good time to stop. Not with people so close behind. Then she saw the reason. The blue and red lights flashed alongside the windows, casting a strobed effect in the bus’s interior. The passengers rumbled in excitement, twisting to see. Some protested quiet complaints as the bus crossed into the breakdown lane of the highway.
Mouse clutched her backpack tighter, seeking some comfort from the lumpy sack. The bus came to a complete stop, and the interior lights came to life, illuminating the cabin. A boom of thunder filled the air. Abruptly, the day’s humidity gave way to an evening storm. Lightening filled the sky intertwining with the cruiser’s strobes as the rain began to pour.
The driver pulled the lever, and the doors to the bus swung inward. A police officer wearing a light brown shirt and green pants entered. He had an olive drab green hat with a large, round brim. His clothes were soaked from the poorly timed rain, and his face didn’t look pleasant. He seemed as annoyed as the passengers at this inconvenience. He spoke briefly to the driver. Then he stood erect and faced the passengers. He looked from seat to seat and then glanced back at an image on his phone. The Trooper made eye contact with Mouse, and his face seemed to lose some of its rigidity. Some, but not all.
He walked directly toward her, ignoring the stares and whispers from other passengers. He stopped at her row. Mouse was in the window seat and pretended not to notice the man as he bent down. He was a lean man with a tight jaw and short gray hair. He opened his mouth to speak. Mouse, half-expecting to hear a yell, cringed at the crackle of his voice.
“I’m Trooper Landers, and I’m here to help you,” Landers said softly. His voice was a stark contrast to his wiry frame and tough exterior.
Mouse turned her head and looked at him but said nothing.
“It’s okay. You’ve got some people very worried about you. Come with me, and we’ll get you back home,” Landers said, conveying a genuine concern for the small teen.
Mouse nodded. There was no point in arguing. It would be a lost cause.
Mouse slipped her arms into the straps of the backpack and exited her seat. She walked slowly through the aisle with her head down. The police officer followed behind, keeping his left hand on her shoulder. A gentle reminder not to run.
Trooper Landers thanked the bus driver, and he stepped off onto the shoulder of the road. Mouse stood in the rain and thought about running, but the large hand of the trooper squeezed her shoulder. He obviously anticipated this reaction. She shrugged her acceptance and placated the lawman. They walked toward the police car parked at the rear of the bus. The flashing lights were blinding and the downpour added to it. The trooper tipped his hat to deflect the glare.
“Let’s get you out of this god-awful rain,” Landers said, gently guiding her forward.
Thunder boomed as lightning simultaneously lit the darkened sky. The Greyhound bus pulled away, continuing its journey north. She was being pulled back to her start point as she watched the brake lights of her future disappear down the road.
Trooper Landers’ hand suddenly gripped her tightly and then released. Mouse looked back and saw him lying on his back clutching his neck. His legs flailed as he squirmed. A low gurgling sound came out of the man. The rain washed away the blood as soon as it emptied from his neck. Landers’ hands clasped tightly at his throat, trying without avail to ebb the flow. His were eyes wide with panic as he gasped. No words followed. Death did not give the dying man a final goodbye.
Mouse turned from the fallen officer to look for the threat, but as she did, she was hoisted into the air. The grip clenched around her midsection was like a vice, knocking the wind out of her. Her arms pinned, she flailed relentlessly. Mouse’s writhing did little to release her constraints. She bucked her head, hoping to make contact with his nose or face but found the shoulder instead. Mouse buried her heel into his groin, but her kick had no effect. Not even a grunt of discomfort was uttered in response.
Past the cruiser was an SUV without any headlights on. Its silhouette was made visible as lightning shot sideways across the sky. She was carried to the passenger side, her body slammed to the ground, and she felt the man’s impressive weight as he placed his knee in the center of her back. The force of it pushed the air from her lungs. Mouse turned her head to the side, fighting to breathe, and got a mouthful of muddy water. Her arms were yanked behind her back, and she felt something bite at her wrists, pulling them together tightly. Hard to tell, but it felt like a rope or cord. There was no slack for her to manipulate her hands.
She heard the click of a door opening, the massive hands grabbed her by the hair and legs. Mouse was painfully hoisted upward and tossed on the floorboard of the backseat. She landed hard, and with no hands to break her fall, she scraped her face along the floor mat, tasting blood. A heavy blanket covered her, blacking out the lightning filled sky.
The car drove off without any word from the man. Mouse lay in the shrouded darkness and tried to plan her next move. Her way out. She heard her father’s words, Focus. Visualize what you need to do.
For the first time in a long time, she couldn’t come up with a plan. For the first time in a long time, Mouse was truly terrified.
48
“Well, it’s official. Izzy is in charge of all the driving from this point forward,” Declan said, talking into the speakerphone of his cell.
“If we keep letting her save our asses, then we’re never going to live it down,” Nick said, chuckling softly.
“Where are we meeting the trooper that located her?” Izzy asked, interrupting the banter.
“At their Memphis headquarters on Summer Ave. We’re waiting for the confirmation when he’s back en route,” Jones interjected from the background.
“Well, we’ve been tracking Mouse’s bl
ip. It stopped briefly and started moving in the opposite direction. I’m assuming the trooper already has her,” Declan said.
“We saw that too. You’re probably right. There’s a slight delay in communicating with the state police. Give me a second, and I’ll make another call to verify,” Jones said.
Nick took the phone off speaker and pressed it closer to his ear.
“Hey, guys, are you okay? I feel really bad about putting you in this position. Never my intention.”
“Don’t ever apologize to me again. You’d do the same for us,” Declan said seriously.
“Fair enough,” Nick said. He was about to add to his comment when he heard Jones yell.
“What was that?” Declan asked.
“Hang on.” Nick pulled the phone away from his face and then put it back on speaker. “You’d better hear this.”
“Trooper’s dead. They found him after he didn’t respond. They contacted the Greyhound bus driver, who confirmed that the girl got off with the trooper. Our guess is that the doer has Mouse,” Jones said, speaking rapidly. No drawl. No time for theatrics.
“Shit! This just became a hostage rescue mission,” Declan said.
“If this is the guy who got the drop on Nick, then we’d better be on our toes,” Izzy said.
“We’ve got an advantage,” Declan said confidently.
“Yeah, what’s that?” Izzy asked.
“He doesn’t know we can track her. We can follow from a distance, and then when they stop, we make our move.”
Izzy registered that Declan’s face held an air of contentedness. The thought of conflict seemed to bring with it a sense of peace. A strange genetic make-up for this battle-hardened man. Her heart raced at the thought of this potential standoff.
Declan smiled and said, “Don’t worry, Izzy. We’ve got this.”
Nodding, she pushed the pedal and accelerated the Camry as Declan kept a watchful eye on the red dot labeled MX1249.