A Question of Fire

by Karen McCullough

"Prob'ly just Hammond coming back," the other said, sounding much less concerned than his partner.

  "I didn't hear the car."

  "Then it's an animal. Lots of them up here in the hills."

  "I don't think so," Townsend said. He looked around the cabin and saw Cathy watching. "We best get them two tied back up; I ain't taking no chances with her. There's the rope was on the boy, you can use it to tie him again."

  The tall man got up, picked up the rope, and walked back to stand next to Cathy. He prodded Danny and pulled him upright. Danny's face progressed from dozing incomprehension, to outrage, then to guarded impassivity when he realized what was happening, but either he wasn't controlling his expression as well in his weakness, or she was getting better at reading him. She could tell he was upset about being tied again.

  "No, please," she asked. "Tie me, if you must, but leave him alone. He's too weak to try anything, and he won't as long as you're holding me."

  "Shut up, lady," Townsend advised. The tall man pulled Danny's arms together in front of him. Cathy saw one of the reasons the boy didn't want his hands bound again: he must have struggled against the ropes at some point earlier; his wrists were chafed raw and had bled in places. The man started winding the rope around the boy's arms, but there wasn't enough slack to make a knot. The second piece yielded the same result. Cathy exhaled a relieved sigh when he looked at Townsend helplessly. "Rope's too short."

  "There's more in the truck," Townsend reminded him. "Go get it."

  He looked stubborn. "You said you thought there was something out there. I ain't going out in the dark."

  Townsend swore angrily, then went over to Rayburn, yanked him out of the chair, and hit him roughly across the face. Rayburn woke, irritated, and tried to return the blow. He was still very drunk and the attempt missed by more than six inches. He would have fallen over, too, but Townsend grabbed him again and held him upright.

  "Rayburn, it's time you made yourself useful, instead of sitting around on your fat ass drinking beer and sleeping. We need rope. There's a coil in the utility box of the truck. Get out there and get it."

  "Get rope from the trunk... er, trug, truck. Ri' now?"

  "Now," Townsend ordered.

  Rayburn shrugged, nearly unbalancing himself again, and went out the door without a second thought, listing and muttering to himself. A minute or so later, they heard a high-pitched giggle, a clunk, and the scrape of metal against metal—the utility box opening. Then there was a long silence. Too long. Five, then ten minutes passed with no sign of Rayburn returning; Townsend and the tall man looked at each other and out into the night.

  There was nothing to see, apparently, but Cathy was sure now that Peter was out there. She hoped he'd make his final move soon. Hammond had had ample time to find a phone; it wouldn't be long before he returned.

  Moving slowly and carefully so as not to alarm the men, she edged to the end of the table. The move put her closer to Danny and also let her get quickly away from the table should the necessity arise. Townsend and the other man were too involved in their own impatience and uneasiness to notice her. Danny did though; he didn't say anything, but he looked more alert, ready, she thought, to follow whatever lead she offered. But, right now, she had to wait, too.

  -28-

  Monday - Tuesday

  Peter finished his half of the circuit around the cabin before Tom returned. Back where they'd started, he leaned against a tree and watched the building. It sat in quiet darkness in the woods, the dim light shining from half-curtained windows a false promise of warmth and comfort within. Cathy and Danny were in there, no more than a hundred yards from where he stood, as inaccessible as though it were the other side of the globe.

  He'd managed to get a quick glance in the top half of one of the windows, a brief look being all he could risk. Danny and Cathy sat at the other end of the long room, talking to each other. Despite the peril of their situation, Peter's spirits rose at the sight of Danny alive and unhurt. At first, he'd thought there were just two other men in the room with them, then had realized a third sat in a chair turned away from him so all he could see was the back of a head.

  Peter reviewed a number of plans but didn't like any of them. He'd been elated earlier when one of the men had driven off, but that had faded now. Two men against three wasn't bad when they had the advantage of surprise; but the three had hostages, and the ruthlessness to use them.

  There was a snapping noise, like a twig breaking, in the darkness to his left, and a few minutes later Tom joined him at the tree, cursing his own carelessness. "Damnit, I hope I didn't alert them."

  "Doubt it," Peter said. "The woods are full of noises; they'll probably think it was an animal. What did you find out?"

  "Not much," Tom said. "There's a back door, but it's locked. Flimsy lock, though. A good kick will take it out. Not many windows on that side, and they're all locked and curtained."

  "Okay." Peter told him what he'd learned. They sat together whispering for some time, had made and rejected two different plans, when the door to the cabin opened and one of the men emerged. He walked unsteadily down the shadowed walkway, then out into a more brightly lit area, headed for a pickup truck parked on one side of the clearing. He'd been muttering loudly; then he tripped over something and giggled. Peter realized he was drunk.

  He passed within ten feet of where they hid in the shadows. They watched as he leaned over the side of the truck bed, opened the utility box, and pulled something out. Tom and Peter didn't need to consult each other. Both moved closer to the path; Peter saw Tom adjust his hold on the hunting rifle, and he put down the one he held.

  As the drunk passed, they acted simultaneously. Peter stepped out in front of him and clamped a hand over the surprised man's mouth to prevent him from crying out, while Tom brought the butt of the rifle down on the back of the man's head. The body went limp and Peter lowered him to the ground.

  Conveniently, it turned out that what he'd taken from the truck was a coil of rope. They used some of it to bind his hands and feet, and Peter donated his handkerchief to put over his mouth. Together they lifted and carried him into the deeper shadows of the woods and dumped him near the base of a huge old pine.

  "What now?" Tom asked. "We've got two on two, the best odds we're likely to get. And the guy who drove off may just have been making a beer run. I think we'd better do something soon, before he gets back.

  "Agreed," said Peter, "but let's wait a minute and see if anybody comes out looking for their potted friend. I think we can spare that much time. It's at least ten minutes to the nearest outpost of civilization, and all the ones we passed were closed."

  Two or three minutes went by with no change and Peter was forced to conclude they weren't going to risk sending anyone else out. "All right, it's time to move. That back door you mentioned. Where exactly is it on the back wall?"

  "Actually it's not on the back wall. The kitchen area projects out from the rest of the cabin about eight feet. The door is on the side about three feet from the corner."

  "All four of them were in the sitting area on the other end of the building when I looked in. From there, do you think they could see someone coming in the back door?"

  Tom studied the size and appearance of the cabin. "From the space even with that front door and to the left, no. From the rest of the room, yes. I think a two-fronted invasion is the ticket."

  "I'm with you," Peter answered. "Front or back?"

  "I know the back better. I'll take it, you do the front. I'll kick in the back door, with any luck that will draw them to investigate. You should get a chance to get in the front and take out at least one of them before they see you. I'll wait and take the other.

  "Good enough… Have I thanked you yet for this? Both Cathy and Danny mean a lot to me. I appreciate—"

  "Save it. You'll owe me one, buddy." He grinned; Peter knew it only by the tone of his voice. “Anyway, this is the most fun I’ve had in the last year or so.”

 
Tom moved away, soundlessly, and Peter risked creeping up for another look into the cabin. The remaining two men appeared to be arguing; at least their expressions suggested the tenor of their conversation wasn't pleasant. Cathy and Danny were in the same places they'd occupied before, but both looked alert and expectant. Good. He'd thought Cathy would figure out that this would be the time, and it looked as if Danny was prepared to jump as well.

  He moved toward the door, carefully and silently. The two men had been standing not far from it, slightly to the left. He didn't think it likely they could see anyone coming in the back from there, so they'd have to cross in front of him when Tom made his move. Peter crouched down by the entrance, listening to the noises carried on the night breeze. The borrowed hunting rifle was in his right hand, ready to fire; his left hand poised on the door handle. He had to wait several long minutes in that position.

  That was the hardest part, the waiting, with adrenalin pumping through his system clamoring for action, and his heartbeat pounding like a sledgehammer in his chest. From inside the cabin, he heard the murmur of raised voices; the two men still carried on their argument, but he couldn't distinguish their words. Once he heard Cathy's voice, and a rough reply from one of the men.

  Despite the difficulty of waiting, he was ready when the time came. The crash of splintering wood preceded the sound of two gunshots, presumably from the men inside. Peter pushed open the front door. He got a brief glimpse of Cathy and Danny crouching behind a table almost directly opposite the door, but he ignored them for the time being.

  The door hit something solid as he pushed it; a grunt indicated one of the men was still behind it. He moved into the room and saw the man sprawled on his side on the floor, squirming to roll over. He looked around for the other man. Joe Townsend had gone to the back door, been surprised by Tom, and even now reeled back from a blow to the head.

  The seconds Peter had spent locating the other man proved costly. He turned back to deal with the one on the floor and raised his gun, but the other had already rolled far enough to free his pistol and point it at Cathy's head.

  "Drop it or I'll shoot her," he warned, scrambling to his knees, but keeping the gun steadily directed. Peter hesitated, but couldn't risk a shot.

  "Drop it!" the man reiterated. Peter let the rifle slide from his grip and clatter to the floor.

  "Your friend, too."

  Peter looked up, and realized that Tom was standing over the unconscious form of Joe Townsend. Tom returned his glance, mouth twisted into a grimace, then shrugged and dropped his gun also. They'd known they risked this, but Peter had hoped it wouldn't happen.

  The man rose to his feet, making sure his gun never wavered from its intended target, Cathy's head. He dragged her upright, ignoring Danny, who crawled to the couch and collapsed on it. He twisted her so she stood directly in front of him, facing Peter and Tom as they moved into the sitting area of the room. Peter recognized the tall man as the one he'd chased through the shopping center. The man shuffled forward, pressing himself against Cathy, but he kept his eyes on Peter and Tom. Danny sprawled on the couch to his right. The gunman ignored the boy, assuming he was too weak or too intimidated to try anything. He should have known better.

  Danny watched the standoff through half-closed eyes. When he'd decided he'd been forgotten, he gathered himself, jumped up, and grabbed the man's arm with both hands, pushing until the weapon pointed at a wall. It exploded with a crash that was echoed by the sound of wood splintering as man and boy fell to floor, grappling for control of the gun. Within seconds both Tom and Peter were on top of them. Tom kicked and the weapon went spinning across the room. Peter grabbed the back of the man's shirt collar, pulled him off Danny, and delivered a knockout to his jaw.

  Peter grinned at Tom across the body, rubbed his sore knuckles, and pulled Cathy close to him, enclosing her in a hug that threatened to squeeze the breath out of her. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. Cathy wound her arms around him and burrowed her head into his chest, trying to gasp relief and gratitude.

  "Cathy," Tom said, and she moved away from Peter to shake his hand and embrace him.

  Danny sat on the floor, struggling to catch his breath. He moved to stand, and Peter extended a hand to help him. Danny looked from Peter's hand to his eyes warily, then took hold and let Peter drag him to his feet. The lawyer didn't release his arm once Danny was standing. "I owe you one," Peter said. "Maybe more than one." He shook his head. "That was a damned stupid thing you did last Saturday. But it took a hell of a lot of courage. Do anything like it again and I’ll beat your brains out."

  Peter let him go. Danny nodded and backed away, embarrassed but pleased. The boy was spared the necessity of a reply when Cathy came over and tapped Peter urgently.

  "We may not have much time," she warned. "Hammond will be coming back at any time."

  "Shall we prepare a welcome party?" Peter suggested.

  She thought about it, then shook her head. "Hammond's clever and so cold-blooded he'd make a snake seem warm by comparison. Worse, he'll want to make damn sure Danny never gets a chance to testify against him. He'd shoot us all without batting an eyelash."

  Tom nodded agreement. "I don't think it’s smart to let him get anywhere near Danny or Cathy. Hell, I don't want to leave this trash lying around even if I think they deserve what Hammond would give them."

  "Let's tie them up and load them in the car," Peter suggested. "We won't all fit in the Olds. I wonder who the truck belongs to?" He walked over to Townsend, dug around in his pockets and came up with a set of keys that read "Ford" on the sides.

  "Give," said Tom. "You take Cathy and Danny back to your car before Hammond returns."

  "What about you, Tom?" Cathy asked. "What are you going to do?"

  "I'm going to load the baggage in the truck and drive it to the nearest police station for disposal."

  "And if Hammond comes back?"

  "I'll have plenty of warning. I'll stay low out in the woods somewhere until he clears out. Quit worrying, honey. Let the Marines take care of it."

  "Who?"

  "Tom spend three years in the U.S. Marine Corps," Peter explained.

  "I can handle this." Tom got the rope from outside and starting winding it around Townsend's hands. "Peter, get them out of here."

  "He's right," Peter agreed. "Let's go." He walked over to Danny, who'd sat back down on the couch, and put a hand on his shoulder. Cathy followed and said, "Wait a minute." She poured the rest of the milk into a cup, gave it to Danny, and ordered him to drink. He did without complaint or delay.

  The night had grown a few degrees cooler, but not enough to be uncomfortable. As they left the cabin, Tom followed, dragging Townsend by the ropes around his ankles. "I assume Skyeville has a Police Station somewhere," he said. "I'll meet you there as soon as I can. Keep a sharp eye for cars coming this way."

  He stopped at the truck and opened the door while the other three went on. At Peter's suggestion, they held hands; parts of the road were in deep shadow, and he didn't want to risk losing anyone.

  "Where’s the car?" Cathy asked.

  "On the paved road near the turnoff."

  "How far is that?"

  "Not quite half a mile. Can you make it?"

  "I can, but I'm not sure about Danny."

  "I'll make it." His voice sounded roughly from the darkness beyond Cathy. The determination of words and tone precluded further argument.

  A few steps farther, Cathy stumbled and smothered a cry of pain. Peter had forgotten she wasn't wearing shoes. Not that he could do a damn thing about it, of course. He stopped and tried to get a look at her in the wavering shadows of the tree-lined drive. He heard Danny's voice asking, "You okay?" and her attempt to reassure him.

  "I'm sorry I forgot about your shoes," Peter said. "Are you sure you can make it?"

  "Yes," she answered with a determination that matched Danny's. "I want out of here," she continued. "As fast as we can. I don't know what it is, but I have a
bad feeling, and it's growing."

  "It's just the darkness and the late hour." He tried to be soothing.

  "Darkness and late hours have never bothered me before, and I've had plenty of experience with both," she returned. "I don't know what it is. Intuition? I've just got a real bad feeling."

  The walk up the road wasn't an experience Cathy cared to remember or repeat. She couldn't see where she was putting her feet and frequently had to smother a cry of pain when she stepped on a rock or twig.

  Peter set a fast pace. The stockings she wore afforded no protection at all and were soon thoroughly shredded. Despite her best efforts, she lagged and found herself being pulled by Peter on one side and Danny on the other. She was determined not to slow them down, however, so she closed her mind to the messages her feet were sending and concentrated on the distance they were putting between themselves and the cabin.

  Danny's endurance amazed her; she couldn't imagine where he got the strength after all he'd been through. One of the blessings of youth, perhaps.

  Finally, after what seemed like forever, they reached the paved road. The asphalt felt wonderful to her battered feet: cool, smooth, and blessedly free of sharp edges. She could feel the warm goo of blood between her toes and suspected she had an interesting collection of splinters.

  The Oldsmobile was parked by the side of the road about thirty yards from the turn. They ran down the road toward it, but before they'd gained more than a few yards, the quiet stillness of the night was shattered by the roar of an approaching vehicle.

  "Off to the side! Hurry!" Peter yelled. Too late. Cathy was still in the middle of the road when a Bronco zoomed up the hill and she was caught in the beam of its headlights.

  -29-

  Tuesday

  For a long second, she stood, blinded by the light. She heard Peter and Danny yell as she dove for the side of the road. Someone grabbed her, she didn't know which one, and yanked her to the side of the Olds. The Bronco roared by, gleaming fitfully in the moonlight. She heard the squeal of tires as brakes were applied and knew beyond question Hammond was the driver.