by Lee Taylor
"But the van is locked—"
"We'll break in."
"We have no keys."
"I know how to hot-wire a vehicle. We'll drive off and leave Judd and his band of murderous thieves in the woods."
"It could work." Hope charged Mary's voice, giving it enthusiasm. "It's got to work!"
If it didn't, he was dead, but Connor didn’t voice the fact. Judd wouldn't put up with him again.
"We'll have to make camp before we reach snow line," Mary said, her voice again carrying that edge of worry. "And hope no one hears us leave."
"We can't have everything, Mary. To have a definite plan is the main thing, so we have hope."
"I wish I could do more."
It intrigued Connor that Mary felt like she wasn't doing enough, when he felt she carried the entire burden. "You're doing plenty, Mary. I wish I could help you more."
There were moments in the tent with Mary that he wouldn't trade for any others in his life. Just the sound of her voice meant so much to him. He had never run into anyone before who had her magnitude of spirit.
He felt her hand move across the edge of his sleeping bag before she touched him, her fingers gliding across his beard which had grown fairly thick over the past few days. He shifted his head enough to lightly kiss them as they passed.
Her hand returned to tug gently, making him smile.
"If you had looked like this the first night we met, I really would've panicked," she said.
"Are you trying to say you didn't?"
She chuckled. "You looked like a one-eyed pirate. The beard would’ve completed the image."
"I'd like to take that meeting back."
"Don't. It’ll make an interesting story when people ask how we met."
Would she want to see him after this nightmare was over? Or would the sight of him bring back too many memories? "Don't make me out too much a pirate, although I did want to grab you, put you in my car, and skedaddle."
"That would've really scared me."
"Better that than what we're up against."
"A lot better. But I wouldn't have believed you. So as soon as I could, I would’ve returned home. And Judd would’ve been waiting." Her voice echoed the fear she’d have experienced without him.
"Unless the police caught them first."
"If not, I would’ve had to face them alone. And I don't even want to consider that."
"I think you're doing a pretty good job. You'd have handled them, Mary. You're scared, but you're thinking. That's what matters. It's when your mind freezes that you're helpless. You've fought back all the way."
"As long as we don’t have to kill anyone."
"Maybe we won't have to. Not if your plan works."
"Have you ever, ever killed anyone, Connor?"
He hated to answer that, but knew he couldn't lie to her. Not if he wanted a future with her. And, he realized, he did want that. Very much so.
He hesitated. Only the truth would do, but would it turn her away from him?
28
Connor had killed during battle when ordered to, but that hadn’t made it easier. He knew that if he had met the same enemy during a time of peace, they might’ve been friends, because people didn’t make war, governments did. But would Mary understand?
"I shot down four aircraft. Fighter planes."
She shuddered, but didn't draw her hand away from his. "How had you feel, afterwards?"
He shifted in his sleeping bag, wishing she wouldn't ask questions which probed at feelings long buried. "It’s sort of impersonal. But you know someone has died. You harden yourself against the thought."
"And still you'd like to kill Judd and his men?"
"Don't say 'like.' Say 'must.' I've never killed anyone, hand to hand, but I think if I had to, if I must, then I'd be able to."
"I see." She paused a moment then continued. "I couldn't. I don't see how you can—"
"It's got to be somewhat the way a policeman feels, Mary. You don't want to kill the crooks, but you do if you've no choice."
Mary sighed, the sound heavy in the still night air. "I know. A policeman in my therapy group shot a man to save himself. It haunted him. I couldn't live with that."
"If we must, we must."
"Not me. Never."
"Then me. If I've no choice, I'll kill to keep you alive."
"It's hard to accept, yet..."
"What?"
"I can't be a hypocrite. The reason I feel even the smallest bit safe is because of you. And that includes your willingness to kill them."
"That's why I joined the Navy."
"You wanted to kill people?" She sounded shocked, and this time pulled her hand away.
"No. That's not what I meant."
"Then what...?"
"Protection. The military is all that stands between our nation and our enemies.”
"True. But if we didn't have all those bombs— or all those guns— the world would be a safer place."
He had heard that argument before. "That's rubbish, Mary. Don't you believe it."
"But...."
"I'm not just guessing. There’s a town in Georgia— Kennesaw— which requires all homeowners to own a gun. Crime rate dropped as soon as they put in the law. It’s quite famous.”
“Everybody has to have one?”
“You can opt out. But the crooks don’t know who has them and who hasn’t. They don’t like that. The criminal mind feeds on weakness. When you get a criminal in a position of power, the innocent suffer."
"But if the victim hadn't fought back—"
"Are you trying to say all victims fight back, and so deserve their deaths?"
She took a moment before she answered. "No, that can't be."
Connor noticed the light cast from the fire had grown dimmer. He wondered how long Wes would stand out in the cold. How many people had Wes murdered? Innocent people, unable to defend themselves, slain because they had something he wanted?
"Think of the children, the elderly," Connor said, wanting to prompt Mary to reconsider her stand, but reluctant to add "your neighbor." That scene had to be fresh in her mind.
"I guess I've never thought much about it."
"There’s a mental difference between the innocent victim and the one who commits a crime. To the killer, a life is nothing."
"And to me, a life is precious."
The way she said that almost melted Connor's resolve to change her mind. "As it is to me, Mary," he avowed. He paused to consider his next words carefully before he spoke. "A murderer must be stopped. Otherwise he keeps killing innocent people. Do you understand what I'm getting at?"
"Yes."
"Do you agree with me?"
"It's hard not to. I'll have to think on it some more."
"Do. Just don't hate me if I have to kill them to save us."
"Are you sure they mean to kill us, once they get the chest?"
"I'm positive. It’s all that stands between us and a bullet. As for me, even that is questionable. They don't need me anymore to carry the supplies. I think they're just keeping me for leverage with you. They seem to think I'm special in your life."
"Aren't you?"
"I'd like to be."
"Very special, Connor. Very, very special."
She moved forward into his arms, and Connor felt the sweetness of her lips.
Afraid of frightening her, Connor let her set the pace. Her kisses were tentative and he felt a surge of protectiveness toward Mary. He wasn’t going to scare her away from him, no siree, and to do that he had to brake his skyrocketing emotions and clamp down hard on himself.
He had sworn to protect the innocent and Mary was about as innocent as they came. Being in separate bags with their clothes on was a good idea. It helped him keep control.
He was beginning to struggle with that control when Mary pulled back and asked, "Am I special in your life, Connor? Or is there—"
"There's no one else. Nowhere."
"Then—"
"And yes. You’re very special to me, Mary."
"And you to me. But I must have a man who’ll be with me, and not gone half my life. I couldn’t endure the separations."
She gazed at him with sorrow-filled eyes and a great sadness passed between them. They needed each other, yet even if they escaped alive, their togetherness wouldn’t continue. His job would keep them apart.
If he wanted Mary, he’d have to give up his entire life's work and start over again. It might turn him bitter, like a caged eagle, so that he’d eventually resent her. Or spoil their feelings for each other— and he’d end up with nothing.
"As much as I feel for you, Mary, I'm not the man for you. I couldn't give you what you need. We both know that."
She sighed. "Will you return to your ship, if we get away?"
"Yes. It may take awhile. In the meantime, I'd want to see you. If you'd let me."
"We might not make it to the van."
"We'll make it, Mary." We have to. “It's our best way to escape.”
But would Judd let him live four full days?
The next morning Mary hardly looked at the spectacular red sunrise as she brushed the loose layer of snow off the remains of the campfire. She only wished the snow had lasted longer and covered their tracks better.
The dying fire had melted all but a fine film of snow on top, so the ashes were only slightly wet. Last night she had pulled out chunks of burned wood and placed them under cover. Now she used the dry pieces of charcoal and the remaining dry wood to start a quick breakfast fire as the men took down the tents.
Hot coffee. Hot soup. Not much of a breakfast, but hot liquids were enough to keep people going. She cooled the last pan off with a hiss and tied it to her pack frame.
"We're running out of food," she remarked to Judd as he stopped to watch her. "Didn't you consider the fact that we have to eat on the return trip?"
"You're the one traveling in circles," he growled. "You'll have to travel hungry."
"We've got to hurry, to make the cabin in four days."
"Three days."
"Three? But you said four," Mary almost cried in frustration.
"That was yesterday. A day has passed, in case you didn't notice."
"But—"
"Three days."
"It's impossible. We can't make it in three days."
"Then your boyfriend starts losing fingers," he said with a smile that sickened her. "One per day."
Judd sneered, wagged his five fingers, then turned and limped away, leaving Mary chilled.
A finger a day?
Sick at heart, she looked up to see Connor standing nearby. "You heard?" She forced the words out, in a hoarse whisper.
"Yes. Sounds like we better start moving." He took it calmly enough, his eyes steadily gazing into hers, their dark depths assuring.
"But... but, I can't make it in three days," she cried, feeling the pressure explode within her. It was all too much to ask of anyone. She wanted to stop, right now, and end the struggle against these evil men.
Connor moved closer, placing an arm around her while his voice dropped to whisper in her ear, "This way they have a reason to keep me alive. I'll give up a finger or two for that, wouldn't you?"
Mary's stomach churned in protest. She pictured the blood, the pain. "Not willingly!"
He chuckled and she wondered how he could treat it so lightly. "True. We might leave them sooner than we thought and push on through to the van."
"I don't think I can get us close enough."
"We can still do it."
"Maybe."
"Double time them, Mary. You've been taking it too easy."
She clamped her teeth in fierce determination. She’d walk the blisters off these men to save Connor's hands. "That's for sure."
"Atta girl!" He patted her on the shoulder and walked away.
She didn't want him hurt. He had become very special to her. A solid rock, a tower of strength whenever she needed him. He constituted the only one between her and complete despair.
And... she loved him. Completely, without reservation. She felt more for him than admiration, much more than ‘like.’ Although she had been denying it, she loved him. She felt the surge of joy within and wrestled it down. She couldn’t tell Connor. He loved his job.
She had caused her father to leave the job he loved, and she remembered the light going out in his eyes. After he changed jobs he trudged to work. He never again went off with a spring to his step.
She had clung to him, smothering him, ruining his chances of ever gaining happiness. She would not do that to Connor.
Three days. Mary gazed at the gray sky. The low-hanging clouds blocked out the sun, but she knew these mountains well enough to be able to tell directions by nearby landmarks.
The clouds effectively hid Mount Rainier. That meant she could travel straight back toward the van. Maybe she could do it in three days after all.
"Let's go," she called out, shrugging her shoulders into the straps of her pack. It weighed hardly anything by now.
An hour later snow began to fall, a few flakes that quickly compounded. Mary's spirits lifted as she laid a semi-straight trail through the woods, wishing there were more level spots where she could hike straight across. These mountains were rough enough that hikers either went up, down, or along the ridges. A cross-country attempt could easily end by dropping off a cliff.
She welcomed the heavy snow that covered all tracks. She could cross their former trail with impunity now. The men would never notice. Heads down, they slogged along behind her. If she led them off a cliff, they’d follow.
If only Judd hadn’t threatened to cut off Connor's fingers. Was he just bluffing to force Mary to lead them directly to the cabin?
Connor didn't think so.
Connor. A strong name for a strong man. She leaned on him mentally and emotionally as well as physically. He gave her mind a steady focusing point, keeping her thoughts from whirling wildly, like a falling rock, bounding in all directions. Connor provided contact with reality. She didn't agree with him on some basic things, but she loved him and depended on him to make this nightmare go away, so she could return to safety.
Which was a joke. Safety used to mean her home and father. The only place she felt safe anymore was in Connor's arms.
A glow of pleasure warmed her as she thought about the few precious moments they had shared.
"Aieee...! The high-pitched cry told Mary one of the men had mis-stepped, and she looked back as Ramone slid several hundred feet downwards before coming to a stop in a clump of trees. The slope pitched at about thirty degrees, enough to shake him up, but not enough to do him harm. She sat down and waited with the others while he scratched and crawled his way back to where they sat.
Frowning, she studied the terrain ahead for avalanche danger. The heavy snowfall made it difficult to see. Under other conditions, she would’ve stopped, but with the three day time limit hanging over her, Mary disregarded her normal caution and led them onward.
The trail grew steeper, more deadly as the drop-off became a cliff. She should stop and rope them together, she knew, but that took time. It was only a short distance to the trees, where they’d be safe and would have to unrope, anyway. She moved on, choosing time over safety.
A sharp shout alerted Mary. She spun around to see... Connor... sliding slowly, inevitably downward toward the edge.
"Connor!" Too far away to do anything, she could only stand and watch, terrified.
With his hands bounds, he couldn’t save himself. As he neared the edge, he spread his legs wide, trying to kick in his snowshoes— but Mary knew in her heart he wouldn’t stop in time.
Her mouth opened in a soundless protest, her life collapsed around her. In her haste to save his fingers, she had lost him. She loved him— and she had killed him by not roping up.
The mountains acted swiftly. They offered no second chance.
No, Lord. It wasn't meant to end this way.
He plunged
downward, gaining momentum— quickly speeding out of control. He made no sound as his body careened out of sight.
29
Mary collapsed on the snow, unable to bring herself to look over the edge, as Wes and Judd were doing. She could hear them arguing about Connor.
“He’s history,” said Wes.
“Go down and check,” Judd insisted. “That tree stopped him going all the way.”
“I ain’t climbing down there. He’s good as dead. If he gits out of that there tree, he’ll fall.”
“He’s got our tent.”
“So? Use Mary’s.”
“Good idea. Move out.” The two walked over to Mary, but she wasn’t moving. Her legs had no strength. She huddled in the snow, her mind focused on Connor.
“Move,” Judd demanded, but Mary stared through him toward the edge of the cliff. Judd tried picking her up, but she was like a tent without a pole, and he quickly dropped her again.
The men milled around a moment, arguing over what to do when Ramone said, “Look there. He’s moving.”
Hope rose in Mary as the others hurried to the edge and looked over. “McLarren. You alive?” Judd shouted.
“I’m stuck. Someone’s got to come—”
“Oh, no, we’re not,” Judd muttered. He raised his voice and shouted, “We’ll throw you a rope. Work free.”
He removed the rope from his pack and tossed one end to Connor, then sat down to wait. Twenty minutes later, when Connor called out he was ready, the men hauled him back up the cliff and over the edge like a sack of equipment. He lay there, recovering, while Judd untied the rope.
“Hey, Mary,” Wes called. “Here’s lover boy.”
She had watched them pull him up, but was too overcome to do anything but nod. Without Connor, she would’ve stopped living. She’d have led them blindly off into the wilderness until they all died.
Motioning for the rope, she tied it around herself, then handed it to the men and waited while they tied on.
Connor gave her a thumb's up sign before he tied himself to the rope, but his face was haggard and strained, one side of it scraped raw, oozing blood. She tasted blood in her own mouth from biting down on her lower lip.
How would this end? She stared across the rugged mountain range. Would anyone ever find their bodies?