Uncomfortable with the long silence, she spoke without looking at him. “Is it your turn to rape me now?"
"I don't see a need for it. If I can't get it on my own or pay for it, I just do without."
"You should teach your employees that concept."
He nodded. "The thing is, in these times you make do with the help you find instead of wasting time wishing for the help you want." He studied her for a few seconds. "Understand though, I don't feel sorry for you. Not one bit."
She gaped at him, incredulous.
"Call it karma, call it survival of the fittest, call it whatever you want. You were reckless. You were out here by yourself. Walking along with your head in the clouds, not paying any attention to what happened around you, and Clint walked up right behind you. I don't know how you survived this long. You had somebody watching over you, I suspect. But know this before you blame me for the situation you’re in. If you had somebody with you, or if you had paid attention, as well-armed as you were? We would have let you pass right by."
The kernel of truth in his words was like a slap in the face. She steeled herself and tried not to sob. "So what's the endgame? Keep me in this cage, starving me and letting those guys rape me until I die?"
"Nope. We’re waiting for my partner. Hopefully, he's got a few more gals like you. Reckless. Once he gets here, we’ll run you up south of what used to be St. Louis. They have an auction there, and Missy- you will bring top dollar. I'll be able to hire on some more boys with money I make off you."
Tara waved her hand, dismissing him. She laid down with her back to the door, pulled her knees up over her chest, and fought back tears.
80
* * *
Tara woke up with a start, not sure where she was or why she hurt so bad. She saw the cage and it all came back. She’d slept for several hours. It was early in the evening; the sun sat low in the western sky and the temperature had dropped ten degrees. Clint and Mikey woke her as they returned to camp following a hunt. Mikey stood over a makeshift table, cleaning a furry animal and Clint emptied bottled water into a large cook pot sitting on a grate over a sizzling fire.
Something Fu Manchu said stuck in Tara's brain. We are waiting for my partner to get here.
She estimated she had been unconscious for five or six hours after he clubbed her with the rifle butt. They stopped traveling while she was out and hadn't moved since. And she was within two miles of her camp when they abducted her.
The quarry couldn’t be more than a day’s walk away.
And the river — the river that flowed 250 yards from the quarry's front gate — ran on the other side of the cow pasture sitting next to where they made camp.
Clint left her hands and feet untied after he cut her binds that first day. After all, she thought bitterly, he can't rape someone with their feet tied together. The only things keeping her from escaping were the rope around her waist and her own broken will.
She turned her back to the camp and ran her hands over the rope. She tried biting through it, but it was an inch of yellow nylon strands weaved together. It would take her a year to bite through it.
She ran her fingers along the thick steel wire of her cage, looking for a sharp edge or protrusion. When that failed, she pushed and poked at the surface of her tree, hoping for a piece of bark she might put an edge to.
Clint spoke from behind her. "Whatcha doin’ there?"
She jerked and spun around, knowing it looked guilty as hell but unable to stop herself. "Nothing."
He gave her a knowing smile. "Uh-huh." He unlatched the door and stepped inside, closing it with a loud clang. He leered at her and unbuckled his belt, then removed it.
Tara crouched as far away as her rope would let her. "Clint, I swear I was just looking at the tree." She hated the pleading and desperate tone in her voice but she couldn’t keep it out.
He held his belt loosely in his left hand, calm and collected as could be. “Why hell, bitch. You should know by now- you want to look at something big and hard, you just holler for me."
81
* * *
She laid on her back in the dirt and looked up at the night stars. She held her ripped and torn shirt in place over her bruised breasts with one hand and her jeans over her crotch with the other. Her ankles were crossed and sticky fluid ran down the insides of her thighs. Experience told her it was blood mixed with semen.
Ribbons of blood dried on her lips and chin from when Clint punched her in the nose and her wrists ached where he held them, pinning her to the ground. It felt as if dozens of wasps had stung her lower back and butt cheeks; welts left by his belt were turning into bruises as she laid there.
Clint kneeled next to her, tying a boot and wearing a smug smile.
She didn't look at him when she spoke. "I'm going to kill you."
He froze, and even in the dark, she could feel his stare. "What did you say?"
"You heard me, you dumbass hillbilly piece of shit. What do you guys think, that you grabbed me in a vacuum? You peanut-dicked sister-fucker. My friends are looking for me right now. One of them was the best tracker in the state of Kansas, and he will find me, you cum-guzzling backwoods inbred redneck. And when he does, I'm going to kill you."
Clint gaped at her in wonder.
She sat up and met his gaze. "Go ahead, cock-gobbler. What are you going to do? Call me a bitch? Beat me? Rape me?"
The moonlight reflected off his bared teeth. "You know what, Missy? To hell with the ‘no permanent damage’ rule.†He waded in with a guttural roar.
82
* * *
A full twenty-four hours elapsed before Danny realized Tara wasn't in the quarry.
After their morning argument, he rode with Will to work the fields. He fumed all day, getting madder and madder as it wore on. All I did was try to show her I cared by watching out for, and I get called a sexist for that, he thought.
When he didn't see her during supper he paid it no mind. No doubt she was off pouting somewhere, playing the drama queen. Their apartments were near one another, but not side-by-side. When she hadn't appeared by the time folks started retiring for the night he grew uneasy, but steeled himself and refused to go look for her. That's just what she wants, me worrying and running around looking for her.
The next morning, after a mostly sleepless night, he knocked on the door to her living quarters prepared to apologize and accept whatever butt-chewing she had from. Alarm bells sounded in his head when she didn't answer after several knocks. Her apartment was like everyone else's- tiny, with eight-foot-high walls and no ceiling. She was either still angry at him, which was bad; not answering because she was sick, which was worse; or not home, a possibility so terrible it thinking about it made his heart race and his stomach churn.
He gave up, opened the door, and looked inside. She wasn't there, and her bed — a sleeping bag and blanket atop a rectangular wooden platform — was unslept in. That doesn't mean she didn't come back, he told himself. Fighting a rising panic, he checked at the guard shack and in the truck she liked to drive, and even stuck his head in The Original's tunnel and asked Jody if she was down there for some reason.
He hustled back to his tunnel. Everyone stopped what they are doing and eyed him as he walked in. The fact that Tara was missing flew from one tunnel-dweller to the next like wildfire and was the only subject of conversation that morning.
The Crandalls were putting the finishing touches on a breakfast of salted pork and pop tarts. Coy sat with them, apparently back early from the day's hunt.
Danny took a seat next to Becky. "Tara took a walk and didn't make it back yesterday," he blurted, looking at Will. Becky wore her concern on her face and rubbed his shoulder. "That's what we've heard," she said. Coy grimaced and found a sudden interest in the floor under his shoes. Will chewed his pop tart and gave Danny a sympathetic smile.
Danny jumped his feet. "Well, I'm going to fin
d her."
Will sighed, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and rose as well. "Come here," he said as he walked toward the tunnel entrance.
Danny strode after him. Becky and Coy exchanged a glance, then followed.
The two men stood side-by-side at the entrance. Will gazed out at the quarry bottom. Danny eyed Will.
Will kicked a rock across the concrete floor. "You know I prefer to talk about things like this in private. Now, everybody in there knows we are out here having this discussion.
Becky and Coy arrived as Danny shrugged his shoulders.
Will faced him. "You also know we have a firm policy about this. I can't let you go, Danny."
Danny's chuckle was without mirth. "Let me?"
Becky implored Will with her eyes. "Will, come on. It's Tara."
"Dammit," Will mumbled. He looked at Danny. "Yes, let you; if that's what it comes to." He turned to Becky. "I know damn well who we’re talking about, dear." Back to Danny. "It wasn't six months ago that I threatened to shoot a man because he wouldn't let up about sending out a search party. And you were one of the guys missing." He fixed his gaze on Becky once again. "And less than a month ago you and me damn near split up because I wouldn't send people out to find our own son." He spread his arms out wide. "I think my feelings on the subject are pretty clear."
Danny drew a deep breath and gave Will a level look. "I will go get her, Will. I'll fight you over it if you make me. I probably won't win, but you'll have to kill me to keep me from going. And I don't think you'll do that."
Will spit and glared at Danny. Danger danced in his eyes. "So that's it? This is where you draw the line?"
"There ain't no line, Boss. I’m getting a few guys and going to find Tara, that's all."
Coy listened to the conversation, his eyes going back and forth as they spoke and his mouth set in a grim line. He took a step and stood beside Danny. "And I'm going with him."
Will looked his son up and down without a word, shook his head, and walked back inside.
Danny clapped him on the back. "How quick can you be ready to go?"
"As long as it takes to grab my rifle and a handful of magazines."
"You don't need anything special for tracking?"
"Just my dog."
Danny gave him a nod. "Grab Jobe while you're in there. He owes me a favor, so tell him Danny said it's time to pay up."
He turned to walk outside and see what trucks were available and ran smack into Willa, who had been pacing back and forth behind him.
She wore an angry expression and puffed on a cigarette like it was the last one she would ever see. "You'll need a woman along when you find her."
Danny nodded. "Run back in and get whatever you need. We are driving out of here in five minutes."
83
* * *
Coy had been gone close to an hour. Willa smoked and kept a discreet eye on Danny, who grew more impatient the longer they waited. Coy left Sally behind as well, and the golden retriever wasn't faring much better judging by the way she alternated between pacing around sniffing the ground and staring at the path her owner had taken and whining.
The search had been a slow-moving, mind-numbing slog. Coy and the dog had left the quarry on foot, followed by two trucks. Danny drove one truck with Willa in the passenger seat; Jobe and a homely young man named Chip were in the other. Chip was a sallow-faced computer programmer with mottled skin and a receding hairline. He was a hell of a shot with an M4, though, which was no doubt why Danny invited him along.
The role of the truck passengers was to wait. Wait for Sally to find Tara's trail, wait while she and Coy followed it, and wait for them to regain the trail after they lost it. They idled motionless until the pair was a hundred yards ahead, crawled forward until they caught up with them, and waited for them to get out ahead again.
Coy spent an hour at the intersection at the edge of town, inspecting every inch of the pavement for twenty yards in each direction before walking up to Danny as he sat behind the wheel of the three-quarter-ton Ford. "Can you think of any reason she would've turned left here?"
Danny considered it for a long moment, then shook his head.
That's what Sally says she did."
Coy smacked the truck's door twice and rambled off, his eyes on the road in front of him.
Willa sniffed. "I don't see how he can track somebody on concrete."
Danny pointed at his friend. "That kid could track a mosquito in a hurricane. He could track a fish swimming in the Pacific. Right now, he and the dog are working together. She follows the scent across the pavement and Coy looks for physical signs on the road and along the sides.â€
“What sort of signs?â€
Danny waved his arms expansively. “It could be anything. A dried-up spot where a guy spit out chew, a piece of gum, pocket lint. He looks for footprints on the shoulder and scuff marks on the pavement. There’s a whole art to it. That’s why it’s so slow. Coy looks at every square inch of pavement and shoulder. The dog tracks the scent; Coy verifies the dog and looks for clues.†He blew out a breath and rested against the steering wheel with a morose look on his face. “I don’t have the patience for it.â€
Willa smoked and wished she’d brought a book. Normally, time spent with Danny meant jokes, stories, and tales of past exploits. But on this trip he was tight-lipped and noncommittal, keeping his eye on Coy's back and saying little. She thumbed through the truck's glovebox, finding nothing but miscellaneous paperwork and the owner's manual for a 2013 Ford F-250. She perused that for a few minutes before replacing it with a sigh.
The only breaks in the monotony were the creepers that came crashing out of the fields or trudging up the road. When that happened, she, Chip, and Jobe alternated exiting the truck and putting them down. Danny, not wanting to take his eyes off Coy for a moment, didn’t take part.
They had traveled a mile after their left-hand turn and dusk was approaching when Coy motioned at them with excitement. Danny goosed the gas pedal, stopped a few yards away from him, and jumped out.
Coy drew a big circle with his boot heel. "Somebody grabbed her right here."
Even Willa's inexperienced eyes could see something happened at that spot. Drops of blood had dried on the asphalt and a handful of tampons were scattered along both shoulders.
Daddy did a double take and gaped at Coy. “Grabbed her? Creepers didn’t get her?â€
“Not at this spot. There’s no sign of the dead, and they leave signs Hellen Keller could track. I picked up on tracks back at that intersection that don’t belong to Tara. They converge with hers right here.â€
Danny ran his hand back and forth through his hair. “I don’t get it. Why would anybody want to take Tara?†Nobody answered, or looked him in the eye. The answer to his own question sunk in; his face fell and his shoulders drooped. He closed his eyes and held a shaking hand to his cheek.
Willa’s heart hurt for Danny as she observed his distraught expression and she turned on Coy. “How can you say for sure somebody took her? It's clear something happened here, but isn't it quite a jump to assume somebody grabbed her?"
If he took offense to her question he didn't show it. "I can say for sure because up to here the tracks belong to Tara. Beyond this point, they belong to Tara, three other people, and a pony."
“How do you know it's a pony? As opposed to a horse?"
He grasped her arm and guided her to a series horseshoe-shaped indentations in the dirt on the shoulder. "The size of the shoe and the depth of the print tell me it's a pony, or maybe a mule. A grown horse would leave a bigger, deeper print." He walked back over to Danny, who was squatted down and eyeing the dried blood. "It's dusk. Soon, I won’t be able to see Sally and keep her on the scent. I suggest we bed down here. I'll take the first watch."
Danny decreed that they not build a fire in case Tara's abductors were close enough to
see it in the night and get spooked. Supper for Willa that night consisted of cold tuna out of the can and a couple of spoonfuls of peanut butter. It was early spring, and the nights were still nippy. With no fire to keep them warm, they lined their sleeping bags in a row and slept close to one another to share body heat.
After a few fitful hours of sleep, Willa took her turn keeping watch. It seemed like she had just gotten back to sleep after her shift when Danny shook her awake.
"It’s almost dawn. Get ready and get some food in you, so we can hit the road."
Day two was more of the same. By noon, they’d made two miles. Willa had two cigarettes and a dab of peanut butter left; she was tired, hungry, and needed a smoke the way a hungry baby needs a bottle. She thought of all the times Tara was kind to her and how easily they became friends, and those thoughts kept her going.
Coy got excited again at a little past one. "They cut off through that field." He pointed to a spot ahead of the trucks.
They huddled and Coy laid out the plan. He would go into the field alone for maximum quiet and stealth. He'd track for an hour. In the event he found Tara, he would grab her if he could. If he couldn't he would return and they’d plan an assault. If the hour passed and he found nothing he’d return and they would reassess.
Willa was the first to spot him returning alone, moving fast and staying low. They gathered in a clump and waited.
Coy jumped the ditch and gave Danny a thumbs-up. "I found her," he said, breathing hard. He accepted a bottle of water from Jobe and took a big drink. "Three guys have her. And these dudes aren't Special Forces, either. They don't have a guard up, they aren’t watching their perimeter; I think two of them are half drunk."
That was enough for Danny. "All right, let's go get her."
Coy waved him off. "Hold up, Dan. That's not all. While I watched, another dude walked in with three more women strung up behind him. So that's four guys and four victims. There's this great little rise about seventy yards from their camp. We can set up behind it and get off six or seven shots each before they even know where the bullets are coming from. It'll be a turkey shoot."
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