Jake helped him to his feet. “We did it,” he said. “We’re almost there, T.J.”
The lightning struck again, illuminating T.J.’s face a brilliant blue. When it faded the color did not return to his face. He had gone pale.
The voice came from behind, and it made the hairs on Jake’s neck stand as straight as the lightning had.
“I hope you boys had a nice hike, because I guarantee you it will be your last,” Atkins said.
TWENTY-SIX
ELDORADO NATIONAL FOREST
SIERRA NEVADA MOUNTAINS
Tom Molia pulled out the map and considered it in between sips of water. Soaked through, his clothes felt weighted. The rims of their floppy hats sagged like wilted flowers. They’d found cover beneath the branches of two trees, enough at least to consider the map and the compass that unscrewed from the bottom of the handle of the knife.
“Are we still going in the right direction?” Sloane asked, looking over Molia’s shoulder.
“I sure as hell hope so,” Molia said.
“You hope so?”
“We are. We are,” he said. “But we got a couple more miles to cover.” He showed Sloane the route on the map. “When we came up the mountain with Barnes we took this route. We’re heading perpendicular to that now and should intersect it about here, above the drop-off location. It should afford us a good view to determine if anyone beats us there.”
“Then let’s get moving,” Sloane said.
Atkins grabbed Jake by the throat and shoved him against the trunk of a pine. “You’ve caused me problems for the last time.”
The two Mexicans stood to the side, looking exhausted. The guard Jake and T.J. had tricked had blood down the front of his water-soaked shirt, a split lip, and an open wound at the tip of his nose.
A second man leveled a gun at Atkins’s head. “Let it go, Atkins. You heard Sheriff Barnes; we get them back to Fresh Start.” Atkins shot the man a look, enraged. “What happens to them there is your concern. But it’s like Barnes said, we can’t afford to have more people searching for anymore bodies up here, and I’m not carrying them back down the mountain. So chill out and let’s get moving.”
Jake looked to T.J., an unspoken thought passing between them. They think they’re dead. They think our dads are dead.
Atkins loosened his grip, but leaned in close. “I’m going to feed you to Big Baby,” he said.
He spun Jake around, pulled his arms behind his back, and secured his wrists with a zip tie so tight the edge of the plastic cut into Jake’s flesh. He secured T.J.’s wrists in a similar fashion, shoving them from behind. “Move.”
They kept a blistering pace, despite the rain, which eventually eased to a drizzle, the clouds giving way to pockets of blue sky. Jake and T.J. stumbled ahead. If they fell Atkins kicked at them or hit them with the butt of a rifle. T.J. got up each time, no doubt thinking, as Jake was, that Sloane or Molia would materialize from around a tree at any moment. But the longer they pushed on, the more Jake realized they were not heading east to where the bus had dropped them off, the direction their fathers had taken. They were heading due south, down the mountain. That meant Atkins was hiking them directly back to Fresh Start, as he and Overbay had done the first day, when they took Jake hunting.
Molia knelt. They were looking down over the horseshoe cul-de-sac at the end of the dirt road. The Suburban was gone. He scanned to the edge of the trail, looking between the swaying branches and shimmering pine needles and saw something red. Upon closer examination he saw the faces of two boys. They sat with their hands tied behind their backs. Neither was Jake or T.J. The second guard, Barnes had called him “Bradley,” stood watching them. Two horses and a donkey had been tied to the trees.
“They’re not here,” Molia whispered. “But the others are.”
“Could mean they haven’t found Jake and T.J. yet,” Sloane said.
“Or they have and haven’t arrived yet.”
Molia pulled out the map. “Fresh Start isn’t far from here. They could have decided to take them directly there instead.”
“What do we do now? Should we wait. See if they arrive?”
“Can’t wait.” Molia pointed. Far down the hill Sloane spotted a glint of yellow, the Fresh Start bus ascending the hill.
“I’m open to ideas,” Sloan said.
Molia turned to Sloane then looked back to the bus. “How well do you know your Greek mythology?”
Half an hour later, Jake looked down at the rectangular plot of dirt and the metal roofs of the buildings reflecting the light of the reemerging sun. Fresh Start. He didn’t get much time to admire the view. Atkins shoved him, and they continued down the mountain, every step one step closer to the inevitable confrontation with Big Baby.
They approached Fresh Start’s back fence. The gate pulled apart, and Atkins and the man in camouflage escorted them and the two Mexicans inside. The other inmates working in the field and the garden stopped and stared, as if uncertain what they were witnessing. Atkins marched Jake and T.J. past the dormitories and the mess hall directly to the Administration Building. Inside he instructed the civilian at the front desk to open the Plexiglas safety door. Captain Overbay met the party in the lobby with three other men Jake had never seen.
Overbay stepped forward, inches from Jake, his breath acidic and sour. “Some who come here, simply can’t be helped,” he said. “It is an unfortunate reality of our society that some are incorrigible. They cannot follow rules. They cannot live by rules. It is innate in their nature to break the rules, to break the law. They are beyond redemption. They are beyond rehabilitation. They are beyond saving.”
“If this is being saved, you can shove it up your ass,” Jake said.
Overbay raised a hand to strike him but one of the men grabbed it. “They’re not to be touched,” he said. “Put them in the holding cell and keep them in isolation. Nothing happens to them until we get the rest of this sorted out.” Then the man motioned to the others and they departed, taking the Mexican guards with them.
Atkins stepped closer. “Oh, we’ll get this sorted out, Stand-up. You bet your ass we will.”
Molia came down the hill behind where the guard stood watching the road, no doubt for the approaching bus. Sloane waited in the brush near the trailhead. They didn’t have much time. When Molia was in position, Sloane stood and Bradley took notice. He reached for his weapon at the same time Molia steppe up behind him and pressed the gun Wade left in the backpack behind the guard’s ear.
“Don’t,” Molia said. “Take your hand away from the gun.” Bradley complied.
Molia disarmed him and ordered him to kneel with his fingers laced, hands behind his head.
Sloane cut the ties binding the two kids’ wrists. The black kid moved quickly to the horses. “They keep the zip ties in the saddle,” he said, returning with a handful. Molia took one, bound Bradley’s hands behind his back, then dragged him back into the brush.
“Where are Jake and T.J., do you know?” Sloane asked.
“They’re taking them back to Fresh Start,” the black kid said. “Big Baby is going to kill them.”
Sloane felt his pulse quicken. “Who’s Big Baby, one of the guards?”
“He’s worse than a guard. He’s an inmate. He’s a certified psychopath.”
Sloane heard the whine of the bus engine. “Okay, time for a little acting, boys. Sit down and put your hands behind your backs.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
FRESH START YOUTH TRAINING FACILITY
SIERRA NEVADA MOUNTAINS
Atkins locked Jake and T.J. in separate isolation cells.
He would abide by Sheriff Barnes’s edict; he’d leave them be until the problem with the two fathers blew over, but once it did, Atkins would hand them over to Big Baby to play with until he tired and killed them. When he did, they’d ship his ass off to Pelican Bay or some other hellhole to live out the rest of his life.
Atkins returned to the guard locker room, which included a
break room with a television, two leather couches, Ping Pong table, and kitchen. He was alone. He set the AR-15 rifle in the corner and sat on one of the couches still trying to decompress. His arms were scraped and scratched, his clothes still damp from the afternoon thunderstorm. He’d shower and change as soon as he calmed down.
The radio in the room that monitored all of the individual guards’ radios crackled. Atkins recognized the voice of the guard at the front gate. “This is the front gate, over.”
“This is transport inbound with two prisoners. Approaching front gate. Over.”
That would be Bradley, bringing in Bee Dee and Henry. Atkins hadn’t yet decided what to do with the two of them, but he envisioned each on the obstacle course. “Ten-four. Gate will be open. Over.”
He stood to meet the bus but the radio crackled again, this time a different voice, heavily accented.
“Hey, this is De la Cruz.”
Atkins shook his head. No matter how many times he told the fucking Mexican, he still didn’t understand the concept of saying “over” to signal he had finished speaking.
The civilian at the front desk responded. “This is base, over.”
“I come to get the horses, but they no here.”
A pause ensued, no doubt the civilian waiting for Cruz to say “over.” When he didn’t, the man said, “Repeat De la Cruz. Over.”
“I say, I come to get the horses, but they no horses here. No one here.”
Another pause. Atkins picked up the receiver in the break room and broke into the conversation. “De la Cruz, this is Atkins. What do you mean, ‘no one there’? Over.”
De la Cruz’s voice became more animated. “I mean no one here, man. They all gone. The mule, she come back when she hear the truck, but the horses I no find. And no peoples either. Just the mule.”
Atkins thought of the inbound bus. “Hang on.” He switched frequencies. “This is base, over.”
“This is the front gate, over.”
“Do not…” Atkins let his voice trail.
The guard at the front gate said, “Base I lost you. Did not hear transmission. Over.”
“Nothing. Never mind. This is base, out.”
He changed frequencies again. “De la Cruz?”
“Yeah this still De la Cruz.”
“Find the horses,” he said. He set down the receiver, retrieved the rifle from the corner, checked the magazine, and pulled open the door to greet the bus.
The guard at the front gate looked up at the sound of the approaching bus, gears grinding, engine revving. The radio inside the bus crackled.
“This is the front gate. Over.”
“This is transport inbound with two prisoners. Approaching front gate. Over.”
“Gate will be open. Over.”
Sloane sat behind the wheel, Bee Dee kneeling at his side, speaking into the radio. Bee Dee dropped to his stomach as the gate swung inward. As Sloane drove past, he raised his left hand in mock salute to further shade his face. Not that it mattered. The guard in the booth paid little attention, giving a perfunctory wave.
“Drive to the side of the Administration Building,” Bee Dee instructed. “It’s the first one, right there. Park with the sun at our backs. It’s wicked this time of day.” With that Bee Dee got off the floor and sat in the second seat, in case anyone watched their approach. They’d expect him to be seated, hands cuffed to the bar across the seat. Henry sat across the aisle, hands also propped up on the bar. The guard, Bradley, and the bus driver lay in their underwear, shackled to the floor at the back of the bus, Molia’s Trojan horse. It had been their best chance to get inside Fresh Start. They weren’t leaving without Jake and T.J.
After surprising the bus driver, Molia took his and Bradley’s uniforms. He cut up one of their T-shirts to gag them. Then he slipped the black hoods intended for the boys over their heads and zip tied them to the floor.
“Where is everyone?” Sloane asked, looking out the bus window at the barren yard.
“Lockdown,” Bee Dee said. “They’ve locked everyone in the dorms. That means Jake and T.J. are back.”
“Tell me about the guards again,” Molia said.
“One to each dorm. Those three buildings over there. One at the front gate. That leaves Atkins and the captain,” Bee Dee said. He looked out the window. “Shit, that’s him. That’s Atkins.”
“I thought you said they don’t carry guns,” Molia said. “That’s an automatic rifle.”
“Something’s wrong,” Bee Dee said. “Atkins knows.”
“Maybe it’s just because of the lockdown,” Molia suggested.
Bee Dee shook his head. “The guards never carry guns unless they’re outside the perimeter.” He looked and sounded worried. “Something’s not right. Atkins knows something.”
“How?” Sloane asked.
“I don’t know, but he knows.”
Atkins watched the bus slow at the gate, turn, and enter the compound. The afternoon sun, low in the sky and radiant after the rain, reflected sharply behind the bus. Atkins raised his hand to deflect the glare, but even with sunglasses he could not completely shield the shimmering light. He stepped to the side to see at an angle, but it only partially deflected the glare and he could not see inside the windshield. Everything appeared as it should.
Except for the horses.
Bradley would not have left the horses and mule unattended. He would have waited for De la Cruz. At the very least he would have tied them securely to prevent their running off. Horses were pack animals, and the ones at Fresh Start knew when they were returning to their stable and what awaited them. They always stepped a bit quicker on the trail down the mountain, trained to expect fresh hay and a bucket of oats in the trailer on the drive back to the stables. So even if the horses had gotten loose somehow, they would not have wandered far, and they would have come back, as the mule had, at the distinct sound of the diesel truck’s engine.
Something wasn’t right.
The bus door opened. Atkins couldn’t be certain who stepped off first. It could have been Babcock, who had signed out as the bus driver, but he turned his back, facing the bus door. Atkins lowered his right hand to the stock of the rifle as Bee Dee stepped down off the bus, belly belt in place, hands cuffed. Henry followed. Bradley stepped down last. At least he looked to be the right size, similar build. But he had his head turned watching the inmates and Atkins couldn’t be certain.
Bee Dee and Henry shuffled forward, directly toward him.
“How’d it go?” Atkins called out, seeking to engage. “Any problems?”
The guard in the back waved a dismissive hand. As he did, the chain fell from Henry’s hand and he stumbled over it, falling to the ground. He wasn’t cuffed.
Atkins swung the rifle up. “Freeze! Freeze!”
The line halted. Atkins stepped forward, cautious, gun under his chin, locked and loaded. He aimed at the man at the front of the line. He wore a guard’s uniform but now, closer, without the sun blinding him, Atkins could see that the man was older. Heavier through the chest. “Drop your weapon. Now.”
The man dropped the weapon and raised his head. “Take it easy.”
“Son of a bitch,” Atkins said, momentarily stunned. He recovered and used the gun to motion the detective to the side. “You, in the back, step up, slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Sloane stepped forward, hands raised.
Atkins shook his head, disbelieving. “I’ll be God damned.” Then, as if struck by a thought, he said, “Wade.”
He stepped back, gun still aimed, and motioned for Molia and Sloane to cross in front of him. When they did, he turned his head, disregarding Bee Dee and Henry.
The kick was both sudden and violent.
Overbay kept an intercom on his desk to monitor the transmissions throughout the day. At the moment he was listening to the chatter between the bus driver and Atkins, as well as the transmission with De la Cruz. Something was amiss. He heard it in Atkins’s voic
e.
He unlocked the top drawer of his oak desk, removed his master set of keys, and started from his office, stopping to consider the locked gun safe. He opened the safe and chose his hunting rifle. Halfway down the hall he peered through the wire-reinforced windows into the isolation cells. Jake paced in his cell, like an animal in a cage at the zoo. T.J. sat on the edge of the metal framed bed bolted to the wall, head in his hand, his gaze directed at the floor. Overbay would deal with them in due course. Continuing down the hall he pushed open the Plexiglas door, then stepped out the heavy metal exterior door. He stopped when he saw Atkins aiming an automatic weapon at two men. Atkins motioned the two men forward, turning to follow as they complied.
That’s when Bee Dee sprang.
A blur of red, so fast Overbay almost couldn’t process what he was witnessing, Bee Dee struck with a vicious kick. Atkins’s leg crumpled and he dropped with an anguished cry of pain. Just as quickly, one of the men relieved him of his rifle, swinging the butt and striking Atkins hard under the chin.
Overbay raised his rifle but as he did a shadow crossed the ground. He looked up expecting it to be one of his guards. Big Baby had stepped from the foliage onto the path.
“What are you doing out of your dorm? There is a lockdown in effect. Return immediately.”
Big Baby shook his head, smiling his queer smile.
“You listen to me, Clarence. If you want things to continue as they are, you will get back to your—”
The hand gripped Overbay about the throat with such force it buckled his knees. Big Baby relieved him of his rifle, tossing it in the bushes. “I don’t like to be called Clarence,” he said.
He applied greater pressure, choking and dragging Overbay farther off the path. Black and white spots blurred Overbay’s vision. When the pressure eased Overbay collapsed to his knees, gasping and choking.
“You listen to me,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “As of this moment your privileges have been revoked. If you don’t return immediately to your dorm I will see that you are shipped out of here to—”
The Conviction Page 33