The bullet hit so fast it ripped a chunk of hair from her head.
She didn’t take time to absorb the shock but leaped to the opposite side of the trunk and aimed in the direction of the shooter and pulled the trigger.
A low-voiced furious curse.
She zeroed in and shot again.
A scream, long and loud and vicious. High-pitched. A pause. More screams, longer and louder.
Okay. Okay. Two shooters dealt with. It didn’t even the odds, but it helped.
Kellen leaned her back against the tree trunk. She had to raise her voice above the shrieks. “Rae!”
Rae lifted her head. “Mommy?” She sounded calm, but her eyes were dark; the pupil almost swallowed the iris.
“I need you to help me stop the bleeding.” Kellen scooted toward her. “Get one of my socks out of the side pocket of the backpack.”
Rae wrestled with the zipper and found a sock.
“And something to use as a pad to absorb the blood.” What? Kellen needed to figure that out. Rae couldn’t—
Rae extracted the small remaining square of her blankie.
Kellen was surprised at the depth of her own shock. “Not that! That’s your blankie!”
“Mommy. I know what it is.” Rae’s voice trembled. “Now what do I do?” She took Kellen’s wrist and carefully pulled the arm toward her. She was still weeping, leaking tears, but she was ready to help.
Kellen almost choked on some emotion she didn’t understand. But she couldn’t cry, too. She was the adult. No, more than that, she was the mother. Rae looked to her to be strong. “Press the pad on the bleeding part.”
Rae gingerly placed it. “Does it hurt?”
“You bet. When we get to safety, I’ll blubber really loud.” Kellen wanted to urge her to hurry, but she couldn’t. Not when Rae was already trembling in fear. “Now tie the sock around the pad.”
Rae didn’t know how to wrap it, so Kellen showed her, held one side as Rae clumsily wrapped the first stage of a square knot, then helped her tighten it down.
Kellen touched Rae’s cheek. “Thank you. That’s perfect. It feels much better.”
“I’m glad.” Rae’s little hands were balled into fists. “Mommy, I don’t like the screaming.”
“Better him than us.” Callous and probably not what a good mother would say.
But Rae said, “Yes, and the other bad guys can’t hear us while he screams.”
Kellen looked at her daughter. Pine needles tangled in Rae’s blond hair. She had dirt smeared on her face and packed under her fingernails. The sparkle and charm of her pink clothes was lost beneath the forest’s grime. Despite Kellen’s diligence, Rae’s cheeks had lost their plump roundness and her eyes were too big in her face. Most of all, she now knew things no seven-year-old should know, like a wounded man’s screaming can be used as a concealment.
As Kellen stared, Rae’s features rearranged themselves, became that of a brown-skinned girl with big eyes too sad for her young face.
The Afghan mountains. A burned-out house. A melted coil of metal. The stench of desperation and death.
“Mommy.” The child was Rae again. “It’s getting dark.”
“Yes.” Fog was slipping its pale fingers down the mountain, into the gulleys, coming to rescue them. If they could hold out long enough for it to get here, they had a chance of making it up the mountain. “Good. Here. Put on my hoodie.” Kellen pulled it off and wrapped Rae in it, rolled up the sleeves and zipped it up.
“It’s long!” Rae stuck out first one foot, then the other.
“It’ll keep you warm.” More important, the camouflage would conceal her from watching eyes.
Rae peeked around the tree. “There’s smoke!”
Kellen smiled with evil delight. “Your tablet.”
“Uh-oh. Daddy’s going to yell.”
Kellen gave a spurt of startled laughter. “About so much.”
The pile of branches smoldered.
Rae’s short legs couldn’t run fast enough; Kellen would have to carry her. Everything else had to stay. Everything.
That was it, then. The Triple Goddess was the sacrifice for Rae’s life. If Rae wasn’t along, if it was only Kellen, she’d figure out somehow to save that head. But just as these days had changed Rae, they had changed Kellen, too. She knew why, but she didn’t want to think it, to speak it.
The Triple Goddess would be the ultimate diversion.
The smoldering branches caught and blazed.
A shot came from above, scattering burning branches.
Below them, a man shouted, “McDonald, no!”
But now Kellen knew the shots had come from about halfway up one of the sandstone cliffs. She also had a fair idea of the guy below, his location and his position in the gang. He was the boss. She had wounded two of his men. McDonald and the boss were left.
If Kellen and Rae were going to make it up the mountain, she needed to eliminate the sniper above. He had shot at her diversion, so he was trigger-happy and maybe nervous. Good news. She peered through the brush and waited.
Rae watched her. “Mommy?”
Kellen cut the tie that held the head to her backpack. “One more down and we can make a run for it. Get the ball of yarn out of my backpack. We’re leaving everything else behind.”
“B-but...the Triple Goddess.” Rae’s voice got squeaky. “She’s our talisman.”
“The Triple Goddess has cared for herself for three thousand years. She can do it a little longer. In fact, she’s going to help us.” Ignoring the ancient staring eyes, Kellen picked up that head with her good hand, held it aloft and shouted at the man below. “The head is what you want. I’m leaving it. Look!” Keeping her own head down, she placed the Triple Goddess on the stone to the west. “It’s yours. I don’t know who you are. I can’t identify you. You’re safe, so take it!”
No shots. No answer.
“Now get the yarn.” Kellen spoke calmly, clearly, although her vision wavered. Blood loss and pain were compromising her abilities “I promised to crochet your blankie.”
Rae dived for the backpack.
“Dump it out,” Kellen instructed, “and take the yarn.”
Rae did as she was told and the whole time watched Kellen anxiously, which told Kellen how bad she must look.
Had any of the shooters seen Rae? Would the thieves let them go? Kellen had seen too much of war; she had little faith in the decency of mercenaries.
“That fog is almost here.” Rae pointed at the damp white spreading out like a delta from the shallow canyon of the path.
“Be ready to climb on my back.” Kellen got into a crouch, almost fell over, steadied herself with a hand on the rock. She spotted movement on the cliff; with her shouting and holding the head aloft, McDonald had figured out where they were and scooted into a precarious position, twenty feet up on a rocky shelf. “Stay down. Plug your ears,” she said, aimed and fired seven shots, fast and loud. Then nothing. She’d emptied her magazine.
Worse, her wavering vision had betrayed her; she missed McDonald, hitting below him, sending up a cloud of sand.
McDonald’s rifle steadied. He leaned out—and her luck changed for the better. The sandstone shelf disintegrated, gave way. The rifle fell first, a Barrett M98B with a scope. It clattered as it tumbled, and fearing an accidental discharge, Kellen threw herself over the top of Rae’s body. When no shots followed, she peered around and saw McDonald scrambling for a toehold.
The sand kept giving way. Like a skier taking a fall, McDonald fell, twenty feet down and onto the sandy slope below. He landed on his chest. The air left his body with an audible, “Oof!” He rolled, all arms and legs and ominous silence.
Probably not dead, but at least unconscious.
“Come on!” Kellen said.
Rae climbed onto her back.
<
br /> Kellen leaned down and ran into the fog, doing her best to keep a low profile. She didn’t believe that the boss meant to let them go.
But would the goddess head occupy him long enough for them to escape?
Or would he come after them and go back for the goddess head? A single well-placed rifle shot, a through and through with a powerful rifle, would kill them both.
What if he pursued them? Kellen was moving as fast as she could, but she was exhausted, bloodied, in pain from her hip, carrying a thin little girl who should weigh nothing to her—but she did.
The stony path narrowed and narrowed, nothing more than a canyon between two cliffs. The fog came in patches, pale wisps and blank cool white walls. Far above and to the west, the sun still shone, and Kellen was grateful; as she ran, she could see where to put her feet. And she was terrified; if someone was following, maybe they could see her. She strained to listen for footsteps—or worse.
Then it came. The crack of a rifle.
Kellen fell to the ground and rolled to put Rae beneath her. She couldn’t protect her from a bullet fired from a high-powered rifle, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try.
“Mommy?” Rae whispered. “Ow.”
Kellen lifted herself to give Rae some breathing room. She looked behind them but could see nothing but swirling white fog. She strained to listen, but could hear no sound of pursuit. “Climb on my back,” she said to Rae. “We have to hurry.”
When Rae was in position, Kellen found she couldn’t get off her knees. She couldn’t stand, not with Rae’s weight on her back. She let Rae slide to her feet. “Mommy’s kind of tired, so let’s see if we can find a rock for you to use like a mounting block.”
“Like a pony?”
“Exactly. I’m your own personal pony.” Yet even without Rae on her back, Kellen couldn’t stand. Exhaustion, hunger, too much exertion, the altitude and maybe something much, much worse...
She got up on her hands and knees and waited for the earth to stop spinning. Ick, she’d put her left hand in a brownish pool of... “Oh, no.” Her blood had soaked the pad and was dribbling through her fingers. She’d left a handprint...
“Mommy?” Not during this whole ordeal had Rae sounded as frightened as she did now. “Are you bleeding?”
Kellen looked up at her daughter.
Rae wavered in the fog.
No, she wasn’t wavering. Kellen was losing consciousness. “Listen to me. You have to go on by yourself.”
“I can’t!” Rae wailed.
“You can. You’re LightningBug. You’re brave and strong. Follow the path. You’ll get to the lookout. Get Mr. Zone to let you in.” She hoped he would. “Stay safe inside.”
“I don’t want to leave you!” Rae tugged at Kellen’s arms.
“You have to go on by yourself.” Kellen was starting to sound like Bambi’s father. “Please, baby. I need you to go be safe.”
“I’m going to bring him back to save you!” Rae whirled and started running.
“No, don’t think that. Don’t...put pressure on yourself. Get him to let you in and—” Kellen stared into the fog.
Rae was gone.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay.” Her strength gave out. She collapsed onto her face to die.
24
“I told you no.” The man in charge looked down at McDonald, crawling with his last breath toward that stupid marble head.
McDonald looked back, his eyes wide with pain and greed, his hand reaching up toward the goddess. “Please!” His voice was hoarse and broken with pain. “It’s worth a fortune!”
The boss lifted his rifle and aimed it at McDonald’s chest. “That’s not what I’ve paid you to do.” He fired.
McDonald’s chest exploded.
More blood. Such a mess.
One mercenary dead. One to go. The body count was climbing, but by God, the woman was still alive—and she had a child with her. A child. What an unnecessary and aggravating inconvenience.
The man looked up at the fog bank, shouldered the rifle and followed Kellen and Rae into the canyon. It was easy enough to track them; someone was bleeding. Not a lot, but in this narrowed passage, he found a drop here and there, shiny against the rocks, and that led him on. Then the fog opened, and he saw her—Kellen Adams, facedown, unmoving, on the ground.
How many men, how much money had it taken to get to this point? More than he had ever expected. Who would have thought Gregory’s terrified, broken wife would put up such a fight? Even now, he didn’t trust she was dead. He took the rifle off his shoulder and walked toward her.
She didn’t stir.
Using his foot, he turned her over.
Her head lolled loosely on her neck. Blood smeared her arm and hand. But her chest rose and fell, and she moaned softly.
“Time to finish this thing,” he told her. He released the rifle’s safety and lifted the butt to his shoulder—and paused. From down the path, he heard firm footsteps. Someone large, probably a man, moving fast.
Too many complications here. Too many bodies, too much attention.
He slid into the fog and waited until the footsteps had hurried past, then turned back to finish cleaning up the mess—and the bodies.
25
So many gunshots. Too many gunshots. Max had heard too many to count, drawing him onward, feeding the ugly taste of fear in his mouth.
Then the blast of one...final...rifle shot. A sharp, ugly percussion that spelled death for...who?
Driven by terror, Max ran, bounding up the slope. A bullet had already taken Kellen from him once. Now their baby girl was involved, too.
Four hours ago, he had met the bicycle club. They’d been cautious of him; apparently he had looked desperate, unshaven and disheveled. When he pulled out his wallet and showed them all the photos he kept of Rae during all the years of her life, and the meager few photos he had of Kellen, and begged for help, Wade had given him the message Kellen had directed to Verona. They’d sent him on with information, food and good wishes. He’d been tracking Kellen and Rae ever since.
As he ran, the trees thinned. The air thinned. Lack of oxygen made him slow—and he spotted a body sprawled by the root of an upended hemlock. A man, captured by death in the throes of agony.
But that guy, whoever he was, wasn’t Kellen. He wasn’t Rae.
Max picked up speed again and found the body of another man, chest shattered by a gunshot, one waxy hand pointed the way toward the marble head perched on a rock...
Max stopped. He stopped and stared at that thing, that head that had caused all the trouble.
It stared back.
Had Kellen abandoned it, given it up to the men who would kill to claim it?
Yes. That made sense. Kellen had used it to create a diversion.
Then why was it still here?
He looked around, spotted another body tucked downhill and in the woods.
Three bodies. Had Kellen killed them all? Had someone else killed them and now waited to claim the head...after eliminating Kellen and Rae?
Max snatched up the head, stuffed it in his backpack and sped up the path into the canyon, into the fog, into the damp silence. For a man who didn’t give a damn about priceless antiquities, he sure spent a lot of time dealing with them, and this one—he would ransom it for Kellen and Rae.
As the canyon narrowed, he slowed down. Out here, every little thing enveloped by the encroaching fog took on a menacing shape. Trees were men. Branches were rifles. Rocks were bombs. And there—there was something that glistened in the pale, eerie light. He knelt, touched it lightly. His fingers came away sticky and the liquid smelled like...blood. Droplets of blood on the rocks, fresh and wet.
Who had been hit?
Max wandered back and forth, from canyon wall to canyon wall, looking for signs of Kellen and Rae’s passage, f
inding it in the occasional spatter and smear. When he got them back...when he got them back, they were never leaving again. He wasn’t letting them out of his sight. He didn’t give a damn whether Kellen needed a fulfilling job. He didn’t care if Rae wanted to go to camp or to school. He was keeping them within the property line and—What was that?
A body, unmoving, prone on the ground. A woman’s body.
“No. No, dear God, no, please.” He dropped to his knees.
Kellen. Kellen was unconscious. But she was breathing. She was alive.
She’d been shot.
He’d been here before, in Philadelphia. She’d been shot in the head. She’d gone into a coma. She’d almost died. And then...she didn’t. She’d had his baby.
He looked around. No sign of Rae. Dear God. Where was Rae?
A deeper, colder fear seized him. Had all his fears come true? Was he too late? Would he find Rae’s body now?
No. She was in the lookout. Rae had to be in the lookout.
Kellen was chilled and growing colder.
He took off his coat, wrapped Kellen in the warmth, his warmth.
She moaned as he lifted her, moved her. Her head lolled on her neck.
“I’m sorry, darling. Please, darling, stay alive while I—” He picked her up with care and haste, put her over his shoulder and sprinted toward the lookout, keeping a pace that was smooth and swift.
He heard voices coming toward him.
A man’s voice, deep and impatient.
And a little girl’s voice, fierce, insistent.
Max stumbled a little, gasping for air, gasping in relief. He’d been so afraid, but Rae was alive.
The fog parted, and coming toward him he saw a tall hairy beast and a little girl.
The little girl shrieked, “Daddy!”, ran toward him and wrapped her arms around his legs.
She was alive and well.
Max hugged her with one hand, so relieved and yet, still so afraid.
“Is Mommy okay?” Rae’s face was stained with tears. She was on the verge of crying again.
“She’s alive.” Max viewed the man before him. Skinny. Black baseball cap. Black curly beard that covered his face and his neck. Thick black-rimmed glasses. A few changes, and Max wouldn’t have been able to pick him out of a lineup. “You’re Zone?”
What Doesn't Kill Her Page 15