He glanced back at his quiet son. Asleep. Again.
A cramp rocked through him. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Dear God, he regretted the MREs he and Perry had scarfed on the ride out of Woodchuck Pass. One of them must have been spoiled. Or maybe it was the water? He groaned. The water. He’d been careful not to consume any water that hadn’t been purified. Not even when he brushed his teeth. He’d washed and rinsed the dishes with water that had been boiled. Or so he thought at the time. But had it been boiled? He had trusted Trish with the job. Last night she’d been distracted by Brandon, to put it mildly. Now that he was connecting the dots, he was sure he was developing a wicked case of giardia. But it was quick for him to be symptomatic—could it really have been just from last night?
It didn’t really matter, because—however and whenever he’d gotten it—he was sick as a dog now.
The trail grew steeper, and the ride rougher. The only sound was the creaking of leather and heavy breathing of horses. Patrick emptied the canteens one by one as he rode, and Reno ignored the little waterfall beside him. Perry wasn’t showing symptoms. Hopefully the kid wouldn’t get it, too. If they had to camp tonight, he’d boil fresh water in the pot in Duke’s saddlebags. And rinse the canteens good with the purified water before refilling them. Another cramp raked his guts. A wave of dizziness wobbled him in the saddle. He just had to ignore the pain and press on after his daughter.
And Patrick couldn’t let Perry sleep anymore. The farther back into the wilderness they rode, the more certain he was that there was no way Trish was with a teenage boy. This was no joyride. Cindy hadn’t died by natural causes. Bad people had taken his daughter. The group would have to stop for the night. He and Perry could overtake them and be in a boatload of trouble before they knew it. The mountain itself was a threat. Not only was it steep, but the horses were picking their way through sharp, wet rocks. Small boulders. It wasn’t a place to get thrown.
“You back there, Perry?” Patrick’s guts rolled, and he clutched his stomach. He repeated himself, louder. “Perry?”
The voice that answered him was weak and thick with sleep. “Yeah.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Hang in there, buddy. You’re doing great, but I need you to stay awake now. Can you do that?”
There was a long pause. He heard Perry shifting in his saddle.
“Yeah.”
“Thanks, bud.”
They rode through a stand of trees, then the trail opened onto a towering field of boulders. No, a waterfall of boulders, cascading off the top of a ridge high above them, Patrick thought. At first, he couldn’t imagine they could get through them. Then he saw the hoofprints led below and around it, then into it. The starlight now provided a little illumination, and he saw a game trail cutting switchbacks through the strewn rock. As long as there was no earthquake or some kind of shift, they would be fine, he decided. He wanted to believe the rocks were stable, but he’d seen the result of slides across the mountain roads too many times to delude himself.
They’d just have to move briskly. He nudged Reno with a knee in the direction of the hoofprints, even though the horse didn’t need to be told where to go. He knew they were following the other horses, and he occasionally stopped to sniff their droppings. But if nothing else, Patrick occasionally wanted to remind Reno that he was still on his back and in charge. Patrick heard the distinctive chirping of a yellow-bellied marmot. The rock chuck’s sounds grew louder and closer together as Reno moved forward, until it escalated into full-blown trilling. At its crescendo it was almost like a human scream. Hair rose on Patrick’s neck.
“What is that, Dad?” Perry’s voice sounded scared, but at least he was still awake.
“Just a rock chuck. He doesn’t like us invading his territory.”
“Okay.”
Patrick’s painful stomach made another series of loud noises. Mind over matter. He had to give himself something else to think about. A distraction. Something constructive, though. No wallowing in his fears of worst-case scenarios about Trish. Or about Perry. He started mentally rehearsing fighting tactics. If only he hadn’t quit the martial arts training he’d started when he was a resident looking for a way to stay in shape. In college and even medical school, he’d played on a soccer team. That schedule became impossible, and the martial arts studio had been open 24/7, which fit his unpredictable hours. He’d treated it as nothing more than a stopgap. He should have taken it seriously. But he forced his rusty memory back through fighting moves, defensive and offensive. He segued into self-defense tactics along with things he’d picked up from short stints in boxing and wrestling. When he’d exhausted his hand-to-hand combat repertoire, he visualized knife thrusts, then gun draws from all angles and directions in his head. He tried one for good measure, aiming uphill without firing.
As his eyes followed his draw, his jaw dropped. Above him, nearly camouflaged into the rocks around them, a herd of bighorn sheep was making its way onto the boulder field. An enormous ram stood in the rear of the herd of ewes and their offspring. His horns were curved into nearly a full curl. It was hard to tell from this distance, but he could be four hundred pounds or more. He pawed the ground. Then, as if cued by some silent signal, the whole herd started running through the boulders. Their leaps were death-defying, their balance and purchase on the rocks were unbelievable. Reno lifted his head, and they watched them together. The sheep stopped all at once, perching on rocks, looking down on the horses and their riders as if daring them to try to follow. An intense longing stabbed his heart. He wished Susanne had experienced this with him. Susanne and Trish. He wished he hadn’t come on this trip. That he’d kept his family together.
“Do you see that?” Patrick whispered to Perry.
“Huh?”
“The bighorn sheep, do you see them?”
The sheep disappeared into the night.
“Uh-uh.”
Patrick shook his head. The horses needed a break, and this was as good a place for a rest stop as any. And Perry was awake. It was time to talk seriously with his son about what came next.
Patrick turned toward him. “When I give you the signal, Perry, I’m going to have to have your word that you’ll stay hidden this time, wherever I put you.”
Before Perry could answer, a scream echoed across the mountainside.
“Was that a rock chuck?” Perry asked, eyes wide.
Patrick wanted to scream back. Trish. Trish. He swallowed hard. “No, son. That was a girl.”
Chapter Thirty-three: Down
Southwest of Bruce Mountain, Cloud Peak Wilderness Area, Wyoming
September 20, 1976, 11:15 p.m.
Trish
Trish’s breaths were coming in searing gasps that blocked out all other sounds. Even without the blindfold, she was running almost blind in the dark. Branches whipped across her face. Bushes tore at her jeans. She kept her arms in front of her, to break the collision or fall she knew was coming. The terrain up here was rugged and dangerous. Cliffs. Boulders. Thick-trunked trees. Tufts of grass where there were no rocks. She wanted to slow down, but she couldn’t. She had to keep going. But going to where? She hadn’t found the trail. Surely if she just ran downhill, she’d end up back in Woodchuck Pass sooner or later. From there, she could find her way back to the main road and go for help. She latched on to the plan. It was all she had.
Then it happened. Trish’s shin smacked into a rock. She flew forward, reaching out desperately with her hands. They met with solid rock and broke the worst of her fall, but her elbows collapsed. She skidded to a landing with her face hanging over the far side of the rock.
“Ow,” she moaned.
She sat up, not knowing which part of her body to cradle first. Her bloody palms? Her throbbing leg? Her smarting elbows? But then she thought about the men. They wouldn’t let her run off without going after her. She had to keep going, as fast as she could. She hopped off the rock, her adrenaline surging so hard that her ears
burned and her head buzzed. After a few limping steps, she took off downhill again. She knew she should be tired, but she wasn’t. She could do this. She could do this.
She ran onward for another minute. Her eyes were adjusting enough that she could see about ten feet ahead. It wasn’t much, but it helped. She sped up. Then something jerked her head back. It wrenched her neck, and she fell to the ground. She just had time to roll away from the person, then a body landed on top of her back. This one didn’t stink of booze and chewing tobacco. So not Chester, the ringleader. Not Larry, the Creepy Voice, because he was dead, his throat slashed open and his blood all over the ground at the camp. Ben, or the uncle?
A scream rose in her throat, but a hand clapped over her mouth, muffling it.
“Shh. Stop. You’re going to make them hurt you. Please stop.” It was Ben, and he sounded genuinely concerned.
She was relieved it wasn’t the uncle. This meant she had a chance. Ben wouldn’t hurt her. She bit down.
Ben’s body stiffened. His voice was strained. “Dammit, Trish, stop it. I’ll move my hand if you won’t scream.”
She nodded.
He moved his hand.
Her words tumbled out in breathless pants. “Let me go. You’ve got to let me go.”
When he didn’t release her, she thought, Fight, fight, fight. She slammed her head back. Something cracked. Good. Bone. Warm liquid ran around her neck. Ugh, nosebleed. On me. It made her queasy, but only for a second. She didn’t have time for weakness right now.
“ARGG. Crap.” He released her.
His weight kept her body and legs immobile. But not her hands. She swung wildly, trying to connect with any part of him she could find, but her angle was wrong. Time for a change in tactics. She dug her fingers into the pine needles, grass, dirt, and rocks. Rocks. Moving fast, Trish selected the biggest, sharpest one she could identify with her fingers.
“I think you broke my nose.” His nose sounded plugged up.
“I think you kidnapped me.”
“They made me go along with it. I didn’t want to.”
“I don’t care what you wanted. I only care what you did, Ben Jones.”
His head dropped into her neck. She felt his shoulders lift and fall, over and over. Was he crying?
“I’m sorry.” He lifted himself up and pulled her arms behind her.
She writhed and donkey-kicked, but it did no good other than slowing him down. In the end, her wrists were bound once again in his belt.
“I really am sorry.” He scooped her around her waist and set her on her feet.
She’d been right on multiple counts. Ben was very tall, his nose was bleeding, and he’d definitely been crying. He held on to the belt near her wrists with one hand and scrubbed his shirt back and forth across his face with the other, smearing the wetness.
“Come on,” he said.
She hung her head. She had no choice. She’d have to wait for a better time to try again. To fight again.
But she had her rock. She squeezed it in her palm, appreciating its sharp edges and the way her hand barely closed around it. It was a good rock. Now she just had to keep it out of sight. The dark was in her favor, but the lack of access to her pocket was not.
The hike back to camp seemed to take forever, all uphill. More than once she slid and fell. The first time, she landed face-first without her hands to catch her and split her chin on a rock. She didn’t even care. After that, Ben moved her bound hands in front of her and kept a finger through one of her belt loops. She took the opportunity to stuff the rock into her pocket. Then she fell again. This time, Ben caught her before she hit the ground. It just made her madder at him. Being nice didn’t do her any good. She needed him to help her escape. How could she get him to do it? Then she had an idea.
Trish squashed the fiery anger inside her and used the sweetest voice she could muster. “Ben, we could escape together. I know we could do it. My dad would help you. He’s a doctor. He has money. And my mom is really nice—she’d help, too. They wouldn’t let your dad hurt you.”
The ground leveled off for a moment.
Ben kicked a rock. “I’m not scared of my dad. He’s just a bully. I’m scared of my psycho uncle.”
The uncle had just saved her from being raped. True, he’d slit the throat of his own cousin, but it had been to help her. She shook her head. How messed up was her brain if she was excusing someone for cold-blooded murder? And if it was that messed up, how would it ever help her get out of this mess alive?
Chapter Thirty-four: Break
Woodchuck Pass, Bighorn National Forest, Wyoming
September 20, 1976, 11:15 p.m.
Susanne
Susanne was listing against the window, caught between wired and wiped out. Wanting to close her eyes and not being able to. Ronnie was driving through Woodchuck Pass—where she had tracked the truck, Patrick, and Perry. The truck went through a rut in the road. Susanne’s head knocked against the window. She sat up, rubbing her head. Then the headlights illuminated an odd sight. Dirt bikes lying on the far side of the road, with two men sitting beside them. Was she hallucinating? What were the men doing here, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night?
A man in a red bandanna raised two fingers to his forehead in greeting.
Ronnie braked. “I’d better make sure they aren’t having a problem.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? We’re two women. Alone.”
Ronnie patted the gun at her hip. “Don’t worry. You’re with an armed law enforcement officer. Besides, it’s kind of my job.”
“Are we in Johnson County?”
Ronnie sniffed. “Details.” She stopped beside the men. “Everything all right?”
The bandanna man stood up and walked to Ronnie’s window. He brushed snow from his eyebrows and beard, then nodded. “Dude, I mean, ma’am, are you out here looking for the missing girl?”
Susanne’s scalp tingled. She reached for Ronnie’s hand.
Ronnie shared a look with Susanne before answering him. “We are.” She drew the words out, emphasizing are. “Have you seen her?”
The man pulled up a sleeve and started scratching his forearm. “Not tonight, you know, but I saw her dad and her little bro.”
“Where’d you see them? And when?”
“Like, an hour ago, maybe.” He stopped tearing at his skin long enough to hitch a thumb up the road. “By the communication tower. They asked us to, you know, keep an eye out. She’s a nice girl.”
Susanne frowned. The men looked rough. But they did seem to know her family. All of them, except Susanne herself. “How do you know my daughter?”
He propped his arm inside the window frame, and his scratching intensified, leaving white, flaky trails over reddened flesh. “Whoa, you’re the mom? I’m so sorry. You must be, like, totally freaking out.”
Susanne couldn’t take her eyes off the damage he was doing to his arm. “I am. Which is why I want to know how you know Trish.”
Tiny flecks of blood seeped to the surface of his skin. “We met her at Walker Prairie. Showed her some pictures we took of some moose.”
“She was by herself? Where were her dad and brother?” Susanne tore her eyes from his arm long enough to glance at his friend. The man had his hands on his head. He was scrunching a black wool cap and shaking his head, like he was telling someone no. It made his beard wag.
The bandannaed man glanced down and saw the blood on his arm. He pulled his sleeve back down. “I dunno. Like, they were there the night before, but they weren’t there when we came back.”
Susanne pushed her hair back in frustration. They weren’t exactly founts of the information she needed. The bandanna man sounded like he was high. The other guy was in worse shape. “Listen, mister, I—”
Ronnie leaned forward, blocking Susanne from the guy. “Do you have any idea where she is or who she’s with?”
Susanne folded her arms across her chest. This was getting to be a bad habit wit
h Ronnie. But the man was answering. She unfolded her arms and peered over Ronnie’s shoulder.
“My money’s on the guys dealing speed by Ranger Creek, but I don’t know for sure.” He rocked forward on his toes, catching Susanne’s eye. “Whoever it is, your family took off after them going that way.” He pointed across the valley and up the mountains.
“From the communication tower, the one about a mile up this road?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know how many people were with her?”
“I dunno. I didn’t see them. But there was a truck and horse trailer back in the woods by where we saw her dad. A lot of horse shit, too. Jason stepped in some.” He thumb-pointed at his silent buddy.
Ronnie said, “And Patrick and Perry rode out after them.”
“The man and the son?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah. They took off after her. Hey, that dude is intense.”
Susanne raised her eyebrows.
“Sorry, missus. No offense.”
Ronnie and Susanne shared a look.
Susanne addressed the other man. He’d stopped tearing at his hat, but he looked like he was going to throw up. “You have anything to add?”
He shook his head, then winced. He pressed a hand to his temple.
“Are you okay, sir?” Ronnie asked.
The man with the bandanna said, “A deer ran in front of us and he, like, wrecked.”
“You should get that looked at.”
The man with the bandanna laughed. “I’m sure an ambulance will be right along.”
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