Ripples

by DL Fowler

  In a blink, she draws the rope tight around his throat, pulling harder and harder. “Say good night—for good, you ugly bastard.”

  Bryce clutches the rope, gasps for breath. Tess cinches the rope tighter. He jerks from one side to the next—reaches back for her hands. She yanks down on the rope, pulling his head against her chest. He tries to turn in the saddle, his arms fall to his sides. His head droops. His body goes limp. Tess loosens the rope from around his neck—shoves him to the ground. I study his lifeless body. Always thought I’d dance at the sight of him dead, but instead, I’m frozen in disbelief.

  She climbs down and unties my wrists. “Cooperate and you get to live….” Her cold, hard eyes start to twinkle. “And in grand style, I might add.”

  My shoulders slump, my mind is numb. A question comes out of me—don’t even know how or why. “How you going to prove I’m his granddaughter?”

  “Trust me, I’ve got it handled. But cross me, and you’re dead.”

  I nod.

  “Now, get up in the saddle. That fire’s not going to stand still for us.”

  From on top of the mare, I glance down once more at Bryce’s corpse.

  Tess prods the horse. “Only room for the two of us—good riddance.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Deputy Sheriff Baker

  My feet are propped up on my desk as Grimes walks into the substation and reports that he’s faxed the handbills to all the evacuation centers.

  I sit up in my chair. “It’s just a waiting game at this point. Forest Service says the fire’s burning slowly—staying on the ridge—moving toward Chandler’s place. But if the wind picks up, it’ll charge through like a thoroughbred down the backstretch at Santa Anita.”

  “Hope they give us plenty of time to alert folks if there’s an evacuation order.”

  “I’m sure they’ll do their best.”

  Grimes turns to walk away then looks back. “Oh, the dog lady is on her way back home. Told her we wouldn’t be needing her anymore.”

  “Yeah, that was a bust.”

  “Think we’ll get another shot at bringing in Chandler? Hate to think he’ll get away.”

  “Don’t worry, Grimes. Justice will be served—one way or the other.”

  The phone rings. Grimes turns and waits.

  “Sheriff’s substation, Deputy Baker speaking.”

  The caller reports, “Weather Service says the wind’s shifting to westerly at ten miles per hour—building to twenty—expect gusts to forty ....”

  When I hang up, I look at Grimes. “This thing is bearing down on Chandler’s place, and it’ll have quite a head of steam by the time it gets there. Of course as the fire gets hotter, it’ll create its own wind ... and higher wind speeds. They might have to ground the choppers at some point.”

  His eyes widen. “It’ll be a disaster if the flames jump the highway, or if the wind shifts and blows the fire into town. So what’s their plan?”

  “They’re building a firebreak along the highway. Airborne assets are spreading retardant in the fire’s path. Controlled burns to check the fire’s progress are ‘under consideration’ at this point.”

  “They’d better make a decision soon, while the winds are still down.”

  “They’ve got their jobs ... we’ve got ours. Let’s get do it.”

  RJ

  My head throbs. The butt of Bryce’s rifle left a nasty gash. Pain shoots through my neck, too. I squirm, work my hands into the back pocket where I keep the pocket knife Uncle Eric gave me—the one with the church key for those times you come across a bottle of beer that needs opening. Good thing that Bryce creep didn’t pat me down before he tied me up. I pull out the pocket knife. Feel for the edge of the blade—pinch it between the tips of two fingers—open it.

  Damn. Slips out of my hand. I roll on my side fishing behind me for the knife. A helicopter’s drone on the other side of the ridge gets louder. It’s not just ash falling. Embers, too.

  Found it. Push the blade up between my wrists—grip the knife as tight as I can with the tips of my fingers and thumbs—roll on my back—use the ground to help hold it—slide the blade back and forth across the rope—keep working it. It takes a few minutes, but I cut through. Turn to my side and wriggle my hands free. Sit up and untie the knot at my ankles. Scramble to my feet. Look around to get my bearings.

  It’s only a matter of time before the fire breaks over the crest and starts scarfing down the fuel on this side. Not a safe escape route anymore. But if I cross the ridge and head straight down, I should find myself pretty close to Uncle Eric’s ranch—and with any luck, the stallion will be waiting at the barn door.

  As I get close to the top, the air burns my throat and lungs. A flash of heat on the crest sucks the wind out of me—every bit of moisture sapped from my eyes. I drop to one knee. An explosion off to my right is followed by trees thundering to the ground. Can’t stay here. Don’t dare go over the top. Have to outrun it. Stay just below the crest until it’s safe to cross over. But the heat’s too much to stand up. Have to crawl.

  The ground gets hotter by the second. Can’t stop. Have to keep moving. Another explosion … right overhead. Limbs come crashing down. I look up. A large flaming branch—headed right at me. I scramble ....

  Mercedes

  The reins tempt me. Tess can’t see my hands gripping the saddle horn—she’s behind me in the saddle. I see hers real good, though. She’s got a loose hold on the reins. I could just grab them. ’Course, the pain in my shoulder reminds me of why I hate horses. But I gotta get back to RJ—what other chance does he have? I glance over my shoulder at her. “So you never answered my question back there.”

  “What question?”

  “How you going to prove I’m this rich dude’s granddaughter? I thought you’re supposed to be my mother. How does that work?”

  “Don’t get sassy with me ... I told you ... I’ve got it handled.”

  “No ... seriously.” I force a laugh. “Are you his bastard daughter, an oops from some drunken one-night-stand he forgot ever happened?”

  She lets go of the reins in her right hand and slaps me hard on the side of the head.

  I yank the reins out of her left hand and plant my elbow hard in her gut.

  She hammers both fists into my bad shoulder. “You little bitch ....”

  Pain shoots through my neck and arm. I slump forward, face buried in the horse’s mane. My hand goes numb.

  She grabs the reins and pulls the mare to a stop. Pushes me off.

  I collapse to my knees.

  She jumps down and stands over me. “I need to deliver you to Chandler in one piece—but, that doesn’t mean you’re going to be a pretty sight. Now up on your feet.”

  I stand slowly, hunched over, holding my throbbing shoulder.

  Tess takes rope and binds up my wrists. As she boosts me up, I slump over the saddle horn … slip in and out of consciousness, catching glimpses of RJ’s freckled face racing in and out of my mind.

  Bryce

  This damn ground’s hard. My head’s all fogged up. What the hell happened? Grab my throat —neck burns like I scraped myself shaving, big time. Throat’s sore—almost swollen shut. Can’t swallow. Can’t breathe.

  A crack—an explosion—somewhere close. What the hell’s going on? I prop myself up. Open my eyes. Right eye’s sore—like I got poked with a damn finger. Blurry. Everything’s flat white, colorless—except for tiny gray spots floating in front of me. My head starts spinning. A ringing in my ears. I lie down. Got a headache—a bad one, worse than any hangover. Close my eyes. My heart’s pumping in overdrive.

  That damn whore! She tried to kill me. I grabbed for the rope—choking. Strong bitch. Never fought me so hard. She yanked the rope tighter. Popped a damn blood vessel in my eye. Sore as hell. I remember thinking, this is it—meet your maker. Broads have dumped me before—even my fuckin’ mother—but shit, none of them tried to kill me.

>   It’s getting warmer. Air tastes hot, dry. Throat stings.

  There’s laughing inside my head. Not my maker laughing. Her. The bitch is trash talkin’ me—“Go straight to hell. Don’t pass Go. Don’t collect squat. Go right to the biggest, meanest whore of all. Now let’s see how you like being tortured.” I laugh that same sadistic laugh. What the hell?

  Another explosion. It’s getting closer. I jump into a crouch, look all around. Remember where I am. The damn forest’s on fire. This isn’t Hell. Gotta get outta here. Get to the damn lake. Get away from these exploding trees. And when I catch up with that stupid Tess—she’s dead meat. And so are those girls.

  Amy

  Jake’s arm’s draped over my shoulder—he gets heavier with every step. Groans when he breathes. Says his arm is mostly numb—only a dull pain—his lungs hurt more. He’s lightheaded.

  Smoke’s getting thicker. I’m coughing as bad as him. Eyes sting. Ask him about his granddaughter. Catches his breath, almost between every word. “Lots of ... spunk. Sweet. Cute ... as a ... button. Should’ve .... ” He leans, points to the ground. We sit so he can rest.

  I say, “Did people try to find her?”

  He nods. “Lots of people. I keep looking.”

  “How long?”

  “Twelve years. I’m still looking for her.”

  “Wish people came for me.”

  He sits up straight. Takes my hand. “Amy ... they are ... I’m sure.”

  We don’t talk for a while. His chest rattles when he takes a breath—like Bryce when he got really sick … was burning up with fever. I fed him broth Mercedes made from birds she killed. I put cold rags on his forehead for days. Jake motions for us to get up and walk some more.

  At the end of the firebreak there’s a heap of charred, broken-up boards. Jake says, “It’s all that’s left of where you used to live.” He looks at me. “Were you ... here ... when it happened?”

  “No.”

  “You ran away before?”

  “Didn’t run. Tess took me.”

  “Where’s she now?”

  “Dunno … I got away.”

  “Good.”

  I point at where our shack used to be. “It’s not real anymore.”

  We walk on. A loud roar comes from the lake—gets louder. Trees shake like there’s a big wind. Cover my ears. I wrap my arms around Jake.

  He hugs me close. “More … helicopters,” he says, barely loud enough for me to hear.

  When the noise isn’t so loud, Jake tells me the helicopter is scooping water out of the lake to dump on the fire. He points to the gravel road that leads to his cabin. We walk slowly, stopping a couple of times … once at the stump by the little trail down to the cove. The stump’s too small for both of us, so I let him sit—catch his breath.

  I rub the top of his head. Smooth. Wet from sweat. Hot from the sun … the fire. From fever? I say, “Wait. Be right back.” Run down the trail to the cove, dip the bottom of my shirt in cool water. Come back and wipe his face, the top of his almost hairless head.

  We don’t stop again until we reach the cabin. When we go inside he points down a hall … nods at the last doorway. Books cover shelves that reach from floor to ceiling on two of the walls. He shuffles behind a desk, reaches between some of the books. Two bookshelves swing out toward us like thick, heavy doors.

  Footsteps out in the hallway, hurrying. We turn. Before I can blink … Mercedes is standing in the doorway. Behind her, Tess with a rifle. The barrel is pushed up under Mercedes’ chin.

  She nods at Jake. “Mr. Chandler, I have some unfinished business I’d like to wrap up … if you don’t mind.”

  Jake shoves me toward the opening in the wall—shields me from Tess.

  Tess yells, “Everyone where I can see them. And put your hands up.”

  I step out so she can see me. Jake raises both hands in the air; his bad arm comes up slowly. He yelps and tumbles into a chair ... his face twists up in pain. He slumps over ... his arms stretched out across the desk ... head buried in a stack of papers. He groans.

  I bend over him ... put my hand on his forehead … look back at Tess. “We have to get him in there. He’s sick ... bleeding ... needs medicine.”

  She glares at Jake. “It’s what I need right now that matters.”

  Mercedes. “What good’s he going to be to you dead?”

  Tess motions for us to go through the secret opening, the rifle barrel still shoved up under Mercedes’ chin. I help Jake up from the chair ... he leans on me ... we stumble into the secret hiding place. Once all four of us are through the opening, Jake touches the wall. The big bookshelf doors slam shut, lights come on like magic. A humming sound starts up. Can’t tell where it’s coming from. Cool air gives me goose bumps.

  Deputy Sheriff Baker

  I hang up the receiver on my desk phone and look at Grimes. “A couple of chopper pilots are reporting civilians in the fire’s path. One’s trying to get down off the ridge about halfway between Eric Lamb’s place and Chandler’s cabin. The fire’s moving in on him fast. Two others appear to be headed toward the lake.”

  “Okay, Boss. I’ll head up in the Blazer and intercept the two by the lake. They’re probably headed out to the highway. We’ll have to send a chopper for the other one. He’s on borrowed time.”

  “I’m coming with. We’ll radio for the chopper on the way.” I grab my hat and we head for the door.

  Half way up the mountain, we get our first kick in the teeth—choppers are grounded due to wind turbulence. The civilian up on the ridge is on his own for now, and the fire’s closing in fast. Just hope the two headed for the lake make it into the water before the fire gets them.

  Grimes looks at me. “Boss, there’s gotta be something we can do. The poor bastard doesn’t have a chance without help.”

  “And what do you suggest—getting ourselves barbequed along with him?”

  “No. Just saying ....”

  There’s not another word between us the rest of the way to Chandler’s place. I’m busting my brain to figure out how to help—can practically smell Grimes’s brain overheating, as well.

  When we pull into Chandler’s drive, his Jeep is parked where it’s been since he went off the grid. That means he’s likely still in the area, unless someone helped him get away. Grimes points to the kitchen French doors. One side is standing wide open. We draw our weapons as we step out of the Blazer.

  I point to the cabin. “This takes priority.”

  Grimes covers. I go in first, shouting, “Sheriff’s Department. Get down!”

  We alternate covering for each other as we move through the place, clearing each room. In the library, I point to some papers smeared with fresh blood. “What do you make of this?”

  Grimes shrugs. “Chandler’s struck again?”

  “Yeah, but where’s the body?”

  “I’ll check the perimeter. You give this place a second going over.”

  Outside, I scan the ground for footprints and find two sets—the first set doesn’t surprise me. Two people almost in lockstep, headed toward the cabin. One small, the other clearly an adult male—neither with a normal gait. The smaller one’s leaning away from the other. Prints are leading to the cabin. The other set—two people also. About equal weight—possibly females. I don’t find any exit tracks for either party.

  Something’s not right. We cleared every room. Checked the closets, under the beds. I backtrack both sets of prints. The man and his companion came down the gravel road from the neighbor’s burned-out shack. The others came from the woods along the side of the lake. Their trail leads me to a horse tied to a tree about a hundred yards from Chandler’s cabin.

  After untying the horse, I lead it back to Chandler’s place where Grimes is waiting on the deck.

  He laughs. “Tell me that’s not the source of the blood.”

  “No, it’s your ride—might come in handy if we wind up rescuing our subject up on t
he ridge. I’ll drive the Blazer. There’s a firebreak behind that burned-out shack across the lake. Let’s meet there and proceed along the base of the ridge. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  He steps down off the deck and takes the reins. “Where’d you find her?”

  I point toward the woods. “A set of tracks coming from over there.”

  He climbs up on the mare. “Anything else interesting?”

  “Yeah, there’s another set coming from the road. But, no tracks leaving the cabin.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Amy

  Tess pushes Mercedes and me into a corner. Jake flops into a chair by a table near us. She waves the rifle around—tells us to keep quiet. She killed Bryce and some bum he hired to off her. She shot a lawyer too. And she wounded Jake.

  Mercedes says, “She and Bryce tied up RJ and left him to die up on the ridge.”

  “No!” I scream. I hold back tears.

  Mercedes hugs me.

  Tess orders. “Quiet, everyone.”

  One of the walls lights up. Tess mutters something about ‘closed circuit TV.’ Bright pictures of rooms ... Jake’s car ... his dock ... the lake ... other places outdoors. Two cops ... walking around. I glance at Tess. She’s watching one go outside. Tess tracks him from one picture to the next.

  We watch the men in the pictures for a long time. One gets in a car and drives away. The other gets on the mare and heads into the woods along the lake.

  Tess looks down at Jake. “Now for our unfinished business.”

  He groans.

  She points the rifle at Mercedes. “Meet your granddaughter.”

  Jake sits up straight. “Celine?”

  I glance at Mercedes.

  No way she’s the little girl in the picture ... her hair’s not black ... like Mercedes ... like Tess.

  Tess laughs. “Not Celine—Mercedes. My daughter, your granddaughter.”

  “What kind of game are you playing?”

  “That’s no way to greet your own flesh and blood.”

  “Are you saying—you seduced Jesse and she’s his?”