Out on a Limb

by Rachelle Mccalla

  “I doubt it.”

  “Then I guess not. Sorry for keeping you.”

  The sheriff handed back her portable GPS unit and headed off the way they’d come in.

  Elise looked down at the GPS in her hands and squeezed her eyes shut as a despairing feeling began to rise inside her. She didn’t have anything to prove what she’d been through. The only one who even believed her was Cutch. And that was a very small consolation, indeed.

  “Hey.” Cutch’s hand lightly touched her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “Is it?” She looked into his clear blue eyes and tried to find the answers there. Cutch looked like he was just as confused and afraid as she felt.

  He dropped his hand. “I don’t care what the sheriff said. If somebody was producing meth out here, there’s got to be more evidence than just a few ruts in the ground. Want to help me look around?”

  After the sheriff’s official prognosis, Elise wasn’t sure what good it would do, but she also couldn’t think of anything that would be more likely to help them. “Sure.”

  They poked around for quite a while, peeling back leaves, squinting at the ground, scrutinizing the underbrush for signs of human presence. Elise tried to keep a safe distance between her and Cutch. She didn’t want to get too close to him.

  After a half hour search had turned up only more ruts and trampled places but no clear footprints, Elise gradually wandered farther up the valley, expanding her search area. A chemical odor tickled her nose—something offensive but oddly familiar. Honing in on the smell, she followed the scent around the next hill, rooting among the underbrush for anything that looked out of place. She gasped when she spotted something, and Cutch came running up behind her.

  “What is it? Are you okay? Did you find something?”

  She let out a slow, disappointed breath. “Never mind. Just a few of those small camping fuel tanks. Somebody must have been camping out here—or at least having a cookout.” She reached for the metal container.

  Cutch grabbed her hand. “Don’t touch them. This is exactly what we’re looking for.”

  “What? A sign that the drugmakers liked to grill out?”

  “No. Camping fuel is an ingredient in making meth.”

  “An ingredient? You mean they use it to cook it?”

  “No. I mean it goes into the drug.”

  Elise was certain she hadn’t understood him correctly. “The drug that people put into their bodies has camping fuel in it? People put camping fuel in their bodies?” She expected him to retract his statement once he heard how absurd it sounded.

  Instead, Cutch looked at her with a saddened expression. “Why do you think meth is so destructive? All of the ingredients are toxic. This is dirty, disgusting stuff.”

  Elise shuddered. “Who would do that to themselves?” She couldn’t understand. “You’d have to be so messed up.”

  “Most drug users are,” Cutch acknowledged as he poked around under the ground cover near where she’d found the camping fuel container. After a moment, he sucked in a sharp breath. “Empty blister packs,” he muttered. “Stripped battery casings.”

  “More signs of meth?” Elise asked, wondering how Cutch knew so much about what went into making the drug. Her earlier doubts about his involvement resurfaced.

  “Exactly.” He turned and looked back at her, a disgusted look on his face. “That’s it. I’m calling the sheriff and telling him to come right back out here. I don’t care what his plans are.”

  Elise nodded. She wasn’t going to interrupt him before he called the sheriff, but she made a mental note to ask him how he knew so much about meth production. “I’ll get a lock on this spot with my GPS.” She pulled out the device and pushed a sequence of buttons. “We’ve moved far enough down the valley. It could be tricky finding this place again otherwise.”

  “Good idea,” Cutch agreed as he flipped open his phone. Before he began to dial, a slamming sound echoed through the pecan grove. Cutch froze.

  Elise met his eyes as the fear leaped back into her veins. Another slamming sound quickly followed the first. It sounded like car doors. And if she had to guess, she’d say the noise originated from back near where they’d left Cutch’s truck. She recalled hearing the distant sound of an engine running only moments before, but she hadn’t paid much attention, having assumed the noise was coming from the road. Obviously, she’d been wrong.

  Quietly, Cutch stepped closer to her and placed one hand on her arm. He mouthed “shh” silently.

  He needn’t have bothered. Elise wasn’t about to make a sound. Something told her that her life depended on it.

  Indistinct men’s voices pierced the otherwise-silent woods.

  Cutch bent down and whispered in her ear. “They’re between us and the truck. Let’s head for the north road. Quietly.”

  Crouching low in an attempt to maximize the cover from the underbrush, they picked their way silently in the direction away from where they’d parked Cutch’s truck. The voices seemed to follow them as they rounded the curve of the next hill. When they ducked behind the solid trunk of a pecan tree, Elise whispered to Cutch, “Do you think it might just be the sheriff? Maybe he changed his mind and came back.”

  Cutch shook his head slightly, the small movement causing his nose to brush her cheek as she leaned close to stay within whisper range. Her heart beat hard—not just from fear but from his unwelcome proximity.

  “He seemed pretty eager to get out of here. Besides, it sounds to me like there are two or three of them.”

  Elise silently shushed him as the men drew close enough for their voices to be heard again. “Can you tell what they’re doing?”

  “No. I’m going to try to take a look.” Cutch leaned around the tree. When he ducked back, he pressed his lips to her ear and whispered almost silently, “They’re looking for something. Maybe they came out to finish cleaning up the drug site.”

  Elise ignored the delighted shiver that ran through her at the touch of his lips against her skin. Their circumstances were serious. She had to stay focused. “But they’ve got to know we’re out here. They had to have seen your truck.”

  A rough man’s voice sounded far too close, interrupting their thoughts. “Maybe they’re not out here.”

  Another harsh voice responded, “Of course they’re out here. Do you think they left the truck and walked out?” The man spoke with an odd lisp.

  “They could have had a problem with flat tires.” The words came out with snide laughter. Elise wasn’t sure if it was a third voice or the first speaker answering back. Either way, she knew these were the guys who’d slashed Cutch’s tires the night before. They may have even slashed his tires again.

  Cutch’s lips brushed her ear once more. “They’re getting too close. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Elise pulled back just far enough to look into his eyes. “But they’ll see us,” she whispered.

  “At least we might have a chance of getting away,” he whispered back, his nose buried in her hair where it fell across her temple. “The hill curves around from here. If we can make it another ten yards, we should be able to get past their line of sight.”

  Elise didn’t even realize she’d taken hold of his arms until she became aware of the death grip she had on his shirtsleeves. His muscles rippled with movement under her fingers, and she felt comforted by his strength, especially since her life was now in his hands. “Wait until their backs are turned.”

  Peeking narrowly past the tree that hid them, Cutch held her arms as tightly as she held his. “They’re moving away,” he whispered silently without so much as glancing back. “When I say go.” His hand tensed on her arm.

  A moment later, with a slight nod, Cutch whispered, “Let’s go. This way.”

  Having already looked over their intended route, Elise took her first few steps silently, moving as quickly as she dared and keeping low.

  They brushed past some leaves, and she flinched, wondering if the men behi
nd them had heard the noise. With fear prodding her, she moved faster.

  The curve of the hill was riddled with saplings and bushes. They darted through, trying to find the clearest route while at the same time trying to be quick about it.

  More leaves brushed against them. A stick cracked below Cutch’s foot, its sound like a tiny gunshot to Elise’s ears, though fortunately the men behind them were talking again and gave no indication of having heard it.

  They were all but around the hill. Elise felt like lunging herself forward like a baseball player diving into home plate, but she forced herself to keep her eyes open and move quietly. Cutch held her hand tightly in his as they scrambled through the clear spots. They were more or less around the hill when a deer startled and jumped out of the bushes in front of them.

  Elise gasped.

  “What was that?” the rough voice carried clearly from just around the hill.

  “It’s just a deer.”

  “Who do you think spooked the deer? This way!”

  As soon as she heard the men take off in their direction, Elise ran with abandon, tearing loudly through the underbrush beside Cutch, whose full-bent dash made just as much noise. But it didn’t matter anymore how loud they were. They had to keep their lead over their pursuers.

  “Over here,” Cutch whispered, tugging her straight down the next valley.

  She followed as quickly as she could run, but protested, “This is a straight shot. They’ll see us.”

  “Just trust me,” Cutch hissed back.

  As the valley opened up, Cutch veered off along the north side. At first Elise thought he was running without a particular direction in mind, but a moment later, she saw the faded wood sides of a small old building, a crescent moon cut into the door. An outhouse.

  Cutch towed her toward it. “In here.” He opened the door, and they both nearly fell inside, letting the door close behind them.

  The weathered little shed was full of cobwebs. Elise looked down through the light that streamed in through slits under the eaves to see a fat spider on her arm. She suppressed a scream and flicked it off. Quickly she took in her surroundings.

  For an outhouse, it was a good-sized building, with a bench occupying the rear half of the shed and two hinged lids evenly spaced on the bench. A two-seater, as the old-timers would say.

  While sounds of their pursuers echoed through the woods outside, Cutch lifted the bench. “Down.”

  “What?” Elise gasped as quietly as she could in her surprise. “In the pit?”

  “Nobody’s used this thing in decades, if ever.”

  Elise peeked into the dark hole and then looked back up at Cutch. She couldn’t do it.

  “I see footprints! They went this way!” The voices sounded even closer than before.

  “I’ll go first,” Cutch offered, “but you’ve got to come down after me.”

  She could hear the men crashing through the underbrush outside. It wouldn’t be long before they noticed the outhouse.

  Cutch leaned the whole bench back and jumped in feet-first. Elise heard his feet thump against the hard dirt floor of the pit. Looking up at her from just below the rim, he whispered intently, “Hurry!”

  At the same time, Elise heard a man’s voice shout outside, “Look over there! Do you think they went in the outhouse?”

  She was trapped, with no choice but to stay put and wait to be found or to drop inside the latrine pit and pray they didn’t think to look there. She scrambled into the hole as fast as she could and felt Cutch’s strong hands holding her securely around her waist as she let go of the rim above them and her feet dropped to the hard earth.

  Cutch pulled the bench shut above their heads.

  The loud blast of a shotgun startled her, and she clung to Cutch at the sound of the wood above them splintering, raining down debris onto the seats above their heads. They ducked a little lower in the pit, which was no more than six feet deep, if that.

  “Oh, Dear Lord,” she prayed in a whisper, hardly aware that she’d instinctively pressed her face into Cutch’s strong shoulder. He wrapped his arms protectively around her.

  “Lord, keep us safe.” Cutch’s quiet prayer was barely audible over the sound of the next blast.

  The sliver of light that shimmered through the slit between the seat and the lid seemed to grow a little brighter. Elise wondered if the men were planning to blast the little outhouse to bits.

  Another gunshot sounded, and more debris rained down.

  “That ought to do it,” a vengeful voice announced.

  Cutch’s voice whispered close to her ear. “Let’s get down as low as we can. Stay silent. Maybe in the dark they won’t be able to see us even if they look under the lid.”

  With all the holes the gunmen had punched in the dilapidated outhouse, Elise figured there would be plenty of light available. But after all the shots they’d fired, they’d have at least obscured any telltale fingerprints she and Cutch may have made on the dusty bench above them. She and Cutch flattened themselves into cramped sitting positions on the dirt floor of the hole, with their backs pressed tight against the sides. Elise leaned against his shoulder, and his arm held her protectively.

  Normally she would have pushed him away. But normally, she wouldn’t be hanging out in a latrine pit. At least it didn’t seem to have ever been used. The inside was dry and smelled of damp earth.

  Elise squinted up at Cutch. She couldn’t see his face in the darkness. She prayed he would be equally difficult to see if the men above them thought to look under the seats.

  As the door above creaked open, Cutch’s arms tightened around her. Elise didn’t dare breathe. She huddled against Cutch and prayed. If the man shot them where they were, their bodies would never be found. And even if by some odd chance their bodies were recovered, she knew her father would never get over it if she was discovered dead in a latrine pit, shot while in the arms of a McCutcheon.

  SEVEN

  “Empty!” The lisping voice shouted, disappointment resonating through that lone word.

  “They must have gone up the hill.”

  “No, down the valley. It’d be easier going there.”

  “What do you say we split up?”

  “Okay, but let’s hurry! We’re wasting time.”

  The door slammed shut above them, dimming what light seeped through. Elise sagged as she let out a slow, silent breath. She could still hear the men’s voices, but the sound quickly faded as the men outside crashed away through the woods, their words once again becoming less distinct as they increased the distance between them.

  “Thank you, God,” Elise finally prayed when she was fairly certain they were out of hearing distance.

  “Amen,” Cutch concurred, relaxing his hold on her but not removing his arm from around her shoulder. “That was a close call.”

  “Too close,” Elise agreed, shuddering to think how narrowly they’d escaped. “How did you know this outhouse was here?”

  “It’s my land, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose so,” Elise acknowledged, feeling frustrated, as she always had been when Cutch refused to give her a straight answer. It was one of the many reasons why she knew a relationship between them would be doomed to disaster, regardless of whatever else he’d done to her. The man was far too secretive.

  But Cutch seemed to pick up on her tone, and his voice softened. “This was the outhouse from our homestead. My grandfather moved it out here when the main house got indoor plumbing. But I don’t think it actually saw any use here.”

  “See, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Elise snapped as her impatience with Cutch clashed with the unwanted attraction she felt toward him. Her nerves were already thin from their frantic dash through the woods.

  Cutch remained silent, but his arms tensed behind her. Had she made him angry? She tried to tell herself she didn’t care if she had, though if she was honest with herself she had to admit she cared deeply about his feelings. But she wasn’t going to get anywhere w
orrying about Cutch’s feelings. There were far more pressing issues to discuss.

  “Who do you think those men were? That guy with the lisp sounded awfully familiar.”

  “You’re right. I’m trying to place where I’ve heard that voice. Seems to me it’s a guy who’s missing some teeth.”

  “But not an old guy.” Elise searched her mental records for the elusive memory. “Donnie Clark!” she whispered with assurance, finally placing it. “Uncle Leroy hired him to help out at the airstrip several years ago. He’s one of the few people with a pilot’s license in this county, but he wasn’t there long.”

  “That’s right. He’s never stayed in any job for long.” Cutch sounded thoughtful. “Probably for the same reason he lost his teeth so young.”

  “Why do you suppose that is?”

  “Meth.” Cutch’s voice echoed through the pit with certainty.

  “Meth makes people lose their teeth?” Elise grew more disgusted with the drug every time she learned something new about it.

  “Sadly, yes. And if he’s addicted to the drug, it’s no wonder he’d do anything to maintain his supply—including doing dirty work for his supplier.”

  The authority behind Cutch’s words sparked the curiosity Elise had felt earlier. “How do you know so much about meth?”

  Warm breath tickled her ear as Cutch sighed beside her. “It’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got time. I’m not planning on showing my face out there until those goons are long gone. The last thing I want to do is poke my head out and get it shot off.”

  She could sense Cutch’s struggle as he wrestled with her question.

  Irked by his reluctance to share, she leaned away from him, as though to look him in the face if there had been enough light to see him. “Why can’t you just tell me? Is it that difficult to be honest with other people?”

  Cutch squeezed his eyes shut against Elise’s probing questions. His instinct was to put her off, to make some half-related remark that would distract her just enough so he could change the subject while at the same time hopefully making her feel as though they’d dealt with her concerns. It was a trick he’d honed over the years, which he’d learned from his father and used successfully throughout his life whenever people’s questions cut too close to his dreams that he wanted to protect from the criticisms of the outside world.