Splicer (A Thriller)

by Theo Cage

  CHAPTER 88

  When Kim Soo finished humiliating the slovenly Rosenblatt, she changed into hiking clothes and raced to the hotel parking lot where she jumped into her rental car. She had the directions to Malcolm’s hideout in the woods.

  Rosenblatt had spilled everything. He confessed that Grieves had murdered Ludd with his help. Grieves was now the last piece of unfinished business on her agenda. Once he was gone, no one could connect Gray’s division to the murder.

  When she turned on her GPS she realized it would be of little help. Most of the area she was going to be covering was unmapped. And Rosenblatt’s directions were sketchy – which was not surprising. After all, he was distracted. On the screen she could see the highway ending at a large blue shape, a lake with some long unpronounceable aboriginal name. Rosenblatt had said there was another logging road she could use. He couldn’t remember the name. But the lakes were all connected, he said. She recalled him blubbering this through hot tears, his face as red as a ripe tomato about to burst. He told her if she could find a ride, she could get to the hideout by water much faster. And then he begged her again to stop.

  Three hours later, fifteen minutes of that on a washboard road in the dark, she came to a small marina on Lake Musquatatiska. The owner said a storm was brewing and he refused to rent her a boat without a valid license. He had no idea of course that just the thought of crossing that dark surface chilled her to her bones. And he had no interest in driving her. But he did give her the name of the owner of a large cabin next door - a cabin featuring a large boathouse attached to a massive dock.

  Kim Soo knocked on the knotty pine cabin door just as the rain started to fall. The owner was about fifty and alone. His family had gone back to Toronto for the weekend. She convinced him to go out on the stormy lake and drop her off at Grieves’ cabin. She did this by offering him a thousand dollars in cash and flirting shamelessly.

  The visibility was extremely poor once the storm started to whip up the surface of the lake, and Kim Soo couldn’t help but notice that her pilot was a bit unsteady on his feet. Never dreaming he’d be out on the water that evening, he’s started drinking early. But a thousand dollars was a thousand dollars and who knew what other payment might be due if he got her safely to her destination? He wasn’t going to let a little bad weather get in his way.

  Half way across the lake, another powerboat fueled by weekend booze, had come out of nowhere; probably racing across what they would normally have guessed was an empty and deserted body of water, trying to outrace the storm. The two boats struck at angles to each other coming out of a massive wave, shearing the fiberglass bows into shreds.

  Kim Soo was flung through the air, without a lifejacket, into the heaving lake water.

  When Kim Soo finally clawed her way to the surface, her eyes were wide and her head was in another world. As a child her punishments were unrelenting. She had often marveled at how a single stab of pain could twist her narrow back in agony or crush her face into a rictus of despair. But despite that, she had become practiced at distancing herself from the things she feared. She had learned to deal with pain in all of its forms - all of its subtle nuances and flavors. But she wanted nothing more now than to take one simple breath of air.

  When Soo’s head broke the surface, she screamed out. But before she could inhale completely, she slipped under the waves again. It had taken all of her energy to thrash to the top. She had no extra reserves left and knew it. Finally, unable to resist any longer, she began to suck in a shuddering breath of lake water. She gagged and choked on it, aware that this was what drowning was all about. Then a hand squeezed her arm and pulled her up into the cold bluster of the night. She coughed raggedly, her nose burning, her eyes full of tears.

  She looked up into the face of the boat’s owner, his eyes red and his dark hair slicked down across his face. He was bobbing in the churn of the lake. She grabbed for him then, thinking of nothing else.

  “Where’s your life jacket?” he asked, trying to keep her at arm’s length.

  “Help me,” was all she said and one of her long nails raked across his face. Blood erupted across his cheek. He winced with the pain.

  “Stop fighting me. I’ve got you.”

  “I’m drowning,” she screamed and grabbed him with both arms. The two of them went under then, the icy water filling her ears. He pushed her away with one foot, trying to escape her grasp. She reached out for him, taking a deep chunk out of his neck with her claws. He pushed her away again, this time harder - his arm crushing her nose. She tried to cry out and took in another long breath of water that burned like fire in her throat and chest.

  He pulled her up again, this time by her hair from behind, trying to keep away from her hands. She was choking too hard to speak.

  “Stop fighting me,” he yelled his voice hard. “Or we’ll both drown out here.”

  Kim turned in a flash and leapt at him, her eyes wild. Again, they both slipped under the surface.

  The man pushed her away once more, kicking her hard in the midsection in the process. The dark water above her head, the icy insistence of the cold at the back of her throat, filled her with a kind of fear she had never felt before. Or even imagined. Then she felt the impulse to breathe again and it was so strong she couldn’t resist. But instead of air she sucked in a liquid coldness that filled her lungs. So she tried to breathe again. This time she choked, feeling the darkness closing in on her. But everything was water now. Everything. There was no more air. Air was just a dream - a dream she would never have again.

  CHAPTER 89

  Rusty had an impulse to charge Grieves, who tottered in the front grass like a pole-axed cow. By the time he raised the rifle, aimed - Rusty could be on him. Jayne sensed it somehow and put her hand on the nape of his neck. Her touch felt hot and slippery.

  "He doesn't look very good," was all she said.

  "He's just dazed. The longer we wait ... look."

  Grieves had raised the rifle and was scanning with the scope around the clearing. His aim was wavering but his stance looked steadier. He swung the scope in their direction and they froze. Then they heard the retort of the gun echo off the trees and felt the bark of the pine in front of them shatter in their faces. Rusty spun as if shot and landed on his hands and knees, rubbing the splinters out of his eyes. Jayne grabbed his shoulders and pulled. Then she saw a piece of the upper part of his arm disappear, a violent spray of blood and gore painting the rocks beyond them. He jerked in surprise.

  "I've been shot," was all he could say. Jayne pulled on his other arm. They were easy targets at the edge of the wood. She was afraid to look in Grieves’ direction, not anxious to feel a high-speed bullet tear into her. They lumbered into the thicker stand together, Rusty's left arm hanging at his side. They heard another shot but there was no evidence of its impact.

  "Find a place to hide. The guys a goddamn marksman," growled Redfield.

  Jayne pulled on him. "I don't think so. He was shooting at close range with a scope. Three shots. It's pure bad luck that one grazed you, that's all." It looked worse than that, but she didn't want to worry him. "We've got to keep moving."

  "Where is the little bastard?"

  "I can't see him through the trees. He's coming though."

  The trees ended suddenly. Onto a rounded rocky outcropping that sloped slowly over to drop off more than twenty feet into another stand of smaller trees. There was another crash of thunder. The surface of the rock face was slippery with the rain. Jayne ventured out onto the escarpment and peered out past the edge. An impossible climb. Then she slipped and landed hard on her knee. She let out a gasp of pain. She rolled to the edge and felt her body carried over by her momentum. She grabbed at the ridges in the granite, felt herself slip again, afraid to yell. Rusty turned from the dark line of the trees and his eyes showed shock and confusion. He ran to her, grabbed one wrist with his right arm. His left shook and pulsed, the sleeve raw and bloody.

  "I'm going over," she chok
ed.

  "Like hell you are." He dug his toes into the veined rock, aware that any second Grieves would crash through the trees and sight his rifle on them. She was swinging now, almost her whole body free from the rocky overhang. One hand clung to the smooth rock, her other hand on Rusty's forearm. He felt himself slipping.

  "Try not to swing. Try to hold still." He saw her eyes, half closed, afraid to look down. The fingernails of her right hand were broken and chipped. He lowered himself, hoping that his whole body on the rocky shelf would provide more friction.

  "You've got to let go, Rusty. He'll be here any moment." Rusty didn't answer. He pulled as hard as he could with his good arm. He couldn't budge her. Too much of her weight was over the edge, he might as well be trying to move the whole ridge. He looked beyond her. Twenty feet. A thick stand of pine trees. Grieves at any second would burst through the trees behind them.

  "Jayney?" he said.

  "Yes," she said, wondering at his expression.

  "I love you."

  She stopped struggling and stared at him. Her eyebrows were knit. She looked both worried and on the verge of tears. Then both of them slipped over the edge and plummeted into the trees below.

  CHAPTER 90

  Rusty came to first. Even before he raised two swollen eyelids, he could make out the difference now between the sky and the horizon. It must be nearing morning. And the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Drops the size of quarters, building under the tent of the pine stand, fell on his face and chest. He moved his arm, the left one, and a dull jolt shot through his shoulder. It felt numb, swollen, and distant. A prickly sensation made his palm itch. He pulled a pine bow off his chest and tried to sit up.

  The depression at the base of the rock outcropping had been collecting wind blown pine needles and discarded branches for centuries. A spongy thick mass of humus and moss formed a cushion, which broke their fall. Rusty was scraped and bruised from the sharp descent through the branches, but his bones appeared to be unbroken. He rolled over on the wet ground and found Jayne's hand. At first she appeared to be face down on the ground, but her head, on its side, was covered in a mass of stringy curls. He pushed her hair aside and felt her cheek. He could feel her breath on his hand. A long ugly gash trailed across her forehead. Her jeans and jacket were torn in several places. As he touched her, her mouth parted and she coughed. He placed his finger to her lips to quiet her.

  Above them, through the crown of the trees, he could just make out the rim of the rock where they had hung before the fall. Rusty had no idea how long they had laid on the ground. If Grieves had heard them, seen them fall, there would be no reason for him not to take a path down the slope a few hundred yards to their right and finish them off while they lay dazed. They must have crashed down through the trees out of his sight. From a distance it might have sounded like a hasty retreat. He could be close or he could be at the other end of the lake. There was no way he could know. Jayne sat up, touching her forehead with her fingers. There was dried blood on her hand. Another injury courtesy of the needle-like conifer branches. She moved stiffly.

  "How long have we been here?" she asked, her voice low and throaty.

  "I wish I knew," he whispered. "But somehow, we managed not to break our necks."

  "No, but everything else hurts, my face is cut to ribbons, I've chipped a tooth ... and I have to pee so bad ... I don't suppose you know where the ladies room is?"

  He pointed randomly into the trees. She got up awkwardly and limped away behind him.

  "Careful, Jayne. We don't know where he is, and we don't want to be caught with out pants down." He heard her stop. She was right behind him, no more than six to eight feet away. "Great!" she whispered. "Now I know how a deer feels during hunting season." She unzipped her pants and crouched awkwardly. Over the sound of a loon's call he could hear her urinating on the soggy ground. Then he felt the call of nature himself.

  "Hurry up," he whispered. "We've got to get moving."

  She crawled back when she was done and looked at his arm. "The rain has kept it clean ... but you've lost a lot of blood. How does it feel?"

  "Numb. Like a slab of wood. My knee feels like a football."

  She felt it through his gray sodden slacks. "Must have happened when you fell. Now what?"

  "Hear that loon? That means the lake is close by. I think we should head for the shoreline. Follow that. Forget the road. There's got to be other people around."

  "Can you walk?"

  He stood up but he needed her help. His head was spinning. He heard a soft buzzing sound like a swarm of insects floating around his head. He wanted to lie down on the ground again, but then he'd wet himself for sure.

  "Now it's my turn," he said, and stumbled over the dead fall about twenty yards to a clump of scrawny tamarack trees. He unzipped his fly with his good arm and began to empty his bladder. As he felt the release of pressure, he groaned slightly with relief then sucked in his breath. To the right, distantly, he heard the snapping of a twig. He looked through the mist, the far trees like ghosts in the flat early morning light. A figure, obviously Grieves, was standing in a small clearing, his rifle pointed into the sky. He was still hunting them. Rusty froze. Muscles tensed. A barrage of pain sent messages to his brain and he grew dizzy again. The picture of Grieves wavered and slid across his vision. Now he couldn't tell if Grieves was heading in his direction or away. He stepped back slowly, mindful of the broken branches underfoot, his balance uncertain. If he fell into the thick deadfall, within seconds Grieves would have him in his sights. He lumbered back towards Jayne who was rubbing her neck muscles, brown pine needles tangled in her hair.

  "It's Grieves,” he whispered.

  "Shit!"

  "Time to head to the lake." Trouble was, he didn't have any idea where the lake was. The echoey loon calls seemed to come from every direction. They clambered over a ridge of decayed logs then headed down, deeper into the forest, towards a theoretical shore. Behind them they heard the sounds of what they imagined was pursuit.

  :

  Grieves had never hunted as a child, only plinked at tin cans and bottles with a pellet gun. He had imagined though what a hunt would be like. He knew this property, knew its boundaries, knew its gullies and rises. And his quarry didn't, which gave him a surge of energy. Three parts of the long rectangle of the land that the Last Resort sat on were surrounded by water. Red Lake. Deep and cold with a barren rocky shore. A few distant islands. The fourth side narrowed and met the access road, which opened into an inhospitable forest of pine, tamarack and swamp. A rail line, the last remaining active connection with several northern Ontario mining towns, crossed one corner of the property.

  Grieves’ quarry might head to the lake and that would trap them on a barren exposed shore. Once he dumped their bodies into the cold lake water, the fish would erase the evidence. The other option was the road. If they headed in that direction, in the daylight, he would retrieve the Yamaha three-wheeler they kept in the tool shed and track them down. But for some reason, likely confusion, they appeared to be headed east, towards the rail line. They were obviously lost.

  He carried the gun, like his father had always trained him, aimed high. He felt better now. His head hurt but his vision had cleared. It was a distant throbbing. His memory was spotty - in fact he couldn't remember exactly how he even got to the cabin. But wasn't that common in a concussion? Short-term memory loss? He felt the jumble of shells in his coat pocket. Lots of ammo. So let's try it out again. He lowered the gun.

  CHAPTER 91

  The bullet traveled in front of a blistering shock wave that broke through the branches just above their heads. It skipped like a supersonic stone. Rusty and Jayne lowered their heads and continued down into the darkness of the ravine. There was no sense that they were traveling in the right direction. In fact, they felt the opposite was true. Something felt wrong. They heard another shot.

  "I wish I knew how many bullets he had," snarled Jayne, who was ragged, sweaty and bent ov
er from the constant challenge of the cluttered forest floor.

  "I think he's finally snapped. Weeks ago he acted demented. That crowbar to the head must have really rocked his boat," said Rusty.

  Jayne dwelled on that thought for a moment. It was no consolation. She wanted to believe that she could think her way out of this problem, the way she did in the courtroom, her wits her best survival weapon. But if Grieves is a mad man, did logic have any currency out here in the sticks? "I think he's shooting wild," she finally said, under her breath. They were loping now, the forest growing thinner and the ground rising up again.

  "Good. Once he uses up his ammunition, all he is to us is a fat little guy in the bush with a hole in his head. I'd love to take him back and throw him off that rock. He'd probably land a little harder than we did."

  Jayne swore and pulled her torn pant leg away from the grip of a fallen branch. "Why didn't you just leave me?" asked Jayne.

  "What? And have all this fun without you!"

  "That was a really stupid thing to do. Endanger both of us. You could have been killed."

  They heard another shot, this one ringing off the rock around them. "Can we have this discussion later?" asked Rusty, beginning to pant.

  "We may not have time. What you said up there ... was that shock? Delirium?"

  "Hey. I was trying to take advantage of you. I had you in a spot. A typical male thing.”

  "If you wanted to cop a feel, you could have just asked." Rusty was just behind her, slowing. "I don't know if I would have had the courage to do what you did up there. Not ask, I mean. But to just let myself go," she said, pulling herself up the incline.

  "You've always had that problem, counselor. I'd do it again," he said. She stopped for a second, turned, and their eyes met across a muzzy dawn. Then the hill they were on seemed to shake with the vibration of a giant footstep. It felt like the end of the world. He was beginning to wonder if there was another deeper reason for naming this place after the world's final clash.