Last to Die: A gripping psychological thriller not for the faint hearted

by Arlene Hunt

  Stop thinking that way.

  The truck drove over a large pothole so hard she smacked her face against the wooden cover and was forced to clench her teeth against the pain. Whatever he was planning, she was not going to go down easily. She was scared but she would not make it easy for him.

  After a while, the truck slowed, then reversed and stopped. She felt it rock gently and she waited, holding her breath. She heard the sound of something being pulled back. Seconds later she was breathing clean air and blinking up at a brightening sky.

  His face appeared above her. He reached in and hauled her to her feet. He stood her up on the flatbed, studying her closely. He raised his right hand to her face. Jessie shrank back from his touch and looked around. They were in a clearing in a wood. The air was cooler than it had been back at the cabin and there was a slight mist rising through the trees.

  Without warning, he grabbed her and pushed her over the side. Jessie landed on the dirt hard enough to knock the wind out of her. He jumped down and pulled a large hunting knife from a sheath by his hip.

  Jessie’s eyes widened when she saw the knife. She screamed behind the gag and tried to dig her heels into the dirt to scrabble away. He grabbed her and cut the plastic binds from her wrists and feet.

  ‘Get up.’

  Jessie rose shakily to her feet. She rolled her shoulders and flexed the muscles in her back. There was blood on her sleeve from where he had struck her earlier and she had cut one knee in the fall from the flatbed. He ripped the tape from her mouth.

  ‘You hear a bridge a while back?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He pointed across the clearing with the knife. ‘Yonder through the trees is a trail; you find that you can go follow it down to a creek. Find the creek and it will lead you on down to the bridge.’

  ‘You’re letting me go?’ Jessie looked at him disbelievingly. ‘Are you letting me go?’

  He shrugged one shoulder. ‘You got five minutes.’

  ‘Five minutes what?’

  ‘Head start.’

  Suddenly Jessie understood.

  She didn’t hesitate.

  She ran.

  Caleb watched her go, a little surprised at the speed of her run, but pleased nonetheless. It confirmed what he had hoped. This one worked off her instincts and she did not second-guess herself. She was fleet of foot too. She made it to the trees and disappeared from view within seconds.

  Caleb looked at his watch, humming tunelessly under his breath. When five minutes had elapsed he gathered his equipment and started after her.

  53

  They searched high and low all over the hills and the surrounding valley until evening began to fall, keeping in touch by cell phone as each section of land was covered. But it was to no avail. Close to dusk, tired and dirty, they regrouped by their vehicles, the earlier energy and spirit long gone. Quietly, people said their goodbyes to Mike. Some patted his back, others let their eyes do all the talking before they loaded their animals into cabs and trailers and headed back down the mountain to shower and grab some much-needed food.

  Mike sat on the fender of Ace’s truck, his head hanging low, dejected. In his heart he had not really expected to find Jessie that day, but hope had lingered long after logic had departed.

  Fay walked down to him, her arm linked through Walter’s. The knees of her pants were covered in dirt and grass stains from where she had earlier in the day slipped on a slope. She looked old and worn out.

  ‘Mike?’ Fay said. ‘Son? Why don’t you come on over to the house. Let me fix you something to eat. You’re done in.’

  Mike slapped at a mosquito chewing his neck and shook his head. He did not make eye contact with her. ‘I need to go home in case there’s been any calls.’

  Fay’s lower lip quivered. She looked towards Ace for a sign that he might intervene, but he acted like he didn’t notice her trying to catch his eye.

  ‘Mike—’

  Mike turned his back on her and lit a cigarette.

  ‘Tell you what, Walter, why don’t you run Mom on home?’ Ace said, lifting Captain into the trailer of his truck. He offered the dog water from his own water bottle.

  ‘Come on, Fay,’ Walter said softly. He said his goodbyes to Ace and Mike and tried to lead her away. She hesitated for a moment.

  ‘I don’t believe harm will come to Jessie, Mike. I don’t believe God would let her come to harm.’

  ‘No?’ Mike said bitterly. ‘What are you basing that on? The bang-up job he’s been doing so far?’

  ‘I know you’re angry, son, but please don’t be angry with Him.’

  ‘Right now anger is all I got.’

  Fay stared at her son’s back. Her eyes glistened in the twilight.

  ‘Fay, come on now.’

  She allowed Walter to lead her away.

  Ace finished watering his dog and walked to the front of the truck towards Mike. He heard an engine, turned his head and stared as a black Escalade made its way slowly up the road towards them.

  ‘We’ve got company.’

  Mike bent and looked around the fender. His eyes widened.

  ‘That goddamned bitch.’

  He snapped upright. Ace caught him by his bicep, but Mike shook him off as Darla Levine stepped out of the passenger side of the Escalade. Darla took a step forward. She wore a long silver dress with matching silver pumps, her highlights shone, despite the encroaching darkness.

  ‘Mr Conway, I—’

  Mike did not stop moving. He grabbed her by both shoulders, lifted her off her feet and slammed her against the side of the Escalade. Darla yelped in surprise.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘I … I heard you found your wife’s car. I’m here to offer my assistance.’

  ‘Your what?’ Mike could not keep the fury from his voice. ‘You wouldn’t know assistance if it came up and bit you on the shrunken ass.’

  Darla’s driver, the skinny Mexican Mike had sent sprawling on his ass at Harry’s, opened the door and looked over the roof at him. ‘Yo man, get your fucking hands offa her.’

  ‘You best hold your tongue if you want to keep it.’ Ace said with flat menace, strolling down the rutted road.

  ‘I understand that you are angry with me,’ Darla was saying, her words spilling over her lipstick too fast to carry her normal airs and graces with them. ‘Please, I came here to tell you I’ll help. I’ll write a story asking for people to look out for her, I’ll—’

  Mike released her and stepped back. He looked past her to the driver.

  ‘You best be on your way and take this piece of shit with you. I’m done being polite.’

  ‘Mr Conway, if you’d just let me—’

  Mike smashed his fist into the side of the Escalade, inches from Darla’s head, denting the panel with the force of the blow. He jabbed a bloodied set of knuckles into Darla’s face.

  ‘I said I am done.’

  Darla scrambled into the passenger seat. She looked terrified.

  Mike didn’t care. He walked past Ace and back to his truck without saying another word.

  ‘What you waitin’ for?’ Ace said to the driver. ‘Get.’

  Chippy did not need to be told twice. He got.

  Ace watched silently as the Escalade backed down the dirt road, and waited until it passed from view before he followed his brother.

  54

  Jessie ran as though the hounds of hell were hot on her heels. She broke through the tree line and plunged headlong into the gloom. Panic-stricken and half blinded by the sudden change in light, she blundered on, convinced he was right behind her.

  She fought to stay upright as she leaped over roots and rocks. Spiny branches tore at her skin and low-lying creepers snarled her feet. She zigzagged, certain she would hear a shot then feel a bullet punch through her skin. She stumbled onto a kind of track, righted herself and set off running again.

  Terror put wind to her back and for the first mile or so she sprinted as hard as sh
e could. But near the end of her second mile she was forced to pull up, completely winded. She leaned her hand against a tree trunk and gasped for air. Lactic acid flooded her muscles; her lungs felt as though they were burning and as hard as she fought against it, she had no choice but to vomit into the ferns by the base of the tree.

  Clearing her stomach helped a little. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, glanced over her shoulder and tried to guess how much of a start she really had and how much she was holding.

  The woods were cool and dark. A thought occurred to Jessie. The t-shirt she was wearing, though grubby from being worn for a number of days, would be easy to spot among the green and olive-coloured surroundings. Jessie stripped it off and rubbed it vigorously on the ground, smearing it with dirt and moss and grass until it was absolutely filthy. When she had dirtied it up as much as possible she put it back on and began to run again, slower this time, aiming for distance as much as speed.

  A few miles on, she stopped to catch her breath and cock her head to listen. Apart from a few twittering birds and the blood rushing through her ears she heard nothing.

  She ran on again, thinking, trying to make sense of his decision. She didn’t for one second buy that he had released her out of the goodness of his heart. Which meant he planned to recapture her, but how? He knew she had pace. Was he going to try to outrun her? She pictured what he had been wearing: cargo pants, thick-soled boots. No, he would not outrun her in those. He had an alternative plan.

  She had no idea where she was going and no idea where he was, but if he had been telling her the truth she had at least five minutes on him. As along as she kept moving she could stay ahead of him, maybe even extend the lead.

  But why the head start?

  He was going to outflank her.

  How?

  Jessie skidded to a halt.

  What a fool she was! Her natural instincts had told her to go down and she had followed them. She could conserve more of her energy and maybe keep her lead for a little longer. She had known this instinctively.

  And he would have also known this.

  ‘Down’ to the creek, ‘down’ to the bridge’, those had been his words, his directions, and like a stupid sheep she had followed them to the letter.

  She twirled around and stood with her hands on her hips, her body heaving.

  Or maybe he wanted her to think that? Could it be a double bluff?

  She wiped the sweat from her face and looked back the way she had come. They had been climbing the whole time they were in the truck, she was certain of it. The roads were below somewhere. Down was freedom.

  Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t.

  If she chose differently it meant a climb into the mountains. Even assuming she made it over whatever ridges were above her, what then? She had no idea where she was and could easily wind up lost in the wilderness.

  Lost or recaptured. What a choice.

  She chewed on her lip in despair, starting to feel frustrated. Maybe she ought to try and hide? Double back?

  The creek had to lead down. She knew there had to be a road not far from where he had released her. By her reckoning, they had been driving for half an hour, so maybe fifteen miles, maybe less. She could run that. She could make it if she really put everything she had into it. A road had to mean traffic and people.

  Salvation.

  No, think! Why would he have told her to find the creek? Why would he want her to go down?

  Jessie rocked her head back between her shoulder blades. Above her, the trees whispered their secrets to a disinterested sky.

  Another thirty seconds went by; more of her lead wasted.

  Move. Make a goddamned decision and move.

  She retraced her footsteps for about five hundred feet and leaped off the track into thick undergrowth. She landed on a section of bark-strewn bank and began to climb.

  55

  The road was in deep shadow when Ace drove off his brother’s property; the remainder of the day’s light gently retreated in bursts of red cloud over the western sky.

  Ace had told Mike he was heading home, but he pulled in a little way up the road and parked again. He climbed out and stretched, feeling muscles pop in his back. It had been a gruelling day, but he was used to running on next to nothing, and as bad as he felt physically, he would rather feel that way a thousand times over than how Mike had to be feeling right at that moment. He was worried about his younger brother and had offered to stay with him. Mike had refused him, saying he did not feel much like company.

  Ace knew what was weighing heavy on his brother’s heart. Ever since they had found Jessie’s car up on the logging road, Mike had been battling to tramp down the unspoken, gut-wrenching idea that Jessie was dead, done in by her own hand. Ace could see the guilt and fear written all over him.

  But Ace wasn’t sure he believed suicide to be the case. That was not to say it wasn’t possible, but his sister-in-law had never struck him as a cruel woman and to do what Mike feared would have been the cruellest thing she could possibly have done to him. Jessie was, Ace thought with genuine affection, someone he admired for her ability to see past the shit and dirt of life and was happy to add a little grace to her surroundings. The Jessie he knew would not inflict a deliberate agony on those who loved her.

  He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Behind him, Captain hung his head out through the driver’s door window and gave a soft huff, reminding Ace that where he went, Captain would be happy to follow. Ace let the dog out and Captain sat by his feet, gazing up at him. Even though the dog had to be as weary as he, Captain was ready and willing to do his master’s bidding. Ace scratched the top of his head, the trace of a smile on his lips. Most dogs could be trained to hunt – Ace had done so many a time before – but with Captain the instinct was in his DNA, passed down from long bloodlines of brave, diligent animals who would rather die of exhaustion than let their master down.

  Ace fetched a torch from the glove compartment, then tied a long thin line to Captain’s collar and walked down the road. The night was silent, apart from the chirp of crickets and the click of Captain’s nails on asphalt.

  They entered the woods where they had done so two days before and walked half a mile along a trail line before Ace stopped and located the exact bank where he had found Rudy. He bent down and held Rudy’s collar under Captain’s nose, letting the dog sniff it carefully.

  ‘Seek, seek.’

  Captain trotted to the front, criss-crossing the path. Ace left enough give on the line for him to work comfortably.

  They worked left to right along the trail. Captain’s demeanour was different now, as he was focused on his task. Every so often he pulled the lead line taut as he collected scents of interest and siphoned them through his remarkable nose. When he found one of these, he would pause and retrace his steps, but he did not indicate for Ace.

  A half a mile in, Captain picked up the pace, leaped off the track and began to climb the left embankment. Ace let him have as much head as possible and dug his boots deep into the compact soil to follow. At the top of the ridge, Captain hung a sharp right and began to tug, moving along the tree line. Ace’s grip on his torch tightened as he recognised the same slopes he and Mike had climbed; he knew where they were headed.

  Captain led him exactly to the spot where he had located Rudy’s corpse.

  ‘Good boy,’ Ace said, but Captain was not finished. He snuffled around the flattened ferns and plants and pulled hard on his tie to a section deeper into the undergrowth. Ace allowed him to lead on.

  A couple of yards in, Captain signed and gave a deep cry. ‘Barru,’ the dog called. ‘Barru.’

  Ace pushed him to one side with his knee. He shone the torch on what Captain was so interested in. It was an arrow. He picked it up and examined it. There was dried blood on the shaft; blood which, he suspected, belonged to Rudy. Half a foot long, with unusual fetching and paint design, it had a hand-tooled obsidian fathead, and someone with considerable skill had
created it.

  Ace bounced the arrow in the palm of his hand and looked behind him. He calculated the distance from where Rudy had lain: twenty feet. Yep, this was the weapon.

  Which brought him to his next thought. It took skill to make and use a traditional arrow like this one, and skill to shoot a moving target.

  This was no accident.

  Someone had wanted the dog dead, out of the way.

  He walked Captain back to where he had found Rudy and searched around the area a little more thoroughly. He found impressions in the grass that had not yet sprung back. Ace calculated the distance from Rudy’s body. He could not be certain, but he did not think he or Mike had been this far up the slope. He directed Captain’s attention to the area and ordered him to seek once again.

  Captain put his nose to the ground and lifted it once or twice, unsure. He circled back to the original site, then returned to where Ace stood. This time he moved past Ace and climbed a shorter, rockier ridge, pausing every few feet to check a tuft of grass or seemingly innocuous stone. At the crest of the ridge, Captain sniffed around in a circle, wagged his tail and sat.

  Ace reined him in and climbed to the ridge. The ridge was covered in crabgrass and weeds, most of which had been flattened and trodden into the ground. Someone had been up here, for a while too.

  Ace stood and looked around. A slow breath left his chest as he realised that from where he stood, he was looking directly down into the front yard of his brother’s home. The lights were on inside the house and he watched Mike come out onto the porch in his bare feet, a bottle of beer in one hand and his phone in the other.

  ‘Son of a bitch.’

  56

  Caleb tightened the leather strap that held the quiver to his hip. He crossed the rocky open ground and followed her line, moving quietly and confidently through the thick rhododendrons before the trees and into the woods. Once there, he allowed time for his eyes to acclimatise to the gloom, after which he began to search for her signature track, a mark that belonged to Jessie and Jessie alone. He found it in less than thirty seconds – the herringbone imprint of her trainers.