Missing

by Sharon Sala

  “Some kind of insects,” Wes said. “Sounds like they’re swarming.”

  “We’d better wait,” Charlie said. “Remember what you said about all those ants?”

  Wes’s stomach was already in knots as he turned around and waved Hurley down.

  The agents came quickly.

  “What?” Hurley asked.

  Wes pointed toward the direction from which the sound was coming. “Listen,” he said.

  At first they heard nothing but the wind in the trees. They’d already noted the absence of birds and seen the dead animals. But it was Vernon who keyed in on it first.

  “Bees. Sounds like bees swarming.”

  “Or flies,” Wes added.

  Hurley frowned. “Flies don’t make a sound like that.”

  “They do if there are enough of them, and if they’re on something dead,” Charlie said.

  The color faded from Vernon’s face as he glanced nervously around.

  “Maybe we should wait for CDC,” he suggested.

  But Charlie was already moving.

  He stepped between two bushes that had overgrown a narrow path, then stopped.

  “Oh, God,” he mumbled, then turned around and threw up.

  Wes was right behind him. Whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips. He stood for a moment, trying to take in what was draped over the rock in front of them, then he grabbed Charlie by the arm and dragged him out of the path as Hurley started past.

  “Don’t,” Wes said.

  Hurley frowned. “I’m sorry, Holden, but this is my case and I—” Hurley stopped, then slowly began to move backward. “Lord have mercy,” he whispered.

  “What is it?” Vernon asked. “What did you find?”

  Wes wanted to cry, but he knew if he started, he might never stop.

  “Porter’s deer. I think we found Porter’s deer.”

  He turned to Hurley and the men who were with him, and without raising his voice, gave them a promise they knew he would keep.

  “You can put what you have to in your written report, but don’t tell Ally. In fact, if any of you ever tell what you’ve seen here today, I will find you—each and every mother’s son of you—and make you sorry for the day you were born.”

  Hurley wanted to argue. He could have had Wes arrested for what he’d just said, but he knew where it was coming from, and for once, he understood.

  “We have no desire for any of this to get out,” Hurley said. “Nor will the CDC. There’s no way the bodies can be handled by a funeral home, anyway. They’ll have to be burned.”

  “I’m going to go back to Blue Creek, and I’m going to tell Ally that you found the remains of her brothers. Then we’re going to the nearest funeral home, where the director is going to produce two nice caskets that will supposedly contain their remains. And we’re going to bury those empty caskets down in the cemetery in Blue Creek. Do I make myself clear?”

  Hurley nodded.

  Without looking to see if Charlie followed, Wes started back the way they’d come. He was sick to his stomach and shaking so hard it was difficult to put one foot in front of the other. He didn’t know exactly what he was going to say to Ally, but it damn sure wouldn’t be the truth. How could you explain to a sister that one of her brothers had killed and gutted the other, as if he’d just field-dressed a deer?

  By the time Wes got back up the mountain, Porter’s body had been covered and there was one man standing guard. He nodded to Wes and then looked away.

  Wes just kept walking.

  When he and Charlie got back to the van, there was a different driver waiting. He introduced himself as Agent Devine.

  “We’re done here,” Wes said. “Take us back.”

  Charlie was silent getting in. All the way back down the mountain, he kept glancing at Wes, as if expecting him to explode. Finally Wes spoke.

  “Quit worrying,” he muttered. “I’m not going to self-destruct.”

  Charlie shuddered, then swiped his hands across his face, as if trying to wipe away the memories of what they’d just seen.

  “God…I’m bordering on the act myself. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

  Wes’s chin jutted angrily.

  “I didn’t know her brothers long,” Wes said. “But I think they were good men. They just got taken in by a man who offered too much money for them to turn down, and it cost them their lives.”

  “What about that man?” Charlie asked. “What was his name…Stern?”

  “Storm. Roland Storm. If we’re lucky, his sorry carcass is lying somewhere up on this mountain and turning to dust.”

  “Are you okay?” Charlie asked. “I mean…did all of this trigger any flashbacks?”

  “No.”

  “What are you going to tell Ally?”

  “That I love her. I haven’t got a clue as to what I’ll say after that.”

  Twenty

  Roland spent the night under the loading dock behind Harold James’s feed store. He wouldn’t even let himself think about what the fire might have done to his home and kept hoping that something had survived. He didn’t give a damn about his hired hands. All he knew was that by now they had to be dead, and if they’d gotten caught in the forest fire, so much the better. That way, no one would ever know that they’d been dying before it happened.

  If Wes and Ally had also perished in the fire, then he was home free. He could collect the insurance on his place, take the money and start over somewhere where no one had ever heard of Blue Creek, West Virginia. But he had to get out of this first.

  There were blisters on his skin where he’d come too close to the fire, and he knew he needed to see a doctor, but he decided to wait. Until he knew for sure that all the witnesses were dead, he would have to lie low.

  He rolled over onto his side and started to crawl out from under the dock when he came face-to-face with a very large cat. When the cat suddenly arched its back and hissed at Roland, he tried to shoo it away. When it hissed at him again, he picked up a small rock and chunked it at the cat. It hit the animal on its side and sent it running, but before he could make his escape, the doors leading to the dock suddenly opened. Cursing beneath his breath, he was stuck until whoever it was moved away.

  “Here kitty, kitty, kitty. Scooby…where did you go, boy?”

  Roland recognized the voice as belonging to Harold James, the owner of the store, and realized the cat he’d just run off was probably Scooby. Then he heard Harold chuckle.

  “There you are, boy. Come on, I’ve got breakfast for you.”

  Roland heard the shuffling of feet, the clank of a metal pan being set down, then another man’s voice being added to the mix.

  “Hey, Harold. I thought I might find you out here.”

  “Morning, Duane. I was just feeding old Scooby here. Be with you in a minute.”

  “No hurry, but where’s your hired hand?”

  “Up on the mountain, I reckon. Someone said the DEA sent for him.”

  Roland rolled his eyes and mentally cursed. Holden was alive, which probably meant Ally Monroe was, also.

  “Are those the men in the big vans?” Duane asked.

  “Naw, that’s them people from the disease control.”

  Roland froze. The CDC? The DEA? What the fuck is going on up there?

  But he knew the answer to his own question. Either Holden or Ally or possibly both of them must have called the government in.

  “Have you heard how Gideon is doing?” Duane asked.

  “Someone said over to the café this morning that he was still in Intensive Care.”

  “Darn shame,” Duane said.

  “I’d probably have me a heart attack, too, if I’d lost my home in that fire and my boys were still missing.”

  Roland shifted nervously. He’d never meant for any of this to happen, and he hadn’t caused the fire, so he wasn’t going to shoulder all the blame.

  “What about Gideon’s girl?” Duane asked. “Her with that crippled foot and all
…It’s a good thing Gideon came home when he did, or her and your man, Wes, would have burned up with the place.”

  “Yes, that’s what I heard,” Harold said.

  “Is she still in the hospital, too?” Duane asked.

  “I don’t think so. I thought I saw Wes driving toward the motel with her early this morning. That’s where they’re staying till all this gets sorted out. Now, do you want the twenty-five-pound or fifty-pound sacks of chicken feed?”

  “Give me a dozen of them twenty-fives,” Duane said. “Them fifties are too heavy for me now. I ain’t as young as I once was.”

  Harold laughed. “None of us are,” he said, then added, “Just drive your truck around here and I’ll load you right up.”

  “All right,” Duane said.

  Roland listened until he heard both men’s footsteps moving away from the loading dock, then he crawled out from beneath it and slipped into the alley between the buildings.

  He stood for a minute while deciding what to do next. It was obvious that strolling over to Kathy’s Café and getting some breakfast was out of the question. If Holden had called all those government people, then it stood to reason that Ally would have reported what she knew, too. It made him furious to think that after all he’d endured, he was going to be blamed for this mess. He hadn’t intended to create anything as deadly as Triple H. It was just an accident of nature.

  His focus now was to get some different clothes and affect a disguise. With all the strangers in town, he should have no trouble getting around without being caught. But as he slipped along the alley, he knew there was one thing yet to do—get rid of Ally Monroe. He didn’t want to live the rest of his life knowing that there was a witness to his horrible mistake.

  The television in the motel room was on Mute, although the screen still flickered with life. The bucket of ice was slowly melting on the table, and there was an empty pop can and a candy wrapper in the trash beside the bed. The rest of the stuff that Charlie had brought was uneaten and lying at the foot of the bed while she slept.

  Suddenly there was a knock at the door, then someone was calling her name.

  “Miss Monroe! Miss Monroe!”

  She came awake within seconds, but for a moment couldn’t think where she was. Then the memories of the past twenty-four hours returned, and she rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Mr. Holden sent me to get you. There’s news of your brothers.”

  Ally gasped, then scrambled out of bed, taking care not to put much weight on her bad ankle as she hobbled to the door and opened it.

  Before she could ask any questions of the man at the door, he grabbed her arm and shoved her inside.

  “What are—”

  “Shut up!” Roland said. “Just shut up!”

  Ally gasped. She didn’t recognize the man, but she knew that voice. It was Storm.

  He sneered. “What? Don’t you like my new look? I’m rather partial to it myself,” he said, then rubbed a hand over his slick pate. Not only had he cut off his ponytail, but he’d shaved his head, too, stolen a man’s shirt and a pair of pants from a clothesline, and snitched a pair of sunglasses from an unlocked car out in the parking lot. In a lineup, he wouldn’t have recognized himself.

  “What did you do to my brothers?” Ally asked.

  He frowned. He’d expected fear and tears, not belligerence.

  “Their deaths were an unforeseeable result of their employment.”

  “No!” Ally wailed. Her legs went weak as she collapsed at the foot of the bed, then began to cry.

  Roland cursed. “Shut up!” he said. “Just shut up.” He wrapped her hair around his hand.

  “No!” Ally screamed, then yanked off his sunglasses and tried to scratch out his eyes as she kicked him between his legs.

  In the time that it took for his brain to register the pain, she was already hobbling toward the door. The moment she cleared the doorway, she started to scream.

  Roland cupped himself with both hands, stifled a shriek, then dropped to his knees. She was getting away, but he couldn’t move, let alone walk. Precious seconds passed before he could stand, but as soon as he could, he stumbled after her.

  The drive down from Roland Storm’s property had been completely silent. Neither Charlie nor Wes had been in the mood to discuss the horror of what they’d seen. Agent Devine hadn’t seen fit to do any talking, either.

  Wes was so distracted by thoughts of what he was going to tell Ally that the rattle of the wooden planks on Blue Creek Bridge failed to trigger any response. As they started down Main Street, he took a deep, cleansing breath. Whatever happened, he and Ally had each other, and that would bring them through, but Charlie had gotten more than he’d bargained for.

  “Hey, Charlie.”

  Charlie cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

  “Sorry you got caught up in all of this.”

  “No need to apologize to me. I have no emotions invested in this town or these people, other than an overwhelming sadness for what’s happened. I’m nothing but a witness.” He looked at Wes, then shuddered. “Did you feel it up there?”

  “Feel what?” Wes asked.

  “The Devil.”

  “Odd that you would say that,” Wes said. “Ally said as much.”

  Suddenly Charlie grabbed the back of the seat and pointed.

  “Wes! In the parking lot!”

  Wes leaned forward, but his view was blocked. Then Agent Devine pulled forward, and they all saw Ally, stumbling and falling, then crawling across the parking lot. When a stranger suddenly ran out of their motel room after her, Wes felt the world shift. He didn’t recognize the man, but there was something oddly familiar about his long, jerky stride.

  Then it hit him. It was Storm, and he was after Ally.

  “Stop!” he shouted. “For God’s sake, stop!”

  Devine slammed on the brakes as Wes opened the car door and jumped out. The driver got a brief glimpse of Wes running between two cars before a tall, bald-headed man tackled Ally Monroe in the parking lot. He shoved the car into Park and got out on the run, with Charlie Frame right behind him.

  Ally knew, even as she cleared the sidewalk, that she wasn’t going to be able to outrun Storm this time. There was no Wes around to save her, and no trees behind which to hide.

  “Help…somebody help me!” she screamed as she stumbled, then fell.

  Pain ripped through her as the concrete grated against her skin. She cried out, then just as quickly began scrambling to get up.

  Suddenly Storm’s hand was around her ankle, pulling her down and dragging her back.

  “No…no, God, no!” she said as she began to beg for her life.

  This time, Storm dodged her heels as he grabbed her by her hair, yanking her upright. Between one breath and the next, he had her up against his chest and a knife across her throat.

  In total despair, Ally began to thrash and moan. She couldn’t die, not now, not when she’d just found love.

  “Be still or I’ll cut you now and forgo the pleasure of a little torture,” Roland snarled.

  Ally froze.

  He laughed, then bit her ear just enough to cause her pain.

  “You know, you’re just like your freaky little uncle. He meddled where he didn’t belong, and it got him killed,” Roland said, then pushed the knife a little harder against her skin. “So soft,” he muttered. “It won’t hurt a bit.”

  Ally was trying to come to terms with what he’d said about Uncle Doo when everything came undone.

  Before Roland could shove the knife in, he saw something from the corner of his eye. Just as suddenly, his body went numb. He could hear Ally screaming as she slid out of his arms, but he could no more have stopped her than he could have saved himself.

  In slow motion, his mind registered that the knife he’d been holding was no longer in his hand. There was a moment of panic, then steel was slicing through flesh and bone, but not Ally’s. His. His arms
felt like rubber, his hands flailing uselessly at his neck as he went down. Cradled by concrete and with the sun in his eyes, he had yet to see who had brought him to this place.

  Feelings began to intensify as his pulse echoed in his ears—the precious sound of his life, fading with each beat. The coppery taste of his own blood was on his lips, the scent of Ally Monroe’s shampoo as her hair slid through his fingers in his nose, and in his ears an emotionless voice telling him something—something he strained hard to hear.

  Then, when he did, his last thought was one of regret. He should have left town. Wes Holden didn’t lie. He’d warned him to leave Ally alone.

  Ally didn’t know what had happened or that Wes was even there until he picked her up in his arms.

  “I’ve got you, baby.…I’ve got you. It’s over. He can’t hurt you again.”

  Ally began to tremble, then she started to weep.

  “They’re dead. They’re dead. He said my brothers are dead…and oh, Wes…oh, Wes…he killed Uncle Dooley, too.”

  Wes could hardly grasp what she was saying, but if he could have killed Roland twice, he would have done it right then.

  “Oh, baby…I’m sorry…so sorry.”

  Charlie appeared and grabbed Wes by the arm.

  “Get her out of here,” Charlie said. “Devine and I have got the scene until the authorities arrive.”

  Wes quickly carried Ally back into the room, kicking the door shut as he went. He laid her on the bed and then ran into the bathroom for a wet cloth. Moments later he was back and sat down on the bed beside her.

  “Ally…honey…let me see your hands.”

  She sat up. Her fingers were trembling as she felt along her neck, feeling for the cut and the blood, remembering the knife against her throat. Then she put her arms around Wes’s neck.

  “You saved me,” she whispered. “You saved my life.”

  Wes tossed the wet cloth aside and pulled her into his lap. She was shaking hard—so hard. Every breath was followed by a sob, but she didn’t break. She was tough, this woman of his heart.

  “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. If I’d known you were in any danger, I would never have left you alone.”