by Cindi Myers
She rounded a stack of boxes and a cry of relief escaped her as she recognized the dusty outline of a window. Hurrying to it, she wiped at the grimy glass with the sleeve of her jacket and looked down into the store’s backyard. A sagging chain-link fence ran along the back and a rusted barbecue smoker sat in the shade of a barren tree. She stood on tiptoe and tried to see the ground and gulped. She guessed the drop was at least ten feet, maybe more, and though several inches of snow coated the ground, that wasn’t enough to provide much of a cushion for her fall. If she was lucky, she’d escape with only a sprained ankle or a broken arm, but she didn’t like the thought of risking that. Heart sinking, she turned away from the window to explore the rest of the attic.
The other end held no window, only a rusting metal vent that didn’t yield when she pushed against it. The only other exit was the hatch over the storeroom, where Mark waited. The thought of him wounded and trapped spurred her on. She’d have to risk jumping out the window, but first she had to raise the sash or break the pane. She needed something to protect her from the broken glass. Maybe some old clothing or rags. She tugged at the lid of the nearest trunk and wrenched it open, coughing at the cloud of dust that rose. Trying not to think about mice, she tugged at what looked like cloth shoved inside the trunk, and yanked out a moth-eaten chenille bedspread that might have once been a bright blue, but looked like a stained gray in the dim light. The coverlet was easily large enough for a king-size bed, and its expanse gave her an idea.
She returned to the window, dragging the bedspread with her. While the music continued to shake the rafters, she hefted the metal floor lamp. Shielding her face with the cloth, she drove the lamp into the window like a spear, shattering the glass. Before she could lose her nerve, she tied one end of the bedspread to the rafter over the window and tested the knot with her weight. It held, so she cleared away as much of the loose glass as possible, and stuffed the rest of the anchored coverlet out the window, so that it trailed down the side of the house. Then she knelt on the sash, facing inward, took hold of the bedspread and began to climb down, bracing her feet against the weathered siding of the building and holding tightly to her makeshift rope.
The bedspread ended five feet from the ground, but that was close enough for her to feel comfortable jumping. She tried to yank the bedspread after her, but it held fast, so she was forced to leave it hanging from the open window. With luck, the clerk wouldn’t decide to take a smoke break in the backyard and see it flapping in the breeze, giving her away.
After making sure the coast was clear, she climbed the fence, then hurried to the side of the house and retrieved the rifle from its hiding place in the bushes. She shouldered it, then crossed in back of a few buildings that appeared to be vacant. When she was sure she was out of sight of the store, she turned up toward the road. The wind had picked up, the icy breeze sending a chill through her, but the scent of snow and cedar invigorated her, and the need to reach help for Mark made her walk faster, which helped to warm her.
She had gone only a few yards when the whine of an approaching vehicle sent her scurrying for cover in the trees. Crouched low behind snowy branches, she studied the black Humvee headed into town. It wasn’t the same car Mark had fired upon earlier, but it was very like it. And the wide shoulders and grim faces of the two men in the front seat of the vehicle sent fear shuddering through her. Those were two of Duane’s men, she was certain. And in only a few minutes they would burst into that storeroom to take Mark away.
As soon as the vehicle passed, she began retracing her steps to the store. She didn’t have time to get help from someone else. She would have to save Mark herself. She had the rifle, though she wasn’t sure how much ammunition was left in the single clip, or how much good the gun would do her against both Duane’s men and the store clerk, who might be armed, as well. She’d have to find another weapon, or get to Mark in the storeroom before the other three did.
Duane’s two henchmen were just getting out of the Hummer when Erin looked around the side of the building toward them. Dressed in dark suits and sunglasses, they fit the television portrayal of federal agents, though they were considerably beefier than any of the supposed Feds she remembered. One reached inside his black overcoat and she caught the glint of a handgun tucked under his arm. He looked toward his cohort and nodded, and they strode across the gravel lot and through the front door of the store.
As soon as they were inside, Erin, crouching low, scooted across the yard to the vehicle. She peered in the passenger-side window, hoping to spot another weapon or two. Duane’s goons almost always carried semiautomatic weapons, and since the two phony FBI agents hadn’t been carrying any long guns, she hoped to find them in the Hummer.
She spotted one rifle on the passenger floorboard in the back, but what met her gaze on the driver’s side front set her heart pounding not with fear, but elation. The keys to the Hummer dangled from the steering column. The massive vehicle, with its reinforced grill, four-wheel drive and powerful engine, just might be the best weapon at her disposal.
As the blaring music inside the store abruptly died, Erin opened the passenger door of the Hummer and slid inside, climbing over the center console and sliding into the driver’s seat. Holding her breath, she twisted the key and the engine turned over. Not hesitating, she shifted into Reverse, backed up, then drove around the side of the building. She floored the gas pedal as she sped toward the sagging chain-link fence. The jolt of impact with the fence thrust her back against the seat, but the Hummer rolled over the chain-link panel as if it was made of tinfoil. She kept right on driving, up to the corner of the building where the storeroom was situated. She backed up a foot or so, then stomped on the gas pedal, sending the Hummer crashing into the side of the store.
The cinder blocks and old plaster splintered against the vehicle’s grille. She barely heard the shouts of the men as she drove into the building, where one of Duane’s men had hold of Mark’s arm. The image of the four men frozen with shock and gaping at her would remain burned into her memory forever. She aimed the Hummer toward Mark’s captor and the man released him and dived out of the way, while Mark headed in the opposite direction.
Erin lowered the driver’s side window. “Get in!” she shouted to Mark, then ducked beneath the dash as a bullet shattered the windshield.
Mark wrenched open the back door and dived inside. Staying low, Erin shoved the shifter into Reverse and screeched backward through the debris. By the time she reached the backyard, Mark was leaning over the backseat beside her, firing out the shattered front window toward their pursuers. The clerk and Duane’s two men had staggered out of the shattered building like ants from a ruined hill, one of the thugs cradling his arm, the other firing his handgun toward the fast-retreating Hummer.
Erin made a sharp turn and the vehicle jounced over the rough ground to the road. The tires squealed as she wrenched them onto the pavement and barreled away from the store. She reached back and pulled her seat belt across her body as Mark struggled into the front passenger seat. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“My life may have flashed before my eyes when you came barreling toward me with this thing,” he said, buckling his own seat belt. “I thought you were trying to run me down.”
“I was trying to run over the goon who had hold of you,” she said. “I trusted you to have enough sense to get out of the way.”
“I don’t think sense was on my side as much as good reflexes.” He reached into the backseat and retrieved the rifle she had spotted earlier on the floorboard. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction they had come.
“Anyone back there?” she asked, though a check of the rearview mirror showed only empty road behind her. She had a clearer view back there than she did through the spiderwebbed glass, but she wasn’t going to complain. Every mile that unrolled beneath her tires was a mile farther from the most immediate danger.
“
Not yet, but that store clerk is bound to have some kind of vehicle, so they’ll be after us soon.”
“We’ll still have a head start. All we have to do is get to some place large enough that Duane won’t have influenced everyone. Then we can call your brother.”
Mark shifted to face her. “How did you get hold of this Hummer? You were supposed to climb out of that attic and go for help.”
“I didn’t get very far down the road before I saw those two headed back for you. Even if I could have run all the way to the next town, I wouldn’t have found help in time to save you.”
“You could have gotten away,” he said. “You didn’t have to come back and save me.”
“Yes, I did.” She glared at him. “And I’m pretty insulted that you think I would do otherwise.”
He shrugged. “No one would blame you.”
“You would have come back for me,” she said. “In fact you already did that—when Duane’s men recaptured me in the woods.”
“This isn’t about keeping score,” he said.
“No, this is about working together to keep each other safe. We’re stronger together than either of us is on our own.”
He didn’t deny it and she knew she was right. Now that the worst of the danger was past, a thrill ran through her at the idea that she had saved him. She had fought past almost-paralyzing fear to do something bold and daring, and they had come out on the other side all right. They really did make an incredible team.
“You still haven’t told me how you ended up with this car,” he said.
“Duane’s goons left the keys in it when they parked in front of the store. I guess they didn’t think there was anyone around to bother it. Maybe they wanted to be sure they could make a quick getaway. I was looking for a way to get you out of the storeroom before they got to you, and decided this was it.”
“Good thing they were driving a Hummer and not a sedan.” He leaned over and touched the side of her face. “You’re bleeding. Some of the glass from the window, I think.”
Before she could protest, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the warm wetness that trickled down the side of her face. The tender gesture sent a tremor through her and broke whatever toughness spell circumstance had cast over her. She gripped the steering wheel more tightly to control her shaking, and fought the nausea that welled in her throat. “I think it’s just hitting me how close we came to dying back there,” she said.
He squeezed her shoulder. “But we didn’t die. We’re going to be okay.”
“Not if we don’t get to your brother—and some explosives experts—soon.” She touched the collar at her throat. “How much time do we have left?”
He glanced at her throat, and the display she couldn’t see but knew was there. “We’ve got plenty of time,” he said, but the concern in his eyes told a different story.
“How much time?” She lifted off the seat, trying to see her throat in the rearview mirror.
“Fifteen hours and nineteen minutes.”
Fifteen hours. The words echoed in her head. She clung to the steering wheel, fighting a wave of dizziness.
“We’re going to get help,” Mark said. “We still have plenty of time.”
“We don’t know how much time we have before Duane sets off his bomb,” she said. “Or whatever it is he’s threatening everyone with.”
Mark punched the radio button. “I’m going to see if I can learn anything more about that.”
Bursts of static interspersed with crackling strains of music blared from the speakers as he spun the dial. Then a woman’s solemn voice said, “...material recovered previously from the home where the Patriots’ leader, billionaire Duane Braeswood, was believed to be living leads authorities to believe these threats are serious. Authorities are still searching for Braeswood and other people associated with his organization. Braeswood is described as a fifty-five-year-old white male, six feet tall, approximately one hundred and sixty-five pounds, with graying blond hair and blue eyes. Anyone with information as to his whereabouts and activities should contact the FBI.”
The newscast shifted to a story about a professional athlete who had been arrested for assault. Mark switched off the station and sat back. “He’s got to be bluffing,” he said. “There’s no way he armed that bomb.”
“If people believe it’s real, it doesn’t matter.” Erin tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “He’s making everyone afraid and they’re all listening to him. He must be in heaven.”
“The description they gave is what he used to look like,” Mark said. “No one will recognize him from that. Someone who didn’t know would see him now and think he’s a harmless old man.”
“We can tell the FBI what he really looks like, and that the bomb probably isn’t real,” she said. She would feel a lot better if she knew how far they were from help. “Look in the glove box and see if you can find a map,” she said. “Maybe we can figure out where we are and where we should go.”
“Better yet, this thing probably has GPS,” Mark said. “That can help us find the closest police station.”
She surveyed the dash. The array of dials and digital readouts resembled an airplane’s cockpit. She didn’t even recognize what half of the gauges were for. But there was one display that was familiar to her. Staring at it, she swallowed hard. “We have something else to worry about,” she said.
“What is it?” Mark leaned over to get a better look at the dash. “Are we overheating? Do you think a bullet hit one of the tires?”
She shook her head and pointed to the gas gauge. “If we don’t find a town soon, we’re going to run out of gas and end up stranded.”
Chapter Twelve
As if to confirm Erin’s pronouncement, a chime sounded and an orange light on the dash flashed Low Fuel. Mark unbuckled his seat belt and leaned into the backseat.
“What are you doing?” Erin asked.
“I’m hoping Duane’s men thought to carry an extra gas can, but I don’t see anything back here. Do you remember seeing one strapped to the bumper or anything?”
“No. They probably planned to buy gas at the store before they left,” she said.
“Which kind of defeats the purpose of a quick getaway.” He settled into his seat once more. “Is Duane slipping on training his henchmen, or is good help hard to find for bad guys, too?”
“I think it’s a sign he’s getting too cocky,” she said. “He’s so sure he’s going to win in the end that he thinks he can take shortcuts. Maybe that’s all this threat with the bomb was—a shortcut to carrying out his ‘vision.’”
“We need to find a shortcut,” Mark said. He leaned toward the dash. “Let me see if I can find the GPS.”
Much button pushing and second-guessing later, he figured out how to operate the GPS, which informed him they were eighteen miles from the nearest settlement, a mountain town large enough to boast a pizza place, three churches, a gas station, a medical clinic and a liquor store, but no police.
“At least we can get gas there,” Erin said. “And maybe use the phone.”
“How are we going to pay for the gas?” he asked.
She set her jaw. “We can start out begging, but if that doesn’t work, we could assume the roles of modern day Bonnie and Clyde and hold up the place at gunpoint. That might be the quickest way for us to get to the police, and you can use your one phone call to get in touch with your brother.”
“That’s fine as long as we don’t run into some trigger-happy local,” he said. “Let’s hope begging works.”
The dashboard chimed again and she glanced down. Mark followed her gaze to the warning light, which now glowed red. “We may not get a chance to beg or steal,” she said, even as the engine coughed, sputtered, then died.
Erin steered the vehicle to the side of th
e road and rested her forehead on the steering wheel, eyes closed. “Now what?” she asked.
“We’re back to walking.”
“How long do you think it will take us to walk eighteen miles?” She sounded exhausted, as weary as he felt.
“It’s more like fourteen or fifteen miles now,” he said. “We can do it in five or six hours.” Provided they didn’t collapse before then. Or end up back in the clutches of Duane’s men.
She lifted her head and her eyes met his. “Everything about this ordeal has felt impossible,” she said. “Yet I keep on pushing forward. Maybe I’m just too exhausted to be afraid anymore.”
“Or maybe you’re a lot braver than you think.” He leaned across the center console, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, to kiss her. Her warm sweetness revived him, the grip of her hand on his arm reminding him of all the reasons he had to keep fighting. “I’ll never forget the sight of you behind the wheel of this Hummer, barreling to my rescue,” he said. “If you’re strong enough to do that, you’re strong enough to do anything.”
“I don’t know how much strength I have left,” she said. “But I’m stubborn enough that I won’t let Duane win. There’s too much at stake to give up now.” She opened the driver’s side door. “Come on. We might as well start walking. I’d like to get to the next town before dark.”
“Take one of the guns with you.” He pressed one of the two semiautomatic rifles that had been stashed in the Hummer’s backseat into her hands, along with an extra clip of ammunition, and collected the other rifle and ammo magazine for himself. “We’ll have to leave the one we took from the cabin behind, since it doesn’t have an extra ammo clip.”