by Cindi Myers
“What else do they have that we can use?” She opened the door to the backseat and he moved to the rear hatch. A quick scan of the vehicle’s contents revealed a gallon jug of water, two blankets, a toolbox filled with miscellaneous hand tools and a first aid kit. The glove box yielded two protein bars.
“These look like they’ve been in here awhile,” Mark said, handing her one of the bars.
“I’m so hungry I would eat a picture of food,” she said, ripping the wrapper off the bar.
He bit into his bar and chewed. It was the consistency of jerky and tasted like sawdust, but it might be enough to keep them going a few miles farther. Once they were safe again, he planned to order the biggest steak dinner he could find. And pie. Peach pie. With ice cream. He shook his head, banishing the distracting fantasy.
He opened the first aid kit and found a packet of pain relievers and swallowed them down with some of the water. “Is your wound bothering you much?” she asked.
“I’m getting used to it.” The wound was a dull fire spreading out from his shoulder, but with the bullet still lodged beneath the skin, he knew it would only get worse. The pain relievers, like the energy bar, might keep him going long enough to reach safety.
He dumped the rest of the first aid kit and the water bottle into the blankets and knotted them into a bundle he could carry on his back. “Do you really think we’re going to need those?” Erin asked.
“I hope not, but I’d rather not get caught out with nothing. Besides, anything we take is something Duane’s men can’t use.”
“I don’t suppose you have a knife?”
“No, why?”
“We could slash the tires.”
“I used nail scissors to puncture the tire of the Hummer the two men who caught you in the woods were driving,” Mark said. “That slowed them down enough for me to ambush them.”
“I wish we hadn’t left the ax back at the cabin.”
“It doesn’t matter. This Hummer is already out of gas, and unless they’re carrying extra with them, it will take them a while to get it fueled up again.”
“Right.” She looked up and he followed her gaze toward the low bank of clouds moving in. “Looks like we’re in for more snow,” she said.
“We should have planned our escape for better weather.” He started forward. “Come on. We’d better start walking.”
* * *
BETWEEN THE FALLING snow and the need to hide each time they heard a vehicle approaching, Erin and Mark traveled at a snail’s pace. With each step, Erin imagined the timer that controlled the bomb at her throat ticking off another second. Instead of moving toward safety, she felt as if she were traveling toward her own destruction.
Beside her, Mark’s breath grew more labored, his face grayer. The lines around his eyes deepened in pain, and he wore the grim look of a man determined to hang on at all costs. “Let me at least take the pack,” she said.
“No, I’ve got it,” he said, but when she reached up to slip the knotted blanket from his shoulder he didn’t resist. As she settled the makeshift pack across her back he lifted his head, alert. “Car coming.”
They scuttled for the roadside, sliding down through the snow into the ditch and struggling up the other side to crouch in the damp grass and trees. The vehicle, a white Jeep, zipped by, the woman behind the wheel never glancing in their direction.
Erin let out a breath, her heartbeat slowing its frantic gallop. These wild dashes to safety every time a car passed were more exhausting than the walking itself.
“Let’s go,” Mark said. He started up the slope and reached back to offer her his hand. But before she could take it, the rock gave way beneath him, sending him hurtling back toward her in a spray of loose gravel and mud.
She tried to catch him, but he slid past her and landed hard on his injured shoulder, a sharp cry of pain piercing the air.
“Oh no! Are you okay?” She hurried to his side and tried to help him sit up.
He groaned and curled away from her. “Give me...a minute,” he managed to say through clenched teeth.
She stared in horror as bright red blood blossomed at the shoulder of his coat. Had he torn open the wound again? Or worse, driven the bullet deeper? “Let me see,” she said, and tried to push aside the fabric of his coat.
“Leave it.” He grabbed her hand and held it. “There’s nothing you can do. I’ll be all right in a minute.”
She wanted to argue with him, but he was right—what could she do? She wasn’t a surgeon who could remove the bullet, or a nurse who could administer medication to dull the pain or fight off infection. All she could do was crouch beside him in the snowy ditch and wait for the tension to ease from his face, and for him to tell her he was ready to travel again.
The hum of tires on the wet road drew her attention and she peered through the underbrush at the burnt-orange Volkswagen bus trundling up the road toward them. She couldn’t imagine Duane or one of his cohorts ever being caught in such a vehicle. When it was close enough for her to make out the Coexist and Namaste stickers on the front bumper, she was certain this driver, at least, had nothing to do with her malicious stepfather.
She rose and scrambled up the ditch embankment.
“Erin! What are you doing?” Mark called.
She ignored him and lifted a hand to flag down the bus. To her surprise and delight, the vehicle slowed with a screech of brakes and stopped several yards ahead of her on the shoulder of the road. The driver rolled down his window and looked back at her. White hair streamed from beneath a bright blue knit beany, the thin strands wafting in the breeze. “Are you okay, miss?” he asked.
“My friend and I were out, uh, hiking,” she said, struggling to come up with a plausible story on the fly. “He fell and injured his shoulder and we need a ride to the nearest town for help.”
The furrows on the man’s forehead deepened. “Where were you hiking?” he asked.
“I don’t remember the name,” she said. “We’re not from around here. We got lost and wandered pretty far off the trail. If you hadn’t stopped, I don’t know what we would have done. Will you give us a ride?”
“Sure I will.” He climbed out of the cab and looked toward the ditch. “Is your friend down there?”
“I’ll get him,” she said. “Wait here a minute.” She scooted back down into the ditch and into the trees.
“What are you doing?” Mark whispered when she reached him.
“I just saved us walking fourteen miles or however far it is.” She slid her arm under his uninjured shoulder and helped him into a sitting position. “We’ll need to leave the guns and everything else behind,” she whispered.
“I don’t like leaving the guns,” he said.
“I told this guy we’re hikers who got lost. If we show up with automatic weapons when we don’t even have a real backpack, he’ll know something is off.”
Mark grimaced, but whether in pain or disagreement, she couldn’t tell. “All right,” he said, and started up the slope.
The driver was still waiting when Erin and Mark reached the road. Eyeing Mark, he let out a low whistle. “That looks like a pretty bad fall you took,” he said.
“I’ll be fine once we get to a town,” Mark answered, moving past the man to the open side door of the van.
“Dolorosa doesn’t have a hospital,” the driver said. “I think they have a little medical clinic, but I don’t know the hours, or if they’re set up to treat anything very serious.”
“We just need to get to someplace we can call my brother.” Mark rested his head on the back of the seat, eyes closed, then he sat up, suddenly more alert. “Do you have a cell phone we can use to make the call?” he asked.
The man slammed the van door shut, then climbed into the driver’s seat. “I don’t have one,” he said. “I fig
ure if I want to talk to anyone or anyone wants to talk to me, they can wait until I’m home.” His eyes met Erin’s in the rearview mirror. “Don’t you have a cell phone? I thought all you young people couldn’t live without the dang things.”
“I left mine at home and Mark lost his when he fell,” she said.
Mark looked impressed. Who knew she had such a talent for creative lying?
“There’s a store in Dolorosa,” the driver said. “They probably have a phone you can use.” He pulled onto the road once more.
“How far is it to Dolorosa?” Erin asked.
“Another forty minutes or so,” he said. “Can’t go too fast on these mountain roads.” He laughed, a sound like wind escaping from leaky bellows. “Least ways, Sheila here won’t go too fast on these uphill climbs.”
“Sheila?” Erin didn’t try to hide her confusion.
“My ride.” Their chauffeur patted the cracked dashboard. “I bought her off an Australian guy, so the name seemed appropriate. My name’s Gaither,” he said.
“I’m Erin and this is Mark,” she said. Now that they were off their feet and on their way to safety, she felt a little dazed.
“How big of a town is Dolorosa?” Mark asked.
“Oh, it’s pretty small,” Gaither said. “There’s a few churches and stores and such, but nothing I’d call a tourist attraction or anything. The closest they have to that is the Pioneer Cemetery.”
“What’s that?” Erin asked.
“It’s one of the oldest cemeteries in this part of the state,” Gaither said. “People who are interested in genealogy or history, or who want to see the old markers, come to visit it, but that’s about it. We get hikers and kayakers in the summer, and a few snowshoers and cross-country skiers in winter, but mostly Dolorosa is a pretty sleepy place.”
Not a town likely to have a resident explosives expert, she thought, rubbing absently at the collar.
“What’s with that thing around your neck?” Gaither asked.
She reached up to finger the collar, then jerked her hand away. She couldn’t very well tell the old guy she was wearing a bomb, but any other explanation escaped her.
“It’s the latest fashion.” Mark’s voice, so calm and reasonable, broke the awkward silence.
“What’s with the flashing numbers?” Gaither asked.
“You’ve seen those fitness bracelets everyone wears these days?” Mark asked.
“Yeah. My daughter has one. I told her I don’t see the point in counting your steps every day, but she said what she always says—that I’m too old-fashioned and out of touch.” He snorted.
“This is sort of the same idea.” Mark sat up, clearly warming to his subject. “But instead of counting steps, it counts down minutes and hours until you reset your fitness goals.”
Erin fought the urge to pinch him or tell him to shut up. A fitness necklace? Did he really think anyone would fall for that story?
Gaither nodded. “My daughter would love that one. She likes everybody to think she’s fit, even if she isn’t.” He glanced at Erin. “It don’t look all that comfortable, though.”
“Oh, you get used to it,” she said airily.
Mark opened his mouth as if to elaborate, but shut it when she sent him a warning look.
“Thanks again for giving us a ride,” she said. “Do you live around here?”
“I got me a place above Dolorosa, by the river,” he said. “It’s a yurt, with a woodstove and solar electric. Real cozy place. It suits me and Betty just fine.”
“Betty? Is that another vehicle? Or a pet?”
He let out another wheezing laugh. “My old lady,” he said. “She’d be with me today, but she’s busy canning the last of the tomatoes from our greenhouse. She sent me to Dolorosa for more canning jars and a few other supplies.”
Erin glanced to the back of the van, at the collection of cloth grocery bags, and tried to ignore her grumbling stomach.
“We heard on the news before we left for our hike about that madman who’s threatening to set off a nuclear bomb,” Mark said. “Do you know any more about that?”
“I stopped listening to the news years ago,” Gaither said. “The press always distorts everything and it’s all just depressing anyway.”
“So you haven’t heard about this terrorist, Duane Braeswood, who says he has a nuclear bomb?” Mark asked. “He says he’s going to set it off if the government doesn’t meet his demands.”
“How would one guy get hold of the technology to make a nuclear bomb?” Gaither asked. “It’s been a while since I was in college, but from what I remember, it takes more than a couple of pounds of plutonium and some fuses to do that kind of thing.”
Mark’s eyes met Erin’s. “Maybe he persuaded a nuclear physicist to work for him,” he said.
Gaither shook his head. “What a waste of an intellect. Why is this guy making these threats anyway?”
“Apparently, the leader of this terrorist group thinks the only way to fix the country is to destroy it,” Erin said.
“That’s like burning down the forest to get rid of a little patch of poison ivy,” Gaither said.
“Do you have a radio we could turn on, see if there’s any news?” Mark asked.
Gaither shook his head. “When I bought Sheila, she had an eight-track tape player,” he said. “But I pulled that out a long time ago.” He patted a rectangular hole on the dash. “I prefer listening to my own thoughts.”
Erin sagged back against the seat. Her own thoughts were in too much turmoil to make good company.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Gaither said. “I hope they catch these crazies, but I don’t see how me fretting over the matter will help anyone.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said. But she wished they could find out more, if only to see if they fit into the puzzle anywhere. Had Duane planned this ultimatum all along, or had something she or Mark had done triggered this outburst?
“Where are you two from?” Gaither asked.
“Denver,” Mark said.
“Idaho,” Erin said.
“Denver and Idaho. So you just met up here for a little vacation?”
“Yes,” she said, and tried for a bright smile.
Gaither raked his hand over his chin, which bristled with several days’ growth of beard. “Don’t take this wrong,” he said. “But if you’re going to go hiking here in the mountains, you ought to be a little better prepared. You need good packs and emergency supplies and water. A map and a compass come in handy, too.”
Mark had compressed his lips into a thin line. Maybe he was thinking about how he had set out with all those things when he had left home on his last hiking trip, a year ago. “We’ll remember that next time,” he said.
Erin settled back into the seat and closed her eyes. The warmth of the van and the hum of the highway lulled her to sleep. She woke with a start when the van stopped.
“We’re in Dolorosa,” Gaither announced. He climbed out and opened the van’s side door. He peered in at them and nodded. “You’re looking a lot better, Mister. I was a little worried when I first saw you, but I guess you’ll make it now.”
“I’ll be fine.” Mark climbed out after Erin and offered the older man his hand. “Thank you.”
Gaither shook his hand. “Shorty will help you out.” He slammed the van door. “I’d better be going. Betty needs those jars.” He climbed back into the driver’s seat and, with a wave, puttered away.
Chapter Thirteen
Erin took a deep breath and looked at Mark. “I guess we’d better go inside and get this over with,” she said.
“Yeah.” He took her arm. “Maybe I should let you do the talking. You have quite the talent for spinning tales.”
“I guess I do my best work under pressure.
” She tried for a smile, but her lips wobbled dangerously.
Mark hugged her close. “Hang on a little longer,” he said soothingly. “We’re almost there.”
The Dolorosa Country Store looked considerably more prosperous than McCarty’s. New gas pumps gleamed on concrete islands out front, and brightly colored posters on the double glass doors leading inside advertised tobacco products, energy drinks and lottery tickets. Erin searched for a newspaper box amid the gallons of washer fluid and cases of soda stacked in pyramids on either side of the door, but saw none.
Cowbells jangled as Mark pulled open the door. The smells of fresh coffee and frying chicken made Erin stagger and her mouth water to the point she was afraid she might start drooling. She clung to Mark’s arm, heart pounding as they approached the middle-aged woman behind the front counter.
“Excuse me,” Mark began.
The woman didn’t look up from the invoice she was studying.
“Excuse me.” Mark spoke louder this time.
She raised her head to stare at him with pale brown eyes behind black-rimmed glasses, but said nothing.
“Could we please use your phone?” Mark asked. “We’ve been hiking and got lost. The man who gave us a ride here said you would have a phone we could use to call for help.”
“Pay phone’s out front.” She pointed a long, orange-tipped nail toward the door.
Mark looked pained. “I fell hiking and hurt my shoulder. I lost my wallet with all our money in it.”
The woman’s expression didn’t change.
“Please, we just need to make one phone call,” Erin said.
The clerk’s eyes shifted to meet hers. “If I gave away stuff to every beggar that wandered in here asking, I’d go broke inside of a month,” she said.
Erin took a step forward. She wasn’t sure what she intended to do, though her first impulse was to slap the smug look off the woman’s face. Her second impulse was to burst into angry tears, but she doubted that would draw this woman’s sympathy.