Unflappable

by Suzie Gilbert

  They eased to a stop, and Chris and Philipe shielded their eyes from the bright beam of a flashlight. “Where are those police cars?” said Philipe, his voice rising.

  Luna’s door opened, and a man reached for her arm. “Paz!” she cried. “What are you doing?”

  She clutched at Ned’s hand as Adam’s security man pulled her out. Ned scrambled after her and Paszkiewicz opened his jacket, revealing a pistol tucked into a shoulder holster. “Stay put,” he said.

  Luna struggled but Paszkiewicz expertly twisted her arm behind her back, using just enough pressure to propel her toward the parked car. He steered her through the open back door, then slammed it shut. On the other side of the seat sat Adam, wearing suit pants and a pinstriped shirt. The look of contrition he had worn in Chicago was gone, replaced by one of intense determination. Ortega waited in the driver seat. Paszkiewicz slid into the passenger seat, and shut his door.

  “Luna,” said Adam. “I’m about to change my life for you.”

  The doors locked with a heavy click.

  “Two miles past the bird place,” said Ortega to Paszkiewicz, as the car jerked forward. “We’ll take 623 and loop back to the airport.”

  A wave of exhaustion swept away what little fight Luna had left. “You must be so tired,” said Adam, his voice warm and quiet. ”All this running. Let me take you away, and make it all better.”

  It’s a mirage, she thought. A safe place with teeth. But it was a place where she could close her eyes, where she could finally rest. The last of her defenses fell, and she sank against him. His arm closed around her. “Remember?” he said, and kissed her forehead. “When you’re with me, you can fly.”

  Her consciousness started to slip away. Ortega’s voice was distant. “There it is,” he said. Inside her something stirred, and with enormous effort she opened her eyes. Ahead was a familiar sign. It grew larger as the car approached.

  Chérie, Hélène had said. Come home.

  Luna stiffened and sat up. She watched the sign pass and fade into the night. “Stop!” she cried. Adam frowned, startled. Ortega lifted his foot from the gas, his eyes on the rearview mirror. Paszkiewicz began to turn around.

  Luna seized the kitchen knife from her cargo pants pocket and jammed it beneath Adam’s chin. A drop of blood slid down the steel shaft. “Unlock it!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “I swear to God I’ll cut his throat!”

  There was another heavy click, and she yanked the door open and hurled herself out of the moving car. She hit the ground rolling, skin burning, stitches popping, feeling twin blasts of pain and adrenaline as she scrambled to her feet. Tires shrieked behind her as she raced down the road, past the sign, and onto the mile-long dirt driveway of the Port Clyde Eagle Sanctuary.

  Chapter 28

  Roland studied the small metal box on his lap. “This is high tech,” he said. “I could use something like this.”

  “Maybe I know a guy,” said Warren. “She on track?”

  “Yup. Pulling onto 517.”

  “This road’ll intersect with theirs a couple of miles from Hélène’s. Meanwhile, no point in interfering with Canada’s finest.”

  Three tones emerged from Warren’s backpack. “Black phone,” he said.

  Roland rummaged through the pack. “How many goddamned phones have you got in here?” he asked irritably. “Hello?”

  “Who is this?” shouted Ned, his voice clearly audible. ”Where’s Warren?”

  “What’s the problem?” demanded Warren.

  “They got her! They dragged her out of the car and there’s no cops! What do we do now?”

  Warren slammed his foot on the accelerator. ”On the way,” said Roland, and disconnected.

  • • •

  Gunderman drove his car along a dark Canadian road, unable to comprehend his own motivation. There was nothing to be gained.

  But he had tracked Luna Burke, Ned Harrelson, and their stolen eagle for almost 2,300 miles, and he could not accept that he had truly lost them. Everything he believed in was burning, his carefully maintained life about to collapse. He headed north, looking for an answer, knowing he wouldn’t find one. He couldn’t rectify the night’s events, nor could he look past them into his empty future. He drove toward the Port Clyde Eagle Sanctuary without a plan. I’ve never done this in my life, he thought, and kept driving.

  • • •

  A wide shaft of moonlight illuminated her path. The knife, she thought as she ran down the dirt driveway, picturing it lying on the road where she had dropped it. But she still had the gun, strapped snugly to her calf. She heard the roar of an engine, and the area around her was flooded with light.

  Memory slipped through her panic. The cairn. Deep in the woods was a safe place, a fortress. She searched the side of the driveway as she ran. She spotted a balanced stack of rocks, and beyond it, a trail. She plunged into the forest, and the car screeched to a halt behind her.

  When we get to Hélène’s, we’ll take you on an Owl Prowl! Rose had told her.

  It’s a bunch of nutty people wandering around the woods at night, calling to the owls! added Harry.

  The tremulous cry of a screech owl joined the chorus of crickets and katydids. She followed the trail, enveloped by the smell of pine and earth, out of the glare of headlights and into a world where she could slip into shadows. She glanced behind her and saw flashlight beams. She skirted the moonlight, searching for the fort. She had helped to build it.

  Something rumbled in the distance. Thunder had a physical presence, she remembered, and soon it would crash over the forest. It could lift her into the air. It could find her when she hid.

  She leaned against a huge white spruce and paused to catch her breath. Tentatively she touched her thigh, which had taken most of the impact when she landed on the road. Her pant leg stuck to her skin.

  She heard the crunch of footsteps. Behind her was Ortega, his flashlight sweeping the darkness. She edged to the other side of the tree, and briefly pressed herself against the trunk. She pushed forward, and Ortega’s footsteps grew softer.

  “Luna!” called Adam. “Where are you?” His voice had lost its warmth. Stress crackled around its edges. She straightened the holster around her calf, and hurried deeper into the woods.

  • • •

  Warren skidded onto the driveway of the Port Clyde Eagle Sanctuary without slowing down. He slammed on his brakes behind Adam’s car, jumped out, and spotted the cairn. “Come on,” he said. “I know where she’s going.”

  “Dammit,” said Roland, scowling at the dark wall of trees. Unwillingly he pulled his Glock from its holster and followed. The forest floor crackled beneath his feet.

  “Keep it down!” snapped Warren. “You sound like a rhino!”

  “Luna!” called Adam in the distance. Two flashlights flickered, and Warren paused.

  “We gotta take these guys out,” he whispered, “but they’ll hear you coming. Stay on this trail, follow her, and I’ll catch up.”

  “Got it.”

  Warren angled toward a single beam of light, which swept methodically back and forth. The man holding the light was tall and solid, and held a pistol in his other hand. Warren hugged the shadows and circled behind him. He glided closer, and in one fluid motion lunged forward and locked an arm around the man’s throat. Paszkiewicz squeezed the trigger, and his silenced weapon coughed. The bullet ricocheted off a nearby pine.

  “Paz?” called a voice. Paszkiewicz went limp, and Warren followed the voice.

  Ortega was on the alert. He swept his flashlight once, twice, then quickly turned and shone it behind him. He spun slowly, encasing himself in a protective circle of light. “Paz!” he called again.

  Warren hovered out of the flashlight’s range, watching its nervous route. This situation requires an accelerant, he decided, so he took a deep breath, slid his left hand upward, and squeezed his own throat enough to slightly compress his larynx. He let out a hoarse, wheezy yowl that fell in pitch and tone until it e
nded in a deep, resonant rumble. The moving beam came to an abrupt halt. Warren repeated the call. Owwooooo.

  “Holy shit,” breathed Ortega. His beam darted back and forth, jerky and sporadic. Put a man alone in the woods, thought Warren, add the sound of a very big cat, and watch how fast thousands of years of civilization grind to a halt. He let it loose again, and the man gasped and dropped his flashlight. He bent to retrieve it, and as he straightened a right cross caught him squarely on the jaw. Warren watched him drop, then set off in the direction of Luna’s trail.

  • • •

  Luna spotted a rock shelf beside a split hickory. She was close.

  There had been more than twenty of them, she remembered, all ages, all hauling wood. Everyone was friendly and kind. She had just turned sixteen, and never experienced anything like it. Are you Harry and Rose’s granddaughter? a man asked her. Silently she smiled back at him, afraid to break the spell.

  “Luna!” called Adam. She could feel the electricity in the air. A storm was coming. A pot of water boiled on the stove. Where is that little bitch?

  She slowed, puzzled by the denseness of the forest. How could they have driven a truck with lumber and doors and locks all the way back here? She didn’t know why she couldn’t remember. But they had built a safe house, strong and impenetrable. When they were done, a happy six-year-old boy had turned to her.

  It’s our castle! he cried. Our fortress!

  It stood in a clearing, partially illuminated by moonlight. Luna stopped, her heart pounding, and stared at the structure before her. Many hands had fashioned tree limbs, branches, and vines into a one-room stick fort. Part of the roof had collapsed. A few of the vines had sprouted leaves. All expression vanished from her face.

  “Luna?” called Adam, somewhere behind her.

  • • •

  The forest darkened as clouds drifted in front of the moon. “Come on, babe,” called Adam, using his calm voice. “We’re wasting time!”

  He saw an outline in a clearing. He held up his phone, and its flashlight illuminated a crumbling fort. The clouds dispersed, bathing it in a silvery glow, and he leaned in the door. Abruptly she appeared beside the fort, ghostly in the moonlight, and he stumbled backward in surprise. She slid the safety off, and aimed the Ruger at his chest. “Go away, Adam,” she said, holding her arms straight.

  He flinched, then recovered. “You’re not going to shoot me,” he said.

  The bullet tore past his shoulder. “Jesus Christ!” he cried, as the report echoed through the woods. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Footsteps crackled, and Roland appeared out of the darkness. Luna gasped and pointed her pistol at him.

  “Roland!” said Adam, with relief. “I thought you…”

  “I don’t work for you anymore,” said Roland.

  “Bullshit!” cried Luna, aiming the gun from one to the other and back again. “I’ll shoot both of you! That last one was just a warning!”

  Roland raised his hands. “No! Wait for Warren!”

  She grimaced, confused. “Luna!” called Warren’s voice, seconds ahead of Warren himself. “We’re good,” he said, and rested a hand on Roland’s shoulder. He looked at her encouragingly, and held out his other hand. “You did it. Birds are safe. Let me take that.”

  She kept the pistol pointed at Adam’s chest. “No!” she said. “It will never end! He won’t let me go!”

  “Yes, he will. Come on. You’ve completed your mission.”

  “She’s my wife!” snapped Adam.

  Luna pointed the gun at his face, and Warren lowered his voice. “Listen to me,” he insisted. “You can do anything you want, but not if you shoot him.”

  Her hands trembled. She felt the fort against her back. She heard the rustle of leaves, and two figures approached. She squinted as she kept her pistol on Adam, trying to identify them, knowing it must be Paszkiewicz and Ortega and that her time was almost up. Instead, two Canadian police officers moved toward her. Their guns were drawn. Their handcuffs glinted in the moonlight. “Drop the weapon!” one called.

  The ground rose beneath her. Darkness and hunger and breaking glass. Whirling red lights and a dead end. Cornered. There she is!

  Warren positioned himself between her and the officers. “They’re not here for you,” he said urgently.

  “Of course they’re here for you!” Adam shouted. ”And I’m the only one who can help you!”

  Luna swallowed. She looked at Warren, at Roland, at the two police officers with their drawn guns, and at Adam, with his hard stare. Coming closer were more footsteps. She couldn’t see the stars.

  She leaned against the fort, the ebb of adrenaline and flood of despair so familiar it was almost a comfort. She slid down and sat on the ground, knees to her chest, the Ruger in her hand. Warren started toward her, and she raised the gun to her head. Warren stopped as if he had hit a wall. Adam froze. The police hesitated.

  There it is, thought Luna. Harry and Rose’s pond. It was dark and soft and would cradle her and sing her to sleep. From its depths came fireflies, glittering like tiny crystals as they made their way to the surface. They’re not fireflies, she realized, they’re stars. She had found the stars again. Her forefinger tightened.

  Ned rushed through the crowd, fell to his knees, and wrapped her in his arms. The gun fell and exploded, taking out the remaining section of roof. A ragged cry emerged from Luna’s chest and she clutched him, sobbing, as her tears soaked his shirt.

  “It’s okay,” Ned whispered. “It’ll be all right.”

  Chapter 29

  The Ford Expedition climbed a rise in the dirt driveway. The trees thinned, the sky widened, and the moon hovered above an expanse of open land. To the right was a weathered old Cape with a porch. To the left were massive slatted flight cages.

  “Jesus,” said Roland.

  “No kidding,” said Warren, in the driver seat beside him.

  Ned sat in the back, his arm around a sleeping Luna. That night the town of Port Clyde had experienced an almost unprecedented crime wave: a shootout at a local bar. Backup arrived shortly, but it delayed Luna’s police escort long enough for Paszkiewicz to pull her from the car.

  Ned had called Warren. Chris and Philipe called Hélène and the police. They drove down the sanctuary’s driveway, stopped behind Adam’s and Roland’s cars, and moments later the first police cruiser screeched to a halt. Two uniformed officers jumped out, spotted the cairn, and both of them vanished down the trail. Soon another police car appeared, siren wailing. A black-haired policewoman barreled out, sprinted by, and Ned followed her into the woods.

  They all emerged from the forest long after Chris and Philipe took the eagles to the sanctuary. They found Ortega and Paszkiewicz seated in the back of a cruiser, a fourth officer standing guard. Undeclared firearms, Sergeant, said the officer.

  The black-haired policewoman glanced coldly at Adam. Mr. Matheson and his employees will accompany us to the station, she replied. Ned’s eyes dropped to her nameplate. DE LA CROIX, it read.

  Adam watched grimly as Ned helped Luna into the back of Roland’s car. Roland slid into the passenger seat without a backward glance. Warren stood for a moment, his eyes on Adam, and Adam felt a chill.

  “I don’t get this animal thing,” said Roland, as Warren pulled up in front of the weathered Cape.

  “That’s because you haven’t seen mine,” said Warren.

  Luna stirred, awakened, and saw the house. She slid out of the car and Ned followed, steadying her as she paused dizzily. Chris, Philipe, and three other volunteers sat on the front steps. Above them, a woman stood regally on the porch.

  She was small and wiry. Her feral eyes slanted over high cheekbones. Her thick white hair was swept into a chignon, and her hand rested on the head of an eagle carved into a wooden cane. When her eyes met Luna’s, she looked at her with a love so fierce Ned felt its heat.

  “Luna,” she said, in a husky half-whisper.

  Luna rushed up the stairs an
d wrapped her arms around Hélène. They stood together, then Hélène held her at arm’s length. “Mon Dieu, oisillon, look at you,” she rasped, taking in Luna’s bruises, the dirt in her hair, her torn and bloody clothing. “Go with Sharon,” she added, gesturing to a young woman on the stairs. “She is a nurse.”

  In the driveway, a door slammed. Gunderman stood beside his car, his shoulders slumped, his expression unreadable.

  He had found his way to the Port Clyde Eagle Sanctuary, not knowing what he would do when he arrived. He spotted three vehicles on the driveway, the last one a green SUV with a graceful eagle logo. The police cruisers arrived, the dark-haired policewoman sprinted into the woods, and Harrelson rocketed after her. Gunderman hurried out of his car and trailed them to the old stick fort. Hidden by darkness, he saw it all unfold. Afterward he was the last to leave, hanging back and walking alone.

  Now he stood facing the group. Hélène narrowed her eyes and stepped to the edge of the porch. Gunderman waited, feeling the heavy gaze of those who believed, despite his life’s work, that he was the enemy.

  Slowly Hélène raised one hand. Luna raised hers, as well, and the others followed. Haltingly, Gunderman raised his in return. He straightened his shoulders, gave them all a single nod, then he climbed into his car and drove away.

  “Gentlemen,” said Hélène. “Merci. You have my gratitude. Come, you look like you could use a drink.”

  Luna went inside with the nurse. Roland followed Chris and Philipe into the house. Warren started up the stairs, and stopped when he reached the porch. “Ma belle Hélènnne!” he rumbled, eyeing her with a grin. “The patron saint of wild things!”

  Hélène tilted her head and gazed up at him, her brows drawing together like storm clouds. Suddenly she smiled, and Warren cradled her face between his hands and kissed her on the lips. Ned, two steps behind him, let out an audible gasp. Hélène turned, pinned Ned with her dark eyes, and nodded at Warren. “This little bastard didn’t tell me he was seventeen!” she said.

  “’Course I didn’t,” Warren retorted. “What do you say, Ned? You’re thumbing rides across Canada, and a black-haired bird sorceress picks you up — would you tell her you were seventeen?”