by Larry Enmon
A clear, shallow stream led the way to the hill. Frank sprinted past everyone, jumped the creek, and scrambled up the sixty-degree incline, using clumps of grass and bushes as handholds. Rob and the girls watched.
“Anything?” Rob shouted.
Frank paced the crest of the hill, holding the phone over his head and tipping it so he could see the screen.
Emilie’s voice floated up the hillside. “Hey, mister. Look.”
Frank glanced down to see Rob, Trina, and Emilie disappear into the side of the hill. Frank did a double take. Where did they go? A moment later, Rob reappeared.
“You’re standing on top of a cave,” he called up to Frank.
“Seriously?” A ping sounded from Frank’s phone. He stared at it. “Hey, I got a signal.”
Rob held out his palm to Frank. “Don’t move.”
Frank called the sheriff’s department and got put through to Sheriff Lewis.
“Wondering when I’d hear from you boys. Any luck?” the sheriff asked.
“We got her and another one they were holding.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah, but we could use some help. During our escape, we got cut off from our truck. Working our way there now, but they may be after us. Could you lend a hand?”
“Where are you?”
“We’re behind the house in the woods. There’s a cave back here. With these two girls, we’re going to bunker in and wait for help. Any idea how long it’ll take to get here? Hello? Hello?”
Frank looked at the phone and his heart went cold—no signal. Did the sheriff hear anything?
Frank scanned the bottom of the hill until the top of Rob’s head appeared. “I lost the signal midcall.”
“Call him again,” Rob shouted.
Frank hit redial, but a movement in the woods caught his attention. He studied it as the thing crept behind bushes—never fully showing itself. An animal? A primal fear welled up in Frank’s gut. The other dog.
“Anything?” Rob yelled.
Frank didn’t answer, instead sliding down the hill silently. “We’ve got bigger problems.”
The pit bull emerged from behind a tree. At least eighty pounds and all muscle, it paced toward them, head, shoulders, and tail down. A deep, menacing growl hit Frank right in the sternum. The thing was twenty-five yards and closing when Rob pointed his pistol.
Frank laid his hand on Rob’s shoulder. “Really want to do that?”
Rob paused a second before lowering the weapon, now realizing the same thing Frank did. The gunshot would draw Katrina’s captors right to them. “Is the sheriff coming?” Rob asked.
Frank eyed Trina and Emilie huddled at the entrance of the cave. He moved closer to Rob and lowered his voice. “Not sure if he knows where we are.”
Rob whispered, “I say we stay here, wait for help. If it was just us…” He looked over at the girls.
“Yeah. You’re right.” Frank kept a wary eye on the dog, which showed no sign of giving way. It growled again, baring its teeth.
“Okay, everybody inside,” Rob said.
The creek flowed through the cave, so they waded into the ankle-deep cold water and followed it into the dark abyss. The dog advanced, still growling. Frank wasn’t sure why it wasn’t attacking. Perhaps it was intimidated by the size of the group.
A few yards inside, Rob halted. The stream eddied around their feet. “What’s going on?” Frank asked from the rear. He kept his pistol trained on the dog, which waited just on the other side of the creek.
To Frank’s surprise, a flashlight came to life, giving them a clear picture of what lay ahead.
“You have a flashlight?” Frank asked.
“I was a Boy Scout long before I was a Marine. Look.” Rob shined the light and scanned the interior of the cavern. It was about twenty feet high and thirty feet across. Old roots showed from the sandstone around the edges, and vines and ferns cascaded down, straining toward the light. There were two paths. One followed the stream. That was the narrow one—maybe three feet across. The wider one had a sandy floor and led up a twenty-degree incline.
“I say we take this one.” Rob shined the light to the right on the wider path.
“Makes sense,” Frank said.
They edged into the abyss. The sand was deep, like beach sand.
“God, something stinks,” Rob said. “No telling what feeds and craps in here.”
Now Frank smelled it. Moving through the darkness, he had the feeling they were being watched. This wasn’t unusual; he sometimes had the same feeling in his own loft. His personal paranoia, he called it. They were at least thirty-five to forty yards inside now. The entrance looked like a pinhole of light behind them. A low growl floated through the darkness somewhere to the rear.
“Hold up,” Rob said. He dropped to his knees and shined the beam into a hole to the left. The light disappeared, and the darkness overwhelmed Frank. Rob pulled his light out from the hole. “Hey,” Rob said, “this connects to the other tunnel. About a five-foot drop to the creek. There’s another entrance about twenty yards that way.” Rob pointed into the darkness.
The stench was almost unbearable. A fetid, putrid, rotting smell. Frank scanned the area. “Some critter lives here, that’s for sure. Let’s hold up for now,” he said. “We can defend this place and evacuate out the other end if necessary.” Mounds of sand were piled up along the sides of the walls. Frank strolled to one and sat on the moist earth. Katrina looked over at Rob and Emilie, then turned to Frank.
“May I join you?” she asked.
“Sure.” Frank scooted over, giving her room.
“What’s your name?”
“Frank—Frank Pierce.”
In the dim light, a trace of a smile crossed the lips Frank remembered from years past. She extended her hand.
“Thank you for coming for us. You don’t have to be here, but I’m happy you are.”
Frank shook the hand. It had a familiar touch. “Are you okay? We’ve been looking for you since the day after you went missing.”
She sat close to him. “I’m fine. I wondered if we’d ever be found.” She stared at him in a strange way before the smile returned. “It was you—wasn’t it? You figured it out.”
Frank looked into her eyes, hoping to gain some sort of confirmation of who she really was. He’d never believed in reincarnation, but there were just too many similarities to be a coincidence. Katrina or Carly?
“I couldn’t give up … I had to find you,” Frank whispered.
Rob and Emilie sat across from them on another mound of sand.
“Is help coming?” Emilie asked.
Rob glanced to Frank.
“Sure, we called the sheriff,” Frank said, putting a reassuring hand on Katrina’s shoulder. “We’ll be out of here in no time.”
Rob lowered his voice. “I’m going to turn off the light now. We may need the batteries later. We should remain as quiet as possible until help arrives.”
* * *
Katrina never imagined what that narrow beam of light meant to her until it disappeared. Not only did it plunge the group into darkness; it dropped her spirit into the blackest pit she could imagine. Her chest tightened and her breathing became labored. She shook and coldness seeped into her very being.
The unexpected touch of Frank’s warm, reassuring hand on hers shut down the panic attack. She relaxed and leaned her head on his shoulder. Why did she feel so comforted by this stranger? It was as if she’d known him for years. Maybe someone she’d dreamed about a long time ago—a hero she’d forgotten.
“Are we going to be okay?” she whispered.
Frank’s arm reached around and squeezed her shoulder, pulling her into him. “I promise, nothing’s going to happen to you. I’ll protect you this time. Don’t worry.”
Katrina should have been confused, but strangely, the cryptic message made sense somehow. Who was this guy? They had definitely met, but while he was familiar, she couldn’t place him. It didn’t matt
er; she felt the type of love and security a newborn must feel toward its mother.
Uncomfortable on the uneven ground, Katrina shifted but didn’t want to leave Frank’s embrace. Finally it became too much. Must be sitting on a root. “Hand me the light,” she said.
The Maglite switched on, and Frank let his arm drop from her shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” Rob asked, passing her the flashlight.
“Don’t know what I’m sitting on, but it has to go.” Katrina stood and put the beam on the area beside Frank. She almost passed out. In the sand, a dirty decomposing hand curled into a claw. The tips of several fingers were missing, and gnaw marks scarred the palm and wrist. Maggots wiggled in every direction. One finger remained intact. It had a small gold ring with an emerald in the center.
Katrina screamed, “Annabelle!” and fell to her knees, weeping.
Frank cradled her in his arms, stroking her hair. He guided her away from the terrifying sight and held her.
Rob picked up the flashlight and waved it at the piles of sand, his expression becoming more and more horrified. “This is a graveyard—a shallow graveyard.”
Emilie sobbed and held tight to Rob’s arm.
Katrina couldn’t stop crying, all the pent-up stress and fear from her captivity releasing at once. She shook and her insides rolled. She gagged, dropping to all fours.
Emilie screamed, and Rob shifted the light toward her. She stood wringing her hands, staring at the mound they’d been sitting on. The decomposed outline of a rotting face poked up through the sand.
Rob pulled Emilie away, and Frank helped Katrina to her feet. Her legs barely supported her. Frank led her to the dead end of the cave where Rob and Emilie waited.
“Stay here and don’t make a sound,” Frank said.
“Lie on the ground,” Rob said. “Stay as low as you can get. No matter what you hear—don’t get up.”
Katrina lay in the cold sand and she and Emilie locked hands. A prayer slipped from Emilie’s lips. Katrina’s hand tightened on hers.
39
Rob joined Frank at another mound of sand. Frank raked his fingers around the side, and a decaying foot came into view. Rob’s stomach turned. “Mother of Jesus!”
“They’re all here,” Frank whispered. “All the missing girls.” A sadness that Rob had never heard before filled Frank’s voice.
Rob had no words to answer. A threatening growl drifted from the darkness toward them.
“After all that screaming, I’m pretty sure they know we’re in here,” Rob whispered. “We need to shut down this flashlight.” Rob pointed behind them. “Go back and guard the hole that leads to the other chamber. You’re the second line of defense.”
Frank rested his hand on Rob’s shoulder and squeezed. “Good luck.”
Rob switched off the light and lay facing the entrance. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he registered the pinhole of daylight almost fifty yards ahead. He took deep breaths, slowly releasing each, while keeping his pistol pointed at the speck. There were probably at least two guys after them and two entrances to the cave. Would they try the same one, or split up and hit them from different sides?
After about five minutes, Rob had a feeling—a bad one. The same kind he had had that night in Iraq when he yelled the challenge and had gotten only silence. He’d lobbed a grenade over the perimeter wall and killed three enemy sappers. God, I wish I had a grenade right now.
Rob strained to hear something—anything—but the silence of the cave was deafening. No, this isn’t right. Rob’s Marine training had taught him to be scared when things were too quiet. He slid backward on his belly through the cold sand until his foot bumped Frank.
“What’s going on?” Frank whispered.
Rob eased up on one knee and felt for him in the blackness. He put his chin on Frank’s shoulder to whisper in his ear. “Someone or something’s in the cave with us.”
“What are you going to do?” Frank asked.
“Switching on the flashlight for a second. Have your pistol ready. If you see a target—take the shot.”
The sound of Frank slowly exhaling filled Rob with doubt. Could he do it? Or would he freeze up again?
“Okay,” Frank whispered.
Rob low-crawled back into position. His eyes reacquired the pale speck of daylight from the entrance. If someone was approaching, they’d block that glow in a second—he’d be ready. With the flashlight in one hand and pistol in the other, he kept his eyes fixed on the distant speck.
The speck disappeared. As Rob’s vision went black, he thought at first he’d imagined the light going out. A second later, he knew he hadn’t.
Rob switched on the flashlight and came face to face with the dog. Brother Luther, behind the animal, held a double-barrel shot gun.
“Strike,” Luther yelled.
The animal lunged, snarling. All fur and teeth, six feet from Rob’s face. Rob squeezed the trigger, the gunshot deafening in the close confines of the cave. The dog didn’t even have time to whine. It fell in a heap, half of its skull blown off. Rob turned off the beam and rolled to his left.
The blast from both barrels of the shotgun lit up the cave and sounded like a cannon going off, throwing dirt into Rob’s eyes. Three shots came from the rear, and Luther grunted. Rob’s heart leapt as he realized who had fired those shots.
Frank!
Rob flicked on the light, expecting to find a body. Instead, a bleeding Luther stood over him with the shotgun, holding it like a club. Rob swung his pistol up, but Luther kicked sand in his face. Two more shots from Frank and Luther staggered. Rob couldn’t see. Everything was a blur. He turned off the flashlight and raked sand from his eyes. A moment later something hard crashed into the back of his head. The shotgun. Luther was using it like a club on his skull.
Rob rolled onto his back, switched the beam back on, and pointed the pistol at Luther. The wild man, bleeding like a stuck hog, swung the shotgun again, knocking Rob’s weapon from his grip.
“Kill him, Frank!”
Rob’s vision faded as three more shots echoed from behind. Luther wobbled a moment before collapsing. Rob exhaled and rolled on his side, barely conscious. His fingers touched the raw flesh on the back of his head. His eyes watered, his vision fuzzy from sand. He wiped his face. When the shadow strolled up beside him, he relaxed.
“You got him,” Rob said.
No answer.
“Rob, you okay?” Frank yelled. The voice came from behind, not from the shadow that had appeared beside him.
Rob snapped his head up and scratched through the sand for his weapon. Brother John’s revolver was already pointed at his head.
When the shot echoed through the cave, Rob flinched. How had John missed him? But it wasn’t John’s shot.
Brother John fell back on his butt. He looked down at his shirt, where a crimson stain bloomed. The words of Marshall Woodard came back to Rob. You can’t kill the Prophet. He’ll just resurrect himself—he’s immortal.
In the dim light, Rob’s fingers wrapped around his pistol. We’ll see about that.
Brother John wasn’t looking at Rob. His focus seemed to be on the dark cavern where the shot had come from. Before Rob could swing his weapon around, John squeezed off three rounds. Rob found his target, blinked his swollen eyes, and emptied the magazine. John fell to the sand and lay still.
Rob’s adrenaline rush was at its height, and he shook so hard he felt weak. Pulling himself to his knees, he pointed the flashlight toward the girls. “You okay?”
Before they could answer, he swept the beam over the sprawled figure of Frank, face down in the cold sand.
Rob rushed to his side and rolled him over. The front of his worker’s coveralls were soaked in blood. He was barely breathing.
40
Rob rested his elbows on his knees and his face in his palms. The waiting area of the Level III trauma center had no chairs and only a few metal benches along the wall. The constant ringing of phones and d
isembodied voices overhead, paging doctors and calling code blues, got on his nerves. He needed a silent moment to reflect on what had happened.
It had taken forever to get to Nacogdoches Memorial Hospital. Carrying Frank out of the woods, getting an ambulance, the long drive with red lights and siren. Not being able to stop the bleeding.
Katrina and Emilie had been checked by the nurses, and with the exception of a few scrapes and bruises, they were both fine, although Rob wasn’t sure what they had endured in the house and what kind of mental scars they would have. Sheriff Lewis had left with the girls a few minutes earlier to go to the sheriff’s department for statements. They had promised to come back as soon as they were finished. Lewis’s deputies had raided the house and rounded up the rest of the brothers and sisters.
Rob had nothing left. They’d patched up his dog-bitten arm and the head wound Luther had given him—no big deal. After three washings, his eyes still felt gritty. He pulled up his sleeve and focused on his watch. Almost three o’clock. Frank had been in surgery over an hour. By chance, the renowned Houston trauma surgeon, Dr. Francis Adams, had been holding a regional training seminar on emergency medicine when the call had come in: “Police officer shot and in route.” Adam’s team had been waiting when the ambulance rolled up to the ER. That was the only break they’d gotten—other than the fact that Frank was still alive.
Those who make it to the ER usually survive, right?
A tall, skinny man with a gray-speckled beard, wearing scrubs, walked toward him. Rob stood and the man introduced himself.
“I’m Dr. Adams.”
They shook hands.
“Your friend’s being moved to ICU,” Adams said.
Rob exhaled. “Thank God.”
The doctor appeared hesitant. “Why don’t we have a seat?” He motioned at the bench. “You’re not by chance a relative, are you?”
“Naw, we’re partners. Dallas PD.” Something didn’t feel right. Adams’s eyes darted from side to side and he leaned forward and clasped his hands, resting his arms on his legs.
“Does he have any relatives nearby?” he asked.
“No, they’re all in Florida,” Rob said.