by Eric Wilson
The man’s breath was cold against Josee’s ear. The gun was in his hand. He pressed her on into the thickening branches and plants. The ground was wet, sucking at their feet as the darkness collapsed in around them.
“Just leave me out here,” she bargained. “Go do what you have to do. I don’t even know your names or anything. I mean, what’s it gonna hurt to deal me a break?”
“Deeper.”
“These bushes, they’re all tangled. Can’t walk. It’s dark.”
“Fine. Right here then.” The revolver nosed into her.
The night broke open with a charge of bright lights and cops and bullhorns.
“Freeze right there! Hands up!”
Adrenaline fired through Josee’s limbs like lit gasoline. She dove to the ground. Skinned her nose in the dirt. Foliage crashed around her. Yells and gunshots. The ICV guy. His arm was shredded. He was writhing in the bushes beside her. Then she was up again. Running. Tripping. She fell, then arms reached for her. A voice cut through the chaos. Familiar. Cheerless. Deep.
“Josee, get up now. You’re okay. Up, onto your feet.”
“Chief Braddock?”
“Your favorite person.”
With the ground rising to meet them, Stahlherz withdrew the broken dagger and pressed back into his seat, gripping his straps. The windshield buckled and disintegrated in an eruption of grass and dirt and glass shards. Even as strips of skin opened on his forearms, he perceived a cold and precise pain along his forehead. The impact of a rotor spinning into the hard earth sent a shudder through the hull.
In death, the engine protested. Screechhh!
Stahlherz felt the rotor’s torque as it tried to complete its circuit. The helicopter lurched down and twisted on the collapsed passenger-side skid. Then, in an earsplitting moment, the rotor snapped. In his peripheral vision, he watched it spin through the air, glance off a railing, and drop into the chasm between the cliffs.
Ka-snappp! Whirrp-whirrp-whirrp … Spulasssh …
Epinephrine heightened all his senses. The pain was distributed evenly now—through his ribs, his face and arms, his skull. He unbuckled himself, shook the debris from his hair. The sergeant was slumped in his seat, unconscious. Beside him, the pilot was lifeless, thrown forward into the mishmash of dials and gauges, his thigh impaled by the helicopter’s steering mechanism.
What had Stahlherz told the man earlier? We’re both driven by our respective birds. If we let them, oh yes, they’ll swallow us whole.
He shook his head at the irony of it all.
Chief Braddock commandeered the red Buick over a bridge as they climbed the road out of Florence. Fiddling with her eyebrow ring, Josee offered him a short glance. “Okay, I’ll say it. Thanks.”
“Thank your father. He called to warn me. I rushed over here to join with the local officers in keeping an eye on the Bank of the Dunes. From there, we followed you to the meeting point and crashed the party. Were the vials in the vault?”
She nodded. “Did Marsh tell you about them?”
“I knew they existed. I just wasn’t sure where.”
“You’re too late. You’ve gotta stop them. Those cars, they’re already—”
“Already what, girl? Don’t get yourself all worked up. You’re in capable hands. With the help of the local authorities, detectives are even now tailing those vehicles. Once they reach their destinations with those vials, we aim to round up the troops. Get as many as possible in one big sweep. Shut ICV down for good.”
Braddock shifted, watched the mirror. “Was there anything else in the box?”
“Hey, it’s not your deposit box. Why should you care?”
“Not trying to fight you, Josee. The other day we got off on the wrong foot, but I am here to help you.”
“And how do you plan on doing that?”
“By getting you safely back to Heceta Head. Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that where you said Marsh and Kara are? Where Trudi Ubelhaar is?” Above Braddock’s rawhide cheeks his eyes narrowed. “Thing is, I want the same thing you do, Josee. I want fathers and children together, safe and warm in their beds at night, free from worry about what tomorrow may hold. I want this brought to an end.”
Josee held up an envelope. “There was something else. Addressed to you.”
Braddock snatched it from her hand. He pulled to the side of the road and smiled as he read the note inside. A note of thanks, Josee knew; she’d gone over it at the vault but didn’t understand the reasons behind it.
He found the photograph next. Yellowed. Curled.
“Father,” he said, filling the one word with admiration, questions, and anger.
He removed a set of wedding rings last. His Adam’s apple jumped.
“Chief, I’m lost. Why’d my grandfather put these in his deposit box?”
“He knew my parents,” Braddock said as he slipped the diamond-studded rings into his shirt pocket and pulled back onto the highway. “My mother died of influenza during the war while the men were off fighting. They returned to a world of changing parameters. These rings belonged to my parents. Unbelievable. I didn’t even know they were still around.”
“Worth a fortune, by the looks of them.”
Braddock nodded, almost as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him.
Josee watched the road whir by. Reflected in the sea, the moon was a lemon orb on blue-black fabric. In the distance, visible from bends in the coastal highway, Heceta Head Lighthouse was a stalwart guardian, offering light to all who would come.
“Almost there. Hope you’ve got a plan of action, Chief.”
Although his laughter boomed through the Buick, dark intentions filled his eyes.
With his legs, the ICV recruit gripped the reinforced case on the passenger-side floorboards of the Toyota pickup. Inside, Styrofoam mounts cradled the canister that Mr. Steele had provided. Once the accelerant was introduced, the poison would be unstoppable.
This was it. Finally. A year of prep and recon, and now the grand finale.
In his mind, Travis rehearsed the plan. They’d turn at Mapleton and head east on Highway 126. Within an hour, they’d skirt Eugene on Green Hill Road, cut into the north end along Barger Drive and head for River Avenue. They’d nose into the parking lot of a bingo hall—just two guys hoping for a lucky streak … hilarious!—then cross over to the property of a city water treatment facility. Since 9/11 was now a memory, security measures had softened. Penetrating the property, that would be the fun part. By morning, the reports would start coming in.
Convulsions. Loss of control. Bodily functions gone berserk.
Victims by the hundreds, by the thousands.
The driver angled his rearview mirror. He said, “We’re being followed, Travis. That car’s been behind us since we left Florence.”
“This is the fastest way to Eugene. Could be coincidence.”
“Maybe I should try going the long way, through Triangle Lake.”
“No,” Travis said. “That’d put us at the target too late.”
“What if it’s the cops?”
“They can’t pull us over unless they have something to go on. Take it easy.”
The driver shifted into a lower gear, his eyes darting between his mirrors as he followed a bridge over the Siuslaw River. Ahead, the road was dark and wet, hemmed in by towering conifers. “That’s the problem. Got a warrant out on me. See, I skipped a court date last week.”
Travis exhaled. “You idiot!”
“There’s a corner up here and this narrow driveway. I’ve got an idea.” Braking the vehicle with two quick downshifts, the driver switched off his headlights and aimed toward the gap in a fence across the road.
The helicopter was a smoldering heap. Glass and metal glistened in the grass. Kara, along with the others, waited for movement in the wreckage. Apparently, though, no one had survived.
Will any of us survive this night?
Kara felt numb. The way she had in the cellar. Trudi had ordered her daug
hter’s death, and here Kara sat with soup and wine and bread crusts down the front of her shirt. The vintage wine bottle stood in the center of the table, flanked by candles. The canister in Trudi’s hands bounced moonbeams across the tableau.
“They should be here by now,” Trudi said. “Not that far from Florence.”
But Josee won’t be returning. My daughter. Gone.
Kara dipped her head to sip again at her wineglass. Her pants were sticky with salt and wet from the dash through the waves with Marsh. That’d been a surprise. He seemed different. Maybe one good thing would come from this mess—if they survived.
Trudi scooped her beloved canister to her nose and sniffed. With a mischievous grin, she puffed her aged chest and arms as though possessed by unearthly might. To her four adherents, she said, “Tonight’s deadly distribution shall be our pièce de résistance. With the vials released, ICV shall make its mark for eternity.”
They answered in spirited unity: “Audentes fortuna juvat!”
A red Buick was easing into the parking area on the far side of the keeper’s house, and Trudi eyed it with elation. “At last.”
With her attention diverted, Marsh was sawing the tape on his wrists against the wooden table leg. Kara tried not to check his progress, afraid she might telegraph his movements to the others. She waited for the Buick to park.
Before it could stop, a figure emerged from the disabled helicopter.
Old Man Ridder made a point to let out his wife’s cocker spaniel every night before the reruns of Seinfeld. He loved the show. Reminded him of his East Coast relatives. Abrupt. Self-absorbed. A million miles an hour.
“Go on, girl. Do your thing.”
The spaniel was getting up in age. She waddled through the screen door.
Standing on the porch, Ridder heard the chattering burp of a semitruck’s air brakes. Up there along the tree line, Highway 126 was the site of many a fender bender. Fool trucks. The road was rain soaked and dark. The blast of a horn confirmed Ridder’s fears, even as a Toyota pickup slashed across the pavement, nothing more than a rodent caught in the rectangular sweep of the truck’s headlights.
But the Toyota’s lights were dimmed. Now if that wasn’t the dangedest thing.
Old Man Ridder forgot about the spaniel, about the rerun, and shook his head. “They just never learn, the fools. Never learn.”
With the blare of a horn, the hurtling tanker swerved to avoid the smaller vehicle. It skidded and began to jackknife. To escape, the Toyota kicked mud and hopped over the grate, but a front tire dropped into the drainage ditch, and the driver’s eyes shone white as the front grill slammed into the escarpment. A star crack appeared where his forehead hit the windshield. For a moment, he and his passenger were stark silhouettes in the glare of the overturning semi’s lights. Then the entire night became an outline of trees and metal against the orange-blue explosion that erupted from the toppled tanker as it careened into the paralyzed pickup in the ditch.
A fist of heat punched Old Man Ridder back through his screen door. He felt slivers and metallic threads snag at his overalls. His head bounced against the carpet.
He groaned. Gritted his teeth. Extracted himself from the heap of wood.
The smell of burnt hair pierced his nostrils, the enormous blast still rang in his ears, but there at the top of the drive the wreckage was a sight to behold. From the cauldron of fire, from the heart of the flattened pickup, green flames rose like departing spirits. In matching color, wisps of smoke snaked down toward the house and passed over the still form on the front grass.
He never did like that dog.
Old Man Ridder took a deep breath, steeled himself to make an emergency call and to face the reaction of his wife. Within seconds, however, he was aware of nothing other than the pain sparking through his extremities and the convulsions rippling through his muscles.
Allhallows Eve. The night for trick-or-treaters had arrived. Emerging from the torn cockpit of the helicopter was a man Marsh assumed must be his online foe. The man stumbled forward dazed, a jagged blade in his hand. As though part of a macabre costume, lacerations and blood marked his arms and face.
This was no trick; the man needed medical attention.
“Stahli,” Trudi whispered. “You’re a fool.”
“He needs help.” Marsh worked his wrists against the duct tape, using the distraction to his advantage. If I can just …
Two bug-eyed recruits took steps to assist the crash victim, but a command from Trudi stopped them short. “Let him be. He should never have come.” She cocked her head, amused by his advance on ungainly legs.
The man swayed. Halted. “At last we meet, Marsh. I’m Karl Stahlherz.”
“Steele Knight, your chess skills are weakening. You fell for my gambit.”
“Game’s still in progress.” Stahlherz coughed, spit blood. “I had to meet my brother before handing to him a final defeat.”
“How’d you get dragged into this? I understand Trudi’s motive here, but why’d you choose me and my family to torment? I don’t get it.”
“Aren’t you listening? I just told you, Marsh. You are my brother.”
“I don’t have a brother.”
“Virginia can verify it for you. She gave birth to me years before your arrival.”
“My brother was stillborn.”
“Stillborn? No, that’s where you’re wrong. Is that what they’ve told you, the lie you’ve believed while frolicking in the role of favored son? No, no, see I deserved all that which you claim as your own. It should’ve been mine. I was the firstborn.”
Marsh felt like yelling at this impostor. Was there any truth in his words?
“I don’t see a resemblance. I don’t believe it.”
“Think as you will. You’ve usurped all that should’ve been mine, assumed the role that belonged to me. Chance did not want a child. With an army orderly’s help, he deceived even his own wife and left me for dead. But Trudi stepped in. Rescued me.”
“And she’s the one who’s fed you these lies? She’s full of it, Stahlherz.”
“Ha-ha! Yes, I’ve come to see that.” He glared at the old woman.
“It’s all been a lie,” Marsh said. “Let’s put the whole thing to rest. Call it a draw.”
“Nooo! All or nothing. I’d rather die than let you claim even partial victory.”
“Stahli.” Trudi shook her head with pity.
Marsh was shell-shocked. No wonder this had become personal. Could his opponent’s claims be true? He was sure that Virginia knew nothing of this, but perhaps Chance had taken the truth to his grave. Perhaps they would never know for certain.
From the direction of the Buick, a lone figure was walking their way. She was a cutout shape against the lights behind her, but Marsh couldn’t mistake the silhouette.
“Josee!” He and Kara and Trudi called out her name in unison.
As arranged, Josee took her time. She moved along the keeper’s house, giving Chief Braddock an opportunity to slip from the Buick and circle around by the demolished helicopter. Her step quickened though when she caught Kara’s eye at the table. Disregarding the others, she pressed in beside her mother on the bench seat. Felt her nearness. Overhead, beams of light from the tower sliced the darkness.
“Josee. We thought they were going to kill you.”
“Guess you thought wrong, I’m here in one piece.”
Trudi was agitated. “You’re a survivor, Josee. That’s to be admired. Have the vials been distributed and sent out? The driver told me they had been.”
“Yep.”
“Then why,” Trudi asked, “are you here? He was to remove you from the game.”
“Guess his aim was off.”
The old woman closed her eyes with exaggerated languor. Holding the silver canister over her head, she seemed to squeeze from it a vile green vapor that encircled her head and washed down over her body. Her recruits watched with masked stares, and judging by their backward steps, Josee decided t
hey must share her sense of foreboding. The profuse vapor formed tight curls about Trudi’s scalp. Thus empowered, she strode around behind Josee.
“What happened? Tell me! Something happened, I’m quite certain of it.”
“I got the stuff from the bank like you said. Then the guys split it up and went their separate ways.”
Trudi leaned in, and Josee felt a tug at her eyebrow ring. “I told them to kill you. You could have been my granddaughter, but no, you shirked that connection.”
“Think you’ve got the wrong chick.” Josee jerked her head from the invasive touch. “I’m done helping you with your psycho little plan!”
Trudi cupped her hands over Josee’s tufted hair. Josee tried to move forward, to shake off the old cow, but a burst of heat seemed to ooze down her cheeks and jaw. She was staring out at the rolling breakers, paralyzed by fear. A set of white fingers lowered before her eyes. Curved fangs. They latched on to her eyebrow ring.
“Leave my daughter alone,” Kara protested.
“You’ve disrupted the game, Josee. Your fabrications are self-evident. I can smell that you’re not telling me everything. My orders—disobeyed!” Trudi tugged at Josee’s ring, fangs hooked into pewter, stretching her skin to the breaking point.
“Arhhh!”
Josee’s scream was involuntary as the fangs created a tear. The searing heat was intense. The eyebrow ring was still there, held by the remaining tissue.
“Hands off!” Marsh rose from the bench.
“Stay back!”
Marsh ignored Trudi’s warning.
“Baaccck!” Trudi clutched fingers to Josee’s ears.
Marsh stopped. Josee could feel droplets down her cheek.
“In your seat!” The fangs clutched tighter at Josee’s head. “Do it now!”
From behind them, a snarl broke through the darkness. “Gertrude Ubelhaar!”
With bits of glass dug into his skin, with scars throbbing and left elbow hanging useless, Turney’s reserves were dwindling. He was shaking, and his head was spinning. He lifted himself upright and fought to regain awareness.