by Aimée Thurlo
“Yeah?” Lee knew it had to be Diane calling.
“I can see someone on the hillside, climbing up the rocks. It looks like two people, one pulling the other by hand, but it’s hard keeping the image in this scope.” She paused a moment, then added, “It’s Tanner and a woman in a dress.”
“Can you get a shot at Tanner?” Lee moved forward quickly now, reaching the base of the steep slope. He could hear footsteps above, and saw shapes, but was unable to determine who it was from the viewing angle.
Headlights came on from the van below on the road, aimed up the hill, followed by a spotlight. The federal agent who’d run to the vehicle wasn’t totally useless after all. The spotlight, directed up the hillside, finally landed on Tanner and a woman in a red dress. “There he is,” the agent yelled, trying to keep the two fleeing climbers in the beam. “Shoot him.”
“Can’t risk it. I’d probably hit the woman from this angle. What about you?” Lee asked Diane over the phone.
“The light helps, but they’re moving pretty fast, and it’s easily four hundred yards. It would be a luck shot, and I have an equal chance of hitting the woman.”
“Then hold off. Marci Walker was wearing a pants suit. This might be the hostage.”
“I’m going to circle around and try to cut them off when they reach the top of the canyon,” Diane said.
“Okay,” he said, then stuck the phone back onto his belt.
Lee continued running uphill, leaping from rock to rock and picking his way around the brush that remained on the slope. Tanner and the woman—he still couldn’t tell who it was—disappeared from his view. They’d reached the top.
Lee pressed on even faster, knowing that he had to get them back in sight. At the same time, he tried to recall the layout of the community just ahead—the direction Tanner was going. With darkness upon them, the vampire had an immeasurable advantage. If he and the woman made it to the river valley to the south, they’d have the opportunity to elude the search teams.
Lee scrambled up the last few feet to the curb of a paved road, then stopped, keeping low in case Tanner suspected he was being followed closely.
Tanner and the woman in the dress were running toward an older home, a farmhouse, that lay some distance from the bluff beside a small apple orchard. In front of a two-car garage was a shiny blue van—a customized Dodge, with running lights, a covered spare tire, and chromed ladder on the back doors. Beside the van was a white flatbed Ford truck. Tanner was still pulling the woman along, but she wasn’t making any attempt to resist. It was Marci Walker after all, and she’d switched clothes with the realtor.
Lee reached a pile of tumbleweeds that had collected against the fence on the opposite side of the road. Just then, Tanner stopped and turned, taking aim with the assault rifle he’d taken from one of the marshals. Lee ducked down and froze.
Tanner didn’t fire. He looked right past Lee, sweeping the road and cliff side. In the distance, to Lee’s left, was a set of headlights coming in their direction. Maybe it was Diane.
Marci, now out of Tanner’s grip, had frozen in place, looking around in a panic like a deer caught in headlights. Then she started walking down the street. In a few seconds, she started to run.
Tanner turned and sprinted, vampire speed, quickly catching up with Marci and grabbing her roughly by the arm. He slapped her so hard across the face Lee could hear it even from this distance. Then Tanner pulled her toward the house, dragging her along as he trotted at an easy pace. Lee knew he could probably hit Tanner, but with the handgun a quick put-down would be unlikely, and that wasn’t a percentage strategy against a full vampire, already better armed than himself.
Within seconds Tanner and his reluctant partner reached a wooden gate, part of a low picket fence that contained a front yard lawn and tall shade trees. Tanner grabbed Marci by the shoulders, said something Lee couldn’t understand at that distance, then pushed her toward the van parked in the driveway.
Jumping the fence, Tanner ran up to the door and kicked it open. Lee heard the snap of splintering wood and several dogs—small breeds based upon the tone—started yapping.
Lee sprinted forward. Hopefully Tanner was after transportation, not victims, especially after shoving Marci toward the van.
Watching the open front door, Lee almost missed Tanner and a middle-aged man in a white undershirt and jeans coming around the back of the house. Tanner held the struggling man by the neck with one hand, pushing him along.
Unwilling to risk a shot now, Lee took cover, hitting the ground beside some kind of flowering shrub. Raising himself off the ground silently, he took aim, hoping that Tanner would give him an opening for a head shot.
Tanner hauled the man to the driver’s side of the van, tossed the keys to Marci, who’d rolled down the window, then crossed around to the passenger’s side with his hostage, out of Lee’s field of view. A few seconds went by, then the passenger’s side door slammed.
Lee decided to move forward just as the engine started. The vehicle lights went on, then the van raced backward, forcing Lee to dive aside to avoid being struck. He scrambled to his feet as the vehicle spun around, then raced to catch up before the van reached the end of the short driveway.
At the last second he leaped up, catching hold of the ladder on the back left door. The van hit a bump in the road just then, sending him flying up into the air. He managed to hang on with his left arm, but the violent motion knocked the Beretta out of his hand and onto the ground.
Lee managed to swing around and grab the ladder with his right hand so that he was facing the back of the van. Feeling around with his feet he managed to find the bottom rung of the ladder. He’d lost his pistol, but at least he was securely attached to the vehicle now.
Looking to his right over the spare tire, then left as they bumped along the graveled road leading to the street, Lee couldn’t see either side mirror, and the small windows in the rear doors of the van had heavy curtains. If he was careful, nobody would know he was there.
Tires squealed, and Lee hung on grimly as the van made a hard left turn onto the paved street. As the ladder creaked, Lee thought for sure that the bolts holding it to the door were about to snap loose. But they held—for the moment.
Headlights from a vehicle behind them in the distance caught his attention and he cursed silently. All he needed now was to have his presence announced to Tanner and the woman. The hostage they’d taken would be the first to die, or the driver of the vehicle behind them.
The van slowed. Marci, who was probably driving, must have been told they’d gather too much attention speeding. Then he felt his phone vibrating. “If it’s a telemarketer,” he muttered, “I’ll kill him.”
Lee reached down slowly. Unless he was very careful, he’d lose the phone, just like his pistol. At least he had the smaller .45 backup in his pocket, and the dagger in his boot. The phone, unfortunately, would be irreplaceable.
He eased the small device from his pocket very slowly with his left hand after looping his right arm through a rung on the ladder. Praying Marci wasn’t about to take another fast curve, Lee held the receiver to his ear.
“What in the hell are you doing? Couldn’t you find a cab?” Diane was almost yelling, probably a good thing considering the road noise and the wind whipping past him.
“They’ve got a male hostage in the van. And Marci doesn’t seem too happy with the way things are going. Tanner had to force her to go with him.”
“Say again.”
Lee repeated the message, as loud as he dared. “Keep traffic away, and give us plenty of room. If you lose me, call back and I’ll let you know where we are.”
“You hope. I’ll do what I can to keep you safe. Just hang on.”
“No kidding.” The call ended and Lee slipped the phone into his inner jacket pocket. It was less likely to get lost or damaged there, and he’d be sure to feel the vibration of another call. That done, he grabbed hold with his left hand again and looked around at the va
rious passing landmarks he recognized, trying to get an idea of where they were going.
Diane slowed and fell back, then signaled and turned. About ten seconds later, he saw lights again, coming from the direction she’d gone, and recognized their vehicle. It was a smart move—turning, doing a one-eighty, then coming back out again like you were another car. It would probably fool Marci, and hopefully Tanner, unless he was keeping constant watch behind instead of in front. Fortunately, Diane’s vehicle was a very common, generic-looking government sedan.
The residential area ended and they turned onto a main artery. From the signs they passed he knew they were heading east toward Bloomfield, a former farming community now dominated by natural gas and oil well businesses and their support industries.
It was probably seven o’clock by now and, fortunately, there wasn’t a lot of go-home traffic around to see him hugging the back of the Dodge. If Tanner knew he was out there he’d probably start shooting from the inside. Although the bullets wouldn’t kill him unless Tanner destroyed his heart or scored multiple head wounds, falling off a moving vehicle at sixty miles an hour onto the pavement would probably break several important bones and knock him unconscious. Getting run over by the first vehicle to come along would likely finish him off. He’d be roadkill for sure.
Lee hugged the ladder, read the “I heart Yorkies” sticker beside his hand for the twentieth time, and tried to keep track of their route. At least Diane was back there somewhere and knew about his situation, and the additional lights on the rear of the van made it easy to spot.
Lee wondered where they were going, or if Tanner had a plan at all, especially since Marci Walker wasn’t a willing accomplice anymore. If they tried to pass through Bloomfield someone was likely to notice him attached to the van, and with more than one traffic light along the journey, another driver would undoubtedly alert Tanner or Marci. Lee could hear the radio playing inside the van. The kidnappers had apparently picked a hostage who’d installed a great sound system. Either they liked country-western music, or Tanner was hoping to catch a news broadcast of recent events—perhaps noisy firefights in local neighborhoods.
Lee put his ear close to the metal door and listened. He could hear quite well, and as long as a sudden bump didn’t cause him to whack the door with his head, he could make an emergency call to Diane if things went wrong and his voice would be masked by the sounds inside.
CHAPTER 17
“Damn.” Diane set down the cell phone and put both hands on the steering wheel. According to the deputy federal marshal still at the scene, the woman realtor in the model home had been decapitated. Two of the deputy marshals were also dead, and a third, badly wounded. That raised Tanner’s score to at least eight killed today, and the night was young.
She’d asked about Charles, and was told he was alive and well, still double-handcuffed to the SUV’s steering wheel when reinforcements arrived.
The van that Lee was clinging to for dear life had bright orange running lights along the back—loaded with options—and she had no trouble keeping it in sight. The driver was being careful not to attract attention by speeding. At the moment the vehicle was rolling down the highway toward Bloomfield, and she knew there was a major roadblock there manned by county deputies. If the van continued on that route, there was going to be a bloody confrontation for sure, right out in the open. She’d already called ahead, and officers were at the barricade.
A sign on the right announced Salmon Ruins. Beyond the museum and Native American ruins lay the lights of Bloomfield. Her heart thumping, Diane realized she needed to close the distance between her and the van and be in a position to react instantly if something went wrong. Reaching for her radio mike, she tried not to think about how vulnerable Lee would be once the shooting started.
Just then the driver of the van slowed, signaling to make a left turn. Diane racked the mike and cut her own speed. She’d have to follow without making it obvious. The van completed the turn and Diane continued on past the intersection for just a short distance, checking traffic. Hitting the brakes and swerving at the same time, she slid around, doing a one-eighty and hoping an oncoming pickup was paying attention.
The pickup screeched to a halt, the driver honking the horn as she slid to a stop, now facing the right direction. Accelerating quickly, she whipped to the right at the corner, entering the street where the van had gone.
“Thank God Lee ended up on a custom van,” she whispered to the Almighty Himself, seeing the running lights of the vehicle farther down the street. The speed limit here was twenty-five, and the van was holding true. She reached for the mike and announced the van’s location to the senior officer at the Bloomfield roadblock.
The change in direction, though it hadn’t been abrupt, was a surprise to Lee. He knew there was a major roadblock in Bloomfield where Highway 64 and Highway 44 met—it had been there for days now.
He thought about the tactics he’d use if Tanner and the woman tried to run the barricade, and started to reach for the cell phone to call Diane when Marci suddenly made a left turn. The street they were going down now was strictly residential, witch unremarkable but homey-looking pitched-roof, ranch-style houses, white picket fences, and the mandatory barking dogs. Nearly every driveway held a pickup or SUV, and sometimes both. These people weren’t rich, but they were doing okay by New Mexico standards.
As a state policeman, Lee had traveled residential streets in Bloomfield before, but without a map he had no idea where they might be going. Looking around for street signs, he spotted Diane and was relieved to discover she’d managed to stick with them.
The van continued north for about a mile, Lee estimated, then turned back to the east. After another mile, they came to a stop. To his left, Lee could see a road, big enough to be Highway 44, which continued north to the county seat of Aztec. There was a streetlight, but fortunately no vehicles close enough to see him clinging to the back of the van. Then Lee looked down on the pavement. The shadow of the vehicle created by the streetlight showed the outline of the vehicle, and his shape on the back. He thought about flattening out a bit more, trying to blend with the bulge of the spare tire, but realized a moving shadow was even more informative than one that was still. He didn’t move.
Then the music inside the van stopped. An announcer came on with a special news broadcast, and Lee put his ear against the door to listen. There were voices back and forth, but from what Lee could gather, Charles Alderete had spoken to a reporter at the scene of the model home shootings and was claiming that Dr. Wayne was a fed, responsible for Stewart Tanner’s murder spree.
Alderete, according to the reporter, said his sister had been required, under Wayne’s orders, to conduct painful medical experiments on Tanner, and this harsh treatment had led to his criminal insanity. Charles said that a rogue government project had gone wrong, leading to Tanner’s escape and the murder of innocent people.
The sound had been turned up on the radio during the bulletin, and the quick story was repeated, along with the tag line “human guinea pig”—a quote from Charles himself. Marci started cursing, there was the sound of a slap, and Tanner yelled at her to shut up. A few seconds later, however, the music started up again. The radio was turned down, and this time Lee could hear Tanner curse softly, just once.
They peeled out, crossed the highway, then slowed and continued east on the residential street. Diane, who’d stopped at least a quarter mile back while they were sitting still at the intersection, began following them again. Lee knew if they continued on east they’d go through the small community of Blanco. After that, there was only a sparsely populated rural area.
Suddenly it became clear to him that they were headed for Navajo Lake. A turn back onto Highway 64 east of Blanco, then a left onto Highway 511 confirmed it. The air was getting cool, and not just because of the time of day. They were slowly climbing into the hilly country that lined the San Juan River, which was narrow and icy at this point.
Farther
ahead, just below the dam, the river widened onto what the fishermen called “quality water” and no bait, only artificial lures, were allowed for angling. Lee had fished for catfish and trout before his affliction and still missed hiking along the riverbanks under the sun without fear.
Right now, Lee felt more like cold bait himself—Velveeta cheese on a treble hook in a swift current. Or a captive worm about to be grabbed by a hungry trout.
He could see junipers and piñon trees passing by, and the river canyon on his left was getting deeper and narrower. It had been a while since he’d been up here, but Lee knew the dam wasn’t too much farther. He could see headlights in the distance behind them and assumed they were from Diane’s car. There was only the main road up here, so good parallel routes were unavailable. But that fact also allowed Diane to keep her distance. She hadn’t called, so Lee assumed she was still on their trail.
Marci Walker couldn’t know for certain that deputies had already visited her cabin, but Tanner must have figured out that if the authorities knew about the old restaurant in Farmington Marci used to own they’d also know about the cabin up by the lake. So where were Tanner and Marci going? The thought occurred to Lee that maybe their hostage had a cabin.
The phone started vibrating, and Lee wondered if Diane was considering the same problem. It took him a second or two to answer the phone because that required getting a solid anchor with just one arm looped around a ladder rung. His feet were getting sore now from crouching astride the metal bars, not designed as permanent footrests, but the alternative was to dangle.
“Yeah?”
“You still playing Spider Man?” Her voice was clearer than he’d expected. Maybe there were cell phone towers up here because of the tourism.
“Why? You just hit a big bump on the road?”
“Funny. Listen, we’ve got two deputies watching the Walker cabin, but Detectives Shannon and Esterbrook have learned that the Walkers often visited friends on weekends at another cabin several miles from theirs, closer to the dam. This might be the place where they’re heading.”