The Hunters Series: Volumes 1-3

by Glenn Trust

  69. Cy Would be Pissed

  Clay looked up from his seat when the big deputy and two GBI agents walked from the office. They crossed the room to the front door with purpose and Clay started to rise. The female agent, Price, stopped and faced him.

  “I want to thank you for your help, Clay,” she said with the patient smile of someone with something else to do. “Trooper Collins there will give you a receipt for your phone. Not sure when you can have it back, but we’ll do our best to get it to you.” She paused clearly not knowing what else to say but knowing what he wanted to hear. “I have to be honest with you; we don’t know what is going to happen. You know this isn’t good.”

  Clay nodded.

  “Well, we have every trooper and deputy in the state looking for her, for Lyn. You know I won’t lie to you and promise anything. You know I can’t do that.”

  He could only nod again.

  “Well then…” she paused not knowing what else to say to the young man, but wishing there was something she could say, something positive.

  “You did good, son.” George Mackey spoke up in his slow, south Georgia drawl. “You’re from down in Pickham aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well near as I can tell, this girl is lucky she ran into you.”

  “My brother, Cy, too. He was there.”

  “Right, you and your brother. Best thing you can do now is head home and wait. We’ll let you know what happens. We have your number.”

  “You have my phone.”

  “I’m from down in Pickham, I’ll find you. Besides, the trooper has your home contact information in the report. Right?” George looked over at Trooper Collins who nodded. “So go home now.” George paused. Like Price, he had no idea what to say next, so he said what he could. “We’ll do what we can.”

  With that, the three walked out of the door and into the dark early morning. Clay stood looking at the door for a few seconds, then Trooper Collins spoke.

  “Here’s the receipt for your phone.” He held up a slip of paper. “Do what the deputy said, Clay. Go home. Go find your brother.”

  Taking the slip of paper, Clay mumbled a thanks and stepped through the door. The early morning air was dark and damp from the earlier rain. The tires of the two vehicles hissed on the wet pavement as they pulled from the lot onto the highway.

  He watched the taillights of the state car and the deputy’s pickup disappear in the mist. When they were gone, he climbed into his truck, turned the engine over, and backed carefully away from the state patrol building. Pulling onto the highway, he turned north and increased speed until the taillights of the Pickham County deputy’s pickup were just visible through the mist. Matching speed with the vehicle, he settled in. He didn’t know where they were going, but he was going there too. As he drove, the seeds of a plan started to form in his brain.

  He would follow them until daylight when he would have to back off. They would know his truck immediately, and he knew if they looked in the mirror and saw him, they would send him packing, with an escort if necessary. But they would be getting to Augusta about daylight and once they got there, he would see if he could make his plan work.

  Doubt started to settle in for a moment, but he shook it off. He didn’t have his phone, but he had a very clear memory of the girl’s confused and lonely voice in the message. He was committed now. He would follow until he knew what had happened to her. He felt somehow that he owed that to her.

  For the hundredth time that day he thought, ‘Cy will be really pissed’. He pushed that one away for now.

  70. Soon

  The settlement of Crichton was in the Appalachian foothills. It had taken the old Chevy less than a minute to pass from one end of the village to the other and then back out into the predawn gloom of the forest canopy, split narrowly by the two lane road. The north Georgia mountains were dotted with little crossroads settlements hidden among the forests and hills.

  Lylee knew that it was time to get off the road for a while. With the bloodlust rising in him, he had taken chances that he would normally have avoided after a kill. Now it was time to rest. Once again, his hand reached out for the girl’s thigh. Stroking it, he felt the hunger rise in him.

  Practiced eyes scanned the roadside in the dark. A few miles north of Crichton, he found what he was looking for.

  The sign made from rough cut logs said “Creek Side Cabins”. Lylee slowed at the entrance and peered down the gravel drive into the dark. A small building surrounded by pines was visible in the headlight beams at the end of the drive. The creek side cabins were not in view. Good. They would, no doubt and as the name suggested, be nestled cozily beside some small mountain creek surrounded by the thick mountain trees. A picture postcard scene that would be lost on the two in the Chevy. One had plans that would turn the rustic setting into a very unpleasant place. The other just wanted to stay alive.

  The car bumped heavily as it turned sharply onto the rough drive. Lyn could not suppress a gasp of surprise. Headlight beams illuminated a narrow tunnel of green through the trees. Lyn fought down the fear and the urge to scream. It was an overwhelming urge that nearly boiled the scream from her. But that was what he wanted. She knew.

  She also knew that the turn down this dark road meant that there would be more reasons to scream. Soon. She did not think she would be able to stop those screams.

  71. Getting Lucky

  Arriving in Augusta, George guided the Pickham County sheriff’s pickup through unfamiliar territory until they were on Washington Road. Passing Augusta National Country Club, home of the Masters Golf Tournament, George slowed a little as they both turned their heads and tried to peek up Magnolia Lane. Not much was visible in the early dawn light.

  “Humph,” George said increasing speed again. “Lived in Georgia all my life, and this is the first time I’ve been here.”

  “Yeah. Me too,” Price said studying the map on her. “Been to Augusta a few times passing through. Never to visit and sure never to go to any golf tournament.”

  George nodded his concurrence with a smile.

  “Yeah. Golf isn’t real big in the part of Georgia I come from. Bankers and lawyers play, and the sheriff. That’s about it.” George bumped the speed up again. Washington Road was taking them north, out of the city. “Which way we headed?”

  Sharon Price looked up from the map. “About like we are now. We can take the state highways to the northwest. Little slower than the interstate, but a lot more direct. We’ll cross back and forth across the state line into South Carolina a few times following the Savannah River, but we’ll end up where we said, around I-85 in north Georgia, the Toccoa area. Who knows…,” her voice trailed off in uncertainty.

  George looked over at the GBI agent. “I know it’s a long shot. We don’t have any idea where this animal is headed.”

  Price cut him off. “No need to explain, George. It may be a long shot, but it’s the only shot we have. And something else.” George’s head turned with interest towards her before she continued. “He’s due to make a mistake, and we’re due to get lucky.”

  He nodded slowly. The hunter in him knew that this last was true. You could plan, arm yourself, stalk, and make all necessary preparations for the hunt, but in the end, after patience, it helped to have a little good luck. He had known plenty of experienced hunters, himself included, who spent days in the field without a kill, while the rookie stumbles noisily upon a trophy buck standing in the trail and is able to get off a shot. He would take that, he thought. A lucky shot would be just fine, and they could end this now. End it before he was too late…again.

  The speed limit increased to sixty-five as they distanced themselves from the environs of Augusta, and George pushed the accelerator until the speedometer read seventy. Plowed fields and stands of woods flashed by in the graying dawn. There was little traffic at this hour but they examined every vehicle that came into sight, hoping to get lucky.

  72. “Honey, we’re home.”


  Lyn watched him climb the steps made from logs cut flat on one side. The building was a small cabin also made of logs. It looked like something from an old western movie to her, only nicer. A dim light was visible through a window that had red plaid curtains hanging and pulled back at the bottoms. There were flowers planted in barrels on each side of the door. To Lyn, it looked like something from a magazine. Pretty and picturesque; a far cry from the bare, gray walls of her room in the shack they had called home.

  The sound of running water splashing on rocks made its way into the car from somewhere not too distant. Lyn looked around as far as she could turn with her hand bound to the frame of the seat. They seemed to be in the middle of the woods. The country around that was visible in the early morning light was hilly and rose up sharply all around.

  Sounds from the porch caused her to turn her head. An old man in a flannel shirt opened the door with a smile.

  “Mornin’. You’re out pretty early, even for us old-timers.”

  Lylee smiled back his ‘charming’ smile and added a bit of ‘good ole boy’ to win over the old man’s trust.

  “Sorry about that, sir. My wife and I are headed up to Sliwell, Kentucky. Driving all night, thought we might could stop and spend a day or two in one of your cabins.”

  The old man regarded the stranger quietly for a moment. Craning his head to one side he looked past the thin man to the old Chevrolet parked at the end of the walk. He was unable to make out more than just a silhouette of someone in the car.

  “Well, we do most of our business by reservation, but just so happens we haven’t started our busy season yet, and we do have a few cabins open. In fact, they’re all open.” He pulled the door wider and stepped aside as an invitation for the stranger to enter. “If you’re only staying for a couple of days, that is. Got most of the cabins rented out this weekend to leaf watchers wanting to see the colors turn on the trees. They come up from Atlanta on Friday and leave Sunday afternoon.”

  “Not a problem,” Lylee said, smiling more broadly. “We’ll be gone by then. Just want to rest up and enjoy the scenery for a day or two. Then we’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Gannet, step out of the way and let the boy in.” An old woman who had clearly heard their conversation came from a room off to the right, pinning her gray hair back as she walked. “Let’s get you signed up and settled in.” She motioned with her head to the door. “Gannet, go outside and ask the young lady to come in. I’ll fix up some breakfast for us. Not much going on now, until the weekend. You’d be welcome company.”

  Lylee held his place in the doorway and said, still smiling, ‘No, ma’am. Can’t do that.” He smiled again at the old woman’s raised eyebrow and added, “Sarah, that’s my wife, is sleeping. She’s pretty exhausted. We got some food in the car. What we are really needing right now is some sleep in a good bed instead of the front seat of that old beater.” He jerked his head towards the car outside. “Besides, she’s not very presentable, traveling and all. She’d be annoyed that I didn’t let her get herself tidied up a bit. You know how you ladies are.” He smiled in his appreciation of the ways of her gender.

  The old woman smiled back, nodding her understanding. “Well, let’s get you settled in then. You want a creek side or tree side view?”

  “Creek side,” Lylee said without having to think. The noise of the flowing water would dampen any sounds that might come from the cabin. He followed her to the desk and signed a card, entering a false Texas home address to go with the stolen Texas plates on the car.

  “We’ll put you someplace quiet, all the way in the back at the end of the property. You should be able to get some sleep there without being troubled by traffic on the highway.”

  “That’d be perfect, ma’am.”

  The woman picked up the card, peering at it through the bottoms of the her glasses. “Texas, huh? Thought that accent didn’t sound like Kentucky.”

  “No, ma’am. I’m from Texas. All my life. My wife’s from Kentucky. We’re going to visit her family.”

  “Must not be in any hurry to get there,” the old man chimed in.

  “Is anyone ever in a hurry to visit the in-laws?” Lylee said, grinning like an experienced married man.

  “You got that right, boy. You got that right,” Gannet said, avoiding the sharp look the old woman gave him. “So, let me show you in and help you with the bags.” He added changing the subject quickly.

  “No need. Just point me in the right direction, and we’ll find it. Besides, Sarah would be upset if I let anyone see her right now. I’d never hear the end of it.”

  Old Gannet nodded with a smile—the way men do who are experienced with their women. He held the key out for Lylee. “Just take the drive all the way to the end, then right along the creek. Your cabin’s the last one on the end.”

  “Thanks a lot. Really appreciate it,” Lylee said, taking the key that was chained to a small stick carved to look like a log from a cabin. Looking over at the old woman he added, “I’ll bring Sarah around to say hello when she’s had some rest and a chance to clean up.”

  “You do that,” the old woman said politely. There was something in her eye that caught Lylee’s attention for just a second. It was a look that said, ‘Something’s not quite right. I can’t say what, but something’s not just the way this young man is telling it.’ Lylee marked the look in his brain without a comment, filing it away for future reference that might require some action on his part before he departed the Creek Side Cabins.

  The cabin key clutched firmly in his hand, Lylee went out onto the wooden porch and down the log steps to the car. Lyn watched him walk quickly to the driver’s door.

  Peering from the lighted window of the office, the old woman could not make out anything inside the car. The morning was still dark and only a hint of dawn light streaked the sky above the mountains. In the shadows below, the night lingered.

  Turning her head, Lyn could see the old woman watching and squinting through the window glass. She knew that she was invisible to the woman.

  The car started smoothly and pulled away from the small log cabin office making the turn down the drive. The sound of rushing water grew louder. Pulling to the end of the drive, the car stopped in front of a small cabin at the end of a line of cabins along the creek. All looked deserted. There were no lights, no cars. Beyond this last cabin, there were only trees. Lyn’s eyes closed as she fought back a shudder. His hand was back on her thigh.

  “Honey, we’re home,” he said, softly.

  73. A Plan Materializes

  As daylight came on and the Pickham County pickup disappeared up the road, Clay had pulled into a strip shopping center on Washington Road in Augusta, Georgia, knowing that if he continued following the deputy and GBI agent in the daylight, they would become aware of his presence. They had made it clear that he was to head back to Pickham County.

  The shopping center had a national chain electronics store, and Clay’s plan began to materialize. Sleeping fitfully in his truck in the shopping center parking lot, he had waited until eight o’clock when the sign on the store said it would open. It was eight-fifteen when a young man walked across the parking lot, put a key in the door, and then walked in, turning on lights as he went.

  Clay waited a few more minutes and then went into the store.

  “Morning. What can I do for you?” The young store manager seemed a bit surprised to have a customer so early.

  “Well, I’m looking for one of those radios that pick up the police and all.” Clay wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, but figured the manager would know.

  “A scanner?” The manager asked with a puzzled look on his face.

  “Yeah. That’s it,” Clay said with some relief that the man knew what he was talking about. “A scanner that can pick up police frequencies...state patrol frequencies.”

  “Why do you want a scanner?” the man asked with a puzzled look.

  Clay was afraid that he had stepped into some forbidd
en territory with his request and was wondering where this would lead. “They’re legal, aren’t they? I mean I thought anyone could own a scanner.” He tried to conceal the nervousness in his voice.

  “Oh sure, they’re legal as hell. Just not much use around here anymore.” The store manager saw that Clay did not understand and added, “Everyone went digital encryption. Got away from analogue radios. I can sell you a scanner, but you won’t pick up much around here.”

  Clay’s face showed that he was trying to soak this information in and extract its meaning. His reply was a simple, “Oh.”

  “What’s up, man? What do you need a scanner for? Fill me in, and I’ll see what I can come up with.” The store manager spoke with a ‘one young man to another’ familiarity.

  Why not, Clay thought, and went through the basics of the story. When he got to being stopped by the state patrol on I-16 the night before, the manager interrupted.

  “Wait. Are you the guy they stopped last night? The one that gave the information about the man in the car and a girl named Lyn? You got a voice mail from her, right?”

  The rapidity of the questions, and the fact that this young man seemed to know an awful lot about Clay’s situation, caused his mind to whirl. “How…who…told you?”

  “You did man. You did.” Laughing, the manager turned and walked towards the back room of the store. “Follow me,” he called over his shoulder.

  The back room was a maze of shelving stuffed with various electronic parts and components. In one corner was a low workbench with a light on a flexible neck bent over some electronic equipment on the bench that was a mystery to Clay.