by Sala, Sharon
Tate was sick. They’d been played, and unless a miracle occurred, Nola was going to pay for it.
“We need a boat,” he said. “Get on the phone and find us a boat. We’ll be in Queens Crossing in about five minutes, so tell them to have one waiting down at the public boat launch.”
Wade made the call to the P.D., who started scrambling to find one. Then he thought of the refugees who had been taken in by the Red Cross. Some of them had actually come into the city by boat, so he made a call to Laura Doyle. It rang so many times he was afraid it was going to voice mail, and then she finally answered.
“Hello, this is Laura.”
“Laura, Agent Luckett here. We need help. Did any of your refugees come into town in a motorboat? The killer has Nola, and we’re pretty sure he’s taking her to the river.”
Laura gasped. “Oh, dear God. Wait. I don’t know, but I’ll ask. Don’t hang up. I’m taking the phone with me.”
Wade could hear the frantic tone in her voice as she ran out into the gym and explained what she needed. He could hear other voices, all talking at once, and groaned. They needed help, not a debate. And then she was back on the phone.
“There are two men here who brought their families in to Queens Crossing in motor boats. They both have high-powered outboard motors and have volunteered to take you. They know the dangers, but they both know Nola and want to do it.”
“We need the fastest boat,” he said.
“He’ll be at the public dock waiting for you.”
“Thank you,” Wade said, and hung up. “Get to the dock. We’ve got a boat.”
The scenery was a blur, and when Tate hit the city limits he turned on the lights and siren, then drove all the way through town with lights flashing. When they reached the river, he slid to a stop at the dock. He and Wade got out on the run, heading toward a big fiberglass boat with a large outboard motor. The motor was already running, and the man at the wheel was grim-faced and waiting.
Tate recognized the man as Justin Beaudine, one of their classmates, as they jumped in the boat.
“Justin! Do you think you can find the Landry place in this flood?”
“I’ve run the river all my life. I know I can, Tate. Hang on.”
“Hurry, man. Run it wide-open. The Stormchaser has her, and he’s ahead of us.”
The motor roared as the boat sped away from the dock, its wake awash in foam and debris.
* * *
Hershel was high on adrenaline. Everything was finally falling into place. He would put this woman down and be home in time to help take out the garbage at the gym. He took the turn in the road at a steady speed, not wanting to call attention to himself needlessly, but time was not on his side. The cove where he’d hidden the boat was less than a mile up ahead. He hadn’t been there since the last rain, and he hoped to God it had not floated away from its mooring. That was how he’d lucked onto it in the first place, and it could happen again.
As he topped a hill, he saw an old black pickup coming toward him, driving in the middle of the road. He honked the horn, which made the driver suddenly swerve. Hershel cursed as the man finally pulled back into the proper lane and sped past. That was all he needed—to get in a wreck with a hostage on the floorboard. He glanced down at her. She was starting to come around. He hadn’t recharged the Taser, but she wouldn’t know that. He picked it up and pointed it at her.
“Be still, missy, or I’ll shoot you again.”
Shame on you, Hershel! Shame, shame! Just look at her. She’s a beautiful, innocent young woman who deserves a chance to grow old. You let her go this instant!
“Hush up, Louise. I’m not letting her go, and that’s the end of that.”
Nola moaned as her eyes filled with tears. Now he was hearing voices—voices that were telling him to let her go—and he was arguing with them, which at least must mean he was torn about what he was doing. She couldn’t talk for the gag in her mouth, but she damn sure wasn’t quitting. She wanted him to think she was, though, so she nodded, but the minute he looked back at the road she began trying to work her hands free of the ties around her wrists.
As he took a curve in the road, he swerved a little too close to the shoulder. The right front tire went off the blacktop with a thump. The pickup lurched, which threw her against the door. For a few moments she was cheek down on the floorboard and looking under the seat at a filet knife.
Her heart began to race, and without hesitation, she made a big show of trying to roll over and pick herself up. As she did, she dragged the knife behind her and began sawing at the cord he’d tied around her wrists.
“What the hell are you doing, girl?”
She froze and shook her head, trying to convince him she wasn’t doing anything.
Again he picked up the Taser and pointed it at her. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face against her knees. She couldn’t believe she’d survived so much, only to wind up back in the river. Her mama would never have awakened her and warned her to run if she was meant to die. She had no hope whatsoever that Tate would find out what had happened to her in time to save her, so she had to save herself.
All of a sudden the truck began slowing down, and when it did, her heartbeat accelerated. Was this it? Would this be where she died?
She panicked, but when he got out and circled the truck, she had a few moments more with the knife. She angled it down toward her ankles, sawing frantically at the cord in an effort to weaken the cotton strands.
Then she heard the click of the door latch and quickly shoved the knife back under the seat. The cord was fraying, and looser than it had been. When he grabbed her by the arms to pull her out, he inadvertently gripped the stitches. She threw her head back, groaning in sudden pain, swallowing the scream beneath the gag.
“Oooh, hey...got a handful of the stitches, didn’t I? My bad.”
He grabbed her under the arms, dragged her out of the truck and then tossed her down like a sack of feed. She landed shoulder first, then rammed her chin into the mud and the dirt, and felt blood spurt inside her mouth. But she was on the ground, which gave her friction to work on the gag. She rubbed her face against the dirt until she managed to work the gag out of her mouth. It fell down around her neck like a dirty necklace, but it was a weight symbolically lifted.
She could hear him banging and splashing in the water behind her, and rolled over to check his location. When she saw the words Gator Bait on the side of the boat, her heart sank. It was just as Tate had predicted. The killer was taking her back out on the river to undo his mistake.
She began struggling even harder to pull her hands and ankles free. Each time she tried, the cotton cords stretched just a little bit more.
The sun was in her eyes when she heard footsteps, and she knew he was coming. She blinked, looked up and caught sight of a small squirrel watching silently from the branches above her. Something crawled out of her hair and down across her forehead. Normally that would have freaked her out, but it was nothing in comparison to the man coming toward her.
“Well, I see you’ve managed to remove your gag. That’s okay. There’s no one for miles in any direction to hear you, so scream to your heart’s content.”
She wanted to, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She was trying to remember everything she’d heard Tate say about the killer’s mental state. She knew he thought of her as a mistake to be rectified, so she had to play off that fact to her advantage.
“You’re the one who’ll be screaming when the FBI finally catches you—and they will. If not now, then later,” she snapped.
Hershel didn’t like it that she wasn’t crying. Louise had cried on that roof. She had begged for her insulin, but he couldn’t get to it.
“They know nothing about me,” he said. “And you can shut up.”
“Then I’ll talk
to Louise,” Nola said. “She’s the only one around here with any sense.”
Hershel frowned. Louise didn’t talk to anyone but him.
She’s right, Hershel. I’m the voice of reason. You better heed me. I’m telling you now to let her go.
“I’m not letting her go, and that’s the end of that, Louise.”
“See, she told you to let me go. I told you she’s the voice of reason.”
“She’s dead, so her opinion no longer matters,” he said.
“Well I didn’t kill her, and what you’re doing to me makes no sense, so I guess that makes you crazy,” Nola said, then waited for rage to follow.
Instead, his eyes narrowed and then he burst out laughing.
“That’s what they told me at the hospital. ‘You’re crazy, Hershel.’ That’s what they said.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “I thought your name was Bill Carter. So you’re not only crazy, but you’re also a liar? Well, that’s just perfect.”
Hershel yanked her to her feet, then slapped her.
“Shut the hell up,” he snapped, then threw her over his shoulder and carried her to the boat. He dropped her unceremoniously into the standing water that had collected in the hull.
She screamed as something slithered beside her arm.
He glanced down at her and frowned.
“There’s a snake in here. Get me out! Get me out or you can’t make it right!” she screamed.
Hershel panicked, and before he realized it, he was following her orders. He dragged her out of the boat, then used an oar to find and flip the snake out into the river.
“You better make sure there aren’t any more in there or you’ll die out here, too,” she said.
Hershel stirred the paddle through the water several times, and then went back to the truck and began digging around in the junk in the truck bed for a bucket. As he did, he realized there was a bag of garbage from the Red Cross center still in there that he’d missed dumping in the bins. All of a sudden the sudden appearance of the vulture made sense. It had smelled the rotting food. He laughed again, relieved to have deciphered the mystery, and threw the trash out into the woods.
“You were wrong, Louise! That vulture wasn’t an omen. It just wanted the garbage in the back of my truck.”
He found the bucket, then went back to the boat and began bailing out the water until he was certain there was nothing else in it. Then he tossed the bucket into the boat and Nola after it.
She was lying in several inches of water, which was stretching the cotton even more, and pulling as hard as she could as Hershel crawled into the boat. He took the oar and pushed them out into the current, then started the engine. The moment it roared to life, Nola could feel her life grow shorter.
She could see very little from where she was lying other than birds, blue sky and the occasional jet trail. With no way to judge where they were, she didn’t know how much longer she had left to try to get free. Besides, she realized, even if she’d been sitting up in the boat, whatever landmarks she might have recognized were either washed away or under water.
The outboard motor was a roar in her ears, blocking out all other sounds, and the floor of the boat was vibrating against her back as it sped through the water. She glanced at his face, trying to judge his demeanor. He didn’t appear panicked or particularly deadly. If it wasn’t for the pistol on his hip and the Taser beside him, she might have thought they were simply out for a leisurely ride.
Knowing she might never see Tate again was heartbreaking. They’d lost precious years of their past because of his father, and now they were going to lose their future because of a madman.
Although she couldn’t hear him, when she realized the man was talking to himself again, her panic increased. Despite the raw and bleeding flesh around her wrists, she continued to struggle with the cords, pushing and pulling, pushing and pulling, repeating the process over and over until all of a sudden one hand slipped free. Relief was physical, but brief. Now if she could only get her ankles free, she would have a fighting chance.
When he began to slow down, she panicked. They must be getting close. If she was going to make a move, it was now or never. She began working her ankles as hard as she had her wrists.
He saw her moving around in the boat and yelled at her, but she couldn’t hear what he said. To hide what all her movement was about, she raised herself up to a sitting position and screamed a curse at him.
He laughed and pointed the Taser at her again, and when he did, she finally noticed it wasn’t ready to fire. Seconds later she felt the cords beginning to give around her ankles. It wouldn’t take much more than a kick or two and her legs would be free, as well, so she stopped, waiting for the right moment to make her break.
* * *
Hershel eased off on the gas and began scanning the area, looking for landmarks. He remembered what the water had looked like before, but everything had changed. After the second round of storms that had fed into already flooded areas, even trees that had been there before were gone. He remembered coming around a bend and seeing the three people on the roof of a house, and then about a hundred yards or so farther down there had been a stand of trees, which was where Nola Landry had taken refuge, and where she’d witnessed what he’d done.
“They’re gone,” he muttered. “Everything is gone.”
It’s a sign, Hershel. It’s a sign from God that you need to stop. You have to turn back and let her go.
“Louise, can’t you see I’m busy? I’ll talk to you later, after I’m done with her.”
I’m telling you, stop! Stop now!
Hershel began hitting his fist against the side of his head, trying to pound the sound of her voice out of his ears. “Shut up! Quit yelling!”
Nola could see he was freaking out. If Louise was yelling at him, then it was now or never. She kicked the cords loose from around her ankles and jumped up.
Hershel was so shocked to see her untied and upright that he froze, and when he did, she leaped at him, grabbing for the gun around his waist. All of a sudden the boat was rocking from side to side, and he was struggling to keep from falling out.
She grabbed the gun out of the holster at the same time as he grabbed her hand. Now they were wrestling for control of the pistol. She kicked at his ankle, knocking him sideways against the outboard motor. The boat was still rocking back and forth as it began to turn in a circle, with both of them fighting for control of the gun.
Nola’s hand was on the trigger as Hershel pushed the pistol up into the air. The first shot went off so close to his ear that he thought he’d been shot. He screamed in rage, but she didn’t turn loose, and her grip never wavered. As their boat swung back around again, he saw another boat bearing down on them with the other two Feds inside.
This was where a man had to know when to cut and run. He doubled up his fist and hit her on the jaw, then threw her over the side. He palmed the pistol, and opened the throttle as wide as it would go, leaving a rooster-tail of water flying up behind him as he fired off one shot after another at the boat behind him.
Seventeen
Tate thought the river smelled like death.
Whatever had flooded and floated away was mixed up into a dark, muddy stew as they raced upriver from Queens Landing.
Wind tore through his hair, burning his eyes and blurring his vision, but his gaze didn’t waver as he searched the roiling water ahead for signs or sounds of another boat.
Wade was sitting behind him, watching the riverbanks in case the killer might be moored, while Justin ran the motor at full throttle, keeping an eye out for submerged logs and gators.
They passed a flock of egrets roosting in a tree, and then an old rusted school bus that had become caught on something below the water. There was a gator on the far shore sunning itself, and another
partially submerged nearby.
Tate wanted to go faster, but they were already pushing the engine to the max. Every mile they put behind them put them closer to the Landry homestead, but anything he might have used as a landmark was gone.
Come on, you bastard. Show yourself. Where the hell are you? At the same time he was cursing the killer, he was willing Nola to fight. Stay alive, baby, stay alive until we can find you.
They had been on the water for almost ten minutes and were coming around a bend in the river when Tate suddenly shouted and began pointing at a boat circling in the water. Two people were standing up and fighting, and the only thought going through his head was that they’d found them and Nola was still alive.
No sooner had he thought that than the killer swung a fist and hit Nola on the jaw. When the killer tossed her body over the side, Tate screamed and began firing as the killer gunned the engine and headed upstream.
Tate shouted at Justin and pointed in the direction they needed to go.
“She’s there! Get me closer!”
Justin swerved, and the boat skimmed across the water toward her body.
“Wade! Aim for the engine!” Tate yelled, because his own focus was on Nola.
She was still afloat, but barely. He could see her beginning to sink, and he began tearing off his jacket and kicking off his boots. He stood up and went over the side after her just as Justin cut the engine. By the time he came up, she was already gone. Only her long dark hair was still floating on the surface, and even that was going down fast. He lunged for it, frantically wrapping it around his wrist as he began to pull. She popped out of the water like a cork on the end of a fishing line, limp and lifeless. Her head lolled against her shoulder as he lifted her out of the water, and then he began to shake her, treading water as he waited for the boat to circle back.
“Damn it, Nola! Don’t you die. Don’t you dare die!”