In the Hush of the Night

by Raymond Benson

  “Get out,” he commanded.

  She was happy to, but with her hands tied it was difficult to wiggle and sit up, much less climb out of the trunk. When he realized the trouble she was having, he holstered the gun and hoisted her up from her armpits.

  “You don’t weigh very much, do you.”

  On her feet now, Annie spat in his face, even though he was a head taller.

  “You goddamn—!” He raised a hand to slap her.

  “Mike!” Paley stood nearby. “Don’t.”

  “Bitch spit at me!”

  “Wipe it off. We have to hurry.”

  Baines grabbed her arm forcefully and pulled her from behind the patrol car. She now saw where they were—on a wet one-lane dirt road, surrounded by dark, foreboding woods. As they moved around the car, she understood the problem. Jason’s Hyundai Elantra was stuck in the middle of the road, blocking traffic from moving beyond it.

  Her immediate thought was that Jason was in serious danger.

  God, is he even still alive?

  Paley’s rented Lincoln Continental was parked directly behind the patrol car, and her own Ford Fusion was behind it. Paley, Freund, and Baines escorted her around the stalled vehicle and they began walking up the path. Baines gave Freund his flashlight, which cast a strong beam in front of them. Freund carried on his back a Winchester Model 70 bolt-action hunting rifle, which looked like a .270. Paley appeared to be unarmed, unless he was carrying a concealed handgun.

  “I swear I’m going to kick that boy in the ass,” Paley muttered.

  With her hands secured behind her back, Annie found the trek challenging. She hadn’t realized how much one’s arms provided balance when walking. She stumbled several times on the uneven surface.

  “How far are we going?” she asked.

  “Shut up,” Baines snapped.

  “Not far,” Paley answered. “What a pain in the ass this is.”

  Annie was thirsty. It had been several hours since her supper, and the last sip of water she’d had was from the bottle in her car. She trudged onward with her captors, her mind going over dozens of scenarios on how she might be able to escape. Should she just take off running into the forest? With her hands tied? No, that would be suicide, most likely. Annie continued to work her wrists back and forth in an attempt to loosen the plastic binds, but the zip ties were tight and sharp. No good. She knew it would be impossible to affect a getaway unless she first freed her hands.

  Eventually they came to the clearing where the cabin stood. Lights gleamed through the windows. Paley strode to the front door and opened it without knocking. “Trey? You in here?” The four of them piled into the living area. The fireplace was burning, the place reeked of tobacco smoke and beer, and both bedroom doors were open. Paley stuck his head in each and in the bathroom. “They’re not here.” He looked at Baines and said, “Go check the shed. We’ll watch her. You still have your key to the padlock?”

  “Yes, sir.” He eyed Annie as if to say, Don’t you go nowhere! and left the cabin.

  Paley closed the door and told Annie to sit on the sofa. An open suitcase sat on the floor with a few items of clothing inside. Jason’s?

  It wasn’t long before Baines returned. “No one’s there, boss.”

  “She’s gone?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What the fuck happened here tonight? Damn it!”

  Freund spoke up. “I think your future son-in-law must have sprung her. Your boy and his pal are out looking for them.”

  Paley squinted at his friend. “That’s not good. Jesus. We have to go after them.”

  “We could also cut our losses and get the hell out of here,” Freund said. “Let them fend for themselves.”

  “And leave Trey to go to prison?” Paley shook his head and sat in one of the chairs.

  Annie spoke. “What did you think would happen to him when you left the country? Were you planning to take him with you?”

  “Yes,” the man answered. Then he made a face. “Why am I even talking to you? I should put a bullet in your head.” He looked at Baines. “Go lock her in the shed. We’ll keep her on ice until we figure this out. Louis and I may have to go looking for them. You stay put here in the cabin while we’re gone.”

  Baines nodded and gestured for Annie to stand. He led her out of the cabin and back into the night. They walked to the rear of the building, crossed the bit of clearing, and entered the path through the trees. It wasn’t far—they soon came to the shed, the door of which was wide open. A padlock lay on the ground. A naked light bulb, hanging from the ceiling, glowed brightly against the blackness around them.

  “Get inside.” Baines shoved her. Annie tumbled over the doorstep and fell on the cold wood floor, at the foot of the bed. “Come on, get up. Get on the bed. I have to lock you in.” He had a ring of keys in his hand, presumably to the shed and to the chain.

  Annie gritted her teeth and said, “Baines, you’re going to wish you hadn’t done this.”

  “Shut up. Can you stand or not?” He tried to help her, but Annie shrugged him off. She managed to get to her feet.

  “Are you going to leave my hands tied?”

  “Of course I am. Get on the bed so I can put the cuff on you.”

  She reluctantly scooted onto the edge of the mattress, wincing at the blood stains that were there. They kept Yana Kravec here? “What did you do to her, Baines? Is she dead?”

  “I didn’t do nothing to her. I was going to get my turn tonight, but it’s all fucked up now. Straighten your legs.”

  “You just need one, don’t you?” She moved to face him and stuck out her right leg, but kept her left bent at the knee as she leaned back on the bed.

  He was still holding his gun and the keys. Since he needed both hands to manipulate the restraint, he holstered the weapon, dropped the keys on the bed, and reached for the cuff and chain. When he did, he took a side step, spreading his legs. Annie saw her chance. She kicked out with the bent left leg as hard as she could—hitting him square in the groin.

  The intake of breath he made practically choked him as his eyes bugged and his jaw dropped. The scream came a second later, but by then Annie had kicked him a second time. He went down, instinctively curling into a fetal position, as he cried, “Oh God, oh God!” Annie jumped off the bed and kicked him repeatedly in the face with her right foot. Then she booted him with her left again, this time in the chest as his arms went between his legs to protect himself. The right foot lashed out again at his head—one, two, three, FOUR times—until his crying ceased. He was out cold, his face lacerated and bloody.

  Annie stood there panting. Her adrenaline was pumping through the roof.

  Had she killed him? She thought not. She squatted closer to him and heard him breathing with a faint gurgling in his throat. He could very well come to in a few seconds.

  She turned to the open door to make sure no one had seen or heard what she’d done, and then closed it. Next, she squatted backward beside him so she could remove the Glock from his holster. It was tricky. She had to use her fingers like grappling hooks in order to accomplish the task. The gun slowly loosened, and she was able to stand, holding it precariously in her hands. She carried it to the other side of the bed, squatted, and let it drop on the floor.

  Now for something that could cut the plastic ties around her wrists … Annie looked around the room and saw nothing sharp. Of course there wouldn’t be. They wouldn’t have wanted their captive to slit her wrists, which was unfortunately a possibility.

  She took a look in the bathroom. Nothing but a disgusting toilet, a sink, and an incongruous tube of red lipstick. Back in the room, she examined Baines. He was snoring softly, his face messed up and pulpy. She seemed to remember from Quantico training that local law enforcement sometimes carried knives, but she didn’t see one attached to his belt. However, his trouser pockets bulged with some objects. Annie sat on the floor next to him and tried to position herself so that her fingers could snake into his left si
de pocket. She felt something metal and, after three tries, managed to fish it out.

  Car keys.

  There was something else inside that was solid and oblong or rectangular. It had to be a pocket knife. Once again, she inched her fingers into the pocket. Her arms hurt like hell, and her hands lost all circulation.

  She couldn’t reach it. Cursing silently to herself, Annie removed her fingers and tried pushing on the object through the outside of the man’s trousers. It was terribly awkward and difficult to do.

  Baines snorted and inhaled loudly. He moved a little.

  Christ! If he wakes up, I’m dead.

  Annie continued to maneuver the object higher toward the pocket opening. It took another minute or so, and then she finally wormed her fingers inside to grasp it. The index and middle fingers of the right hand wrapped around it—yes! It was a pocket knife!—and pulled it out. It fell on the floor.

  Baines turned his head. His eyes fluttered.

  Annie got to her feet and kicked him in the head three more times. That did the trick.

  She squatted again and picked up the knife by its edge. Seating herself on the bed, she attempted to pull out the blade. It was tight and stiff. There was no way she could do it with her hands in the contorted posture they were in.

  But the tiny corkscrew was easy to lever out! Cutting the plastic zip cords with the tip of it, though, was another story.

  Nevertheless, Annie grasped the corkscrew with the thumb and index finger of her right hand and pointed the sharp point upward toward her wrists. By flexing the joints in her thumb and finger, she was able to produce short stabs at the binds. Over and over. Three out of five times she poked her skin, and she felt wetness dripping over her hands. Blood. She sucked in her breath and continued to poke, chipping away at the plastic binds. The process seemed to last an eternity. Her thumb and finger began to tire.

  Baines snorted again. His head lolled to the side and he groaned.

  Damn it!

  Stab, poke, stab, poke. Her skin was increasingly pricked, but the contacts with the plastic ties multiplied as well.

  In the next second, she was free.

  “Oh,” she gasped at the pain of pulling her arms forward. It was as if the muscles had atrophied in position, and she had just woken them up. She rubbed her bloody hands together to increase the circulation. Her wrists appeared as if she had stuck them in a grinder.

  First she had to make sure Baines was no longer a threat. She released the handcuffs from his belt and snapped his wrists behind his back. Next, she grabbed the chain cuff and fastened it around his right ankle. She stuffed the key ring and his patrol car keys, which contained the key for the handcuffs, in her pockets. She then removed his belt, which contained the other gadgets and gear that officers in uniform carried, and threw it to the other side of the room.

  Next, she washed her bloody hands and wrists in the bathroom. The cold water felt fantastic. A towel and wash cloth, both used and soiled, hung over the edge of the sink. They would have to do. She wrapped the cloth over her left wrist and pressed down hard, holding it there for at least a minute. When she removed the cloth, the bleeding had stopped. The wounds weren’t terribly deep, more like pin pricks. She repeated the procedure on her right wrist.

  Finally, Annie returned to the side of the bed to retrieve Baines’s Glock. She checked the magazine and put the weapon in the empty drop holster on her thigh. She stuck the knife in her own jeans front pocket. Then she went over to Baines’s belt and removed two extra magazines for the Glock, as well as the high-powered flashlight that the captain had replaced.

  As an afterthought, she stooped and rolled Baines over. She found her cell phone in his other trouser pocket. She checked it—the battery was low and there was no service. The time indicated that it was nearly one in the morning.

  She was good to go.

  Annie turned out the light bulb as she left the shed, closed the door, and placed the padlock on it. Unless Paley had extra keys, that would hold Baines for a while. She made her way to the cabin without using the flashlight and found the place empty. Paley and Freund must have gone into the woods to look for the missing people. Unfortunately, Freund had her car keys. She wouldn’t be able to take the patrol car—it was hemmed in between Jason’s Elantra and Paley’s Lincoln.

  She did a quick reconnaissance of the cabin. There were several firearms in one bedroom, including the M24 sniper rifle she had seen Trey holding on Facebook and a Beretta handgun. There was no time to bag and store them both for evidence in case they were the weapons used to shoot Harris Caruthers and Tiffany Vombrack. Instead, she shoved them under the bed, temporarily hiding them.

  Annie went outside and peered around the cabin into the woods. She heard and saw nothing. She considered running back to Baines’s patrol car and using the radio to call for help. But taking that twenty-minute trek back to the car would take too much precious time—if Trey or Makar, or Paley and Freund caught up to Jason and the woman, they would die.

  The only thing that made sense was to head into the forest in pursuit.

  37

  The hours passed. Jason stayed awake. He noticed that Yana’s eyes remained open for a long time before they finally closed with exhaustion. Gunshots in the distance woke her.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  Jason held a finger to his lips. Were they indeed gunshots? It was difficult to tell how far away they were from the noise, and he was also unsure how many there were. But it was quiet now, and he heard no voices or rustling through the forest.

  After a quarter hour of silence, they relaxed back into the monotony. Now Jason wasn’t sure if it was gunfire or not. He sighed, weary of the situation. Yana had slept for at least an hour. Jason would have liked to grab forty winks, but he was simply too scared. The fatigue was also palpable. His muscles were sore and his skin was terribly itchy.

  Mostly, he was cold. He thanked the stars that it was still August. He couldn’t imagine what it might have been like had the season been fall or winter.

  As Jason listened to the night air and the accompanying insect calls, Yana’s wheezy breathing concerned him. It seemed to be worse when she was asleep.

  “Do you feel sick?” he asked her, speaking softly.

  “I have felt sick for weeks.”

  He had no response. It might have been appropriate to say something like, “We’ll be safe soon,” or “We’ll get you medical attention as quickly as possible,” but Jason was unsure how much of it would be true. He was terrified that he had no plan to save them. If they managed to stay safe in the little tree-cave they were huddling in until dawn, what then? Trey and Makar would still be out there looking for them. Moving downstream, possibly to the lake, was as good an idea as any. He wasn’t certain, but he didn’t think the lake itself was on the Paleys’ property. If that was the case, then surely other people could be nearby.

  “What time is it?” Yana asked.

  Jason removed his cell phone and checked the home screen. He was surprised. “Gosh, it’s nearly five. The sun’s going to come up soon. Maybe we should head out. How do you feel?”

  “Better. I’m just cold.”

  “Me, too. And I think I’ve been the main course for some kind of critter.” He knocked the makeshift door of branches away from their cubbyhole and stood. It felt good to give himself a good scratch all over his limbs. His legs were stiff and his butt felt frozen and numb, but at least they hadn’t been devoured by a wild animal. He helped her stand, and she groaned a little. “You all right?”

  “I think so.”

  “Do you need to use the bathroom or anything?”

  “Yes.”

  “So do I. Look, you go over there, and I’ll go over here. Okay?” He pointed to opposite clumps of bushes near groupings of trees. She nodded and disappeared into the shadows. Jason moved toward his chosen latrine and relieved himself. He then returned to the tree hook and waited.

  After five minutes, Jason called out
. “Yana? You all right?”

  No sound.

  “Yana?”

  He walked toward the trees where he’d sent her. Yana abruptly rushed around the foliage and nearly screamed when she collided with him.

  “Yana! Are you all right?”

  “He’s coming.”

  “Who?”

  “The Russian one.”

  Jason perked his ears. Yes—there it was, the light, steady one-two rhythm of legs pushing through the brush.

  He put a finger to his lips, and Yana acknowledged with a nod.

  They became statues like the trees surrounding them. The rustling grew louder and nearer. Jason felt an intense wave of fear, knowing beyond doubt that they were about to be caught. However, if they ran, Makar would surely hear them and give chase. Best to remain silent and still, and perhaps he would move on past them.

  But luck was against them. Soon, Makar’s noisy trekking could be heard just a few feet away, and Jason felt the movement amid the nearby trees. Makar was walking directly toward them.

  “Run!” he whispered, grabbing her hand. They took off away from their pursuer, but it was too late.

  “Hey! Come back! Trey! I found them! Over here!”

  Jason and Yana ran blindly through the woodland. It was impossible to keep clutching Yana’s hand, and they were forced to separate to navigate around trees and other brush.

  A gunshot resounded behind them. Jason figured Makar was shooting wildly at targets he couldn’t see. It was still very dark, but he supposed it was possible that, by running, they were visible against the black backdrop of the forest.

  “Trey! Over here!”

  The voice was moving with them—Makar was also running. Jason turned his head to look for Yana. He couldn’t see her, but he heard her, scrambling ahead, tearing through the branches beside him.

  Then Jason’s foot hit a depression in the ground and, for a moment, he was flying. He landed hard in a shallow pit and felt something sharp rip into his trousers and cut the hell out of his right calf. He couldn’t help but cry out in pain and double up, grabbing his leg. He eyed the shadowy ground behind him. A tree root stuck out of the earth, the culprit that had scraped his leg when he fell.