Breaking Point

by Jon Demartino

  Chapter 28

  When my eyes became accustomed to the darkness, I could see the blocky outline of his Woody's shape in the gully. He was half sitting, his legs in the ditch and his upper body wedged against the bank by some dead wood from the trees overhead. His right leg was extended straight out along a snow laden log; his left was bent and braced against the bank. I crept along until I was near his feet.

  "Where is she?" I asked, looking over the top of the ditch to the woods beyond the road. He motioned with a gloved left hand in the direction I was watching.

  "When she hit the tires, she was in that thicket of pines to the right of the clearing, about two thirds of the way up the hillside. She had a pair of night glasses with her so she may be able to see us if we stick our heads up. Stay down here."

  "How badly are you hurt?"

  "Not too bad, I think. When I ran, she grabbed a pistol and shot at me. I think it was just a .22, like the one I took." He waved the small automatic in his bare right hand. In his oversized paw, it looked like a cigarette lighter. It would be about as effective as one out here, too. He kept his eyes on the group of tall pines as he went on. "She hit me in the back of the right thigh. It's pretty stiff now, but I think this freezing temperature is keeping it from hurting too much. The slug's still in there, but I'm OK." He nodded toward the Explorer, "Nice car."

  "Yeah, Hertz will be thrilled with the new tire configuration and the ventilated door. I'll be happy to deal with them, though, as soon as we get out of this little mess. I'm going to call the cops," I said as I pulled a glove off and undid the Velcro flap on one of my coat pockets. My hand probed the empty space inside and I had a mental image of the phone, right where I'd tossed it on the front seat of the rental car. I told Woody where it was and asked him to cover me. I crept back down along the ditch until I was across from the car.

  With one last glance, I imagined I saw him nod in the dimness before I slid onto the road. I belly-walked through the thickening layer of snow until I was beneath the passenger door. I planted my feet and half stood. Feeling for a grip on the door handle, I slowly pulled. There was no reassuring 'click' of the latch releasing. There was no sound at all. The door was locked. I knew where the keys were, too. I'd left them in the ignition when I dove out the other door. Squatting there in the snow in subzero temperatures, I considered my situation. My friend was hurt. There was a crazy woman shooting at us. We had no cover except for a cold wet drainage ditch and I had locked our only telephone in the car along with the keys. My life was being orchestrated; it seemed, by Lady Luck and her band of merry comedians. I slipped back into our frigid fortress and told Woody the bad news.

  My movements near the Explorer hadn't gone unnoticed by Melanie. She squeezed off a couple of more shots at the car and we heard them bite into the metal. She also gave away her position again. The shots had come from the same spot as the last burst she'd fired. We discussed the situation and decided I had to go out there after her. I was worried about leaving Woody here and offered to trade my .38 with him for the little .22, but he insisted he'd be fine.

  "She doesn't really know where I am," he said. "Except for those two snowballs I lobbed at you, I haven't moved since I got down here. And she was concentrating on you when I threw them, so she may think you're alone over here. Good thing she didn't recognize that car, or she'd have probably popped you when you were still in it." He asked if I had a flashlight and I handed him the small one I'd brought. Holding the beam beneath a pile of fallen limbs, he shone it on the .22 and checked the clip. "It's full," he said. "If she wanders down here close enough, I'll have a good chance to get her before she sees me." Before I moved off, we agreed that he'd only fire toward her position if he needed to cover my back. There was no reason to give away his hiding place.

  We checked our watches and agreed that in exactly ten minutes, he would toss a rock over the car and land it somewhere on the other side. If she was still watching that area, she might just pop a shot over there, and I'd be able to see where she was. Ducking my head beneath the rim, I moved as fast as I could up the gorge, following its winding path beside the road that would lead me to Frank Goodwin's cabin. Somewhere in the trees beyond it, Melanie was scanning the woods waiting to kill us. I was hoping to kill her first.

  When the cabin and Melanie's car were in sight, I stopped in the gully to remove my parka and hood, turning the material inside out. The bright yellow coat would stand out like a fried egg against the white snow. The lining was pale colored fur, almost white and while not perfect covering for night stalking, it was superior to the alternative. I couldn't figure out how to zip the reversed parka, but managed to button two of the flap closures from the inside. It would have to do. With the snow still slashing through the air and piling up higher than my hiking boots, it was going to be a very cold walk in the woods. I just hoped it wouldn't be my last.

  I didn't see or hear any movement near the cabin, as I ran quickly to a clump of oaks on the far side of the road. The gravel parking area, where I'd set off the motorcycle alarm last Friday, was to my right, under several inches of snow. I'd retrieved my pistol from its holster and had a good bare handed grip on the rubber handle. Holding the gun down against my leg, I stopped to listen. My ears were alert for any sound, but especially a metallic click or the crack of a twig. I slid along through the trees, concentrating on my eyes and ears and what they were telling me. It's easy to get distracted in such a situation, as the mind begins playing out all the possibilities that might be ahead. While you're busy imagining the worst, it might just step out in front of you and become your final reality. I planned to stay alert and, as the highway signs caution, stay alive.

  By my watch, the rock toss should take place in six minutes. I stayed on a straight line down the hill to the left of the cabin, turning every few feet to make sure I could make out its bulky shape in the clearing behind me. After a few steps, though, it was invisible through the falling snow. I should be directly above the spot where we'd seen the flare from Melanie's rifle barrel. She'd been halfway down the slope, which had looked to us to be a distance of about half a football field, so close to fifty yards. She was probably still in the circle of pines. I brought the .38 up near my right cheek and held it there, pointed skyward, as I moved from the shelter of one tree trunk to the next. The largest growth on this part of the slope was mostly small maple trees, which didn't offer much in the way of cover. Their trunks were relatively thin and the leaves which had no doubt created a beautiful umbrella of color a few months ago were now on the forest's floor, buried beneath several inches of snow. I was getting too close to chance illuminating my watch again. I figured it was almost time for Wood to make his move, though. Stooping low, I crept under the branches of the first of the tall pines.

  The snow had already covered any tracks I might have been able to see, even if there had been enough light, which there wasn't. All I could do was stay as quiet as possible and keep alert for any sign of her location. Tree by tree, I made my way closer to the fifty yard distance we'd estimated. When I thought I was in the right area, I stopped and crouched near the ground. Somewhere very near me was a killer who fully intended to add two more bodies to her resume. She'd been involved in a convoluted web of blackmail, murder, and probably drugs. In a few minutes, we'd know the end of the story, or at least, somebody would. I heard a loud thunk in the clearing below me and knew that Woody had begun the rock toss. Almost immediately, a loud report exploded near me and a brief flash of light illuminated the profile of Melanie Goodwin. She was standing beside a tree ten feet to my right and several feet in front of me. Once the light had momentarily exposed her, I was able to squint in the whiteness and could make out her shadowy outline. She shifted her position a few centimeters and ducked to the other side of the tree, lifting the rifle barrel to clear the tree truck.

  I came up to a semi crouch and took several quick steps toward her, holding the pistol in front of me with both hands. I yelled at her to drop the rifle
, at the same time leaping onto a spot which should have landed me two feet behind her crouching body. Instead, the spot behind the tree was empty. And I had just broken the silence of the forest with my big mouth. Where the hell was she?

  I thought I saw movement to my left, down the hill. Spinning quickly in that direction, I raised my pistol and fired. A bat fluttered somewhere above my head, darting safely between the trees. Damn. Where had Melanie gone? I swung the pistol the other way, to my right and ducked just in time to feel the air move as she swung the rifle butt through the air like Sammy Sosa, aiming for the spot where my head had been a second earlier. My sudden movement and shock at seeing Melanie so close knocked me off balance and I fell backward into the snow and rolled several feet into the darkness. I lay there silently, listening for a sound of her movement, waiting to see a burst of gunfire that would mark the end my life. I still clutched my .38 but I couldn't see anything to shoot at. I heard nothing.

  She must have lost sight of me, too, in the blizzard that was blowing all around us by now. I heard the crunch of her boots as they punched through the old, crusted snow that had drifted along the hillside. When I crawled to my feet, I could see the shadowy motion of her body as she zigged and zagged back into the denser trees, toward the cabin. Keeping to a crouch, I knocked the snow from my pistol and moved quickly after her.

  Sound traveled well in the brutally cold night and I could hear Melanie's occasional grunt of exertion as she crisscrossed the slippery slopes. She was moving a little westward, toward the area that overlooked the back of her uncle's cabin, and proceeding at a relatively brisk pace. Moving uphill and against the wind was not the preferred direction in such weather. I managed to stay close enough to hear her movements though, and back far enough to preclude the possibility of her turning suddenly to take a shot at me, at least with any accuracy.

  Inside the gloves, my fingers were starting to tingle and I knew that numbness wasn't far behind. I shook each hand in turn, switching the pistol from one to the other. I couldn't even call back down to Woody, to let him know what was going on up here. This was turning out to be a very negative day for me. I'd wanted to ask Woody something, too. I'd been wondering what else Tucker had said about his counselor, like if she'd asked about me or anything. I assumed Caroline knew that he was my nephew. Maybe he'd mentioned his Uncle Rudy while he was telling her about his father's affair. I had, after all, been the one who had solved that case.

  While I had been having my imaginary conversation with Woody, the forest had once again become silent. Oh shit, I thought. I immediately stopped, listening for some sound of Melanie's movements. Except for the occasional creaking of tree limbs and the constant whine of the wind, there was nothing to be heard. Keeping low to the ground, I took a few tentative steps toward my right, in the direction where I expected the cabin to be visible. I had topped the hill and was on a level spot above Frank Goodwin's camp. Maybe she had run down the hill and was already back inside. If so, I should be able to see the darkness of her fresh footprints in the snow, still visible in the clearing.

  At the edge of the trees, I stooped down and squinted through the fine mist of snow that was blowing across the slope. The wind was coming from the east now, and blew into my face and up my nose, shoving the slippery surface of the inverted hood backwards and off my head. I left it there for the moment, dangling between my shoulders, and ran my fingers through my short hair. I was sweating from the exertion of the climb up the shalllow slope and, as foolish as it was, I let the icy flakes cool my head for a moment.

  The cabin was dark. No light or reflection of light shown through the lone window that faced my position. The wooden porch that stretched across the back of Goodwin's cabin was covered with drifted snow, as was the hillside between me and the little building. I could see some depressions beneath the surface, which had probably been made by Woody and Melanie earlier in the day, before she'd decided to stop playing with him and kill him instead. The evening's snow had fallen and drifted across the footprints until they were barely visible. So she hadn't gone down there yet. She must still be in the woods behind me, I thought. I started to rise up from my crouch. Too late.

  Something hard smacked into the base of my skull, just as I became aware of movement behind me. I heard the crack of the wooden rifle stock against bone at the same time I felt the pain. Slowly, the past five minutes of my life passed before my eyes. It wasn't a flattering vision. The hood, if left in place, would have softened the impact of the blow somewhat. Apparently, while I had been daydreaming and wondering whether Caroline had mentioned my name to my nephew, Melanie Goodwin had been circling through the trees and had managed to get behind me. She'd sneaked up on me while I wasn't looking and wasn't even paying full attention to my task. I knew that Ira would be ashamed of me. I was starting to feel kind of disappointed in myself, too, but before I could really get into it, I passed out and toppled over into the snow.

  I wasn't unconscious for long in that freezer chest they called an Iowa snowstorm. I slowly became aware of the frigid pellets filling my ears and being shoved down around my neck. My left leg was plowing through the snow ahead of me, canted out to one side, as Melanie gripped my right one under her arm and dragged me slowly toward the edge of the hill. We must have already covered most of the twenty feet of level ground, because I could feel the slight angle of the downward slope as I slid along. My head was cradled once more inside the hood and I could feel a sticky warmth spreading along the base of my skull, forming a gelatinous puddle against the cold material.

  I tried to raise myself up, then to lift my left leg and shove her away, but I wasn't able to do either. Consciousness was returning, but I was too weak to control my body. Melanie must have felt my feeble attempts to loosen her grip. She responded by twisting my right foot in a clockwise turn that hurt like hell, even in my stuperous state. I moaned and relaxed, letting her do the work of dragging me across the hill. Suddenly she dropped my foot. I lay for a moment beneath the falling snow and felt the icy flakes cut into my cheeks, driven by the storm's fierce wind. The back of my head was starting to hurt like hell where she'd smacked me, but the pain seemed to be several feet from my body. Trying to sit up took a lot of effort and after two or three attempts, I flopped down again. I'd raised myself about an inch each time, I think. I heard a moan and realized it had come from me.

  "Shut up." It was Melanie's voice, somewhere above me. "I still have to go take care of your stupid friend, so don't give me any more trouble." She pushed the sole of her boot into my side and shoved me toward the cabin. I rolled a few feet in the snow and stopped, face down and unable to move. I felt a few more shoves of her boot as she propelled me down the hill, rolling me like a tamale in the wet snow. Finally, Melanie grabbed my leg again and dragged me the few remaining feet, bouncing my head up over the low edge of the wooden porch and skidding my body along the frozen boards before she dropped me with a thud.

  I could hear everything and even think, up to a point, but I couldn't make my body move. She must have knocked something loose in my circuitry with that rifle butt. I heard the door to the cabin open. A metallic clang vibrated the snow-covered decking near my head and I knew she'd set something heavy near me. Soon, the pungent odor of gasoline choked my airway, as she poured the flammable liquid over me, soaking my clothes. Where it flowed through the openings in my outerwear and seeped across my skin, the gasoline felt warm.

  This is it, I thought. The end of it all. How stupid can you get, Rudy? I asked myself. I had no acceptable answer. I don't know if it was the gas fumes or a delayed reaction from my bumpy ride over the snow on the back of my already damaged cranium, but in a few seconds, I felt myself losing consciousness once more.

  Chapter 29

  I was hot. Sweat covered my head and rolled down into my eyes. My hair was soaked and clung to the dampness of my forehead. The piercing odor of gasoline permeated my clothes and hung heavily in the air along with the thick gray smoke that was pouring from
the cabin. I wasn't on fire, at least not yet. The interior of the cabin was, though and I could see flames leaping up above the sill of the small window above me. I rolled to my left, away from the building and into a crusted wave of snow that had blown against the porch and which now stood frozen above me, like a snow surfer's dream. It looked good to me, even in the frigid night. I immersed myself in the snow, rolling and flopping in it until I felt safe from the incendiary qualities of my gasoline soaked clothing. Most of the gas would have surely evaporated by now, I thought. It was one of those loosely-knit theories of mine that I didn't want to put to the test, and as soon as I was able to, I scrambled to my feet and stumbled past the cabin and onto the narrow road, keeping as much space as I could between myself and the fire lit building.

  As I fumbled my way down the dirt road, I tried to piece together the events of the past few hours and figure out what had happened. I was having trouble focusing, though, and couldn't remember where Woody was or if I was supposed to meet him someplace. According to my watch, it was after midnight. I was trying to remember when I'd last seen him when I heard a loud boom, like a gunshot, behind me. The force of the blast knocked me forward onto the snowy roadway. I landed on my hands and knees and automatically rolled for several feet after I hit the ground, certain that someone was firing at me from behind, someone like Melanie Goodwin. I thought she'd hit me in the back. I continued rolling until I dropped into the safety of the drainage ditch on the far side of the road. I lay there on my back, propped against the side of the frozen trench and saw fireworks coming from the woods, in the vicinity where the cabin should be.