by Nancy Radke
His mother had said that Mary had approached the edge once when her father was killed, once when she saw a knife-thrower at a carnival, and earlier as a teen-ager when her date tried to come on to her. Her reaction had frightened him to the extent that he had driven her to the emergency room.
Mary was courageous, but her mental condition remained fragile. The sooner they escaped, the better.
He rolled sideways, shifting his weight away from his hands and felt the ropes with his fingers. He had pulled his hands slightly apart as Ira tied him, and had been able to make the bonds looser. He hadn’t given them a determined try yet, wanting to wait until the men slept.
He started to pick at the knot.
11
Brilliant sunshine greeted Connor the next morning. The crisp air, vibrant with golden light, lifted his spirits. One or more of their kidnappers would have to go for supplies today. It would reduce the number of guards, opening an opportunity to escape. He grasped that hope, hoarding its beckoning promise.
Freedom. When the chance came, he would act.
Wes took the van and came back with donuts, coffee, and two boxes of cold cereal, also some milk and Styrofoam dishes. They wolfed the cereal down, each eating a half box of the sugared flakes, with Judd taking the lion's share, Mary the least.
They didn’t bother to untie Connor or feed him. He didn’t mind. He wouldn’t be with them after today.
Mary seemed to be back on her feet, Connor thought, as he watched her with admiration. After finishing her cereal, she worked on the list of supplies they’d need, slowly adding items until she had filled three pages.
Trail food, candles, canteens, tents, and clothing— it sounded like Mary had included everything but a snowmobile. Connor hoped it’d take all their kidnappers' money— and most of the day— to buy everything.
"How do yuh know she's putting down the right stuff, Boss?" Wes asked, scowling.
Mary answered for him. "I'm going into those mountains with you, so I'll make sure you get the right things. This list looks long, but there’s certain gear you absolutely must have for winter survival. An army-navy surplus store should carry all these things."
She paused to look from Wes' bruised face to Judd's arrogant one. Her head lifted, appearing confident, as if daring the men to doubt her.
Connor felt a glow of pride. Mary hadn’t stayed down long. Perhaps she wasn’t so fragile after all. Either that, or it helped her to fight back, even in this small way.
"Some of the items I include might not seem necessary," she continued, "but I've been all over these mountains, pulling out bodies of people who went in poorly equipped. It pays to be overly prepared. We're going to need stoves, ropes, tents. Snowshoes. I wouldn’t skimp on any of these things."
Her words made Connor wonder. Was she making the list long to make them shop longer, or because they really needed all those items? He had hiked a lot, and done one session on winter survival. He hoped he lived up to her standards.
It didn't matter. He’d get her away, today, if it killed him. He couldn’t give Ramone another chance.
Wes looked at Mary’s list. “We’ll git it all, won’t we, boss? If I’ve got to go into those woods, I wanna have what I need.” He fingered his cigarette nervously.
“That’s the attitude,” she said. “The avalanche danger is high right now. We’ll be lucky not to get caught. Extremely lucky.”
“And if we do?”
She looked at the list and added some extra items. “Get six avalanche transceivers, one for each of us. They can be set to send or receive signals, and will beep under the snow so the rest of us can dig out whoever gets caught. Unless we all do. We’ll also need a couple of collapsing poles—to probe with.”
They loosed Connor for a few minutes to use the bathroom, then re-tied his hands and feet. He had pulled his bonds tighter during the night. Fire burned through his fingers as the blood again flowed freely through his hands. He welcomed the pain, knowing it meant they’d recover.
Mary stood up and stretched.
"Finished?" Judd asked.
"Yes."
"The stores should be open soon. Ramone, you stay here and guard these two."
"Right." Ramone's lecherous gaze immediately swung to Mary, and Connor stiffened.
"Not wise," Ira countered, shaking his head. "Someone’s got to guard Ramone."
"Good idea, Ira. You stay, too. What's your boot size?"
"Twelve. Narrow."
"Ramone?"
"Ten and a half."
"See you." Judd picked up the list and folded it in quarters, carefully matching the edges. "You be good, Ramone."
Ramone snorted and stalked outside.
"Watch him, Ira."
"Of course."
"And watch him." Judd pointed toward Connor, then he took Wes and left. Soon Connor heard the van rattle away. It was time to start putting together an escape.
Mary remained untied. Maybe she—
"You need anything before I tie you?" Ira asked her.
Connor saw her glance his way before replying. "A drink."
"Use one of those Styrofoam bowls," Ira said, waving her into the kitchen. "Cups are gone."
She hesitated at the entrance and motioned toward the dirty dishes that had attracted flies. "What if I clean up some of this? It's enough to make us all sick."
"Don’t bother. We’re not coming back."
He followed her into the kitchen and Connor shifted to where the head of a nail protruded from the wall. If he had have spotted it last night, he could’ve tried to untie himself with it.
He worked the ropes up and down against the nail head for a full minute before Ramone came inside carrying an iPod. The gunman moved the lone chair to a point across the room and set it down. Then, his lips curling back into a sneer, he strolled over to Connor.
Connor tensed, keeping his hands still. Ramone was highly unpredictable, capable of kicking him in the head just for sport.
At that moment, Mary entered and asking if she might sort and re-pack her supplies. Ira shook his head, frowning, then motioned for her to rejoin Connor. Ramone grabbed the rope and hastened to tie her, touching her face and sliding her hair across his open mouth. He laughed gleefully as she cowered from him.
"No!" Mary cried, her desperation tearing Connor apart. Never before had he been unable to defend himself or others. He raged silently against his bonds.
Ira strode forward, his voice a low growl. "Not!"
Ramone frowned, fuming, yet the single word seemed sufficient warning. Shooting Ira a surly scowl, he pushed Mary down beside Connor, then stalked away.
With a low, muttered curse he put in the earphones and sat down across the room. Still fuming, he felt around for a cigarette, lit up, and retreated into his own world.
Seeing him settled, Ira stepped outside into the bright sunshine, picked up a small piece of wood and began to whittle on it. Connor noted that Ira positioned himself so as to see through the open door.
Ramone's dark eyes continued to drift over Mary. Connor didn't want her to dwell on it.
"Why offer to do their dishes for them?" he asked quietly, wanting to divert her attention. Ramone had the music cranked loud enough Connor could hear it. Therefore Ramone couldn't hear him. "I sure wouldn't help them."
"Anything but sit and wait. Besides, dirt bothers me. I must have things clean. "
"I see." Dirt meant a sloppy mind to him— a disregard for cleanness equated to a disregard for rules. He’d never fly with anyone who wasn’t meticulous.
She looked around. "I've always dreamed of having a small country home— sitting with my husband and three children around the fire, popping corn, playing board games. This poor house, long ago, might’ve been a decent place."
"Could you stand it? It's isolated," he said.
"I could stand anything as long as I had my husband with me. The nights are the hardest. I’ll never mar
ry anyone who couldn’t be home at night with me."
It reminded Connor of the nightmare she had just had. If they escaped— when they escaped, she might never sleep peacefully again.
"I hoped you might’ve seen a kitchen knife, to cut me free."
"Good thought. But I didn’t see any."
"Ira tied me loosely this morning. You could untie me if we got a few minutes alone."
"Not much chance of that."
"You're right. If only we could get a knife. I’d be able to handle the two of them, at least long enough for you to escape."
They sat in silence for a moment, Connor running over possibilities in his mind. He could ask Ramone to retie him, complaining his bonds were too tight, but Ramone would call Ira in first. Once they saw Connor’s ropes were loose, they’d tighten them.
The nail didn't offer much to work with, but it was better than nothing. He had most of the day to try to undo the knot— Mary's list had seen to that. He had to make his movements small enough that Ramone wouldn’t notice what he—
"I have a Swiss army knife." Mary's softly spoken words broke into his churning thoughts like a shaft of light.
"You do? Where?" Connor could’ve kissed her and then scolded her for not mentioning it sooner.
"In my pack. In a small outside pocket along with toilet paper and some matches."
"Wonderful." At last he could act. "You have to get it, Mary. This clothesline rope they're using can be cut in a second.”
“All right.”
“We could wait until they're distracted, but our best chance is now, with just the two of them watching us. Give some excuse to open your pack. Something they can't question."
Glad to have an outlet for her churning thoughts, Mary bowed her head. "Let me think," she replied, wondering what excuse she should use. She chewed on her lower lip as she considered different possibilities, but only one seemed certain to work.
"I've got it." She looked up. "Ira," she called, raising her voice.
"Yes?" He stopped whittling. Both men stared at her.
"I need to use the bathroom. Please."
"Sure." He walked inside and glanced over at Ramone. "Out."
"No way. I'll take her," Ramone offered, leaping to his feet, his voice belligerent.
"No."
"If you weren’t so fast with those knives..."
"Move."
Ramone moved, grudgingly, taking his time. Ira watched him all the way out before escorting Mary to the bathroom door. He untied her hands and stood watch outside.
She took the time to use the toilet and wash her face and hands in the bucket provided, then flushed the toilet with the bucket of water. When she emerged, she tried to look embarrassed. "I'm afraid it wasn't quick enough. I need to get some, uh, dry umm things— out of my pack."
"Oh. Oh, sure."
She didn't dare look at Connor as she hurried to where her suitcase and pack were piled with the rest of her gear.
Ira stood near, but not over her, and she rummaged through her things, slipping the knife out of the side pocket and hiding it under her knee while she retrieved a pair of panties from the suitcase.
They covered the knife in her hand as she walked back to the bathroom. A quick change, then she opened the largest blade and slid the knife into her back pocket with the point up. Her sweatshirt covered it from view. She washed her panties with water, then walked back out, squeezing them dry.
"Where can I hang these?" she asked Ira.
"Don't. It's not wise."
"Oh. Sure." She stood still, wondering what to do next.
Ira pointed toward her pack. She put the panties into an outside mesh pocket where they’d dry, then walked over to allow Ira to retie her. As he pulled her hands behind her back, she panicked. Would he feel the bulky knife?
Arching her back, she held her hands out as far behind her as they could go. Ira didn't seem to notice and she gave Connor a wink as she sat down next to him, her back against the wall.
Ira tied her feet at the ankles, then strolled over to the door and stepped outside. "Okay, Ramone. Switch."
As soon as Ira had his back turned, Mary let out the breath she had been holding. As he stepped through the door, she yanked out the knife.
"Here." She held it up behind Connor and felt the pressure as he rubbed his rope back and forth over the blade. She kept it sharp and felt the ropes give before Ramone, insolently taking his time, even entered the doorway.
If they could get free now...
Connor grabbed the knife and reached over quickly to cut her hands loose. She kept her gaze on the doorway, expecting Ramone to walk through any minute. Instead, she heard him complaining to Ira.
"Who gave you the right to be boss around here?"
Leaning forward, Connor sliced the ropes around his feet, then reached for hers.
"I did. Any complaints?" Ira replied, his voice sounding as cold as the February air.
Mary gasped, for Ramone had entered the doorway. He paused, blinking in the dim light. Connor quickly lowered the knife, and froze, as did Mary, holding her breath lest Ramone notice any movement.
They were so close. If Ramone caught them.... But Connor was free. He said he could fight off two men, if he had to.
They’d shoot him rather than fight. Mary knew that by now.
Then Ramone turned back toward Ira, intent on having the last word. "Just ‘cause we were cellies in prison, don’t give you any rights."
Connor thrust the blade under the ropes around her ankles and severed them all with one yank. He sprung to his feet, grabbed her arm and pulled her with him.
Unfettered movement! Freedom!
"Out," he whispered, shoving her ahead of him into the kitchen. "Down the trail."
She heard Ramone yell as she flew out the rickety kitchen door, running as if the house were burning down behind her.
Squinting against the brilliant sunlight in the crystal-clear air, she raced down the only avenue of escape— a narrow pathway hacked through the blackberry patch that surrounded the old house.
Himalayan blackberries, they towered eight to ten feet above her head, their thick thorns ready to catch anyone who ventured close. The brambles formed an impenetrable barricade as effective as any jail bars.
With Connor behind her, Mary ran down the rough path— then stopped, aghast at what lay in front of them.
12
A few feet ahead of Mary the trail dead-ended at a river, one running wide, swift and deep. Blackberry bushes lined its steep banks. The long berry canes hung into the water, extending below the surface, ready to drown anyone foolish enough to enter.
Hadn't Connor seen the impassable conditions when he came for water last night? Maybe not, in the hard rain and the darkness.
To be stopped before they even got started! Mary felt sick. She swung toward Connor, and cried out against the futility.
Ramone and Ira strolled up behind them, taking their time in the bright sunshine. They knew Connor and Mary weren't going anywhere. Ramone hadn't even bothered to draw his gun.
“You can’t get away from me that easily, girl,” Ramone called. “Now lie down on the ground and put your hands behind the back of your necks.” He turned toward Ira as they drew closer. “Why don’t we get rid of him?”
“No!” Mary shouted, turning back toward the river. If only she were a strong swimmer, she might chance it.
Connor grabbed her coat by the back of the neck and her jeans by the waist and propelled her the last few feet toward the river. She realized his intentions a split second before he flung her out into the churning stream.
She hit the surface in a shallow dive. The icy water snatched her breath away and caused her heart to skip a beat. She flailed with her hands, trying to keep her head above the surface.
As she struggled, the current swept her toward the outermost blackberry canes.
Then Connor grabbed her coat and yanked he
r away. He swam beside her, and she turned to see his broad smile. It transformed his face, making him almost handsome. They were already out of sight of their kidnappers, who hadn’t followed them into the freezing water.
"We made it!" she shouted happily at him. The cold water slapped hungrily in her face and she had lost both shoes, but she’d take the river as an opponent any day. Nature was honest— lacking the evil intentions of men— and predictable enough that a person had a fighting chance.
"Sure we did. Watch out!" He tugged her sideways to help her clear a gigantic boulder that loomed eight feet out of the river.
"Right." The water pressure could pin her against it, or worse, force her under the boulder into a hole.
She and Connor were free, but not out of danger. Plenty of people drowned in western Washington rivers. This one wasn’t at flood stage, but it still ran too deep to stand up in. And too cold to stay in very long.
Hypothermia. The deadly danger of cold water. Their bodies would rapidly lose heat. Her coat would help her. Connor only had his heavy sweatshirt on, over a long sleeved shirt.
She pressed her arms close to her sides to conserve what heat she could while using her hands to keep her head up and her eyes focused downstream. She knew how to float a river, keeping her feet in front of her as it swept her along. She used them to fend off boulders that dotted the surface like teeth on a shark.
Her goose-down coat— zipped part of the way up— retained air and acted like a life preserver. She pulled the zipper up the rest of the way, hoping to trap some body heat inside.
They missed several other boulders, but couldn’t avoid a group of five closely-spaced flat ones.
"We're going through," Connor yelled. He gathered her closer to him, his outstretched feet fending off the boulders for them both. The current spun them sideways, sucked them swiftly down, in and through a narrow gap, and squirted them out the other side— but not before giving Connor a blow on the shoulder that Mary could feel.
"Are you all right?" she asked as they reached open water again.