by Nancy Radke
"Same here," he agreed.
She glanced around. "They can shoot us easily on this road, but when we reach the trail, we might be able to out-walk them and then hide. Or run up the trail. There's lots of twists and turns."
"Maybe. These trees’ll be easy to hide in, they're so thick. The packs would make excellent shields— except for that rifle. I don't know if it would penetrate or not. But I'm willing to chance it," he said.
Mary rubbed her gloved hand along her chin, considering the possibilities. "A group spreads out when traveling on a trail. Judd'll probably split us up, if he thinks about it."
"You're right. Walk slower, maybe stumble a little. We want to appear in as bad shape as they are."
Mary nodded. She could almost forget about Judd while talking to Connor. And that she mustn’t do.
Now she knew why Connor's mother had given her dad such an expensive gift. Now the question was, why didn’t her father ever mentioned the chest? He had a locked trunk at the cabin that he said was full of memories. She had assumed it held her mother's things. Why would he put it in there?
They came upon the trailhead, right where Mary had known it’d be. She stopped and the others gathered around. "This is it— the beginning of the trail. From here on it’s either up or down. Shall we eat lunch?"
"No," Judd ordered. "Not yet."
Shrugging, Mary started up the narrow trail into the thick trees, Connor right behind her.
"Wait!"
Judd's command stopped everyone just before they entered the trees. Mary turned to see him motioning Wes and Ramone forward. "From now on at least two of us walk between them. Either one tries to escape, shoot McLarren."
Wes stumbled over a small rock and fell to his knees, got up and fell again. "I gotta have a break, Boss," he said, wobbling as he stood up again. "This pack’s killing me."
"McLarren doesn't seem to be having any problem," Ramone observed nastily. "Let him carry some of it. Better yet, put it all on him."
16
Mary stared at Connor in dismay. He stood in his habitual military stance, straight and composed, his posture relaxed, but too erect to indicate fatigue. Ramone’s comment had caught him off guard, too late to fake weariness.
"Good idea. I like it. I really like it," Judd said with obvious delight. "Wes, put your tent and sleeping bag on him. It'll slow him down and make it easier for you."
Mary watched helplessly as they hung their heavy gear on Connor's pack. He staggered as they gleefully tied on Ramone's sleeping bag and then added two bottles of fuel on top.
She wanted to cry out in protest, but kept quiet, thinking that any objection on her part would make them find more things for Connor to carry. Their hope of wearing down their captors had backfired.
No one could carry that big a load up these slippery mountain trails very long— or safely. She must lighten it up. She continued to mull over the problem as she led them up the trail, stopping every few minutes.
"Lunch break," Judd announced, plopping himself down on a convenient log. He yanked off his pack and dropped it beside him. The other men followed suit, collapsing on the ground nearby with a collective moan.
Mary hiked up the trail a few yards to a comfortable-looking log before she undid her hip belt and stripped off her pack. After propping it against the log, she turned to help Connor, who had followed her.
"I'm untying him so he can eat," Mary called out, and at Judd's nodded permission, tugged at the Velcro straps, a heavy-duty type that must’ve been made for the army. They parted with difficulty.
She reached up to help Connor remove the tremendous burden. As the pack slid off, she tried to catch it. Instead, she staggered under it, unable to do more than drop it on the ground.
Connor was strong, but this was too much for anyone. He had fallen to his knees six times during the last few minutes, making Wes laugh with cruel pleasure.
"How can you carry that?" she exclaimed, torn between awe and sympathy as he set the pack upright next to hers.
"Barely," he whispered, slumping down on the log, his face covered in sweat. "I'm slowing even them down."
A slight breeze had blown away the early morning clouds. The sun shone at full winter strength, raising the temperature enough to melt the pockets of snow that dotted the trail at this elevation. They kept the rocks wet, the ground muddy— and slippery.
Connor had fallen heavily, unable to catch himself. His knees had to be badly bruised. He limped as much as Judd and Ira— and Mary didn't believe he was faking it.
Stripping off her gloves, she handed him a bottle of water. "Drink well, we’ll fill it at the next stream."
As he drank, she opened his pack and pulled out the heaviest food items she could find. Judd had bought six bottles of an energy-type juice drink, and Mary opened them. She handed one to Connor, then took four over to where the others sat.
She noticed with satisfaction that Ira and Judd were trying to bandage the blisters on their feet— both heels and toes. Their feet were moist from sweat, so the bandages weren’t sticking.
She drank the last juice herself, finding it too sweet for her taste, then discarded the empty bottle on the ground.
They must reserve Connor's strength. Placing herself between the criminals and his heavy pack, she pulled out her small two-man tent and switched it and the cooking gear over to her load. As she reached for the fuel bottles, Connor stopped her.
"Thanks, but no sense both of us being exhausted."
"It'll only be for the rest of the day," she explained, tucking two of the bottles into her pack. "We'll use one up during our first camp, cooking and melting snow for water."
"But you look all in."
"I've been faking to make sure I went slow enough for you," she told him in a low voice. They sat far enough away from the others not to be overheard. The men didn't like being close to Connor, even with guns in their hands. "I'm used to carrying my own gear, plus extra for an injured person. Plus medical supplies. I'm fine."
"Then, okay. Thanks." He laid his empty juice bottle next to hers. "My motto has always been to carry out what I carry in, but not this trip. Excess weight gets jettisoned."
"I know."
"We'll come back in the spring and pick it up."
If they lived.
Mary handed him a packet of trail mix and opened one for herself, her thoughts returning to the PLB, sending out its urgent message.
"Do you think they'll find it, Connor?"
"Find what?"
"The locator," she whispered, cocking her head at an angle to swing a stray lock of hair away from her eyes while she ate.
"It’s on, isn’t it?" he asked between bites.
Sighing, Mary tucked the stray back under her wool cap. "Yes. But what if the patrolmen can't find it? I stuck it in the corner, under my empty hamburger sack."
"The police can't leave it on. They'll find it."
Mary removed Ramone's sleeping bag from Connor's pack, then retied it in a new, better-balanced position. As she worked, she voiced the fear that had been with her since they had left the van.
"What worries me is the thought that maybe... well, what if they just turn it off and don't see my message on it?"
"We'll just have to hope they do."
"But no one knows we’re kidnapped."
“God knows.”
“He doesn’t seem to be listening to me. My prayers aren’t being answered.”
“Mine either, for that matter. But we mustn’t give up hope. Our cars are at your apartment. There's plenty of evidence there. Also, these thugs attacked my mom. She'll be able to describe Wes and get the police searching."
"But what if they don’t listen to her?"
"Stop worrying, Mary," Connor said, his voice low and compelling. He took hold of her right hand and squeezed it, reassuringly. "It does no good."
Mary clung to the feel of him, concentrating on the warmth of his hand.
He was the one stable person in this world gone mad. "Our only hope is the emergency locator."
"No, it isn't. Don't think that way. It’s just one of our options. We can't depend on it." He squeezed her hand again. "Keep praying. Maybe God has a reason for not answering yet. I don’t know. But we need to act like the locator's not there and continue to try to work our way out of this. Don't discount any obstacle you manage to throw at them.
"But one just backfired. Look at all the stuff they piled on you." She indicated his pack, still heavy even after what she had removed.
"True. But there's no more talk of shooting me, now they've found a use for me. I don't know whether to be thankful or not."
“Then don’t break a leg.”
“Right. They shoot horses.”
He flexed his shoulders, then moved his head around to release the tightness in his neck muscles. "I keep falling. The rocks are so wet and slippery, they're bringing us all to our knees—except you. What’re you doing?"
They had finished the trail mix and she opened some dried apples as she answered. "A broad, smooth surface gives no traction, but most rocks aren't completely smooth. They have little points that are raised, some fairly sharp. I step on those, especially on the tops of the rocks. They push into the treads on your boots."
A camp robber flew up and landed on a nearby branch. Mary tossed the little brown bird a tidbit of apple, then, remembering Wes' inclination to shoot anything that moved, wished she hadn't. She had spotted more deer after that first shooting, also some hawks, but this was the first live creature within Wes' range.
"Shoo!" she whispered.
Connor chuckled. "That won't do any good, now that you've fed him."
"I know. I just don't want Wes using him for target practice. Shoo. Go away. Shoo!"
"Move out!" It was Judd, standing up and putting on his pack.
Mary took one more long drink of water and handed the half-empty bottle to Connor, who finished it. She placed the two empties in his pack and helped him put it on. This time she could lift it, although it still felt heavier than any load her dad had ever carried.
She hoped that Judd wouldn't tie Connor's hands, but he did, with Wes and Ramone standing by, guns drawn. They didn't take any chances, and the knowledge that they considered Connor a threat gave Mary comfort.
If Connor and she could just get out of the range of that rifle, they could cross these mountains and contact the State Patrol at Snoqualmie Pass.
They reached snow line a half-hour later and Mary stopped long enough for everyone to put on their dark glasses. She and Connor had glacier glasses, with leather side guards to block the glare.
She had hoped Judd would purchase cheap sunglasses, but they each had some fancy designer style. She’d have to wait and see how efficient the glasses proved against the sun's blinding rays. Snow blindness could render a person helpless for hours. The men wouldn’t be able to see where they were going, much less shoot her and Connor.
The rocky trail was worn too deep and narrow for snowshoes to be effective. It needed a thicker snow covering— which they’d soon reach— but at this level the thin white blanket simply concealed the deep holes and covered the rocks and logs with an icy surface, creating a treacherous pathway. Rocks and snow— a bad combination.
At their first major stream crossing, Ira slipped on a rock and fell in up to his hips. He put out his hand to catch himself at the same time trying to keep the rifle dry, and ended up bruising his wrist. Once out of the water, he handed the rifle to Wes, trading it for Connor's ice axe, while he nursed his injury.
It was his knife-throwing wrist and Mary found herself wishing he had broken it. It was an uncharitable thought, but with Ira out of commission, it would be one less threat to Connor.
Although with Ira unable to challenge Ramone, Ramone would be more of a threat. She decided it was probably just as well Ira wasn't too badly injured.
Mary took advantage of the enforced stop to use the small, can-shaped, pump-handled water filter. She filled their water bottles— hers and Connor's— from the flowing stream, then refilled them after they had a good drink.
She put a bottle in each pack, even though she’d have liked to take the weight herself. A person should always carry his own water. She tossed the four-inch-long filter along with its suction hose to Ramone, who as usual watched her every move. He put it away, not bothering to refill his own bottle.
"I don't like the way he looks at you," Connor murmured. He leaned against an old tree stump to support his pack.
"Neither do I. He makes my flesh crawl." She shuddered. The soldiers had looked at her mother that way. She glanced at him and suddenly felt trapped, like a mouse before a cobra. The cold sweat on her body had nothing to do with exertion. She had been in lots of dangerous places on her rescue work and had never felt the sick terror that encompassed her.
"Mary. Mary!" Connor's sharp call penetrated her almost hypnotic trance, and she blinked, but couldn’t shift her gaze. "Don't look at him," he urged in a low voice, hoarse with emotion.
He straightened and took a step toward her, tapping her boot with the side of his foot, once, then twice, the touch helping her break free. "Look at me, Mary. Look at me!"
His urgent commands overrode Ramone's stare. She turned toward Connor, feeling the terror lose its grip as she connected with him. She took a deep shaky breath and let it out slowly, focusing on him alone. On his eyes.
Dark eyes. The color of sable. Eyes that glowed with the force of molten steel, carrying the promise of strength. Clear eyes that held no doubt, drawing the fear from her with their expression of assurance.
"That's better," he murmured, nodding as her shoulders sagged and her facial muscles relaxed into a weak smile. "Don't let him get to you."
He smiled, and her smile grew stronger in return. She was amazed at his ability to spot the demons troubling her. He had an extraordinary depth that reached out and touched an answering emotion within her.
Connor McLarren. Haggard from the ordeal. Grim-faced. His chin roughly covered with two, almost three-days growth of beard, his hooded eyes sunk even deeper in exhaustion. Connor should’ve look beaten and defeated. Yet he remained imposing— a magnificent brawny man, resolute, able to intimidate his enemies.
Like a dormant volcano— smoldering or rumbling now and then to let people know it was a force to be reckoned with— he had smashed into her life with explosive force, ready to do battle.
Will power. The difference between survival and death. Connor had it.
Defeat probably wasn't allowed in his vocabulary.
Even with his hands tied, these men treated him with caution— including Judd, who stood only an inch shorter, but much heavier. It was a point to remember, to use for strength.
A dangerous man, Connor. But not to her. Somehow he overcame adversity, and in the process gave her hope.
She had been looking for a man like Connor all her adult life. One to stand beside her, to ward off the terrors of the night. It was right that her father's gear fit him. A strong man—even stronger than her father had been. A worthy man.
How ironic, that having found him, she’d have to "turn him loose." A man whose job kept him far from home wasn’t the man for her. She must remind herself of that, continually.
Mary wanted a family, a home, and— most importantly— a man who’d be there for her each night. A man of peace, not of war. To become attracted to Connor wasn’t wise.
Mary looked past him at the trail ahead, mentally rating its difficulty. It climbed sharply upward, clinging to the side of the deep ravine cut by the stream. In summer it would’ve required only reasonable caution. In the winter, covered with several feet of snow, it became a series of potential accidents.
Especially for someone with his hands tied down.
"Connor can't climb tied like that," she protested to Judd. "You have to—"
"I don't have to do anything. He climbs,
or he stays. Dead. He can take his chances. Now move."
At least Connor's pack wouldn’t be so unwieldy. Mary led the way carefully up the winding trail away from the stream. The loud whoosh as a nearby tree limb dropped its load of snow joined the grunting of the men and the rustle of their equipment.
Huge boulders dotted the area, their upper surfaces bare and shiny, forcing her to maneuver around them. She used her hands to steady her on the icy areas. This was no place to rush.
Although the slope was steep, the snow wasn’t deep enough to form an avalanche hazard. The danger here consisted of losing one's footing and falling onto the rocks far below.
She climbed over the boulders, then walked between Douglas firs well over a hundred feet tall, then through more rocks. The stream bed fell away below them as they climbed— fifty feet, ninety feet— the trail switching back and forth, but continuing to hover over the deep ravine.
Connor maintained his footing most of the time, but he struggled getting himself and his pack through the boulders. Mary felt the extra weight she had taken on, and rested often to give both Connor and herself a break.
It wasn't as if she were going anywhere. And the kidnappers' feet hurt so much, they didn't complain when she stopped.
Since she led the group, they had to travel at her pace. It gave her even more control than she had realized at first— and with control came confidence. These men would go where she took them.
She’d like to take them to the nearest police station, but failing that, she’d walk them through the Cascade mountain range until they dropped.
The sharp, pungent fragrance of the crystal air failed to lift her spirits as it normally did. It was the first time in her life that she had entered the forest and not found peace. Judd and his men had stolen her pleasure in the mountains.
Suddenly Mary's feet shot out from under her. She fell face down, hard, hitting her knees against the protruding rock. She grabbed futility at an ice-covered branch as her body skidded away, the weight of her pack propelling her down the slope.