I kept the long-barreled Ruger in my right hand as I crept silently over the tall brush, my ears pricked for the slightest disturbance in the eerie silence of the night. The whispering of the wind through the trees and the distant hooting of an owl barely penetrated the cool stillness.
As I approached the harsh underbrush leading into the woods, I slowed my pace and kept the beam of the penlight directly in front of me. Before venturing on, I studied the solid black mass of the trees towering above me and let my eyes acclimate. Alert for sudden glints, as well as rustling sounds, I resumed walking. The Ruger was perfect for this type of work. It was light yet sturdy; its long slab barrel could be used as a club if I was unable to shoot in time.
Soon I was among the trees. The clearness of the night turned black and cold, and my visibility diminished drastically. I slowed my pace, scanning all around me and turning around frequently to make sure no one was sneaking up to me. I wanted to call out for Fields but knew that would be dangerous. I wanted to believe she wasn’t far, but had to consider the facts. If she’d fallen and twisted an ankle, I would have already found her. This alone told me she might have become victim of foul play. She could have been knocked unconscious and carried or dragged away. At this moment, while I searched for her, she could be imprisoned in some psycho’s basement a mere mile away ... and who knew what could be happening.
Stop this! It will only frustrate you and take your attention away from your mission.
I stopped moving and spent the next couple of minutes taking deep breaths to calm myself. I was going to find her. No matter what happened, I was going to find Fields, and she was going to be okay.
Feeling more confident, I began moving again.
About twenty minutes later, just as I was about to reach the general area near where I’d found her Ladysmith, the toe of my tennis shoe bumped something protruding from the weeds. I fell forward and landed on my right side. In an instant I rolled onto my back, the Ruger up and ready as I feverishly scanned my surroundings.
I remained on my back, the Ruger in my right hand, the penlight in my left, sliding the slender white beam carefully over both sides of the trail as I listened for movement. I heard nothing. I stayed there, alert for rustling, soft footsteps—anything that would warn me someone was coming.
The silence continued.
I sat up and stuck the penlight between my teeth. Then I grabbed the pocket flashlight from my ammo belt and began exploring the area more thoroughly.
I quickly discovered that I’d tripped on an exposed root.
I remained on the cold ground for a few moments, exploring my surroundings. Satisfied I was still safe and alone, I replaced the flashlight and switched off the penlight. Then I glanced up at the sky and noticed a star northeast of my position twinkling brightly. This struck me as odd. Stars filled the sky, yet only one of them sparkled, appearing significantly brighter than the rest. Judging by its position, it wasn’t the North Star, nor was it part of any of the few constellations I was familiar with. Its position seemed to be northeast of where I was.
Why was this suddenly familiar to me?
It continued twinkling. It was almost as if...
No. It couldn’t be.
I remembered something Fields had told me not long after we’d buried Reed. Her parents had died in a car accident when she was a little girl, and when she was told about it, she went through a period of deep depression. She was convinced her parents were coming back for her, and she wanted to be awake when they did. After several sleepless nights, her uncle and aunt, who’d become her legal guardians, grew frantic to find some way of calming her.
Her uncle told her that when someone died, their spirit went up into the sky and latched onto a star, and you could see them at night if you looked up at the stars. Fields asked how she’d know which stars were which. He’d said you could tell because it would be the brightest, and would twinkle when you looked at it.
Fields believed it at the time, but as she grew older, realized how silly it was. I hadn’t thought it was silly. At the time, I’d been looking for something to believe in, to help me process all the death, the destruction. I’d lost my mother, my uncle, and Reed, all in a very short period of time. Fields’ bedtime story did much to soften the blow.
But now the story seemed to be doing something else, and as I gazed up into the eternal darkness, I could only wonder about that one star glittering so brightly amongst the millions of others surrounding it.
“Reed?” My heart raced. “Is that you? Or is it you, Uncle Joe? Or Mom? Are you guys trying to tell me something?”
Was it really their spirits trying to communicate with me? Or was my imagination doing strange things to my troubled state of mind?
The star continued twinkling. Others flickered while others dimmed, but the one in question continued twinkling brightly.
Coincidence? Probably. Silly? Most definitely. Childish? Yes.
So why was I entertaining the notion?
Is it because Fields is out there somewhere, and you need all the help you can get? Is it because once you reach the end of your grandparents’ property, you’ll have no idea where to go from there?
Or is it because deep down inside you, you honestly don’t think the notion is silly or childish at all, because ever since your mother, Uncle Joe and Reed died, you truly feel that they really haven’t gone away at all?
It was because of all of this. But most of all, it was because I honestly believed Fields would want me to do this.
My gut—as well as my heart—quickly made the decision for me.
I got up from the ground and veered off the main path.
***
I reached the barbed wire fence that formed the boundary of my grandparents’ property just a hundred feet or so from Deer Creek Road.
A large two-story brick house sat directly across the road, its dark windows gazing unseeingly at a front yard overrun with weeds and trash. A child’s wagon sat on its side in front of the living room window. A basketball pole leaned against the side of the two-car garage, its rim bent at an extreme angle. Dark, eerie shapes sat among the weeds and bushes, as well as near the front door. They appeared to be garbage bags, but I couldn’t tell for sure.
Mindful of my backpack and ammo belt, I slipped carefully through the loose strands of rusty barbed wire and crossed the deserted two-lane road. Fields and I had been on this road just a couple of hours ago. Now it seemed like it had happened an eternity ago.
I didn’t know if I should cut across the overgrown yard and continue my hunt through the woods behind the house, or stay on the road. The woods ran north for more than a mile and extended to the east, reaching the main road on the other side of the bend about a mile or so farther down. If Fields had been taken to the rear of the property and forced to slip through the fence, I suspected she hadn’t been very far from where I was standing right now.
But where had they taken her?
Judging by my twinkling star, I should keep heading northeast. But how? The road? Or the woods? Had Fields been shoved into a car or van? Was it parked here, waiting? I flicked on my penlight. I didn’t see fresh tracks or tire marks on the grass, but that didn’t mean anything. Since traffic was no longer an issue, anyone could park wherever they wished. Whoever had kidnapped Fields could have left their ride right here in the middle of the road.
This frightening fact sent a sharp blade of icy terror slicing through me. If they’d taken her away in a car or van, I didn’t have a prayer. They’d be miles away by now.
I couldn’t let that defeat me. I had to stay focused.
Fields had been gone nearly an hour before I left the house and went looking for her. Then I went back to the house and spent another half-hour filling up my backpack. That added up to a grand total of nearly ninety minutes in which I was in the house, and unable to hear an engine on this side of the property. I hadn’t heard anything since I’d been outside, but this conclusion meant nothing if she’d been ta
ken and shoved into a vehicle during those ninety minutes. Although I saw no evidence whatsoever, I wanted to assume she’d been taken away on foot. I just didn’t want to let myself believe that she’d been shoved into a vehicle and taken miles away.
This led me to my next questions: The road? Or the woods?
Once again, I had no clue. If Fields was conscious, she’d do her best to leave a trail. Dropping her .38 told me something bad had happened fast, but not so fast that she hadn’t had time to unclip and hide the gun. But she had, and had done it so I could find it. She’d heard something, realized someone was after her, knew she couldn’t get away and left the gun for me to find.
Why hadn’t she used it? If she’d had time to take off the holster and place it on the stump, she would have had time to use it.
Had her assailant got the drop on her? Had there been more than one of them? If so, wouldn’t they have seen her drop the gun? Wouldn’t they have taken it from her?
The woods? Or the road?
Dragging someone through the woods against their will would not be easy. If they were on foot, they wouldn’t want to risk being seen. If they knew about me or suspected I was aware Fields was missing, they’d assume I’d use a vehicle to track them down. I wouldn’t be able to follow them by vehicle into the woods.
I veered off the road, into the overgrown yard, and stepped over a collapsed wooden fence. The woods sat about a hundred yards behind the house, extending so far into the darkness that nothing else was visible beyond that point.
As I kept moving, I switched to the flashlight, which cast a much larger and brighter halo. The weeds were just as thick here, but since this area was unfamiliar, I moved much more carefully so I wouldn’t stumble. Several felled trees blocked my way. I sidestepped, avoiding broken limbs and crumbling deadfalls. I had to assume Fields wasn’t able to leave a trail. If she was conscious, she’d be walking in front of her kidnappers and wouldn’t be able to give herself away. If her hands were tied, her movements would be even more restricted. I had to keep moving and watch closely for signs.
I was about a hundred yards from the road when I heard the voices.
NINE
There were at least two of them, and they’d come out of the woods from the northeast and were moving in my direction.
I lowered myself into the waist-high weeds. Keeping low, I crawled over to a dead tree. Carefully I squeezed beneath the bottom section and lay amongst the underbrush, wedged under the stump and hidden by a large segment of deteriorating trunk. I lay on my left side, my legs straight out and directly beneath the deadfall, my back facing the approaching footsteps, my dark clothing and backpack blending in with the tree and the surrounding darkness.
Gripping the Ruger, I kept its barrel pointed at the ground. The safety was off, the gun ready to fire. My left hand shielded the gun from view. It was vital to keep the shiny finish of the silver barrel out of sight; any reflection from a flashlight beam would be disastrous.
The rustling noises grew louder. As they increased in volume, I realized they were everywhere. I had no idea how many of them there were. I’d originally thought there were two, but the increased rustling coming from both directions suggested more.
My pulse thundered as I lay perfectly still.
Someone stopped moving about twenty feet away, directly behind me. Seconds later, someone else stopped a little closer—about ten feet from the stump. More rustling continued a few yards toward my right as one of them circled the area. Finally it also stopped. The dead silence enabled me to hear the heavy thumping of my heart.
There were four of them. I was surrounded.
“Don’t see nothin’,” said a soft voice directly to my left. It sounded like the voice of a young man in his late teens, or early twenties. I heard the clicking of a flashlight.
“Coulda swore I spotted somethin’,” said a voice on my right, moving closer. This voice also sounded young.
The clicking of other flashlights lit up the ground around me. I still didn’t move, but my pulse hammered even louder. I was afraid they could hear it.
“Who’d even be out here?” whispered a third young male voice. “Nothin’ but corpses in these houses.”
“What’d that new bitch say? Somethin’ about her daddy bringin’ her out here and leavin’ her?”
“Who can tell? She’s a doper. Couldn’t even remember her own name.”
Relief and dread washed through me at the same time. If they were talking about Fields, at least now I had some idea of what happened.
“Don’t matter,” said one of them a few yards on my left. “Chick sure is hot. Simon’s gonna fuck her good. He likes ’em tall and skinny. And he don’t mind doin’ dopers if they’re good-lookin’ enough.”
Yep, there were talking about Fields. A sudden rage made my limbs tremble. I felt my index finger unconsciously rubbing against the trigger. No. It won’t work. Not like this. If I killed them all, I wouldn’t be able to find out where they were keeping her.
But at least now I could piece some of it together. During her walk, she’d heard someone in the woods and guessed there was more than one. Since she didn’t know exactly where they were, she knew she had no chance of shooting them all and decided to act stupid. She was obviously close to the stump we usually passed during our walks. She’d unclipped the holster, put it on the stump and continued walking. The brush growing near the stump would hide the gun, and if she managed to direct them away from it, they wouldn’t even be suspicious. When they found her unarmed, they wouldn’t consider her a threat. Otherwise, they might have killed her.
Fields had done basically the same thing in Breezewood, when I’d first stumbled on her in the filling station office. Her charade had worked with me; it had obviously worked with them as well.
But for how long?
The flashlight beams danced and hopped along the weeds just a few yards beyond my stump.
“Simon wants us to keep lookin’ for this bastard, whoever he is. He wants ’im bad.”
“I still can’t figure how he did both Doc and James. Not at the same time.”
“That’s fucked up, man. James was in the military, knew how to hunt.”
Doc and James ... they could be talking about Willis K. Simpson and his partner.
“Simon told me he saw a Silverado pickup parked near Doc’s station wagon on Bakerstown–Culmerville Road.”
“How’d he get away? Simon and Cal both brought their guns with ’em when they went lookin’. Simon was pissed. He woulda capped whoever done it.”
“Simon didn’t wanna stick around, said he smelled an ambush.”
More bits of the picture formed in my head. Simon was obviously the driver of the compact. Doc and James were two members of their gang. They drove around the neighborhood, looking for places to ransack. This morning they hadn’t been so lucky.
“Kinda hard to hide a Silverado.”
“Simon said he and Cal lost ‘im somewhere on Bakerstown–Culmerville Road, says the bastard can’t be far. Doc and James weren’t gone maybe an hour this mornin’ when Simon heard the shots. Simon thinks whoever it is has gotta be livin’ around here somewhere.”
“Can’t be too far from where Simon found the station wagon. Not if they were able to lose Simon so easy.”
“Simon figures maybe a mile or two from the house.”
“Guys, we gotta get back. Mush Mouth don’t like waitin’ too long in the truck. Dark gives ’im the shakes.”
“He ain’t gonna crap his pants again, is he?”
A chuckle. “Ya didn’t bring along a diaper?”
“Ain’t his momma, fuck you very much.”
The flashlight beam moved away. “Fucker’s gotta be around here somewheres. Simon says he and Cal found that chick in the woods across the road, on the other side of the fence.”
“It’s gettin’ fuckin’ late. Her daddy’s got guns, he could be out there right now, lookin’ for ’er. I don’t wanna get shot, man.”
/> “Don’t think he cares about her anymore.”
“Think she’s just a drop-off? Like those two we found in Saxonburg?”
“Sara was a drop-off?”
“Where the fuck you been?”
“Prob’ly on one of our food runs. Simon’s got me goin’ out all the time now. Ever since he found us at the Center in Pittsburgh, he’s got me lookin’ for food.”
“That’s only ‘cause you were stealin’ food at the fuckin’ Center, moron. Simon figures that’s what you do. Fuck, you do it good, too, dude!”
“You stole food, too, asswipe!”
“Can’t believe Sara was a drop-off. Damn ...”
“You don’t remember comin’ back and there she was? Where d’ya think she came from? The fuckin’ sky?”
“Thought maybe Simon found her somewheres. She’s cute, man.”
“She’s a fuckin’ scatterbrain. Why d’ya think he ties her down every time he wants to fuck ’er?”
A giggle. “Always thought Simon liked gettin’ his rocks off that way.”
“You’re an idiot. She freaks whenever she thinks someone’s gonna touch ’er.”
“All chicks are scatterbrains nowadays.”
“So is most everyone else. I see ’em all the time when we drive into town. Like a fuckin’ zombie movie. Can’t even tell when they’re dead anymore. You gotta swat ’em in the head, wait and see if they do anything.”
A chuckle. “Bring your lunch!”
“Simon said they’re droppin’ off dopers like they used to dump dogs. Can’t blame ’em none. Look at Mush Mouth. Fucker’s brain’s Swiss cheese. Simon would dump ’im in a heartbeat if Mush Mouth wasn’t his brother.”
“Don’t matter none. I like Sara even if she is a scatterbrain.”
“The other one? Rita? She only lasted a day or two.”
“Sweet chick, but loony as a shithouse rat. Screamed like a banshee whenever ya touched ’er.”
After Darkness Fell Page 9