He ogled Josie in the floorboard. She was his for a reason, like their paths were crossed by fate, not coincidence. His thoughts trickled away from escape and veered toward lust. The ember of desire began to smolder.
Reaching out, his fingertips stroked her hair. A premonition of sweetly fragranced shampoo filled his nose. Patience, he cajoled himself.
When they approached the cabin, he noticed that nothing had changed since leaving in the early morning hours.
Nearby, a natural brook trickled through a garden of giant boulders. He hauled Josie from the cab and carried her to the tune of running water. Her body hung limp in his arms. At the low-slung, rear door frame, he stooped to enter. The primitive structure had never seen, nor would it ever see, the invention of a central heating system. Small doorways were to preserve warmth in the winter. He could almost see Robert Redford playing the role of Jeremiah Johnson, a fresh batch of furs hanging from his belt. But romantic fantasies were not part of the itinerary. At least not that kind.
He gently placed her on an old, wooden cot. Blankets and a pillow were already in place from his prior visit. A Polaroid flashed to document her arrival. He slipped it inside the journal where several pages were dedicated to her alone. Blonde hair, soft skin, and body—all four-foot-three inches and fifty-two pounds of it—rested there motionless. Bailey, Lindsay, and Mindy had all been fine stand-ins, but their draw held no comparison.
As he stared, his body shook with intoxicated desire. He wanted so badly to take his time, document, and film every millisecond of the experience. But immediate appeasement weighed heavily. The battle raged. Suddenly, he could take the burn no more. Physicality took control.
In the middle of the one-room space, he pulled his shirttail over his head and dropped it to the floor. Practiced fingers fiddled to undo his belt. A quick tug and bend had him disrobed. The buckle made a loud thump against the floor, an eerily familiar and unwelcome sound. His flashlight had made the same noise that rainy night in Ruidoso.
He poured his hands over Josie. The back of his knuckles caressed her arm so softly. If ever he felt love, this was it. Or perhaps obsession. Maybe both. But he knew he would do anything for her. Even wait. And so he turned away until she woke of her own accord.
Across the room, on the other rope bed frame, Ashley lay bound and gagged. Attentive, her eyes flashed wildly with fear. Yesterday evening, she had worked her shift at the Taos grocery store. She went out back to find Derek in hopes of sharing a cigarette and woke up in the dark, deserted cabin.
Ricky had to keep his emotions down to a simmer, and Ashley was there to assist. She was disposable, a useful tool to help him maintain control, a mere appetizer to prevent him from devouring the main course.
He slithered onto her body, each of her limbs drawn into his trademark spread. The razor-sharp hunting knife cut through her clothes, damp with terrified sweat, as she struggled to scream. Despite her pleading tears, he did not stop.
Chapter Sixty
The MedEvac Cessna passed one thousand feet AGL (above ground level). As much as Isaac didn’t want to admit it, the man with Josie had the upper hand. Her captor knew exactly where they were headed and how to get there. Anyone clever enough to pull off such a ruse would. Isaac, on the other hand, had only a general direction to canvass.
He tried to think like his formidable adversary. Where would I go? Elusion was first on the agenda. Where’s the best place to hide?
Isaac had flown countless times over the very ground he now searched. When wildfires burned, it wasn’t orange flames that first appeared to patrol pilots. Gray, ghostly wisps of rising smoke were the earliest signs of trouble.
But he wasn’t looking for smoke. He wanted dust. If the white Chevy had abandoned pavement and was still on the move, a disturbed trail of dirt would betray it. He prayed it would be that easy.
Breaking the landscape into grids, he searched each one, top to bottom and left to right. The river was his guide. Below, he saw the spot on Highway 68 where it had all gone down. He had been too focused on Sarah at the time and wished he’d seen with his eyes, not his emotions. Every warning bell had sounded loud and clear, but fell upon his deaf ears. Now it came to this. In less than two hours, he had gone from coffee to felony. He had worked hard to leave his days of war and violence behind, not ashamed of what he’d done, but relieved to be finished. This felt like war all over again. All the elements were there: killing, innocent deaths, turmoil, and deceit. Where he’d always cared about order and composure, his “give a shit” regarding right and wrong slowly leeched from his psyche. Bloodlust festered in his soul, and he drew power from the poison.
A brownish cloud rose from a mountain in the east. He adjusted his heading to get a better view. High above the logging corridor, he found the source, a white pickup. It barreled along with its tires spitting fresh earth behind it. His heart leapt with hope. Further up the ridge, he spied their likely destination. He had seen it before, a forgotten place tucked miles from civilization. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. For the first time in a long time, he thanked God for his unique skill set. Only because he was a pilot and knew the topography did he stand a chance of finding Josie.
A brief shroud of placidity settled over him as he scanned the radically undulated globe for a place to land. Trees, slopes, and jagged granite dominated. And as suddenly as the breaks came, so did the obstacles.
Chapter Sixty-One
A long pause filled the headset of Isaac’s radio. He had just finished communicating his predicament to an air traffic controller in Santa Fe. It was not the normal type of transmission ATC operators received, and was met with silence.
“Santa Fe, do you read? I am a civil air patrol pilot in pursuit of a kidnapper and an eight-year-old girl. I need you to report my coordinates to all local and federal law enforcement. Do you copy?”
Finally, “Roger that, Civil Air. I … will pass it along immediately.”
Isaac conveniently omitted the fact that he was in a stolen aircraft. The last thing he needed was the FAA running interference with the chase. They did not take thefts, commandeering, or hijacking lightly.
With his headset quiet again, he tilted to the left for a better perspective of the landscape. Josie already had the police on her side, and soon, if the Santa Fe controller delivered, they would know her whereabouts. Regardless, the new development lacked expediency. Only Isaac had the means to beat the clock. And he couldn’t very well swoop down and buzz the killer, alerting him to his presence. That had the potential for a hostage situation. If Isaac held him at bay until the cops showed, Josie was the man’s prime bargaining power. The only thing to stop him from harming her was a surprise attack. For that, he had to get out of the air and engage him on foot.
Small victories. One battle at a time … Where the hell am I going to land?
The nearest flat spot, large enough for an airplane to set down, was a straight stretch of logging trail. He wasn’t concerned about damaging the aircraft. If he could walk away from the landing, that was all that mattered. In this environment, a few bumps were inevitable. But as he descended and made a line with the road, the trees encroached to a space narrower than his wingtips. The towering ponderosas would rip them off and send him crashing. An impact that violent might kill him.
He pulled up and deliberately searched the terrain for something wider. Every open space was too sheer with cliffs and solid rocks to try. Finally, a clearing of tall grass ran in a semicircle across a shallow grade. It appeared to be a grazing meadow for high country elk. He vaguely recalled seeing it on patrol flights but never had cause to scrutinize it. Getting on the ground within close proximity to Josie was the sole objective, and this was his best option.
Isaac approached the barren swath. It was wide and short with no room for error. He had to instantly set down the Caravan as soon as the woods gave way. Flying low, a screech sounded from the belly of the Cessna as it skimmed the treetops. The wood on metal cont
act shrieked like nails on a chalkboard.
Nose up, he controlled altitude with power. The task was like trying to land on the deck of an aircraft carrier but first having to clear a forty-foot wall. At night, it would be suicide.
With flaps set to full, he broke over open ground and cut the juice. As expected, the far side of the clearing rapidly drew near, a lush thicket, dark and beastly with death in its maw.
He struggled for control. Beneath the grass, the earth was anything but smooth. If he didn’t stay perpendicular to the slope, gravity would snare him, and the plane would tumble like a tin can down the face.
Using depth perception, he gauged the distance to the treeline, pressing the brakes as hard as his legs could push. For the briefest instant, he thought he had it made. Then a monstrous jolt rattled him to the bone. The high-winged Cessna rolled over a hidden tree stump. What appeared as a meadow from above was actually a clear cut of harvested timber. Early summer rains had helped the grass grow tall and conceal the leftover stumps.
Nylon fabric on the seat belt cut into his neck where it passed over his shoulder. The friction of synthetic material burned his unprotected chest, holding him in the seat. His hands gripped the yoke to brace against the relentless pounding. But his head bounced freely and smashed against the window. Blood oozed over his ear from the contusion.
Gritting his teeth against the bucking, he stomped the brakes with new fervor. The mass of trees advanced with each rotation of the propeller. If they collided, fragments of jagged shrapnel would fill the air.
Bouncing once more, the top of Isaac’s head hit the ceiling and jammed his neck. Little flashes of light—fireflies twinkling in a world asunder—filled his vision. And just as suddenly, a robust stump tall enough to take out the front landing gear somersaulted them forward. The turbine prop chewed into the mountain like a weed eater from hell as the fuselage went vertical. It threw Isaac into the yoke and instruments. He heard a sputter erupt from the exhaust pipe, and then everything went silent.
The plane rested, rudder to the sky, for a pause. After a creak and then a groan, it toppled, the tail section coming to a halt in the upper branches of the forest.
Warm, thick blood poured from Isaac’s face and covered the gauges. He hung, almost completely upside down, by the seat belt. Darkness at the edges of his periphery crept in. The strength to move eluded his will. Before the tunnel of sight closed, he apologized to his family, wishing they could have seen how hard he tried.
Peace beckoned, and he gave in.
Chapter Sixty-Two
A soft, steady thump reverberated in the otherwise noiseless room. With his ear pressed against Ashley’s sternum, Ricky’s head rose and fell with her rhythmic breaths. The cadence of her heart soothed his turbulent nature.
She was not the day’s pièce de résistance, but details were never to be omitted. True to form, he took her picture and wrote a few words in his leather journal. An outburst of wrath typically followed, but his unbridled violence spawned from frustration. With Josie in his possession, he felt satisfied. A more creative prospect was in store for Ashley.
He smoothed her hair back. Long, steady strokes tucked loose strands behind her ears. Using his pointer finger, he tapped the tip of her nose. “That helps a lot.” His smile was genuine and wicked all in the same.
Ricky sauntered to the back porch. Safe in privacy, he stretched in the warm sunlight, naked as the day he was born. He felt relaxed. It was hard to believe that so many people were searching for him.
The only fresh water source flowed in the neighboring creek. He walked barefoot across the dirt and stuck a toe in the clear stream. The near freezing temperature caused him to jerk back. Gradually, he submerged his whole foot. Dust and pine needles loosened in the current. He squatted, sat his bare butt on a flat boulder, and immersed both legs up to the knees.
The hydrotherapy was an unexpected gem. Cupped hands washed him until all traces of sin were gone. Then he splashed his face with cold water to close the pores.
Feet and calves still in the creek, he leaned back on his elbows and rested for several minutes. The breeze caressed his wet body, and he closed his eyes to concentrate on the invigorating sensation. The evaporative effect puckered his skin. When his feet went numb, he stood and shook like a dog.
Josie consumed all of his attention. He had a special destination in mind for her, a setting even more remote than the cabin. It wasn’t far, a short, quarter-mile hike up the mountain.
He rock-hopped all the way back to the rear door. It kept dirt from sticking to his clean feet. Inside, neither girl had budged. Josie slept, curled on the cot while Ashley stared at the ceiling, silently weeping.
Ricky anxiously put his clothes back on and began constructing a booby trap. The idea wasn’t complex. Fishing line, a couple nails, two pieces of rope, a chair, and a shotgun completed the devious contraption. He and Josie were leaving, and the next person through the front door was in for a big surprise.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Everything was black. Isaac opened his eyes, or at least thought he did. A blank canvas filled his vision. For a fleeting instant, he wondered if he were dead. Then pain. Death was supposed to be painless. What he currently felt was the antithesis of comfort.
Just as the channel of light had closed upon crashing, it began to expand. Daylight slipped in and, with it, an abysmal throb between his temples. It overwhelmed his ability to concentrate. He squinted, trying to filter the brightness. It helped, if only slightly. Worse, taking a breath seemed near impossible. The full weight of his upper body pressed into the shoulder harness of the seat belt. The aircraft, tipped perpendicular to the slope, held him suspended.
Isaac had personally witnessed a handful of plane crashes during his career. The first priority after going down is for pilots and passengers to escape the wreckage. He had no idea what kind of damage the Caravan had suffered. Fuel could be leaking and only a spark away from total annihilation. There was no way for him to tell how long he’d been unconscious. He had to move.
His fingers grappled for the seat belt release. It gave way, and he plunged face-first into the cracked windshield. His chest collided into the double-handled yoke. The impact knocked the wind out of him.
A sharp gasp refilled his lungs. Lying across the instrument panel, he curled into the fetal position. An agonizing groan permeated the otherwise hushed space. He clenched his jaw and tried to sort through the onslaught of abuse. Feeling short of breath and dizzy, a new kind of agony set in. He felt defeated.
The soles of his hiking boots kicked against the door. After the third contact, it flopped open. He went out feet first, scooted along, and pulled himself onto the mountain face below.
Now on terra firma, his equilibrium did not agree with the upright position. After two gangled steps away from the door, he fell over. Everything rotated around him, the sky, trees, and earth. Even his body seemed to spin on a perpetual merry-go-round. On his elbows, he army-crawled to a hewn trunk and managed to lean against it for support. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and did nothing. Each push and pull of his diaphragm discovered more satisfaction in the thin air. Slowly, his breathing steadied.
Isaac touched his scalp, right at the hairline. A wet feeling—something like tepid water pouring—covered his face. He knew it was blood, but had no idea how much. When he drew his hand away, it was saturated.
“Shit,” he said with quiet desperation.
He wiped his bloody palm down the side of his olive cargo pants, reached up, and gingerly probed around for the source. A loose flap of skin hung from above an eyebrow. When he pushed it into place, it fell back down. Without a shirt to use as a bandage, he had nothing to wrap the wound. Too much blood dribbled down his face and off his chin to go on without a compress.
In the fuselage of the Cessna, medical bins were stuffed with bandages, gauze, tape, and other emergency materials. The only way to help himself was to crawl inside the precariously propped rem
nants. He willed himself to act.
Inside, Isaac stood on the dash and climbed behind the front seats. Medical supplies were scattered everywhere. He found a roll of gauze, hurriedly wrapped it around his forehead, and immediately squelched the flow. He used a second roll to clear his eyes and face. Even though more places hurt and screamed for attention, none of them was the type he could treat on the fly. Bumps and bruises needed time, and time he did not have.
Every well-equipped aircraft carries a top-notch survival kit. Isaac located the bright orange bag with shoulder straps and yanked at the zipper. Within, he found the necessities for one to subsist in the wilderness.
The contents spilled onto the grassy earth. He only needed certain tools to get him through the next hour: a personal locator beacon, flashlight, knife, and water bottle. Bearing a light load would help conserve energy. He stowed the four items, threw in a trauma kit just in case, and closed the bag. If Josie were wounded, he wanted the means to treat her.
With the backpack over his shoulders, Isaac groaned and forced his legs into a jog. His throbbing head intensified in sync with each pump of his accelerated heart rate. Three minutes in, his lungs grew hungry. The physical demands on his body were worse than he’d thought. But he refused to use the burning lungs and wobbly legs as excuses to rest.
The terrain was rugged. He ran in the direction of the road, nearly twisting his ankles on shifting, slope-side rocks. If he could make it to the logging road—even with the added distance of a winding path—it would be faster than a direct line through the bush.
When he reached the hard-packed track, he relished the humble victory, and quickened his pace. Resolute, he vowed, I will save Josie or die trying.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Josie’s hands slapped against Ricky’s backside. She was slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Each step he made up the ridge toward the ghost town swayed her arms back and forth. The coincidental contact was not lost on him.
First Night of Summer Page 21