All That I Dread

by Linda J White

  I ran to the front of the barn. I got there just in time to see Nate dragging that deputy toward the open barn door. I ran in, grabbed the guy’s other arm, and together we extricated him. Coughing and choking, I turned just in time to see Nate run back into the inferno.

  Why?

  The dog, of course. Nate was after the dog.

  I went in after Nate.

  The fire was so intense, it felt like the flames of hell. Whatever was stored in there—hay, straw, fuel—was burning hot. That barnwood had been drying for a hundred years and was ready to burn.

  I could hear Nate ahead of me, coughing. I saw his back through all the smoke, then I saw him bend down. When I caught up to him, he had the dog in his arms. He also was choking on smoke.

  “Here,” Nate said, shoving the dog toward me.

  I assumed he’d follow me. I got the dog to where Martin was crouched over Foster. I put the dog on the ground, and I turned back to Nate.

  He was nowhere to be seen. Why hadn’t he followed me?

  So I went back in the barn. By this time, I could hear the shouts of the other officers. I moved toward where I’d last seen Nate, covering my face with my sleeve, peering into the thick, gray smoke.

  Then I saw him. He’d collapsed.

  “Nate!” I yelled.

  Before I could get to him, there was a flash of light, a loud boom, and the barn exploded again. I covered my face. And when I looked up, I saw the unthinkable. A part of the barn wall had fallen on Nate. He was trapped!

  “Help!” I yelled. “Help us.” Two shouts were all I could manage. I bent down and found Nate struggling to breathe. His eyes were wide open. He was terrified.

  I grabbed a sturdy hay rake and tried to move the burning rubble off his leg. He was panicking. I knew he didn’t have enough air for that.

  Scott showed up. Scott and two others. “He’s trapped!” I said.

  By now, the thick smoke had us all coughing and gasping for air. One of the guys grabbed the hay rake from me.

  “Get that!” Scott said to the second man, gesturing toward a metal rod.

  I crouched down and tried to calm Nate. I knew he’d pass out if he couldn’t slow down his breathing.

  I grabbed his hand. “We got you, Nate. Breathe. Breathe, Nate. We’re going to get you out.”

  He squeezed my hand and released it. Then he squeezed it again and this time, did not let go. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw they were using lengths of wood and the hay rake and the rod to move the large beam that had fallen on him.

  “Nate, hang on. Hang on!” I said, my voice breaking. I saw the agony in his face, the wild fear in his eyes. “Please, Nate, breathe. Breathe like you taught me.” I couldn’t remember the breathing pattern, but it didn’t matter. It was obvious he was too panicked for that.

  “Move him now,” I heard Scott say.

  I grabbed Nate’s arm, and another guy grabbed his other arm, and we pulled him out of that rubble while his screams rang in our ears.

  We carried Nate out of the barn and laid him on the grass a safe distance away. I knelt down next to him. I couldn’t look at his leg. “Breathe, Nate. Come on,” I urged. “Breathe!”

  “I got him.” An EMT dropped down next to me.

  I moved to give him room. As I stood up, I saw another EMT bending over Foster. I watched, coughing, as the EMT placed a mask over Nate’s face. Beyond him, the lights of an ambulance flashed.

  “Jess!”

  I turned and saw Scott leaning over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. And then I thought of Luke, and my sister, and that Gator that had disappeared over the hill.

  “Scott.” I had a coughing fit. I stumbled over to him and told him what I’d seen.

  He looked at me, his eyes watering from the smoke. “C’mon, let’s go.”

  I looked back at Nate. “I can’t leave him!”

  “They’ve got him. There’s nothing more you can do right now.”

  I knew Scott was right, but I was shaking with fear for Nate.

  “Let’s go,” Scott said. “Show me where they went.”

  Reluctantly, I turned to leave.

  48

  Scott grabbed a couple of other deputies and commandeered one of the Ford Interceptors, a smaller SUV than Scott’s Bucar. We drove to the back of the barn, where I’d seen the people leave, and continued toward the woods. We were both coughing and hacking, and if I hadn’t been so adrenalized, I think I would have passed out.

  My mind was split two ways: Ahead of me was my dog and maybe my sister. Behind me, was Nate. I couldn’t get his screams out of my head. I felt like I was leaving half my heart with him.

  As we drove, Scott dropped a bombshell on me. “Your old police captain called me on the way here.”

  I turned to him, incredulous.

  “We think this guy, Junior Jones, may be the same Charles Jones Jr. you had a run-in with three years ago.”

  I felt my neck tighten. “Wow. So I was right.”

  Scott continued. “We got an address. We’re getting a search warrant. He’s about the same age, he’s a woodchuck, he lived in Fairfax with his girlfriend three years ago, and the girlfriend fits the profile. A Fairfax detective is tracking her down now to see if she can help us.”

  I couldn’t believe it. The same guy we’d found choking his girlfriend, the guy who killed my partner, the guy on the run for three years—this was the guy we were chasing?

  As we drew closer to the woods, we saw an opening and a path that led down from there, a path too narrow for the Interceptor. We piled out, and the deputy driving grabbed the shotgun. “Split up,” Scott said. “Jess, you’re with me.”

  As the deputies moved off, Scott said, “You have a concealed carry permit?”

  I nodded.

  “But you’re not carrying?”

  “No.”

  About fifty feet down that trail, we found the Gator, overturned in a ditch. Then I heard something crashing through the woods. My heart jumped. I whistled, and my dog Luke came running, his leash trailing behind him. “Luke! Oh, good boy!”

  “You go back now,” Scott said.

  “What?” I stared at Scott, incredulous.

  “You got your dog. Now go back before one of you gets hurt.”

  I raised myself to my full height, which admittedly wasn’t much. “My sister is still in these woods.” My words were clipped. “There is no way I’m leaving ‘til we find her.” My heart drummed in my chest. Were we going to have a fight right here in these woods?

  Scott glared at me. I braced myself. My jaw tightened. Then I saw the slightest relaxation of the skin around his eyes, and I took advantage of it. “Let’s do this together, Scott. Together.”

  He hesitated. “All right,” he said. “But take this.” He handed me his backup weapon. I hadn’t had a gun in my hand for three years. It felt good.

  “Luke can find any human,” I said. “You want me to ask him to?”

  “There’s a risk to him,” Scott said. “Jones could be armed.”

  “I know.”

  “Your call.”

  Of course, I didn’t want Luke shot. But the woods were deep and dark, and I thought he could help us find this guy, or my sister. I settled him, got him sitting at heel, removed his leash, and said, “Seek!” He didn’t have his vest on, but apparently, in his mind that wasn’t a requirement.

  Luke took off running, and we did our best to follow. Neither of us had much lung capacity left. Three minutes later, Luke ran back. I wasn’t wearing a tug on my belt, so he reverted to his original indication and jumped up on me. Fortunately, Scott was behind me and caught me. “He’s got somebody,” I said. “Let’s go!”

  We followed the dog until Scott suddenly grabbed my arm. He thought he could see someone ahead. Then we heard a man cry out, “Get off! Get away!” Luke had found somebody and that somebody was afraid of my dog.

  Scott motioned for us to split up. He’d go left, and I’d go right.

&nb
sp; Luke came back, confused about why I wasn’t going straight to the “human” he’d found. I motioned for him to heel with my hand. That was the first time I’d ever used the hand signal alone, but he did it. I clipped on his leash. I wanted him close.

  I listened carefully. I could still see Scott about twenty feet from me. We diverged further and circled.

  Thoughts raced through my mind. I still didn’t know where my sister was. I was terrified Nate would die. I had to get the guy Luke had found. Was it really Charles Jones Jr.? The man who killed those women? The man who killed my partner?

  The wind was still high, and the woods dark as pitch. I could smell the humus, the dampness from the rain. An owl took off from a nearby tree, his wings whooshing through the air, making me jump. I stayed low, trying not to cough, trying to pierce the darkness with my watery eyes.

  Suddenly, to my left, I heard Scott say, “FBI, put your hands up!”

  Clutching my gun, I moved closer, Luke with me. I saw him look at me, then look at the man, then back to me again. He’d never seen me in a tactical situation.

  “I didn’t do nothing!” Jones said.

  That voice! Suddenly, I saw images and heard sounds from three years ago. My heart beat harder.

  “Hands up!” Scott yelled.

  I crept low. I saw Jones, a muscular guy wearing overalls and a jacket. He was looking away from me, but he had his hands up. Still, I raised my gun, my heart beating so hard I was afraid he could hear it. I didn’t notice Luke’s leash slip from my grasp.

  Then, horrified, I saw Scott stumble. He stepped in a hole, or tripped over a log, or got tangled in a bramble. He fell and this man reached inside his jacket. “Junior Jones!” I yelled.

  He turned to me, surprised. My flashlight caught metal, and I squeezed the trigger three times.

  Luke leaped on Jones just as I fired. The two of them went down in a heap. Had I shot Luke? Had I shot my dog?

  Scott scrambled to his feet. We both raced toward the man and the dog.

  “Luke, Luke!”

  The dog rolled over and got up. I grabbed his collar. Scott took control of the suspect who groaned loudly. I heard Scott call on the radio. “Suspect’s down. I need a medic.”

  Meanwhile, I ran my hands over Luke’s body, searching for blood, searching for wounds. He was licking my face and wagging, like he was so proud of himself.

  “Jess!” Scott shouted. “Is he okay?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Come here, then.”

  I raced over to Scott. He had his knee on Junior Jones’s back. “You cuff him,” he said, holding out his handcuffs. “This is your collar.”

  When Scott handed me those cuffs, I saw something in his eyes—respect. A frozen part of me thawed. A wall crumbled. I grabbed those cuffs and put them on tight. Really tight.

  49

  “Where’s he shot?” I asked.

  “Looks like his arm,” Scott said, shining his flashlight on the suspect.

  I’d aimed for Junior Jones’s center of mass—his chest—but when Luke knocked him down, he’d twisted, and one of my bullets caught mostly his shoulder and upper arm. How my other shots missed Luke, I’ll never know.

  I’m guessing Nate would call it grace.

  I turned Charles Jones Jr. over. When I saw his face, not only did I remember him, he remembered me. “You!” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t mean to kill him. Honest! I was scared. I was trapped. I had to get out!”

  I swear I saw tears in his eyes. I grabbed his shirt at the collar. “Where are they? Where are the women?”

  He shook his head. “They got away.” And he began crying. Crying.

  But I wanted more information. I got ready to exert pressure.

  Scott touched my arm. “Go. Take your dog.”

  Just then, his radio squawked. “We got the girls.”

  Girls. “Ask what their names are.”

  Scott repeated my question into the mic.

  “Laney Collier and Brooke Anderson. They’re scared but fine.”

  Tears of relief flooded my eyes.

  “Go see your sister,” Scott said. “I got this.”

  Exhaustion had turned my legs to spaghetti. They couldn’t carry me out of those woods fast enough. But minutes later, I was standing in the field looking at my sister in the light of a blazing barn.

  We both cried. We held each other so tightly I thought we would melt together.

  I released Brooke, pulled out my phone, and called our mother. Then everybody was crying.

  I blew my nose while Brooke talked to Mom. I turned to the deputy who would accompany Brooke and Laney to the hospital. “Where will you take them?”

  She gave me the name of a hospital forty-five minutes away. “It’s the closest one.”

  “Our parents will meet you there,” I said.

  Brooke handed me back my phone, and I told our parents where to meet her. When I clicked the phone off, she gave me another hug. “Thank you, sis. I hoped you’d find me. You and your beautiful dog.” She bent down and hugged Luke.

  “What were you doing? How did you get here?” I asked her.

  “I saw Laney leave the party really, really drunk. And I felt like someone should keep an eye on her. Maybe give her a ride. So I followed her out. She could barely walk. But before I could catch up to her, she got into this guy’s truck.” Tears streamed down Brooke’s face as she told the story.

  “I was scared for her! So I followed them. He turned down this lane, and … and … I figured if I followed on foot it might be better. So I pulled off the road and went through the woods. He was going really slow. I could see his headlights.”

  “Did you think of calling the cops?”

  Brooke shrugged. “By the time I did, I’d lost my phone.”

  “I know where it is. Luke found it,” I said. “So what happened next?”

  “I saw a light in the back of the barn and crept back there. I saw him walk up toward that house. I ran in. Laney was all tied up. I tried freeing her, but he came back!” She started sobbing. “He caught me too!”

  I pulled a ragged tissue out of my pocket and handed it to her.

  “But you know what? He couldn’t figure out what to do with two of us. I mean, he’s kind of simple.”

  “Oh, Brooke!” I hugged her again.

  “I’m okay, sis,” she said. “He didn’t do anything to us. We were just terrified he was going to kill us.”

  Moments later, after more tears and hugs, I watched her climb into the deputy’s Interceptor. My crazy, brave little sister.

  But now that she was safe, my mind shifted to Nate. Honestly, he had really never left me. I needed to find Nate. But the heat from that fire and the brightness of the flames reminded me that I didn’t even know if he was alive.

  I saw the sheriff and tried to ask him, but he was surrounded by firemen and deputies and either didn’t hear my question or ignored me. Then I saw Scott. He and a deputy were walking Junior Jones out of the woods. Our eyes met. He grabbed another deputy to help with Jones and came to me.

  “What’s up?”

  “I want to see Nate. I need to find Nate.” I felt tears forming again.

  His voice was gentle but firm. “Jess, I don’t want you to drive. Do you hear me?”

  I nodded, too tired to fight.

  “I’ll have someone take you.”

  “Luke…”

  “Could another SAR team member take him?”

  “Yeah, sure. Susan.” I was so compliant I barely recognized myself. “Susan can take care of him and Sprite.” Then I thought of something. “I need his crate.”

  “Give me the gun. I’ll have a deputy drive you up to your car. You can put Luke in the crate, and the deputy will stay with him until Susan comes. Dana will meet you there.”

  I handed him his backup weapon, which he put in an evidence bag. “Don’t worry, it was a good shoot. Jones had a gun too.” Then, he picked up his radi
o and called Dana.

  I turned to my dog. The light of the fire flickered in Luke’s beautiful eyes. “I love you. You’re a good, good dog.” Luke thumped his tail. “You need to stay with Sprite for a while, but I’ll see you soon.”

  “You saved two women, nabbed a fugitive, and probably saved my life,” Scott said. “You’ve had a good day, Jess. I agree with Nate. You’ve got grit.” He hugged me, and he probably meant it to be a quick hug, but I held onto him even when I felt his grip loosen. I needed his strength right then. I was so scared for Nate. As I looked over his shoulder, my smoke-stung, teary eyes were filled with the light of that barn fire. And in the middle of the flames, so hot they were white, I swear I saw a cross.

  Fifteen minutes later, I sat in the front passenger seat of my own Jeep, flying down Interstate 81. Thankfully, Dana had been smart enough to find out where we were going before we left. Nate had been transported to the same hospital as my sister, but then he’d been airlifted to the Level 1 trauma center in Charlottesville.

  We pulled off at the first truck stop so I could get cleaned up. Dana suggested I buy something to eat, but nothing appealed to me. She finally grabbed a yogurt and a fruit smoothie and shoved them into my hands.

  “Put something on your stomach,” she said.

  It’s not just men who can be pushy.

  Still, I knew she was right. I drank the smoothie as we got back on the road and found myself drifting into much-needed sleep.

  It was a good thing. When we got to the hospital, Dana handed me my car keys and took off. She said she’d take an Uber to the state police barracks where she’d get a ride home.

  I walked into that hospital alone and terrified. I didn’t know if Nate was dead or alive, but bright images of the agony he’d been in played in my mind. I practiced my breathing. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Then I went to the information desk.

  The volunteer finally tracked Nate down. He was in surgery. So at least he was alive. She told me where to find the surgical waiting room, where I identified myself to the receptionist. A few minutes later, a nurse appeared with a clipboard in her hand.