by Al Lamanda
Peck removed the pillow from McCoy’s face and de-cocked the hammer on the revolver. A large mark from the revolver glowed red on the side of McCoy’s face.
“But he won’t tell you anything,” McCoy said.
“Why?”
McCoy hesitated, then said, “Because the answers might kill you, that’s why.”
Peck motioned with the revolver. “Get dressed.”
Suddenly, from outside the bedroom, the sound of an approaching car filtered through the bedroom door. The engine shut down and a car door opened.
Peck looked at McCoy. “Expecting company?”
McCoy jumped off the bed. “Help,” he screamed. “In here.”
Peck smacked the revolver against McCoy’s face again, knocking him to the floor. “Hush,” Peck said.
Peck stood behind the door and waited. The door opened and two of Reese’s men cautiously entered. They spotted McCoy on the floor and rushed to him. Peck jumped out from behind the door, struck one man in the face with the revolver and clubbed the second man over the head. They fell unconscious to the floor near McCoy’s bed.
“No time to get dressed now,” Peck said and yanked McCoy to his feet. “Let’s go. Move.”
Bleeding from the nose and mouth, McCoy looked at Peck. “Go? Go where?”
From a hundred yards deep in the woods, Peck and McCoy lay in the snow and watched the scene unfold at Peck’s house. The activity was near chaotic.
An ambulance and two cars were parked along the dirt road directly in front of the house. Several men in Army uniforms stood around and smoked cigarettes, seemingly unsure of what to do. Two men in white coats carried Bender out on a stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance.
Watching, Peck’s house, wearing only pajamas and bedroom slippers, McCoy shivered against the snow. “I’m fucking freezing, Dave.”
“Shut up,” Peck snapped.
“I’m in my Goddamn pajamas. My feet are getting frostbite.”
“I told you to get dressed.” Peck turned to look at McCoy’s feet. “Now shut up or I’ll shut you up. Which?”
Peck watched the two men in white coats slam the ambulance doors closed and wave to the soldiers as they boarded the ambulance.
“Am I imagining that, Tom?” Peck said. “Those soldiers and that ambulance, is that my imagination run wild?”
“No, they’re there.” McCoy admitted. “Because those are National Guard called up by the governor at your request. That ambulance also appears to be curtsey of the Guard as well.”
Peck turned to look at McCoy.
“That’s right, Dave. You would know that if you were not running around the woods all night, playing John Wayne.
In spite of the frigid temperature, Peck began to sweat. “Bender attacked me. He knew things, martial arts. He said he was there to take me in.”
“Bender was in the Army, like you. They teach that stuff in the Army, don’t they?”
“No,” Peck said. “You’re lying. I saw you shout orders at Reese. You called him CIA after you examined Linda Boyce.”
“Are you sure? Are you positive?”
Peck wiped sweat from his face as he stared at his house. “No. I mean yes, I am positive. You’re trying to confuse me and it won’t work.”
McCoy said, “Linda Boyce is a diabetic. Reese was supposed to make sure she got her insulin shot. He did not. She was going into shock. Did I yell at him? You bet your ass I did. He almost killed her with his incompetence, the fool.”
Struggling to breathe, feeling as if his lungs were filling with water, Peck felt a twinge of pain between his eyes. He reached into a pocket for the pills, opened the cap and swallowed three. He looked at McCoy. “You called Reese CIA. I heard you.”
“You heard me through a wall from how far away?”
Peck grabbed McCoy by the pajama shirt and pulled him close. “Bullshit. I heard you. Mr. CIA you called him.”
“Are you going to beat me up again?” McCoy said. “Is that your new style, roughing up doctors who are trying to help you?”
Peck looked at his hand on McCoy’ pajama shirt, then pushed the doctor away. “I heard you,” Peck said. “I don’t care what you say, I heard you.”
An Army Jeep unexpectedly arrived at Peck’s house with two additional soldiers. They joined the first two soldiers and engaged in a heated discussion as if trying to reach some sort of decision.
“See that, Tom? Those are reinforcements. Why would that be necessary if what you’re saying is true?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re running around the woods killing people,” McCoy said.
“I don’t think so,” Peck said. He stared at the soldiers. One of them pointed to the tracks Peck made earlier when he drove his snowmobile up the front porch. “You said Kranston’s answers would kill me. What did you mean by that?” The soldiers traced the second set of snowmobile tracks Peck made earlier when he left his house.
McCoy failed to respond and after several seconds, Peck turned to discover the doctor had vanished. Peck had underestimated McCoy’s resiliency and the man had taken advantage of his momentary distraction and run off.
Suddenly, McCoy emerged from the woods near the soldiers. McCoy grabbed a soldier and pointed to the woods, directly at Peck.
“Shit,” Peck said.
As the soldiers took off in his direction, Peck stood up from behind the tree and ran deeper into the woods where the snowmobile was parked.
When he finally slowed the snowmobile to a stop in a clearing, Peck had no idea if he was still within the boundaries of Dunston Falls. The fence he encountered earlier may not skirt the entire property line. He may have stumbled upon an opening and drove through it. He could be in Canada or New Hampshire for all he knew. Either way, it did not matter.
What did matter was that he had to find shelter, safety and food.
Peck dismounted the snowmobile and smoked a cigarette as the sun rose. He could hardly believe it when he spotted an old cabin at first light a hundred yards directly in front of him.
Peck drove the snowmobile as close to the cabin as possible, then walked the remaining ten feet through waist high snow to the front door.
The door fell inward simply by leaning on it. Peck entered the one room cabin and looked around. Hunters had abandoned the cabin many years ago, was his guess.
A rickety table with two chairs occupied the center of the one room. The sink was a wood box with a hand pump, rusted solid. A double bed with springs showing through the mattress sat against the wall under a window. A corroded, woodstove took up the corner opposite the bed. Peck inspected the stove and it wasn’t air tight, but still capable of holding a fire. Its stovepipe chimney rose up to the ceiling where it poked through.
Returning to the snowmobile, Peck drove it to the rear of the cabin and hid it in a snowdrift. There was half a thermos of coffee left in the saddlebag and he brought it inside the cabin.
Sipping coffee, Peck sat in a chair and smoked a cigarette. Exhaustion began to seep into his body and slow his thought process. He needed to sleep.
Standing, Peck took a chair and smashed it on the floor. He placed the broken pieces of wood into the woodstove, and then searched the cabin for some kind of starter. He found dozens of old newspapers in a drawer next to what used to be a sink, crinkled some of them and stuffed them into the woodstove. He lit the newspaper with his lighter. They burned quickly, the fire took hold, and the chair pieces burned.
After replacing the door, the tiny cabin was nearly airtight and it warmed within minutes.
Drained of all energy, Peck lay down on the lumpy, old bed, positioned himself in such a way as to avoid the mattress springs and was asleep within seconds.
Night had fallen by the time Peck stirred on the bed. He awoke, stood up and stretched the kinks from his back. He was beginning to feel his age, which at that moment felt more like eighty-three than fifty-three.
Outside the cabin, Peck could hear the winds of a new storm
approaching. He peeked through the door and fresh snow was falling. His tracks were already covered. If they were searching for him, and Peck was sure that they were, it would be impossible to trail him to the cabin. They would have to wait out the storm, which bought him additional time. But, time to do what?
Peck used more of the old newspapers to start another fire made from the second chair. As the cabin warmed, he searched the drawers and cabinets above and below the old sink and discovered four unopened cans of baked beans. Hidden in an old coffee can under the sink, Peck found a sealed pint bottle of bourbon.
Using the utility knife on his belt, Peck opened a can of beans and set it on the fire to heat. He sat on the bed, cracked the seal on the bourbon and took a thirsty swallow. The liquor immediately heated his stomach. After a second swallow, the warmth spread to his entire body. Carefully, he poured a small amount of bourbon into the open can of beans.
He lit a cigarette. Okay, so he would not starve or freeze to death in the immediate future. That was not nearly good enough. He needed food, supplies, and most of all answers.
As Peck thought, the can of beans bubbled over on the woodstove. He removed it and used the utility knife to spoon beans into his mouth. He washed the meal down with several more hits of bourbon.
The snow was falling harder when he left the cabin and mounted the snowmobile. There was half a tank of gas left and he needed more fuel. He decided to go shopping.
At the intersection of a fire road deep into the woods, Peck shut down the engine and sat still for several seconds, straining his hearing. Sound traveled exceptionally well at night and even better when it snowed. In the far distance, he heard the rumbling of snowmobile engines.
They were looking for him.
Peck started the engine and drove along the fire road until he spotted a small house set back off the road. He parked the snowmobile several hundred feet from the house and stayed along the tree line as he approached it on foot.
The house was dark and quiet. Its residents were probably still in town at one of the shelters. Peck went to the front door and found it unlocked. He entered, using his flashlight to guide him into the house where he searched the rooms on the first floor. Nobody was home. There was a spiral staircase adjacent to the living room, which probably led to a second floor, master bedroom. He skipped searching the second floor and went directly to the kitchen.
The cabinets were full of caned goods, bottled water and packaged foods. Hidden below the sink, wrapped in a towel was a carton of cigarettes. Peck ripped the curtains off a kitchen window and loaded as much as he could fit onto the material and tied it into a knot. As an afterthought, he took four packs of cigarettes from the carton. They weren’t his brand, but they would do.
Peck was about to exit the house and search the shed out back for gasoline when he heard a noise from the second floor. He paused, waited and heard it again. He strained his hearing, still unsure of what the noise was, but it sounded like a footstep.
Peck set the sack of goods on the floor and drew his revolver. He approached the spiral staircase and slowly, silently ascended it. At the top of the landing was a single door and it was closed. Peck replaced the flashlight into his belt and stood close to the door to listen.
There was the sound of breathing, labored and strained as if someone were struggling desperately to breathe.
He looked down to the bottom of the door and flickering light reflected on the wood floor. The light of a candle, he guessed. Grabbing his flashlight, Peck took hold of the doorknob, counted to three and shoved open the door.
A naked woman, tied with rope to the bed jumped as Peck entered the bedroom. Her mouth, bound with duct tape muffled her scream. As Peck took a step toward the bed, she signaled him with her eyes.
Peck spun around a second too late and the man in the ski mask smashed the revolver from his hand with a fireplace log. As the gun hit the floor, the man in the ski mask swung the log again and hit Peck in the face. Peck partially blocked the log with his arms, but the force of the blow was enough to knock him down.
From the floor, Peck looked up and saw the man in the ski mask take off running. Peck shook off the effects of the blow, picked himself up and gave chase.
By the time Peck reached the first floor, the man in the ski mask was at the door. He ran outside and Peck followed, but the man in the ski mask had already disappeared into the woods by the time Peck reached the fringe of the fire road. He stared into the dark woods, trying to pick up his trail, but it was no use. He could be heading in any direction and if Peck chose the wrong way he could wind up turned around and lost until morning.
Peck returned to the house where he cut the woman loose. She had an immediate breakdown. He did his best to console her as he slipped a robe over her shoulders. Peck poured two stiff drinks from the first floor bar and gave her one.
“He won’t be back,” Peck reassured her.
“How do you know?” the woman sobbed between sips of her drink.
“Because you’re still alive and I’m a witness.””
“But, you’ll catch him?” She looked Peck in the eye. “You will catch him, won’t you, sheriff?”
Peck nodded.
“He was going to kill me,” the woman said and cried openly again.
“But he didn’t and you’re still alive and that’s what you need to think about,” Peck said.
She nodded. “How did you know? That he was here, I mean.”
“I didn’t,” Peck said, thinking fast. “I was patrolling the woods, hoping to run across him. I guess I just got lucky.”
The woman nodded again. “It was me that got lucky,” she said. Peck studied her face. She was about fifty and attractive. He remembered her from church. She sat close to the front during last Sunday’s mass. If nothing else, Peck took some satisfaction in the knowledge that he was right; the killer was using the church to select his victims. How he knew the names and addresses of the victims he selected was another matter. One he would study later when there was more time. If there was more time?
“I’ll need my gun,” Peck said. He returned to the bedroom and retrieved it from the floor. He also found the kitchen knife the man in the ski mask would have used to cut the woman open.
Entering the living room where the woman sat on the sofa, Peck said, “I have to go if I’m going to pick up his trail.”
“You’re leaving me?” the woman protested. “What if he comes back?”
“He won’t, I told you. And the longer I wait the less chance I have of catching up to him.”
The woman began to cry again.
Peck said, “Does your car run?”
The woman sobbed into her hands.
“Your car, does it run?”
The woman raised her face. Dark streaks ran down her cheeks. “Yes.”
“Get in it and drive to town and stay at the hospital until we catch him. You’ll be safe there.”
“Will you wait at least until I get dressed?”
“Yes.”
While the woman returned to the bedroom to change, Peck carried the sack of goods he gathered earlier to his snowmobile. When he returned, the woman was ready.
“Drive straight to the hospital,” Peck told the woman as she entered her car.
He waited for her to start the engine and drive away on the ice covered, dirt road before he returned to the snowmobile.
It was after midnight by the time Peck returned to the deserted cabin. He ripped off cabinet doors, broke them into pieces, and loaded the wood into the woodstove. He rolled sheets of old, yellow newspaper into logs, stuffed them around the wood and used them to ignite a fire.
With a hand held can opener he took from the woman’s house, Peck opened a can of beef stew and baked beans, and set them on the woodstove. He ate a chocolate bar from her kitchen while he waited for the food to heat.
He sat on the bed, lit a cigarette, opened the bottle of bourbon to clear the taste of chocolate from his tongue and mulled things
over in his mind. Absolutely nothing made sense. The killer of women and a state trooper ran free while he was the hunted. It was just dumb luck he chose that woman’s house to rummage and saved her life. Ten minutes later and he would have stumbled upon victim number four.
Gasoline. He forgot to check the shed for gasoline. There was a quarter of a tank left in the snowmobile. If he were to make a run for the next town, he would need a full tank and maybe extra. He would have to venture out and find a place to fill up.
The stew and beans boiled over and Peck removed them from the woodstove. He ate at the bed and too tired to think anymore, laid down for some much needed sleep.
The dream crept into his sleep as a black cloud in the back of his mind. Slowly, the cloud took shape and color until the form of a young boy appeared. The young boy was on the fireman’s ladder, reaching for help as flames raged all around him. The boy’s face seemed strangely familiar as he cried loudly for help. The fireman came into view. His out of focus face slowly materialized. The fireman was Peck as a younger man.
In his sleep, Peck gasped and twisted violently on the bed, but didn’t wake up.
The dream continued.
He reached for the boy and pulled him to the safety of the ladder. Suddenly from above, burning debris fell from the building and struck the ladder. The boy tried to hold on, but lost his grip. Peck reached for the boy, but the boy fell several flights to his death. Horrified, Peck watched as the boy struck the sidewalk below.
Yelling in his sleep, Peck woke himself with a start and sat up on the bed, gasping for breath. It took several seconds for him to regain his bearings and remember he was alone in the old cabin. He stood up and opened the door for some fresh air to clear his head. The morning sun was warm on his face. The storm had passed and the sky was clear and bright. He lit a cigarette and smoked as he looked at the freshly fallen snow. His tracks were completely covered. He was safe for one more day, but he would have to make his move soon to escape Reese and his men. It struck him then, escape to where? And to do what?