Fire and Ice: A Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 3)

by Dustin Stevens

  Shoving myself away, I slid in on my knees alongside Ferris, stopping just short of his boots. Tugging the MK-3 combat knife from the rear of my waistband, I made two long cuts along the outside seams of each leg, the charred material slicing easily beneath my blade.

  I gently lifted the fabric, and leaving the shards of metal in place to prevent further bleeding, I scooped up snow, one handful after another, and packed it tight around his legs.

  By the time I was finished the lower portion of Ferris’s body resembled the Michelin man. Once the jeans could take no more, I pulled the fabric back into place to try to keep as much of the snow packed tight as possible.

  Improvised and rough as hell, but if anything major was hit, it would help keep him from bleeding out, at least for a while, until I could get him to the hospital.

  As much as every part of me wanted to jump back in the truck, to put the headlights on the snow coach treads and follow them to Yvonne, there was no way I could do that. Not now.

  Ferris was unconscious, the lower half of his legs were mangled. There was no telling when he might come to, what state he would be in when he did.

  The man had come to me in good faith, had put himself out there to seek my aid, even when it was an unpopular decision.

  I owed him enough to make sure he got help before anything worse happened, like losing the use of both legs or even more worrisome, slipping into hypothermia while I pushed on.

  I could only hope the tracks I needed to find Yvonne Endicott would still be visible when I made it back.

  Rising to my feet, the wind continued to pull at my body, getting inside my jacket, touching the sweat that had formed in the small of my back. I could feel it pushing over the blood covering the bottom half of my face, crusting it to my skin, but paid it no mind.

  Instead, I hooked my fingers through Ferris’s armpits and dropped my backside toward the ground, using my bodyweight to leverage him backward. I pulled until his shoulders were flush with my ankles before backing away a few feet and repeating the process, not a sound or reaction coming from the man.

  Along the way I spotted the Kimber lying right where I had dropped it. Pausing just long enough to stow it next to the knife, I went straight back to tugging on the sheriff, my lungs beginning to burn.

  One foot at a time I pulled him, wishing we had parked closer, that the damn snow wasn’t so deep and unwieldy, making the smaller man feel like he weighed three times his normal weight.

  Using the rumbling sound of the diesel engine as a guide, I kept pulling backward, finally reaching my goal. Walking around by his feet, I took one arm and jerked his limp body up at the waist. Grabbing his coat with both hands, I hefted him up onto a shoulder, his legs still packed with snow.

  There was no way to know exactly how long it took me to get him back to the truck and wrestled inside. I just knew that by the time I did, I felt the way he looked, every part of my body aching, burning, wishing nothing more than to climb behind the wheel and turn the heater on high, go somewhere and sleep until this was all far behind me.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Finding the man flat on the floor, his arms and legs sprawled out away from him, felt like a bad dream to Yvonne Endicott, wishing nothing more than to be able to wake up from this terrible nightmare in her bed back in Atlanta, where it was warm, where things made sense.

  Where she belonged.

  After discovering that her plan had worked, that the crude electrocution device had rendered her captor unconscious, it had taken several minutes for her mind to compute what had happened. The whole time she had been planning, it always ended with her shoving the heater off the table. Not once had she considered how to handle things after.

  Seeing him lying on the ground, Yvonne’s first reaction had been to cry, feeling the emotions of the last day finally releasing. There was no sorrow from what she had done, no pity for the man lying prone on the ground, only the sobering realization of what she had been forced to do.

  Once the initial shock passed, her mind finally was able to force her body into action, piecing together the next steps, making a plan.

  There was no way she could stay in the barn. It was only a matter of time until the third one returned in the truck, no doubt armed, looking for the man now lying on the floor. She would not be able to hide what she had done, probably not even able to move the man if she tried, not wanting to for fear of waking him up.

  It would be plainly obvious what had transpired, no way to predict how things would play out without the clear leader of the group awake and calling the shots.

  Hiding wouldn’t work for the simple reason there was no place they wouldn’t find her in what was more or less an open room.

  The only option left was leaving this building, taking her chances against the storm outside. There was no way of knowing where she was, how far from anyone who could help her, but if given the choice between freezing in the snow and waiting to be executed inside, she had to take that risk.

  She had come too far not to.

  Going outside meant facing the cold, a prospect she was ill prepared for. Dressed for the floor of the emergency room, already she could notice a chill in the room without the ceramic heater, her scrubs and white coat doing nothing to keep her warm. For just the slightest moment she even wished she had been less faithful to her running regimen, allowing a layer of natural insulation to have built up, to protect her in moments such as this.

  Assessing first the man on the floor, she saw him wearing nothing more than a sleeveless shirt and jeans, both heavily soiled. She dismissed that thought, knowing neither was worth the risk they presented in getting them free.

  Turning her attention to the bed, she was careful to avoid the mess on the floor, picking her way over the remains of the heater as she crossed the room. Grabbing the blankets bunched at the man’s waist, she pulled them back, jerking the bottoms out from beneath his feet.

  Yet again, there was no response, his drug addled state rendering his system mute as she wadded the blankets into a ball, moving gingerly through the room and out into the barn.

  The smell of chemicals and moth balls met her nostrils as Yvonne dropped the clump to the floor and began peeling them apart, assessing what she had. Twice she glanced back into the room, checking to make sure both men were down, a thought occurring on the second glance, giving her pause.

  The man on the floor had been wearing a coat earlier.

  Dropping the blankets, Yvonne strode away from the room toward the tables stretched out before her, finding what she was looking for sprawled on the ground at the far end. Snatching it up from the floor, she pulled the heavy garment on around her, the nasty scent of old sweat clinging to the canvas material.

  At least two sizes too large, Yvonne tugged at the sleeves as she made her way back, stopping halfway, her second bit of good luck laying right out in the open. Never before had she seen such gloves, the material originally brown leather that had been stained black.

  Without thought, Yvonne grabbed them and shoved her hands inside, pushing them up under the cuffs of the coat, the gloves reaching almost to her elbows. Like the coat, the interior was slightly damp with sweat, both reeking badly of body odor.

  One last peek into the room showed neither man had moved. Her heart rate increasing, the clock in her head making her hyperaware of how long it had been since her captor went down, how much time she might have left, Yvonne snatched up the closest blanket and shoved it up under the bulky front of the coat.

  The wool material pressed tight against her as she bent over and took up a second blanket, forcing as much of it as she could under the back of the coat, leaving the tail of it hanging down over her legs.

  The third she draped over her head as she turned for the door, her pace increasing to a jog as she crossed the floor of the barn.

  She was warm for the moment, but there was no way of knowing how fierce the storm was, the sound of the wind outside the only indicator she’d had for the bett
er part of a day. Finding the coat and gloves had been a boon for sure, but her legs were woefully unprotected for trekking through snow, the thin cotton pants and running shoes not going to offer much help at all to whatever she might find outside.

  Her jog took her just short of the far wall, her attention sweeping over the length of it, searching for an exit that did not exist. The place had been built as a barn, only a single access point breaking up the solid metal exterior, that being the very same door she had heard opening and closing earlier.

  Feeling her stomach constrict, Yvonne paused before going to the single button mounted on the wall beside the door.

  Her pulse rising, Yvonne pressed it, the overhead motor rumbling to life with the same loud grinding of gears she remembered, a fierce plume of icy air hitting her in the face, threatening to lift the blanket away from her head.

  Taking two steps back away from the door, Yvonne waited, careful not to create a silhouette against the backlight of the barn. Counting off seconds in her head, she waited until the door was past the top of her head, every bit of her wanting no part of the world outside, at the same time knowing she had no choice.

  Gritting her teeth, clutching the blanket tight in front of her, Yvonne pushed out of the barn, setting her course at an angle.

  With the very first step she sank to her knee in the dense snow, cold enveloping her leg, pulling the air from her lungs. On the second, feeling fled from her bottom half, both legs growing numb, walking merely an exercise in muscle memory.

  Tears formed at the corners of her eyes as she made her way forward, bending at the waist, the wind whipping at her back, the tail of the blanket flapping behind her.

  Keep going.

  She just had to keep going.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Every few seconds Trick Reynolds glanced into the rearview mirror, seeing the scowl on Barnham’s face, the big man forced to sit upright, sharing his bench seat with Jasper.

  The smaller man seemed oblivious to the glares he was receiving, his focus aimed out the side window. Occasionally he would raise a hand to his mouth and gnaw on a fingernail, completely silent since they had all loaded into the coach and set off again.

  If he was in pain, or even noticed the gash above his left eye, he didn’t let on.

  Bringing him along wasn’t something Trick was especially keen on, though he conceded to the logic in doing it. At the moment they still had an arrangement with Cuddyer, and killing one of his men, especially his lackey, would not do much to preserve it.

  “Turn here,” Mac said from the passenger seat, extending a hand to the right, pointing out the top half of a sign just off the side of the road.

  While barely lifting his foot from the gas, Trick maneuvered the machine onto the side road, his body desperate to get out of the coach. What he might find or have to do in the coming hours he wasn’t excited about, but at the moment the simple thought of extricating himself from the vehicle, letting his aching body stretch, was most appealing.

  “Just another quarter mile,” Mac said, checking the GPS in his hand one more time before glancing up, his head tilting back slightly in surprise. “Right there, as a matter of fact.”

  Leaning forward, Trick glanced up ahead, seeing exactly what Mac had referenced, having the same reaction.

  There, shining like a beacon in the snow, was a bright light.

  Feeling a sense of dread, Trick propped his left hand over the steering wheel and turned in his seat, looking at Jasper still staring out at nothing.

  “Hey, you, is that the place?”

  There was no response at all, the man catatonic, his eyes glassy, as if he might burst into tears at any moment.

  “Hey! Jasper!” Trick snapped, letting everyone hear the growing frustration he felt. “That the place?”

  The raised tone, the angry tenor, together managed to penetrate Jasper’s mind. Snapping his hand down from his mouth, he looked to the rearview mirror, matching Trick’s gaze, before leaning forward between the front seats.

  The smell of chemicals and intense body odor followed him, Trick and Mac both leaning toward their respective windows as Jasper stood frozen between them, a hand on the back of either seat.

  “Why’s Cuddy got the door open?” Jasper asked, his voice relaying the surprise that was plastered across his face.

  Who he was posing the question to, or who he thought would answer, Trick had no idea, his agitation only growing more pronounced.

  “It’s not supposed to be up?”

  “It wasn’t when I left,” Jasper said. “And the truck is back there, so I don’t know why he’d have it open.”

  Agitation gave way to anger as Trick leaned forward, using his elbow to leverage Jasper back into his seat. Lifting himself up a few inches, he adjusted the front of his snow suit, watching the light grow closer.

  For as annoying as Jasper’s presence had been, in this particular case he wasn’t wrong. There weren’t many reasons why anybody would leave a door that large standing open, especially in a snowstorm, the temperatures below freezing.

  Even worse, the storm was bringing an early evening to the area, the light from within the barn standing out, easily visible to anybody approaching.

  Not exactly the type of thing somebody running an illicit operation wanted to be doing.

  Glancing to the sat phone on the dash, Trick considered calling Wood to tell him things were not good, to prep him for the bad news that surely lay ahead, before thinking better of it.

  He would assess things completely before making the call, the only question in his mind being how much damage control he was going to have to do before returning home.

  The faintest outline of tracks could be seen cutting through the snow along the right side of the road, Trick easing back just slightly on the gas and veering the coach to follow them toward the barn. The heavy van jostled hard twice as they left the road, each man getting lifted from his seat before settling back in, the metal frame groaning a few times in protest as it continued to move forward.

  The world seemed to darken even further as thick trees crowded in on either side, lodge pole pines with their boughs heavily weighted by snow. Together they managed to blot out any rays of light that were making it through the gray sky, the headlights of the van and the open door the only illumination.

  Aiming the van right at the opening, Trick kept the gas steady as the front end of the tracks rolled up onto asphalt. On contact the ride became easier as the machine leveled out, the whine of the engine receding.

  Pushing them far enough inside so that the van and the trailer were both on the concrete, Trick cut the engine, sitting behind the wheel, surveying the scene before them.

  It was the first time he’d been inside since construction had taken place six months prior, the place a near replica of the holding facility used by The Dogs for their winter gear. Large and open, the ceiling was almost 20 feet high, the walls metal, strips of insulation filling the gaps between studs.

  Given what had taken place at the previous lab, with all the supplies stored inside it was a fire hazard to say the least, but not something Trick was overly keen on analyzing at the moment.

  Twin rows of workbenches lined most of the middle of the room, a makeshift lab coming together. Along the back wall appeared to be enough raw material to keep them running for quite some time, certainly enough to take back to Chance should they need to look elsewhere for their product.

  Along the left side of the room was a small room that had been built out from the side of the barn, a door standing open in the center of it.

  As far as Trick could tell, there wasn’t a soul moving anywhere about.

  “Did they open the door to go outside and take a piss?” Mac asked, noticing the desolation of the room and being the first to comment on it.

  “No,” Jasper whispered, his voice surprising both men in the front seat. “The can is back in the corner behind us.”

  “Then where the hell are they?�
�� Trick asked, turning over his shoulder, directing the statement at Jasper.

  “I don’t know,” Jasper replied, the word said low and fast, coming out as one long jumble, just barely decipherable.

  Again, feeling a pang of irritation, Trick pushed open his door and stepped out, the interior temperature of the barn almost identical to what it had been outside.

  For whatever reason the door was open, it had been that way for a while.

  On the opposite side of the van the other three climbed out, the sound of their boots echoing through the building, disturbing the almost spooky stillness.

  The thought of asking Jasper if there was any way for Cuddyer to have made a run for it, to have had another vehicle and just vanish into the night, passed through Trick’s mind, replaced only by his strong desire not to engage Jasper in any further conversation. Instead, he walked straight for the room ahead, stopping just outside the door and peering in.

  “You have got to be shitting me,” he said aloud, turning to glance at the others, Mac and Barnham walking toward him, Jasper staying back a few steps.

  Remaining rooted in place, he leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, allowing the others to see past him into the room.

  Along the back wall was a rusted bed with a thin mattress, Elias lying on top, his shirt raised to his chin, his body chewed up by what Trick figured could be anything from burns to Ebola.

  Five feet away, lying splayed out on the floor, was Cuddyer. Face down, head turned to the side, his body was spread out like a starfish, a small ceramic heater on the ground between his feet, the smell of piss in the air.

  In his time, Trick thought he had seen it all. Riding with a crew like The Dogs, he had witnessed some horrific things, seen fights that spiraled well out of control, seen things done to bodies that should never be done.

  Still, he could never remember seeing a scene like this.

  “What the hell?” Barnham asked.