Flight of the Scarlet Tanager

by Bevill, C. L.

  “My father used to call me a scarlet tanager,” she said quietly, looking at the place the owl had been, reminding her of times long in the past. “When he was alive, he had a thing for birds. Loved to bird watch. He’d take us out to places where it looked like no one had ever been, and just sit and watch for unusual birds. It’s what I remember most about him.”

  “So why did your father call you that? A scarlet tanager? That’s a bird?” Fitch was thinking, I have heard that before. Scarlet tanager. Where have I heard that before?

  “I think it was because the bird’s so colorful. It stands out. Maybe that’s what he thought of me. Something unique.” She took a rippling breath. “I’ve certainly lived up to the name in the last three years. You might say I’ve been very well rounded.”

  “Well, look at that,” said Fitch mildly.

  •

  Sheriff Bird studied Gower with all the intensity of a cat gazing at a mouse, or it might have been the other way around, the mouse was gaping at the cat. It was true that something odd was occurring. The two federal agents’ interest in the Smith girl was peculiar, to say the least. They expressed a desire to merely question her, discovered that she had fled her room, had she somehow known they were coming? Then upon searching the hospital they’d found that she’d somehow secured a weapon and shot a security guard in the back, and possibly broken the neck of a reporter who’d happened on the scene. The two men had split up to follow possible leads to her destination: the harbor where boats she might use to escape and the vacation home of the Director of the National Security Agency. They wouldn’t say whether or not the son of the director was involved, but surmised that he was a willing participant. Upon entering the Lee residence and searching it, without a warrant, considered Bird, one of the agents had been shot five times in the chest at less than a five to seven foot distance, supposedly by the very same girl.

  Okay, so the dead Fed isn’t technically my concern, thought Bird. But the security guard and the reporter are my business. And this here gentleman needs to share with me before I go traipsing about like a silly-Mary, sending my boys hither and yonder. “So where’d this gal go and get a gun from in the hospital? She sure didn’t have no fucking gun on her when she dove off the bay bridge yesterday.”

  Gower shrugged, aware that his control of the situation was slipping from his grasp. Bird wasn’t a man to be intimidated, nor was he a man that was going to fall for an elaborate story. Only the truth would impress him. But of course, he couldn’t tell him all of the truth or he’d be the first one in the back of a county cruiser.

  Bird folded his arms over his massive chest and absently scratched his chin. He had already instructed his men to fan out and search the neighborhood looking for the suspects. “Jacy, go get on that radio and tell those boys to come on back.”

  Gower scowled. It didn’t impress Bird either.

  •

  “They’re leaving,” said Teddy. The sheriff’s department sedans turned off their flashing police lights and headed up the road, toward the Lee home.

  Fitch nodded. “Yeah, bab-bee.” He waited until he couldn’t see their lights anymore and flipped on the headlights of the Ford. “There’s a trick to driving on sand.”

  “I never learned how to drive,” she said again.

  “Yeah. Yeah. But you let enough air out of your tires and it gives you more traction. You’d be surprised how little air you can drive with in your tires. It works on rocks, too.”

  “Very little air in rocks,” she returned.

  “Ha. Ha. Four-wheeling on rocks,” he said.

  Fitch took the Ford across the sand dunes. He gunned the engine on the way up the dunes, paused at the top and let the momentum take them down. Teddy grasped the edges of the seat and tried not to breath as the vehicle went sideways. She found herself looking at the side of a dune, without bending her head. “Fitch, buddy. I think we’re going to tip over.”

  “Trust me,” he replied, amusement plain in his voice.

  “Okay,” she wavered. The Ford Explorer seemed to be at a forty-five degree angle to the ground below and her knuckles were white with strain. Then the vehicle straightened out and went up and over another dune, making a parallel track to the rambling wall that prevented the common tourist from wandering into the Halford’s private property.

  “Never, ever stop at the bottom of the sand dune, in between hills,” he gritted, as the Ford rattled to a stop between two large dunes.

  “Why’s that?”

  “You’ll probably get stuck.”

  “Like now. I knew today was going to be one of those days.”

  The engine revved. The tires in back spun, throwing dirt to the four winds, and Fitch began to curse. “If we have to walk, they’ll pick us up in five minutes.”

  “Which is why I wanted a boat,” she explained patiently. “They don’t get stuck in sand.”

  He began to swiftly turn the wheel from one direction to the other, rapidly horsing it back and forth, urging the vehicle to move and wonder of wonders, it began to inch its way out of a rut. Dirt continued to explode out in great geysers behind the back tires and then the car lurched forward as it gripped more securely, moving up the sand dune. “The problem with boats, Teddy,” he said as he swung the wheel back and forth, creeping up the side of the tiny hill, “is that eventually you have to put into port, and of course, there’s the Coast Guard.”

  “Huh,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d be able to do that.” She referred to him making it out of the rut that he had dug with the Ford.

  They continued traveling very slowly and parallel to the fence. He gunned the engine and crested the top of the dune that they had almost been stuck at the base of and let the vehicle pause there. “Perseverance, my dear, is everything. Besides which I didn’t want have to get out and carry rocks and sticks to shove under the tires for traction.”

  Teddy became droll. “That would have been tedious.”

  The end of the wall came up and Fitch efficiently drove around it. “It’s long enough to discourage most sightseers, and tall enough to deter people from climbing over. Not to mention the no-trespassing signs.”

  “But it’s not secure. Your alarms didn’t go off until after that guy was in your house,” Teddy said. “It could have easily been some other creep.”

  “He was creepy enough.” Fitch turned onto Highway 101, headed north. “I know a shortcut. The cops won’t be on it, and we’ll have it to ourselves.”

  “More four-wheeling,” she said.

  “You got it.”

  •

  “Have you ever heard of Thomas Zachary Howe?” asked Gower quietly. He had taken the gruff sheriff of Lincoln County aside and conferred with him. It would take all of his persuasive abilities to pull this off.

  “Is he that guy from that new reality show?” asked Bird. “That pesky little gal with the melon titties is going to clean the rest of them slackers right off. Hey, Jacy, don’t smoke in here. It’s a fucking crime scene.” He turned back to the federal agent. “Okay, who is he?”

  “He’s a man who died almost six years ago. Died in a plane crash with his wife. Small jet. Killed two pilots, an assistant, and a secretary. He was one of the top ten richest people of the United States at the time. They say if he had lived he would be the richest. He would have made Bill Gates look like a pauper. He had his hands into the technology industry and knew which way the winds were blowing.” Gower ascertained that Bird was listening to him. The roughened facade with small eyes was examining him in a rapt manner. Gower knew that he would have to be extremely careful with him. Bird wasn’t stupid. On the contrary, he was a smart man with a hayseed demeanor. It was obviously part of his appeal when election time came around. Just a charming good old boy with a propensity to swear like a sailor.

  Bird nodded, brushed back the five hairs that remained on the top of his forehead, and didn’t look away from the other man. It rang close to the truth, what Gower was saying, and the sherif
f could tell that the other man didn’t like sharing with someone he considered inferior to himself. “So he was a fucking billionaire.”

  “And his daughter was responsible for the plane crash,” Gower finished.

  Bird took that in, with a frown compressing his alligatored flesh. A little bit of recognition colored his expression. “A little gal, no more than twelve, right. She was some kind of prodigy. Finished high school at ten. Started in college at eleven. They said she had some kind of psychological problems.” He paused. “Fucking rich people. All that money affects their minds.”

  Gower waited for the man to make the connections.

  “I thought that girl was in a coma. The only survivor of the crash.”

  “She recovered eventually. ATF was going to file charges, as indicated by the evidence leveled against the child. Then, she vanished.”

  “You mean, that gal that done jumped in the bay to rescue a little kid is the same one who tried to kill herself along with her parents. Planted an explosive device in the innards of her family’s private plane. Death by fucking Learjet? That’s what you’re trying to tell me.”

  “Yes. That’s exactly it. Her name is Theodora Andrea Howe. She murdered her parents.”

  Jacy picked an inopportune time to question loudly, “Has anyone seen my evidence baggy with the brass in it?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  August 16th

  In the Pacific Northwest sometimes the story of the owl, sometimes called the bird of sorcerers, the watcher of the dark, is told thusly: The dream of the great horned one signifies the approach of death, Father Owl. He is the fearsome night eagle, with wings a thousand arm’s lengths long, with incredible glowing eyes that see all around him, with a screech that chills a man’s heart. He is the one who covers the face of Sister Moon in her time of darkness. He is that which makes the fearsome wind blow from the north as his wings move the air around him. He is that which brings the waves to crash against Mother Earth. He is that which swoops powerfully through the slumbering, dreaming mind, signaling that the end of life is impending, that one must bravely prepare for the next life, and that the ultimate transition into the next world can only be accessed by allowing Father Owl to guide one into the realm of death. The soul takes a glorious journey, a test of honor through trials that sorely test one’s readiness for the next plane. Then, the soul will travel with the potent owl into the place where all one’s ancestors dwell, and life is good. But for the courageous soul, that one who is strong beyond strength itself, who shows that he is a fierce warrior and one whose spirit cannot be stricken down, Father Owl returns him to his place on Mother Earth to lead his people through times of great tribulation...

  Two hours later, through roads in the Siuslaw National Forest that Teddy concluded that no forest ranger had visited in more years than she had been running, they emerged on a little used highway. The large vehicle scraped gently along pine trees and rhododendron bushes as it came out of the forest, softly pushing past the underbrush. The highway was empty, just a two-lane secondary road, with no residences or businesses in sight. There were only the lightly swaying forms of pine trees as an overhead wind caressed their branches, hesitant yellow light from the headlights of the vehicle showing their vague shapes. The highway disappeared in both directions with only reflective markers to indicate its direction. Fitch made a noise.

  “What?” she asked. Teddy was simply amazed that she continued to be alive. She slunk down in the seat of the Ford Explorer and waited for the other shoe to drop. So far it hadn’t. But back where they’d escaped, the blonde-haired man, who had said his name was Gower, a name she’d heard once before, who’d scrutinized her with cold blue eyes in his beautifully handsome face, was undoubtedly trying to hunt them down using every conceivable resource. The coast had offered limited potential for escape, a mistake she would not repeat. She had grown lax in her years on the run. They hadn’t gotten this close, ever. All because of the little Shelton boy. That was the worst mistake. Being a compassionate human being who didn’t want to see a little kid hurt. Teddy closed her eyes and waited for Fitch to respond.

  “Low on gas,” he muttered.

  They hadn’t spoken for the last hour and Teddy was beginning to wonder if Fitch was beginning to regret his actions. In the cold, hard light of the day to come, he would, she didn’t doubt that, and she thought that perhaps he was correct to have his doubts. She was facing not only regular law enforcement, but also the almost unlimited capacity of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The latter had shown that they were clearly not to be trusted.

  “I don’t have any money,” she said, her eyes still closed.

  Fitch glanced over at her and quickly ascertained that the sheer determination that had fueled her was long gone and she was only a short distance away from crashing hard. He reached into his back pocket, lifting up to do so, and pulled out his wallet. He threw it into Teddy’s lap and her eyes flickered open, then down to the wallet, sitting on top of the Glock. “I had enough for a pizza. Might put a little in the tank. Have to use the credit cards.”

  Teddy looked back up at him and stared so hard that he couldn’t help his gaze from going back to her. He grimaced in sudden understanding. “Oh. Guess credit cards would be bad.”

  “Might as well throw them out,” she said. She was examining the way he was driving. She thought she could operate this vehicle. Unlike the rusted piece of Jeep crap that was Fitch’s car, this was an automatic. Once they were back on the pavement then the automatic button for the hubs was depressed and it became a two-wheel drive once more. With his feet he pushed two pedals on the floor. One was the gas, which meant go. The other was the brake, which meant stop. He rested his hands at the positions of ten and two o’clock on the steering wheel, and looked like he could steer with one pinkie if he had been so inclined. How hard is that?

  Teddy studied his face, the subject of her thoughts lurching crookedly. But how can I kick him out of the SUV knowing they might kill him trying to get information out of him that he doesn’t have, or kill him because they’re convinced he’s my...what...confederate? “I could shoot you,” she offered and was almost surprised she’d spoken the words. Although she’d said it, she wasn’t completely sure that she could follow through.

  Fitch blinked hard. “I don’t think I’d like that, given the choice.”

  “I meant in the leg, in the arm,” she explained, her voice almost calm. “To show that you were an unwilling hostage. Sure, it would hurt, but it would...convince them.”

  “I could tell them it was your cute little butt,” he said. “If they had a look at your ass, they’d know exactly why it was that...uh...okay, there’s no point in getting pissed about that. Your butt is perfectly covered up now.” He paused. “More’s the pity.”

  Placing the Glock back in her lap, she bit her lip. She had suddenly realized that she couldn’t take the chance. He had to go with her. At least until she could make sure he was safe. And she had no idea how she was going to accomplish that. “So where are we headed?”

  “Willamette National Forest,” he answered. “Take us a couple hours on the back roads, but we need gas. And I could really use a pizza with anchovies. Pineapple, too.”

  “Why Willamette?”

  “Hey, I’m playing heroic guy here, rescuing the beautiful, yet injured mystery woman who kidnaps me and threatens me at the same time. Then she flashes me and takes it away. I help her down a cliff, saving her from certain death from the ultra-twisted evil genius, and even find her another ride.” He waved at the car around him. “Pure luxury compared to my Jeep. And she questions my escape route. Give me a break. It’s a forest. Policemen tend to stay out of forests.”

  A fist suddenly whipped out and Teddy soundly hit the glove box. It popped open and she began to rifle through it. Fitch glanced over again, then back at the road.

  Making a noise that indicated some sort of success Teddy took out a candy bar. She held it up. “Snickers,” she announ
ced. “It’s not pizza. I don’t know how old it is, but it’s food.”

  “Mr. Halford’s a diabetic, so it’s got to be his,” Fitch speculated. “Either he’s cheating or he saves it for when he needs an emergency sugar fix.”

  “Good for him. For us.” She ripped open the end, extracted the candy, then neatly broke it in half, handing one side to Fitch. Then she delicately ate hers, licking her fingers when she was done. Fitch wasn’t that finicky; his went down in two swallows. He didn’t even take time to chew. “Too bad there’s not money in there.”

  “Don’t need money,” said Fitch.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Going to steal some gas.”

  “Going to steal it how?”

  “All I need is a piece of garden hose, a gas can, and someone who isn’t watching their car or truck for a few minutes.”

  Teddy shrugged. This was getting to be a very bad habit with her. First, there was the hospital and their bill. Then, there was the kidnapping itself, which was followed by the shooting. It didn’t particularly matter that it was a defensive action. Then, stealing a vehicle. And she was rounding up the last part of this twenty-four hours with theft of someone’s gasoline. I’m a bad person. A bad, bad person. “I’ll look and see if Mr. Halford has a gas can in the back.”

  And since Mr. Halford seemed to be such an anally retentive type of man, he had a gas can in the back, next to the first aid kit and the can of fix-a-flat, along with a blanket, a pillow, and a small box of emergency flares. They found a little section where the road widened up and presented itself to be Sparrow Creek, population fifty-three. It had a tiny post office, a gas station, and a Burger King. All were closed. However, there were vehicles about and Fitch parked next to the gas station and someone’s brand-new Dodge pick-up truck with paper dealer’s plates still in the window. He hopped out and checked to see if the fuel tank filler door was the type that didn’t lock. He made another noise when he discovered that it was indeed that type. Around the back of the restaurant he found a bit of garden hose that was obviously discarded and he cut a length of it for his purpose using a pocket knife that had been attached to the ring of keys retrieved from the dryer in the Halford’s garage. He held up the knife and said, “Swiss Army knife.”