Wild Hearts

by Sharon Sala

  * * *

  Trey was gone before 7:00 a.m., and Dallas was on the mountain before eight. She sent him a text to let him know she was there and picked up digging where she’d left off. The ground was soft from the rain and digging up the roots was easier, but it was more difficult to shake off the excess dirt. Soon her hands were grimy and the dark, black earth was embedded beneath her fingernails. But it was all good. The cold wet weather had moved on, and today was all about sunshine.

  As she worked, it became apparent that her hearing was continuing to improve. She could hear a few birds, the breeze rustling leaves, even the slithering sounds nearby as the small lizards and animals of the forest took note of her presence and moved on. It was a continuing relief to know she was healing. Now if the bite marks, plus or minus a few scars, would get well, she would be good to go.

  * * *

  Fraser was sitting in their van waiting for Snake to finish pumping gas. The phone call they’d had from Sonny this morning had lit a fire under them. They now had orders: bring back the bitch who killed my dog or don’t come back at all.

  Nobody wanted to be on Sonny Dalton’s blacklist. He had a bad habit of sending someone to cross them off.

  Snake got back in the car, cursing.

  “What’s wrong?” Fraser asked.

  “I got gas on my boot. Now it’s gonna stink all day.”

  Fraser rolled his eyes. Snake couldn’t smell worse if he was dead. “What’s the plan? Which way do we go?”

  “There’s bound to be Feds still searching the mountain, so we can’t snatch her and take her away like we planned. I think we should just drive up to her place and follow the same trail she takes. She lives alone. If she’s on the mountain, there’s no one at the house to see us go by.”

  “Whatever,” Fraser said. “I just want this over with. I’m done with West Virginia. I wanna be back in the city before winter comes.”

  “Agreed,” Snake said. “So we’ll go back through Mystic and then to her farm.”

  “You know where it is?” Fraser asked.

  “I know the blacktop to take, and I think I can find her place. I saw that big two-story barn plenty of times through the binoculars. It’s tall enough I’m sure you can see it from the road. All we have to do is keep watch.”

  “Okay, then,” Fraser said. “You navigate. I’ll drive.”

  Nineteen

  The FBI had issued a BOLO to police departments across the state on Fraser Pitts and Charles “Snake” Warren. Physical descriptions, mug shots and a description of a vehicle registered to Pitts were part of morning roll call all across the state.

  Trey passed out copies of the information before the staff went out on patrol. Bobby Ramsey had been one of their own, and everyone wanted to get justice for his murder.

  Today they had to transport a prisoner to another city, and before Trey could assign the task, Earl volunteered. So they shackled and cuffed the prisoner, then loaded him in the back of a cruiser and Earl quickly left town.

  The rest of the day continued much like any other. Trey went out on a shoplifting call only to find out it was a young unmarried mother with a baby and no food or milk.

  After a discussion with the store manager, punctuated by the young girl’s frantic pleas for mercy as the baby cried in her arms, the manager withdrew the request for arrest. Trey gave her contact numbers for Social Services, bought her some groceries, told her she wouldn’t be that lucky a second time and sent her on her way.

  It was just after 3:00 p.m. when he finally stopped work and headed up to Charlie’s to get something to eat.

  * * *

  Earl had radioed that he was on the flip-flop back to Mystic, and as he drove he let his mind wander, preoccupied with an ongoing family drama at home, so when he passed a dark blue van in the oncoming lane, it was already gone before he registered what he’d seen. He thought about ignoring the sighting—the odds of that van belonging to the missing campers were slim—but his conscience wouldn’t let him. He had to check the tag, so he made a U-turn and took off to catch up.

  He sped up without running lights or sirens, and quickly spotted the van topping a hill. He floored the gas pedal and within a couple of minutes he’d caught up. The minute he saw the tag number he knew he’d found the men. His heart was racing as he radioed in.

  “Officer Redd to dispatch. Over.”

  Avery caught the call and keyed back. “Dispatch to Redd. Go ahead.”

  “Notify the highway patrol I am in pursuit of dark blue van, license tag NJ 337, as per the description on the BOLO from this morning. I’m going northbound on Highway 8 and just passed mile marker 223.”

  “Ten-four,” Avery said, and quickly relayed the message as Earl hit his lights and siren, signaling for the van to pull over.

  * * *

  Trey was just about to order when his cell phone rang. When he saw the number that came up, he laid down the menu and answered.

  “Yeah! What’s up?” he asked.

  “Officer Redd is in pursuit of a dark blue van belonging to a Fraser Pitts out of Tennessee. They’re northbound on Highway 8 and just passed mile marker 223. Highway patrol has been notified.”

  Trey was already out the door and heading for his car.

  “Tell Earl to keep relaying locations, and contact Sheriff Osmond.”

  “Will do,” Avery said.

  Once again Trey headed out of town with lights flashing and the siren screaming. At his best guess, he was four miles behind, maybe more.

  * * *

  Snake was the first to spot the cop car behind them.

  “Shit! Fraser, are you speeding?”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “There’s a cop car behind us.”

  Fraser glanced in his rearview mirror and then frowned. “That’s not highway patrol. That’s a city cop car.”

  “It’s still a cop,” Snake said, and then the cop suddenly hit the lights and turned on his siren. “He wants us to pull over.”

  “Like hell,” Fraser said, and floored it.

  The van shot forward like a blue bullet out of a gun, widening the gap between them and the cop.

  The cop responded by coming up on his bumper without breaking a sweat.

  “Shoot him!” Fraser yelled.

  “I can’t hit a goddamned thing at this speed. I only got one eye, you know!” Snake yelled.

  “Just get the gun, and when I swerve onto the center line, start shooting. You’ll have a bigger target and you might get lucky.”

  Snake was cursing at a remarkable rate as he rolled down the window and leaned out. As soon as Fraser swerved the van to the left, Snake found himself staring straight into the windshield at the cop in pursuit. He emptied the clip.

  * * *

  Earl was scared. He didn’t want to be in this position, but he couldn’t back away or he’d lose them. He was driving so fast the car was shaking and he wasn’t sure the tires were on the ground. The only positive aspect of the chase was the erratic squawk of radio traffic indicating other police departments were en route. He was driving with his thumb on the call button, and every time he passed another mile marker, he called it in.

  * * *

  The siren in Trey’s ears became a high-pitched whine. He was driving so fast that the view from his passenger window was little more than a blur. He could tell by the sound of Earl’s voice that he was scared, but he was staying with the van.

  Suddenly he heard panic in Earl’s voice and the sounds of gunfire, followed by skidding tires, breaking glass and crushing metal. The silence afterward was sickening.

  Highway patrol dispatch was trying to raise Earl, but with no response, and Trey had no option but to keep driving.

  * * *

  “You got him!” Fraser crowed, as he watched the cop car careen across the highway into the oncoming lane, and then skid onto its side as it began to roll.

  “We gotta get off the highway!” Snake shouted. “They’re likely to drive up on us fro
m both directions any minute. We’re less than half a mile from the turnoff to that bitch’s farm. From there we can get onto those dirt roads and they’ll never find us.”

  Snake was good as his word. A minute later he pointed, and Fraser barely hit the brakes as he took the turn off the highway, then quickly disappeared over a hill. They were less than three miles from the Phillips farm.

  * * *

  Trey drove up on the wreck while the wheels were still spinning. The police car was upside down between a ditch and a stand of trees, with smoke coming out from under the hood.

  He radioed for an ambulance as he slid to a stop angled across the southbound lane, and followed up with the information that the van was no longer in sight. He grabbed his fire extinguisher and jumped the ditch, reaching the vehicle just as the smoke turned into flames and began reaching through the dash inside the cab.

  Earl was still buckled into the seat, upside down, bloody and unconscious. Trey kept trying to reach through the broken window to release the seat belt, but the flames were too close. He shot a burst of foam from the fire extinguisher, which gave him enough time to reach the latch, but then the catch wouldn’t release.

  He wouldn’t think about how close they were to blowing up together, or that the flames were getting closer to Earl’s face with every passing second. The only way he was going to get Earl out now was to cut him out. He grabbed his pocket knife, and just as he began sawing at the heavy nylon strap he heard a siren coming up behind him. Moments later a highway patrolman came running, grabbed the fire extinguisher and began spraying it at the fire as Trey kept slashing at the seat belt.

  All of a sudden the strap gave way.

  “He’s free!” Trey yelled, as he caught Earl by the shoulders and began dragging him out of the car. Once Earl was free, Trey threw him over his shoulder and ran.

  The patrolman emptied the fire extinguisher into the flames, and then bolted only seconds before it blew, sending fire and burning shrapnel into the air.

  “Is he alive?” the patrolman yelled, as he reached the ditch where they’d taken cover.

  “I’ve got a pulse,” Trey said.

  The explosion had caused a fire that quickly began threatening the wooded area nearby, and the patrolman raced back to his car, requesting assistance from the fire department. The last thing they wanted was to start a forest fire.

  Now that he had a better view of Earl’s body, he could see a bullet wound to the shoulder and a deep cut on his forehead. He packed gauze pads on top of the bullet wound and kept applying pressure in a desperate race to stop the bleeding. Because there was no exit wound, he had to accept that internal bleeding was not only possible but probable. He kept calling Earl’s name and asking him questions, afraid if he stopped, Earl would never come back.

  And then all of a sudden help was on the scene and paramedics had taken over. They stabilized Earl for transport, and just as they were leaving, the fire trucks arrived.

  The highway patrolman had also radioed in for assistance and was directing traffic on the highway as the ambulance departed.

  Within minutes a half-dozen patrol cars pulled up from two different directions, all with the same bad news. They’d never seen the van. It had exited the highway, taking any one of a number of side roads that wound up into the mountains.

  Trey knew those roads as well as he knew his own name and put a call in to tell dispatch where he was headed, then quickly left the scene.

  From the scene of the wreck, the closest exit off the highway was the blacktop that led to both his mom’s house and the Phillips farm. He knew the sheriff and his deputies would be combing the rural back roads, so as soon as he knew his mom and Dallas were safe he would get back to town and check on Earl.

  He called his mom as he drove, and when she answered, he began filling her in, describing the men and the van, and then he told her to make sure all her doors were locked.

  Betsy had been a cop’s wife too long to panic, but she didn’t like the news.

  “I’ll pay attention,” she said. “You stay safe. Have you told Dallas yet?”

  “Just about to. You spread the word to the neighbors, okay?”

  Moments later he took the turn and accelerated. It was only three miles to the farm, but Dallas wouldn’t be there. She was even farther away, up on the mountain, and he wasn’t sure where. He called her number, then waited impatiently for her to answer.

  * * *

  Fraser spotted the big barn on the Phillips property as they topped a hill.

  “There it is!” he yelled, pointing off to the right.

  “I see it,” Snake said. “Now start watching for the driveway.” They drove a quarter of a mile farther before he saw a mailbox. “There’s the road,” he said.

  As soon as Fraser took the turn, he was forced to slow down to negotiate the narrow gravel drive through what felt like a tunnel of trees.

  “Nice place,” Fraser said when they arrived, eyeing the house and all the outbuildings.

  “We’re not window-shopping,” Snake growled. “Look for a road that will take us up through the pasture to where we saw her parked.”

  Moments later Snake spotted the cattle guard. “There!” he yelled.

  Fraser winced. “Stop screaming in my ear. I got both my eyes. I can see, damn it.”

  Snake cursed and tried to backhand him.

  Fraser fended off the blow with one hand and slapped Snake on the back of the head. “Keep your damn hands to yourself,” he said. “We got a job to do.”

  “Then don’t make fun of how I look,” Snake said.

  They aimed for the old pickup at the far end of the pasture and didn’t talk until they were getting out of the van.

  “Get the tranquilizer gun,” Snake said. “We won’t have to chase her down if we can dart her.”

  Fraser made sure the gun, which they’d originally got to help with the dogs, was loaded and pocketed the extra darts as he went over the fence. Snake crawled through it. The ground was soft, and it was easy to follow her tracks. They stepped into the forest and within a few yards were deep in the trees.

  * * *

  Dallas had one bag almost full and had stopped to get a drink when her cell phone began to ring. She saw the caller ID and smiled as she answered.

  “Hey, good-looking,” she said, expecting Trey to answer in kind.

  Instead, she heard the tension in his voice when he asked, “Where are you?”

  “I’m still at the patch. What’s wrong?”

  “Earl spotted the two men suspected in Bobby Ramsey’s murder and gave chase. He took a bullet in the shoulder and rolled the car, and we lost the van. We’re guessing they took one of the side roads off the highway, and yours was the nearest one. For sure they’re in the area somewhere. I need you to get home and lock yourself in, understand?”

  “Yes! I’m gathering up my things as we speak,” she said, and headed for her backpack, carrying the sack of roots with her as she went. The moment she stopped for the backpack, she thought she heard something. Sound carried on the mountain, but Trey was still talking.

  “Trey,” she whispered sharply. “Stop talking. I think I hear voices.”

  Trey’s pulse jumped. That was the worst thing she could have said. He stomped the accelerator.

  Dallas took a few steps to the right and then moved up about a yard. From where she was standing she could see a long way down the trail, and within seconds two men come into view.

  She crouched and ran for the shotgun, talking softly as she went.

  “Two men coming up the trail right toward me. Why here? Why me?”

  Panic shot through Trey so fast he couldn’t think.

  “I don’t know, but the why doesn’t matter. I want you to run.”

  She moaned. “They’re between me and the truck.”

  “Then go another direction! I’m almost at the house. Get out of their line of sight, then find a way to get off the mountain. I’ll find you. You still have the shotgu
n, right?

  “Yes.”

  “If you shoot, aim for the waist down. Buckshot in their legs and balls will slow the bastards down. I’m not far behind. Don’t talk, but don’t hang up on me. If you need help, I’ll be listening.”

  She dropped the phone in her jacket pocket and headed west at a dead run, leaving everything behind but her gun.

  Trey put his phone on speaker and dropped it in his pocket, then grabbed his radio and began calling for backup.

  They had a possible sighting and a woman in jeopardy.

  * * *

  Snake slipped on a wet patch of moss and fell down on one knee, slamming it hard into a rock.

  “Son of a bitch!” he yelped, as he scrambled back to his feet.

  “Shut the hell up or she’ll hear us coming,” Fraser snapped. “She’s gotta be somewhere close.”

  Snake rolled his eyes, but shut his mouth and followed in Fraser’s tracks.

  Fraser was on the alert, listening to every sound while scanning the woods above them. All of a sudden he caught a flash of dark blue moving west through the trees.

  “She’s running! She spotted us!” he yelled, and took off running in the same direction, but at an angle so he could intercept her, with Snake right behind.

  * * *

  Dallas caught a glimpse of movement down the slope and realized that not only had they spotted her, they were running parallel to her trail. Now she couldn’t go down without getting caught. It was an instinct for survival that made her pivot and run up the slope. She ran until she was out of their sight, then backtracked east as fast as she could go. When she saw the trail, she took it down. Ignoring the steep incline, she ran at full speed, knowing at any moment she could go head over heels. She just kept telling herself that Trey was coming, that any minute Trey would be here.

  * * *

  Within seconds Fraser had lost sight of her. His heart was pounding, and he was already out of breath. He didn’t know where she’d gone, but the only way she could have made it out of their sight was to go up, so they ran up as well, with Fraser cursing Snake for lagging as they went.

  The next time he caught sight of her, he was standing on a rock scanning the trees, and she was a hundred yards or more below them and descending at an unbelievable pace.