CHAPTER 27
THE HIKE TO the cave the first time had been an enjoyable outing for Turner, graced by alpine scenery nestled beneath a robin’s-egg blue sky. The pace had been relaxing, and he’d enjoyed watching Justin stop and examine rocks, flowers, and trees along the way.
The second trip was anything but relaxing. The scenery went unnoticed and the fresh air unsavored. There was no loitering so Justin could investigate the flora and fauna. Instead Turner kept them moving at a frantic pace, afraid the sky might open up and complicate their predicament, and even more afraid the men might catch a glimpse of them and give chase.
By bending forward, he found he could support Cassandra more easily. But eventually that strategy began to take its toll. His legs and back burned as though carpenter ants were boring holes in his muscles, releasing a painful acid in the process.
His lower back was threatening to go into spasms, but he kept moving. It was either that or get caught in the impending deluge. Or, worse, face two unhappy men who were scouring the area, guns in hand, the bullets of which would bore holes in his muscles. The choice was simple, and so he kept putting one foot in front of the other, willing himself forward.
He pushed himself until he was convinced he couldn’t take another step. Mercifully, and problematically, they arrived at the steep, rocky embankment. Scaling it yesterday had been an adventure. Today it loomed like the sheer walls of a cathedral, mocking any intentions to ascend them.
Cassandra echoed his thoughts. “You can’t carry me up that.”
She slid off his back and leaned against the face of the rock, while Turner discreetly massaged his knotted muscles and considered their dilemma.
“Let’s slide up the hill, Mommy,” Justin said.
Once more Turner found himself looking at Justin in wonder.
Yesterday they had slid down the hill. Perhaps today they could inch their way up the grassy slope. It certainly was less daunting than attempting to scale the rocky face. But Cassandra’s injured ankle posed a problem, and he wondered if she’d be able to negotiate the slope in her condition. Normally, landing on soft mountain grasses would be less consequential than careening down weathered granite, which was as abrasive as coarse sandpaper. But if she slipped or put pressure on her injured ankle, despite the soft grass, it would compound the injury.
Draping Cassandra’s arm around his neck, Turner helped her over to the grassy slope. It was long and steep, more inviting for descents than for what they intended, but they were running out of options. He surveyed the route, trying to decide how best to make their attempt. Nearby was a section where the grass gave way to thicker vegetation. “The trees form a diagonal ladder of sorts,” he noted. “By moving from one exposed tree root to another, we can crawl up the slope.”
“What about Justin?” Cassandra asked.
“I’ll help you up to the top first, and then come back for him.” He looked at Justin and placed a hand on the little boy’s head. “Will you wait right here while I help your mommy?”
“Uh-huh,” Justin replied, becoming fascinated by a spider dangling from a silken thread attached to the branch of a gnarled shrub.
Taking a deep breath, Cassandra began carefully crawling up the slope. Turner followed right behind, using protruding roots and rocks to anchor himself so he could support her good foot and help her proceed. She slipped once but he caught her, clinging desperately to an exposed tree root so they both didn’t tumble to the bottom. He managed to steady her, but she bumped her injured ankle in the process and sucked in her breath to fight the pain.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she exhaled sharply in reply. “Let’s keep going.”
With sustained effort they managed to reach the top without further incident. Cassandra lay on the slope, nursing her throbbing ankle.
Turner paused to catch his breath and looked at her. Her hair was matted, her clothes grass stained, and her hands soiled with earth. She noticed his perusal and forced a smile.
“I’ll be okay,” she said. “Just go get Justin.”
Turner quickly descended the slope and knelt beside the little boy. “I want you to hang on around my neck and not let go, okay?”
Justin nodded and climbed onto Turner’s back, locking his arms securely around Turner’s neck. Choosing his foot and toeholds carefully, Turner ascended the grassy slope. Cassandra grabbed Justin when his head appeared above the crest of hill, and she pulled him to her.
A sudden flash of lightning, followed by a rolling clap of thunder, caused Justin to curl into a ball and cover his ears. The sound echoed down the mountain valley and finally faded in the distance, seeming to shake the trees as it passed.
“Time to go,” Turner said, as the first droplet arrived as a harbinger of more to follow.
He got Cassandra situated on his back as another blast of thunder rumbled overhead. Justin clung to Turner’s leg and wouldn’t let go.
“It’s okay, little man,” Turner said. “Your mommy and I are right here.”
Justin grabbed Turner’s hand, and they continued up the trail. Their progress was slow and at times unsteady, but once the trail leveled off, Turner was able to walk more easily.
As they proceeded, Cassandra’s hair brushed against his neck, and the touch of her breath warmed his cheek. He was also aware of her occasional soft groans, and he knew she was hurting.
The aspirin tablets she had taken this morning were still working but the effects would wear off soon. And the medication was back in the trunk of the car. He would return later to retrieve the painkillers, some food, and anything else he could carry.
They reached the cave before the rain descended in earnest. He was grateful they had managed to remain dry. At this elevation and with the drop in temperature, mild hypothermia was a serious threat. Especially for Justin. And Turner wouldn’t be able to make a fire because the smoke would betray their location.
Dehydration was another concern. It weakened the body and dulled the mind, causing a person to overlook important survival information. And although there was a trickle of water that oozed between layers of rock inside the cave, it was not a sufficient quantity to keep the three of them hydrated. He got Cassandra situated on one of the natural rock benches and elevated her ankle to make her as comfortable as possible. Then he hurried outside and found a fallen log nearby. He ripped off a piece of chunky bark and quickly retraced his steps, pausing briefly at the mouth of the cave to dig a hole in the ground with the back of his heel.
Rain droplets began dancing at the cave entrance, becoming a frenzy of splash and splatter. With Justin wedged between them on the rock bench, they watched the deluge, mesmerized by its intensity. It was as though they were tucked in a cleft behind a waterfall. The rocky floor sloped toward the opening so the water didn’t flow inside. But the sounds of Mother Nature venting herself filled the cave, and Justin clung to Turner, burying his face against Turner’s chest with each peal of thunder.
“I wish we could have brought some food,” Turner said. “But at least we can keep ourselves hydrated. The hole I made will capture rainwater once the ground becomes saturated enough. But for now, the bark will have to do.”
He went to the entrance and held the curved piece of bark out far enough to capture some rain. Then holding it like an oblong cup, he gave Justin a drink. He repeated the procedure several times until the three of them were refreshed.
They sat together and watched the raindrops until fatigue overcame Turner, and his eyelids gave in to the law of gravity.
“Get some rest,” Cassandra said, as Turner’s head bobbed.
“I’ll keep an eye on things.”
“Maybe just for a few minutes,” he murmured. If he was going to make a return trip to the car for food and medication, in muddy conditions, he was going to need to recoup his strength. He closed his eyes and in a matter of minutes, he could no longer hear the rain.
He slept for a while and then suddenly flinched a
wake, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his brain. Staring vacantly at the interior of the cave, he realized how cold and uncomfortable he was. The temperature had dropped several degrees, and the rocks had not become any softer. The humidity added a bite to the air, and a chill had crept into his bones.
Cassandra reached over and squeezed his arm, but it was not to welcome him back from dreamland. There was a message there. She was in pain and needed more pain medication, and Justin was whimpering about being hungry.
Turner rose stiffly to his feet. He gritted his teeth, refusing to allow misgivings to creep into his brain about his ability to do what needed to be done. He was going to have to rely on his instincts and training because two special people were counting on him to succeed. There was no margin for error. The stakes were too high.
CHAPTER 28
TURNER EMERGED FROM the cave, grateful that the rain had stopped. Still, the trail was muddy and puddles had formed in low spots. He was forced to walk along the edge of the path as he headed toward his first major obstacle: the embankment. Because of the slippery conditions, he was afraid of descending the grassy slope like a one-man bobsledder determined to set an Olympic record.
Fortunately the same exposed tree roots that had aided his and Cassandra’s ascent now prevented his breaking any records. But it did not come without a price. Several times he lost his grip and slid over protruding roots as unforgiving as a bare-knuckle fighter’s gnarled fists, slowing his descent enough that he could grab a root or branch and regain control.
He realized that a return ascent this way would be impossible, due to the wet and slippery conditions. The rocky face of the embankment would offer better finger grips and toeholds. But that was only if he could successfully negotiate his way to the car, retrieve the necessary items from the trunk, and make his exit without Slick or Twitch inconveniencing him by placing a gun to his head and giving him an ultimatum.
The prospect of the two men lying in wait was both real and sobering. Not only might it mean his demise, but Cassandra’s and Justin’s as well. They would be left alone to face the elements, unaware of his fate, while nature exacted an ultimate toll for their daring to venture into her domain.
The remainder of the journey was a mental blur until he reached the outcropping of rock that overlooked the cabin. His senses, dull and damp, suddenly heightened with the realization that the moment of truth had arrived.
Crouching behind a bush, he tried to determine the best way to approach the Buick. The threat of Slick and Twitch’s presence lurked in every shadow, cowered behind every rock, and skulked beside every tree. It was omnipresent and omniscient, as though the men were anticipating his every move and outsmarting his best-laid plans.
He swept his apprehensions aside. Every second he delayed added to Cassandra and Justin’s misery, and he needed his full powers of concentration if he was going to succeed.
Bolstered by a new determination, he left the rock outcropping and headed down the trail. When he reached the edge of the clearing, he paused to catch his breath and do what reconnaissance he could. He didn’t dare walk into the open, so he began a circuitous route, working his way around to the car. With every step, he wondered if there would be a sudden blast of gunfire from behind a tree, dropping him in his tracks. But the area remained locked in nature’s unsettled embrace. There were no incongruous sounds, such as a bullet sliding into the chamber of a gun or the trigger being gently squeezed. No chuckle from Twitch, anticipating impending triumph. Just the intermittent sound of raindrops dripping from trees and the soft moan of the wind, accompanied by the beating of his heart, as audible in his ears as the bass drum in a college marching band.
His first journey to the car had seemed long. This one seemed longer. His skin tingled in dreadful anticipation of the sound of gunfire delivering a bullet with his name on it. And because the occasional raindrop wouldn’t deflect the bullet, he knew the next thing he’d hear would be the sound of his body thudding to the ground in a bedraggled, wounded heap.
But no whisper. No gunfire. No bullet.
Surely Slick hadn’t come all this way only to give up. He and Twitch had to be here somewhere, waiting, watching.
He made it around the clearing and followed the Buick’s path into the bushes. Peering into the back window, he checked to make sure his adversaries weren’t sitting patiently inside, guns ready.
He quietly opened the door and pushed the button to open the trunk, pausing to allow his heart rate to slow from a gallop to a walk. Moving cautiously, he inched the trunk lid open, ready to dive for cover if the hinges creaked, tattling on him. At the halfway point, and with still no sound, he was able to peek inside.
A small electronic device sat on top of the luggage. A tiny red light on the device flashed, and Turner instinctively flinched. It was a motion-activated sensor, and he expected it to emit a piercing sound or blow up in his face. But neither occurred. Still, he knew that his presence had been detected and a signal had just been sent somewhere.
Flinging the lid open, he grabbed the device and threw it into the bushes. Then he began rifling desperately through the trunk, realizing he was tempting fate by the delay. But he was so close to getting what he needed, he granted himself the luxury of fifteen more seconds.
An old leather jacket lay in one corner of the trunk. He had noticed it earlier when he had loaded the car but had not given it much thought. Now, it seemed like a gift from heaven. He slipped it on, and even though it was oversized and smelled musty, it provided immediate warmth.
He stuffed a grocery bag full of necessities, including the painkillers, and lowered the lid, leaving it ajar so the click of the latch wouldn’t give him away.
Turning to leave, he came face to face with Twitch, who held up a small electronic receiver. And a gun. “Thought you’d be showing up, sooner or later,” he said, his head twitching in triumph. “Where are the woman and the kid?”
Obviously the fifteen seconds Turner had allowed himself were too generous. He drew in a deep breath to untangle his raveled nerves and glanced around for an avenue of escape.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Twitch warned, waving the gun. “Put the bag back in the trunk and let’s go inside. We’ll talk in there.” An evil grin of anticipation accompanied the word talk.
A feeling of helplessness and dread overcame Turner as he thought of Cassandra and Justin huddled in the cave, waiting expectantly. And since he was the doofus that Twitch was anxious to incapacitate, Cassandra and Justin would be waiting a long time.
Twitch glanced at the receiver in his hand, a puzzled expression on his face. “The device has been moved. What did you do with it?”
Turner glanced toward a thick stand of stinging nettle, growing nearby. The nettles were tall, with large pointed leaves growing in pairs opposite each other on the stems. Greenish-white flowers dangled in clusters where the stem and the leaves joined, and the bristly, stinging hairs protruded like three-day-old stubble. “Threw it in the weeds,” he said, hoping his reference to the nettles as weeds, which technically they were, would deceive Twitch as to their noxious and painful potential.
“Get it,” Twitch ordered, motioning toward the stand. “And don’t try anything cute. I’ll be right behind you every step of the way.”
That’s what I’m counting on, Turner thought.
Discreetly slipping his hands into the pockets of the leather jacket so there was no exposed skin, Turner began walking through the stinging nettle as if looking for the device, being careful not to let the bristly hairs touch his neck and face.
When the sharp, pointed hairs penetrated the skin, they broke off and released chemicals, which formed a painful rash. He’d had one experience with stinging nettle during his first summer at Camp Kopawanee, and that was one time too many.
As Twitch followed closely behind, the tall nettles brushed across his face and hands. Turner watched to see how he reacted. The more exposure Twitch received, the more severe the rash wo
uld be.
Twitch began to scratch his hands and arms, unconsciously at first. White welts appeared on his face where the nettles touched him, but he doggedly kept the gun trained on Turner. “Hurry up, hurry up!” he barked impatiently, doing his best to remain watchful while digging at his arms and scratching his face.
“I’m hurrying,” Turner replied, as he continued to weave his way around.
He stepped on a stick about the size of a baseball bat lying on the ground and glanced back to see if Twitch had noticed it. He hadn’t. Turner readied himself to pick it up and catch his opponent by surprise with a blow to the side of the head. Hopefully, the stick wouldn’t explode in a cloud of decomposed wood fragments, causing Twitch to shoot him in the leg for exercising bad judgment.
But Turner never had a chance to determine the stick’s condition. Twitch suddenly cried out and began to dig furiously at his arms and face. He momentarily dropped the gun. Turner rushed out of the nettles and ducked behind a tree, listening as Twitch thrashed about and shouted threats.
Turner wracked his brain for an idea. He knew that Twitch would be in a vengeful mood when he emerged from the nettles. The situation called for decisive action. He remembered a game called Evasion they used to play at Camp Kopawanee. A group would begin with a head start and leave clues for the other group to follow—broken branches, scuffmarks on the forest floor, rocks piled to create markings—all the while trying to keep ahead of the pursuing group. The purpose of the game was to see how long the lead group could evade their pursuers, while leaving more and more obvious clues behind. If the pursuing group hadn’t caught them after two or three hours, the game usually ended with the lead group creating a smoke signal or blowing on a whistle and waiting to be caught.
It was time for Evasion, only Turner had no intention of allowing himself to be caught. He wondered if Twitch was nature savvy enough to read and follow the clues Turner intended to leave.
The Return of Cassandra Todd Page 16