The heavy air flattened the sounds of the forest, brushing an oppressive glaze over the silence of their progress. Riley felt dull and uneasy as she followed in Teren’s footsteps. Some faction inside her was fighting to be acknowledged while the rest of her, the part that didn’t want to hear about it, quelled the rebel voice, but the constellation of dots in her mind was pulling together into an ever more definable shape.
They reached a place where the land leveled out into a fragment of a trail where they could walk easier. Riley had shared her packet of dust masks, and they chuffed along, their panting breath amplified by the filtering fibers strapped across the bottom half of their faces. Teren stopped and turned to face her. He wasn’t wearing goggles and his eyes were raw and red, the skin around them streaked with soot, as he met her gaze.
“Something’s bothering you, Riley. What is it?”
There was a hard edge to his voice, and it shocked Riley, washing her mind blank.
“You keep staring at my shoes. Is there something wrong with them?”
The big picture bloomed like fireworks in her brain and she saw it, the thing that part of her hadn’t wanted to know. The tassel was there, but it was a slightly different shade of brown, as if it hadn’t weathered along with the rest of the shoe. As if it was a replacement for one that had been lost. A flutter went through her and she hugged herself, feeling so cold.
“No, nothing’s wrong. I’m just trying to follow your footsteps.”
His eyes were flinty, and she struggled to hold steady as they probed into her, sullen and resentful. He dropped his gaze to his own feet and Riley felt sick, as if her stomach were turning inside out. She was shocked to hear a giggle ripple up from Teren’s bent head, warped by the mask that covered his mouth. Riley felt as if someone had squeezed a spongeful of ice water over her. He looked at her, gleeful as a child caught in a prank. He pulled the mask from his face and sang, his voice high and child-like.
“A tissel, a tassel, a green and yellow rascal. Don’t fret over my tassel, Riley.” He dropped the sing song voice and snarled at her, his eyes glinting red. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
CHAPTER 84
THE SUN HAD CROSSED THE overhead position by the time the filter was dry enough for Bobbi to dislodge the worst of the buildup and reinstall. Rick watched her inspect the helicopter, sensed her impatience to get in the air. The sky was darkening again as the wind shifted, bringing another crop of ash.
“Good enough,” Bobbi pronounced. “Let’s ride.”
They climbed into the cockpit, buckled up, and donned the Davie Clark headsets and sunglasses. Bobbi hit a switch, initiating the starting sequence, working the throttle to moderate the fuel. A large cloud of black smoke puffed out, enveloping the machine, and the high pitch of the turbine engine whined into life, accompanied by the whir of the rotor.
“Well, that’s alright, then,” Bobbi said. “I was afraid I might fry the engine, but we’re good.” She turned to face him. “No telling how far we’ll get before the engine chokes down again. All yesterday’s hazards still apply and new troubles are always a possibility, so I’ll turn your words back on you.” She smirked at him and he saw his twin reflection in the lenses of her shades. “This is crazy,” she mimicked. “We could just hike out of here and go home. You could patch things up with your superiors and business as usual.”
“Okay, now you’re just trying to make me sound like a dope.”
“No effort required,” she assured him. “Our lives are back on the line, here. Are we doing this?”
Rick stared at her, then lifted his finger and pointed it upward with a twirling motion. “Let’s go.”
Bobbi turned forward and initiated the take off. As they rose slowly, the right side of the helicopter seemed to sag. Rick watched the slender trunks of the pines taper as they neared the treetops and suddenly they were tipping, pivoting to the right.
“Damn!” Bobbi shouted. “We’re caught on something. We’re gonna roll.”
“Pull us out!”
“I’m fighting it,” Bobbi said with a growl, “but something’s resisting me. There’s nothing I can do if we exceed the critical angle. Find out what’s holding us.”
Rick unstrapped himself from the seat and twisted around. His wild stare rocketed back and forth, searching for some way to help the situation. His brain registered something that didn’t make sense. A tree sprouted through the floor of the passenger cabin. A fraction of a second slid by before he realized a slender sapling had pierced the skin of the helicopter when they’d landed the night before, running along the inside of the cabin and embedding in such a way that neither he nor Bobbi had noted the invasion.
He allowed himself no time to think, no time to acknowledge fear. He opened the door and climbed onto the skid, gripping the overhead handle with desperate strength. He peered up at the roof of the JetRanger. The top of the tree poked through. Its lateral branches, though fragile, were enough to catch and throw the helicopter off balance, creating a pivot point. Bobbi was struggling to level it out, but the tree was pulling against her.
He couldn’t reach it from the skid, had to scramble up to stand on the threshold. The outward angle of the helicopter worked against him and he had to cling, like an insect, to anything he could get his hands on. He looked down and saw they were low enough that a fall might not kill him. He pictured himself in a wheelchair, in a white-sheeted bed with a feeding tube. He swallowed and pulled himself up, reaching for the protruding tree.
The whir of the blades terrified him. He feared coming too close and losing a hand, or a head. He took a breath, banished these thoughts, and twined his fingers around the top of the sapling. He stripped the branches away. One. Two. When the third branch came away, releasing them from their tether, the JetRanger sprang into the air, swiveling and banking violently.
He lost his grip, and his balance. Teetering, arms pinwheeling in the open air, Rick felt the knife edge of disaster.
CHAPTER 85
RILEY RAN. ONCE AGAIN, SHE was barreling downhill, stumbling and scraping along, the hair on the back of her neck raised like antennae, sensing the terrifying presence behind her. He was insane. How had she never seen it? He was dangerously ill, and she’d been friends with a killer, alone with him, taking comfort from him, confiding in him, for two years. Part of her must have known.
“Riley!” His voice came from behind, but it was impossible to tell how close. “Slow down, Riley. You’ll hurt yourself.”
She slipped down a hill of pine needles, grasping at branches to keep herself upright, nearly taking a tumble. She prayed she wouldn’t sprain an ankle.
“Riley, stop. I want to help you.”
She imagined she could feel his breath on her neck and hoped he wasn’t close enough to grab her by the hair as it streamed out behind her. Driven by panic, she flew along the forest floor, heedless of the loose stones and uneven ground beneath her feet. She remembered that he was wearing slick-soled loafers, unfit for this terrain. She had an advantage, and she would need it.
“Riley!” he shouted, and now she was sure he was falling behind. She skittered down a steep slope and fell, sprawling, at the bottom. Something whirred over her head and she looked up to see the haft of a knife quivering in the trunk of a tree a yard in front of her face. She scrambled up and ran on.
“Wait, Riley. I have to get my knife.”
She did not wait. The sounds of his pursuit faded behind her and she finally put some distance between them. She’d been running on pure instinct. No thought, no reason, had entered into it. But now she had to think, she had to reason out where to go, what to do. As soon as he freed his knife from the tree, he’d be on her again. How could she evade him?
The cloudy ashfall made it difficult to see far ahead. She could use this to her advantage. It distorted noises, as well, and she hoped that it would swallow the slight sounds she made as she slowed and shifted, moving in a lateral direction. She found a billow of underb
rush and took cover. Even with the benefit of the better shoe, she could not outrun him for long. Stealth was her best hope.
She quieted her breathing and crouched low, hidden by trees and the lush growth of ferns. Straining her ears, she heard only random sounds, creaks or sighs that could come from anywhere and mean anything. She almost screamed when his voice floated out of the ashen mist, far too close to give her any comfort.
“A tissel, a tassel, a green and yellow rascal.”
He paused, as if waiting for her to chime in, and a pleading note came into his voice.
“Don’t be a rascal, Riley. Come out.”
His tone had grown child-like again, thin and high. Riley had an unnerving notion that if the mist cleared, she’d see a young boy standing, like a fawn in the forest, sweet-faced with clear, open eyes. She shivered, staring toward the sound of his voice, and prayed the curtain of mist would hold.
“I got my knife,” he said, and she could hear the pleased smile in the inflection of his words. “I’m glad it didn’t hit you, Riley. It shouldn’t be that way. It’s best across the throat, but I wasn’t ready. You didn’t let me get ready.”
He was pouting now, and Riley cringed, sensing the coming change. When he spoke again, his voice smoldered, underlaid with coals of rage.
“I have to get ready, Riley. She needs me. Don’t you understand?” The volume rose with each word, ending on a crescendo that clawed through the clouds of ash, and Riley cowered, desperate to remain hidden.
She heard the crunch of a pine cone under his foot, and then another as he moved away and his voice dropped into a lower register.
“Toby understood. And John. It’s what we do, Riley. It’s what we’ve always done.”
He laughed, a ragged titter that hung in the mist for an eerie moment. “Don’t you get it? It’s an honor, Riley, just to be nominated.”
Riley swallowed hard, fighting a wave of dizziness, pressing her hands together to keep them from shaking so hard that he’d surely hear them, as he must hear the pounding of her heart. He spoke again, a little more distant, another layer of ash coming between them.
“In the more enlightened cultures, the sacrificed are recognized as heroes. They draw lots for the honor. The people weave crowns of flowers for them and observe the ceremonial ritual with diligence. The hero gives his life with great pleasure.
“I’ve been selfish, Riley. I wanted to keep you for myself and she is angry with me. I tried to appease her, but it’s no good. We both know it. It shall be your privilege, a coveted honor, to die for her.”
His voice was soothing and rhythmic, the simple chant of a dedicated disciple. “I know you can hear me. Come Riley, come to me now. Let’s do this together.”
Heaven help her, it was hypnotic. She could almost understand the draw felt by the ancient victims, the promise of glory, the end of pain.
“By blood and by fire, Riley. That’s how I will honor you. I swear it.”
In that moment, a fierce suspicion rose up from the scattered dots in Riley’s mind. The questions surrounding the fire that killed Jim and Tanner. Teren’s compassionate support of her in the rawness of her widowhood. A look of arch satisfaction she’d once caught on his face and wondered about. These things came crashing together with such vehemence that she nearly cried out. How long had Teren been meddling in the inner workings of her life? How much damage had he done? The questions burned with such intensity that she had to grind her teeth together to keep from screaming them out.
Hot tears stained her cheeks as she cowered under the ferns, but an idea for escape came to her. She waited for him to speak again, giving away his position, then she sprang away, tearing downhill, headed for the lake.
CHAPTER 86
RICK FELT HIMSELF FALLING BACKWARDS in measured, inexorable increments as the blades of the helicopter blatted above him, drowning out the hammering knell in his chest. Time suspended, ticking out its moments at long stretches as his arms wheeled in slow motion, cleaving the air in a demented backstroke. It crossed his mind that he would land on his head. The helicopter swerved toward him and in that moment, his hand reconnected with something solid and time snapped back into place. He grabbed on with a sob, groping for the opening, clutching on with shaking hands. He pulled himself back into his seat and slammed the door. The bird continued its wild flight, jerking this way and that, and he braced himself in place while he struggled to catch his breath.
“Whoo hoo!” Bobbi crowed. “Feel the blood pumping now.”
She turned to Rick and he was amazed to see a delighted grin spread across her face. His own face felt frozen and a wave of nausea spasmed through him and settled in his belly. He fought the urge to vomit. She spared him another look before focusing on the sky ahead.
“Belt up, soldier,” she said. “And keep it in your shirt.”
“What?”
“If you’re going to barf in my bird, do it inside your own shirt.”
He considered. “It’s not your bird.”
Her eyebrows shot up and her smile widened.“Good point. Spew at will, then.”
He laughed and she joined him. It felt good. The near disaster had cleared the air, erasing the tension between them. She got control of the helicopter and he resumed his post as lookout.
“You know,” he said, “if a lot of people toss their cookies with you at the controls, you might want to consider the implications.”
“Wise guy. Once, and once only. During training we were told we had two choices if we had to puke. Down our own shirt or keep it in our mouth. So this once, I transported a couple of recruits and we hit some turbulence, what we call yanking and banking. It got pretty choppy and I handed down the rule. One guy said sure thing. The other guy couldn’t speak. He had his mouth full. Another ten minutes and we touched down. This guy got off and spit out a mouthful of fillings. The acid in the vomit had dissolved the cement in his dental work and he lost every last one.”
“You’re kidding me. Why’d you give me just the one option?”
“I only met you yesterday. I don’t know the state of your dental work, but I figured if the acid burned away your chest hair, you’d live through it.”
Rick laughed, thumping the front of his shirt. “No mere stomach acid could eat through this manly thatch.”
He returned his gaze to the canopy of treetops stretching away for miles and wondered if Nate had already crossed paths with the killer.
CHAPTER 87
RILEY SPRINTED THROUGH THE TREES, whipped by low-hanging branches, plucked at by the thorny stems of wild blackberry bushes. A coat of ash filmed her goggles and she swiped at them with the sleeve of her jacket. The sound of crashing pursuit behind her spurred her forward so that it seemed her feet hardly touched the ground, and soon she’d reach the lake.
A wild plan raced over the synapses of her frantic brain. It was frail, but it was all she had and to make it work, she needed to gain a few minutes of lead time. With all the lateral traveling she’d done, she calculated that she’d come out of the forest at the far end of the narrow lake. The clubhouse sat at the opposite end. Once she hit the path that circled the lake, it was a mile and a half run to reach her refuge.
Or, she could paddle a straight shot down the lake.
If she was correct in judging the lay of the land, her pell mell flight down the ridge would bring her out near the boat yard where Teren housed his two kayaks. If she got there first, with enough lead time, she could take the sea kayak and if he wanted to follow, he’d be stuck with the broader, slower recreational model, sans oars. She’d take the double-headed paddle and toss it in the lake. It was a slim hope, but it was something.
She could no longer hear Teren behind her, but had no way of knowing how far back he’d dropped. She had an objective, something to cling to, and it gave wings to her feet. When she broke through the tree line, she was only two houses down from the boat yard, with no sign of Teren.
After the soft rustlings of pine needles, the
pounding of her hiking boots on the asphalt path seemed loud, telegraphing her location. She moved onto the softer verge and then onto the hard-packed dirt outside the gate to the boat yard. The green metal gate was unlocked. Riley remembered that Teren’s kayaks were secured only by a bungee-corded tarp, and thanked heaven for the carefree ways of the neighborhood.
The gate screeched and dragged as she pushed it open and she cringed. She’d announced her presence and she could go through with her plan, or scrap it and take off in a new direction, but she didn’t have time to think out a well-ordered plan. She squeezed through the opening in the gate and flew to the tarp-covered kayaks.
The bungee cords resisted the panicked yanking of her fingers, but she managed to release them, pushing off the tarp and dragging the narrow, red sea kayak off the wooden pallet. She made sure the oar was there, then heaved the other paddle out into the lake. She walked the boat down to the water and froze as she heard the protesting wail of the rusty green gate. A zap of alarm shot through her and she scrambled into the kayak, pushing off with the oar and paddling like a windmill. Twenty yards out, she paused to look back, but the screen of ash left nothing to be seen.
She dipped and worked the paddle, nose pointed toward the center of the lake, but the limited visibility was disorienting. Without reference points, how would she know she was heading in a straight line? How could she be sure she was even going in the right direction? She stopped moving and cocked her head, listening for the slap of paddles or any indication that Teren had entered the lake behind her. She heard only the caw of a crow, passing through the ashen mist above her head.
Nocturne In Ashes: A Riley Forte Suspense Thriller, Book One Page 23