WHAT THE DEVIL was that noise?
Father Hanson got up from the TV and walked to the window, which he had slightly raised so he could smell the fresh mountain air. He knelt and listened harder.
Yes. It was coming from outside. A sound like . . . someone sawing.
Hanson left his parlor and went into the hall. He walked down to the next room and knocked on the door.
Lothian answered in his underwear, radio in hand.
“There’s a sawing noise coming from outside,” Hanson said. “Go down and see what’s happening.”
“I thought I saw a light in the cemetery a few minutes ago,” Lothian said. “Mead is checking the tracking monitor to see if—”
The radio suddenly interrupted. “Everyone in town is where they’re supposed to be. Over.”
Lothian raised the radio to his mouth and thumbed the talk button. “Okay, get over here right away. I’ll meet you at the Three Corinthian intersection. Come heavy and quiet.”
“You heard,” Lothian said to Hanson. “Whoever’s in the cemetery doesn’t belong here.”
AT THE MAUSOLEUM, Carl removed the first bar from the door and threw it aside. They then began work on number two.
BEFORE COMING TO Artisan, Hanson had no knowledge of guns. But as he’d grown into his new position, he’d been told by Meggs to get one and learn how to use it. So he had taken a course at a firing range in Little Rock and now owned a nifty little Beretta, which was in his jacket pocket as he guided his golf cart down First Corinthian at top speed, heading for the town’s entrance gate by the information kiosk.
Normally, he’d have let Lothian and Mead handle something like this, but with Beth Corbin missing and possibly talking to Carl Martin, he was worried the light and noise in the cemetery might be related to those disturbing events.
If there were trespassers in town, their car was most likely parked somewhere on the road leading to the front gate. If he found that car, he could cut off any escape of those involved.
But what if they’d left a driver in their car? And what if he too, was armed?
Okay. If that was the way it was going to be, he wouldn’t back down. For this was his town, and these people belonged to him. And no one was going to take it away from him.
IN THE CEMETERY, Carl began work on the bottom cut of the second bar. Accustomed now to having Beth so close to him, his anxiety about the noise they were creating freshened so that he stopped sawing and glanced around her to see if anyone was coming.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing. This is just taking so long, I’m getting worried.”
“Then we should finish and get out of here.”
LOTHIAN HAD TOLD Mead to come heavy and quiet; meaning armed but with his weapon silenced. However, Lothian hadn’t explained why, so when Mead’s golf cart met Hanson’s coming the other way, where the main road through town circled the tree fountain, Mead paused to ask the other man what the hell was going on. But Hanson didn’t even slow down.
AT THE MAUSOLEUM, Carl stopped sawing and wrenched the second bar free from the door. Leaning once again around Beth to determine if they were still safe, he didn’t see any reason to believe otherwise. Had it not been for the trees lining the streets outside the cemetery walls, he would have seen the light from Mead’s golf cart as he turned onto Corinthian.
REACHING THE END of Corinthian Street, Mead stopped his cart and looked toward the church, where he saw no sign of Lothian. “ScheiBe Kopf, shit head,” he muttered, thinking he wouldn’t mind if he never saw the bastard again.
He idly glanced down Second Corinthian, toward the cemetery, but from his angle couldn’t see Carl and Beth’s lights.
CARL PRESSED THE hacksaw against the top of the third bar, unaware they were only moments away from being discovered. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go again.”
But instead of wrapping his hands in the shirt, Beth said, “Maybe I can squeeze through now.”
It seemed impossible, but Carl was concerned enough about the noise they were making and the time it was taking that he stepped aside. Beth handed him her light, squatted sideways, and jammed herself into the small opening.
And it was just as Carl thought; she couldn’t get through.
MEAD HAD BEEN waiting only a few seconds, but when he saw Lothian’s cart emerge from the church gates, he wanted to believe it had been much longer.
AGAINST ALL expectations, Beth suddenly passed through the tiny opening in the mausoleum bars like a cat oozing under a door.
“How’d you do that?” Carl asked.
“I’m more slippery than I look.”
It was a statement Carl fleetingly imagined himself investigating in more detail later. As the thought dissipated, he handed her flashlight through the opening. Now to see if she was right about the inner door being unlocked.
She quickly covered the few steps to the door, put her hand on the knob, and turned it. And by God, it opened.
While Beth was inside, Carl returned the hacksaw to the backpack. Now that he was no longer working on the bars, the cool night air was giving him a chill, so he was more than ready to put his very wrinkled shirt back on.
“SO IS THIS WHEN I learn why we’re out here?” Mead asked as Lothian joined him.
“Someone’s in the cemetery,” Lothian said. “And it’s not one of ours. Move your ass.” Lothian took his foot off the brake, poured the juice to his cart, and left Mead to catch up.
HANSON WAS NOW well beyond the Artisan front gate, scanning the woods on each side of the road, but so far, hadn’t seen any sign of a parked car or truck. Up ahead was the bridge across Rapid River. It seemed unlikely they would have parked on the other side. It would be too long a walk in the open to get back to it. He stopped at the grove of firs flanking the road beside the bridge and shined his spotlight onto the ground, where he instantly saw fresh tire tracks that went off the road.
Knowing now where the vehicle was hidden, he drove on past the firs as though he hadn’t noticed anything. A few feet onto the bridge he stopped the cart. Gun in one hand, flashlight in the other, his heart working like it was opening night at the Strand, he crept back to the trees and slipped between them.
And there was the car.
He played his light into the car through the back window. Empty.
The tension flooded out of him. He moved to the passenger side and tried the door, but found it locked. He slammed the butt of his Beretta against the glass, shattering it. Leaning inside, he opened the glove box with his gun hand and played his light on the contents. An owner’s manual.
He shoved the Beretta into his jacket pocket, snatched up the manual, and put it on top of the car, where he flipped it open to the first page. The name he saw there was instantly etched into his brain.
CARL WAS JUST zipping up his jacket when Beth returned carrying a brass urn cradled in each arm. She passed them through the cut bars, and then, while he stowed them in the pack, she slipped through the opening herself.
“Now let’s get gone,” Carl said, slinging the pack onto his back. He grabbed up his flashlight and started down the mausoleum steps. Noticing that Beth wasn’t with him, he turned to see her looking at the hospital. “What are you doing?”
“Wish we had time to get in there. I’d love to see my husband’s medical records.”
“Out of the question.”
“I know.” She turned and followed Carl down the steps and around the corner of the mausoleum.
“Lights off now until we’re into the woods,” Carl cautioned.
SYLVESTER LOTHIAN stopped his cart just outside the cemetery gate to answer his radio.
“There are people on the grounds who can harm us,” Hanson said. “They may include Beth Corbin. Whoever you find . . . eliminate them. I’m wit
h their car now at the bridge. I’ll remain here in case they elude you and make it back this way. Over.”
Lothian knew everyone in town by name. But he particularly remembered Beth Corbin . . . the best looking woman in the enclave. He had long wished he was free to be himself with her, to do to her all the things he’d dreamed about. But he had never believed it would happen. Could it be that his dreams were about to come true?
“If we do find Corbin, I assume you don’t care what happens to her before we close her account.”
“Keep all that to yourself. There are some things I don’t want to know. Just be sure and think with the head on your neck and not the one in your pants.”
“What now?” Mead asked, arriving just as Lothian stuffed his radio into his jacket pocket.
“We’re supposed to get rid of whoever’s out here. One of them could be Beth Corbin.”
“That’d be too bad. She’s an attractive woman.”
“What do you mean, too bad? If it’s her, she’ll be ours.”
“Ours?”
“Okay, mine then. You probably wouldn’t know what to do with her anyway.”
Lothian’s cart jerked forward and entered the cemetery, where, gun in hand, he played the spotlight on the cart over the grounds. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he left the road and set off across the grass for the mausoleum, Mead following.
CARL AND BETH were now deep enough into the woods that he believed it was okay to turn on their flashlights. Able now to see where they were going, they picked up the pace.
AT THE MAUSOLEUM steps, Lothian immediately saw the hole in the iron door. “What the hell?”
“Why’d they want to get in there?” Mead asked.
“I have no idea. But we know now they were here. And probably still are. Get over there.” He pointed to the right corner of the building. “And let’s see if I flush anyone out.”
Lothian sent his cart around the mausoleum. He emerged a few seconds later on the other side. As he rejoined Mead, he saw a flicker of light deep in the woods beyond the cemetery’s west wall.
“I see them,” he said, speeding away to give chase.
Chapter 16
CARL AND BETH reached the hole under the fence unaware they were being pursued. “Just like we came in,” Carl said. “You first.”
Beth got down, shoved her flashlight through the opening, then made it to the other side without touching anything. As she stood, she saw flashlights in the woods behind them. “Someone’s coming.”
Carl spun around and saw the lights himself. As he turned back to the fence and threw the pack over it, he heard a faint and vaguely familiar sound resembling a boot coming down hard on a dry tree branch . . . only different. Something ricocheted off one of the fence links. Now he remembered where he’d heard that sound before . . . at a firing range with his father.
The sound came again and an object clanged into the upper rail of the fence.
“They’re shooting at us with silenced weapons,” he hissed, diving for the ground. “Get into the woods.”
Beth snatched up the backpack and slipped it on. But then she just stood there waiting for Carl.
A slug hit the dirt beside Carl’s legs. Seeing that Beth’s feet were not moving, he snarled, “Go, dammit.”
But she didn’t leave.
On the ground, Carl’s heart was hammering against the dirt as he twisted his torso and dug in with his toes, trying to get out of that vulnerable position. Only when he was safely through and on his feet did Beth turn to leave. As she did, a slug hit the backpack and caromed off one of the metal urns inside.
Together, they sprinted for the trees, slugs whispering past them. For a few seconds, they ran straight into the woods, trying to put as much obstructing foliage between them and their pursuers as possible. But the underbrush was a hindrance as well as a help, grabbing and slowing them.
When Carl felt they could no longer be seen clearly from the fence, he pulled Beth to her left. “The car . . .”
“Too far away,” she said, the uneven footing stuttering her words.
“We’ve got to try.”
BEHIND THEM, Lothian was already under the fence. He pulled Mead to his feet and they stared into the woods, where flickering glimpses of flashlights gave away the fleeing couple’s location and course.
Lothian pointed along the fence. “You go that way, then head into the woods and cut them off. Mead nodded, then bolted away, his long legs propelling him down the cleared fence line at an amazing speed.
“GIVE ME THE pack,” Carl said, worried that its weight would soon wear Beth down.
“No time,” she said. “I’m fine.”
Whether it was the pack or just that Beth wasn’t accustomed to this kind of physical demand, she wasn’t moving as fast as Carl could. There was no way he was going to leave her behind, so he had to match his pace to hers.
He looked behind them and saw the flicker of a flashlight pretty far back. A single flashlight, where before there had been two. Where was the other one?
They ran for another twenty seconds and when Carl glanced back over his shoulder again, the flashlight behind them was closer. As he turned, he saw something that made their slim chances of escape dwindle even further. The missing flashlight was now ahead of them and to their left, coming fast. Their route to the car was cut off.
Beth saw it too. Together, they veered to the right.
Carl’s and Beth’s flashlights were also giving their position away, but it was too dark in the woods to function without them. All they could do if they turned them off was crouch or lie on the ground and hope they wouldn’t be found. That seemed so patently like a plan that wouldn’t work, neither of them seriously considered it.
The fact their pursuers were using silencers and had issued no orders for them to stop running made Carl believe if they were caught, they would not simply be charged with breaking and entering or vandalism. There were far worse things in store for them.
A large oak loomed directly ahead, and they separated to avoid it. As they passed the tree, a slug from the right tore through the bark just above Carl’s head, showering him with debris. On the other side of the oak, they veered back to a common course, both now thinking it was very likely they could not escape. Something unexpected would be needed to save them.
Knowing she was holding Carl back, Beth breathlessly said, “It’s me they want. You go on.”
“Bullshit. We came together, we’ll leave together.”
A slug from the left ripped through the fabric of Carl’s jacket, tugging at his arm. At the same instant, another clanged off one of the urns in the backpack.
“They’re getting closer,” he warned.
Beth’s foot hit a root and she stumbled. But she didn’t fall.
Carl remembered the automatic in his inside jacket pocket. He tried to get at it, but it caught on the fabric. “Head for that tree,” he said, pointing his flashlight at a huge trunk off to their right. “When we get there, I’m going to stop and use the gun to give them something to think about. You keep going and get us a greater lead.”
Twice, the urns in the backpack had kept Beth from being hit. So it now seemed to Carl that she was better off keeping it than giving it up.
“Then you’re coming too?” she asked breathlessly.
“Absolutely.”
When they reached the tree and got behind it, Beth hesitated, apparently not wanting to leave him.
“Go . . . go . . .” Carl urged, shoving his flashlight into his back pocket.
Beth resumed running.
With both hands now available, Carl got the gun out and racked the slide to be sure there was a round in the chamber. Flicking off the gun’s safety by feel, he leaned around the right side of the tree and fired a single shot at the flas
hlight heading toward them from that direction. He did the same on the left. Behind him, Beth was already yards away.
Carl leaned again to his right and fired another round. But now the flashlight on that side was no longer visible. He leaned to the left and likewise, no longer saw a light on that side. Nervously, he squeezed off another round into the dark woods.
This wasn’t working as he’d imagined. Without the lights to show him the pursuers’ locations, he couldn’t be sure they weren’t still moving toward him. He listened hard.
Yes. He heard rustling sounds coming from both directions. He yanked his flashlight from his pocket, thumbed it on, and shined it into the woods on his right. He didn’t see anything, but thought the sounds on that side had stopped. He fired several rounds in that direction, spreading them so they had a better chance of connecting. He leaned around the tree in the opposite direction and fired again, and again. Then the trigger jammed. He looked at the position of the slide and saw that the magazine was empty.
“Shit.” Shoving the useless gun into his back pocket, he spun around and dug hard, heading in the direction of Beth’s flashlight, dimly visible through the trees.
He hadn’t seen anyone as he’d fired but hoped he’d wounded at least one of them. That was possible. Not likely, but possible.
Forty yards behind him and to his left, a flashlight flicked on. Ten yards closer on his right, the other one appeared.
Carl saw neither because he was running hard, trying to avoid all the obstacles that cropped up in his path. As he ran, the sound of his feet and the blood pounding in his ears made him doubt he would be able to hear it when those chasing them fired again. He knew his underbrush-dictated erratic course would make him a tough target, but it was still a horrible feeling to not know when a round was coming.
The Blood Betrayal Page 9