“You’ve been back there?” I say.
“Yes. I wasn’t far away when I heard the gun fire.” She drops her head for a second and then brings her eyes back up to mine. She then looks at both Mom and Dad. “I’m really sorry. Victor has gone mad.”
“One of them is dead,” I tell her.
“They’re both dead.”
“Oh. Then we can go back and get the cars and get out of here.”
She shakes her head. “They’ve disabled all the vehicles except their own, and I couldn’t find the keys to that. Where would we go anyway? Who do we trust? Your dad says it was the sheriff who called him and the deputies who lead these guys here.”
“The sheriff wouldn’t put up with this . . .”
She holds up her hand. “If he knew. You’re right. He has no idea what his phone call has started, but to get to him or any other authority could put us all in more danger. There are some other homes a few miles away where we could use a phone but going there would put them in danger too. I can handle this but I need to get you guys where you’ll be safe first, so that even if he gets me, he won’t know where you are, or even who you are.”
“He’ll be able to figure it out,” Dad says. “License plates, rental contracts. I have no doubt he’ll be waiting for us in Dallas, even if he gets you. And especially if he doesn’t.”
She looks at him for a few seconds and then stands up. “Shit!”
I put my elbows on my knees and drop my head into my hands. “I’m sorry!” My eyes sting, the first warning of the tears that’ll soon follow. “I’m so sorry.”
“I should be sorry, too. I’m the one who ran away from him and then got a little too complacent and allowed other people into my life. But it’s too late for sorry, Reba. No time for crying. We need to figure out how to get out of this mess.”
Easy for you to say. . . shit! I take a deep breath and wipe at my face.
“I’ve got a plan. It’s not a great plan, but right now it’s the only one we’ve got.”
Chapter 43
“What about Matt?” I say. “He needs to know what’s going on.” He hasn’t returned but I can sense his presence nearby.
“He’s been listening,” Sam says. She indicates above me. I look up and behind me. He’s sitting on the top of one of the boulder walls. His arms are resting on his raised knees and he is looking out over the trees.
I turn back to Sam. “How are we going to all fit in your little ATV?” She hasn’t told us much of the plan, except that we will be taking the ATV to a place where we’ll be safe.
“First of all, it’s not all that little. Second, you won’t all be able to ride all the way. You’ll get into some rough country which will require only one person handling it while the others walk. You and Matt, who will be riding in the back, I’m sure are going to want to walk now and then anyway. The last mile is going to be all on foot in any case. The ATV won’t be able to make it. Third, I’m not going to be with you.”
“Why?”
“I have some things to do. I’ll meet up with you this afternoon. It’s not as far for me because I’ll be totally on foot so can take a shorter route. You’ll be going the long way with the ATV but it minimizes the walking.”
“How are we going to find our way there?” Dad asks.
“Matt,” Sam says. “I need you down here with your GPS.” He stands up and disappears, a half minute later reappearing in the chamber. He hands her the device, then turns to walk out. “Matt!” she says. He ignores her and is gone.
“Damn! I don’t want to take the time to teach you guys how to run this, but I don’t know how much you can count on him. He’s in an awfully bad way.”
“I can do it,” I say.
“You know how to use this?”
“Yeah. I did a report on it in High School. I can give you a rundown on how it works if you want.”
“That’s not necessary. Get over here and I’ll show you where you’re going while I set in a few waypoints along the way.”
We all crowd in together, heads to heads, and look down at the screen. “What are waypoints?” Mom asks.
“A waypoint is a set of coordinates defining a precise point on earth that you want to navigate to,” I say.
“Exactly.” Sam points to a spot toward the corner. “This is where you want to get to, but there’s no direct route that the Rhino can handle.”
“Rhino!”
“Sorry, Tanya. The ATV. I call it the Rhino. I have to take you to this place in a roundabout way. You’ll start by going straight up the trail that’s right out here, until you get to this point, then turn south. I’ll label that waypoint P1. You’ll be on a hiking trail for a while.” She scrolls the map and then over the next ten minutes proceeds to identify the next six waypoints. “A lot of this that you’ll be on are old roads cut to get to claims and homesteads, long ago overgrown. I had to do a little clearing to make it passable for the Rhino. It took me a long time to figure this route out and I only used it when I had to, choosing instead to pack in on foot most of the time. I didn’t ever want to make it too worn and noticeable. I haven’t been on it since last fall so it won’t be very visible now. P7 is your objective, however you’ll have to leave the ATV at P6. Make sure it is well hidden in the trees, so that it can’t be seen from the air. It’s a mile hike from there but the terrain isn’t bad. There will be a fast moving creek to cross but there is a log you can use. You might lose satellite on and off so be sure to follow the compass. It should be about 260 degrees. Oh, and back here, at P5, you’ll cross what looks like a well used road. It isn’t. Don’t follow it even though it will appear to go in the right direction. It is badly washed out in several places. Stay on the route I give you here. P4, this area right here, is going to be a little dicey, but as long as you aren’t afraid of heights, you should be okay.”
I sense a sudden tension in Dad. He controls it well and doesn’t let on about his phobia.
“What do we do when we get there?” Mom asks. She’s trying to ignore the height issue, as well as the mile walk. Her feet aren’t in good shape, even in my boots.
“Wait.”
“How long?”
“Until it’s over. Hopefully not longer than one night.”
“What about food?” Dad asks. My stomach growls.
“You’ll find food there; most of the comforts of home as a matter of fact. That’s about it. You need to get going now. I shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours behind you.” She puts her hat on. I expect an Australian accent. “Any questions?”
“So, we go to P7 and wait,” Dad says.
“Exactly. You should be able to find the entrance. Through the trees. It is an easy trek through the mountain from there. Any other questions?” She gives us no more than five seconds and then is gone. We slowly stand and walk out. She is talking with Matt who is sitting in the Rhino. “Yeah,” he says, and then she waves at us and walks away. I feel abandoned.
“She says those guys are both dead,” Mom says. “Why don’t we go back and get our cars and get out of here before anyone else shows up?”
“They shot the tires out, Mom.”
“We should do what she says. I believe she knows what she’s talking about.” Dad takes her hand and leads her to the ATV. “She’s trying to protect us.”
We stand by the Rhino and try to figure out how we are all going to ride in or on it. Seven or eight miles, she said. Doesn’t seem that far. “I’ll drive,” Dad says and guides Mom to her side and buckles her in. Matt climbs up on the back, leaving no room for me.
“Is that strong enough for both of us?” I say. There is maybe a three foot by three foot bed which we could probably both sit in; however, there is a heavy wire mesh inverted box over the top of it, to keep things from bouncing out I assume. My backpack is in there; thank you, Sam! So is Mom’s purse, and a small chain saw. I step on the wheel and then the narrow little fender, and then pull myself up. “Move over!” I order Matt, shoving a hip against hi
s. He moves without complaint or comment. Dad starts it and we slowly start moving.
After a bit I swing my legs over the side. Matt does the same and we lean back against each other for support. I try to probe into his mind but between the engine and the bouncing, I cannot hold on to it. I give up and watch the scenery. Suddenly, we stop.
“How much farther to the first point?” Dad asks.
Oh! I’d forgotten about the GPS, which I had hooked onto my belt. I pull it out and punch the buttons to get it to that mode I need. “A half mile.” He starts out again. We’re where I threw up and Matt said I had altitude sickness. I hope I don’t get sick again.
At the waypoint I yell, “Turn here.” We’re still gaining altitude, following the trail that Sam mentioned, and I’m getting a headache. We bounce across a meadow and follow the tree line until the second waypoint. We skirt around a pointy hill and then start down, turning east and then southeast and driving in and out of an old creek bed, bouncing around rocks and tree trunks. We come to a wall of bushes through which the creek bed disappears. Dad stops. “Left,” I say. “Up there.” We head up a hill toward a stand of trees then turn and parallel them. Travel is then smooth until we arrive at a sheer rock wall. This is the steepest part we’ve been on and I have to put the GPS back on my belt so I can use my hands to hold on to the roll bar and the steel mesh. Dad slows to navigate around rocks and boulders. Matt jumps off and starts walking. I do the same. “We’ll meet you at the top,” I yell, hurting my head. I don’t know if my headache is from the altitude or the constant bouncing, and straining and holding on.
In the end, we beat Dad to the top because he has to work himself back and forth while we can take a straight shot. At some point Mom gets out and slowly works her way up. By the time Dad gets there with the Rhino the three of us are staring at the rock wall. Mom is complaining about her back. I worry about what is yet to come, and that last mile.
“Well?” Dad says.
“This is number three.” I position myself directly in front of the wall, which must tower a couple of hundred feet over my head, and then turn about thirty degrees to my right. “Where we’re going is that way, but,” I point to my left, “she said to go that way to number four and five to get around this.”
“Is this where she said it would be tight but the Rhino could make it?” Dad asks.
“Yeah.” It looks level as it goes into the trees. We all climb back on and head out.
There is no trail, no ATV tracks, not a thing to guide us through here. Matt and I get off and walk ahead to pick out the route through the trees. We have to back him up twice when we hit a dense area that’s impassable, all the time getting farther and farther away from our destination. When we eventually break out of the trees we are at P4, and on a narrow ledge at the base of the still existing vertical rock wall, my first point of worry. Mom gets out. “I’m walking here.”
I don’t blame her. Knowing Dad and his fear of heights, I think he’d walk, too, if he could. Even I, who once considered high dive competition, am a little unnerved by the long, sheer drop-off. We move ahead, clearing rocks and boulders that are in the way. At least Matt and I do. “I don’t like this.” Mom’s voice is shaky, but she’s walking, hugging the wall, holding on to it as though if she didn’t she’d accidentally walk the ten or twelve feet to her left and fall off the edge. After a bit I realize I can barely hear the engine of the ATV. I look back. Dad hasn’t started moving yet. All I can see of him is his deathly white face.
We’ve got a problem.
Chapter 44
Zach
I can’t move. My hands are white-knuckled to the steering wheel and my foot is stuck to the brake as though if I released it, even the slightest, the vehicle would instantly run itself over the edge. It’s not vertigo. I have no dizziness in my head. What I have is flaring pains up and down my legs and in my groin. I think my scrotum has shriveled and disappeared up inside somewhere, sending a rush of petrifaction throughout my body. That’s what heights do to me. I never get lightheaded. I just turn into a statue.
“Dad.”
I know Becky has walked back and is now standing next to me, but I can’t look at her. To do so would take my eyes from straight ahead which would logically lead to my losing control of this thing and then who knows what would happen.
“It’s okay, Dad. There’s plenty of room.”
One part of my brain knows that but it’s being ignored. Don’t look weak in front of your daughter, it says. I carefully take a deep breath. Even breathing might get out of control so I have to be careful. Every movement has to be thought through, examined, and then done slowly.
“Dad!”
She is going to make fun of me. “I’m okay.” I force my head to turn directly to her. By so doing I kind of don’t see anything else, such as the drop to a certain death ledge, which in the back of my mind I know is still there. “I’ll make it,” I tell her.
“Okay. I’ll walk right alongside you. How’s that?”
“Sure.” I glance ahead and then look at her again. “It’s not wide enough.” My voice is shaking. I can’t control it. I hate this more than anything I can think of. I’d rather be strapped to a dental chair and having all my teeth extracted with a semi-sharp instrument and no Novocain.
“Then I’ll walk ahead of you. You can keep your eyes on me.”
I very slowly shake my head. “No. I’ll run over you.” That is very possible. If my foot can freeze on the brake, it can certainly freeze on the gas as well and go pell-melling into her and then off the cliff, killing both of us.
“Turn off the engine.”
“Why?”
“Because you need to get out and walk around a bit. You’re tense. You have to relax.”
That actually doesn’t sound like a bad idea. If I get out I can get control; loosen up a bit; get my wits about me; look at the logic of the whole thing and then get back in and drive across.
Simple.
Good idea.
I carefully move my right hand to the key and gently turn the ignition off. The sudden silence is comforting. “Good,” she says. “When you get out, don’t look forward. Turn toward the trees behind us and just look at them.”
Her hand is on my arm as I carefully turn my body and place one foot on the ground. I feel like an invalid all of a sudden and picture this same thing happening in a nursing home. But I’m not in a nursing home and certainly don’t believe I’m very close to one. I pull my arm away from her hand. “I’m fine! I can do this by myself!”
“Fine,” she says.
I know I’m being short with her and probably should apologize but I have other things on my mind right now. I place my other foot on the ground and then pull myself up, at the same time turning my back to the yawning valley of death. Nice trees. Nice stable trees. She’s right. If I walk back to the trees and breathe their coolness, and feel their firmness under my hands, I’ll regain my own sense of stability and self-control. I walk forward and she says, “Good.” I feel like an idiot, but I keep walking anyway.
Reba
I watch Dad, hoping he thinks I am right behind him. When he is almost to the trees I get in the Rhino, put my foot on the brake, and then turn the key. It is a simple little machine but I’m surprised at how easy it accelerates. I get the feel quickly, though a bit unnerved by the drop-off to my left, but not petrified like my dad. When I get up to Mom, who is only three quarters of the way along, I stop and say, “Get in, Mom.” Without looking at me she says, “I’m doing fine, Sweetie.” I can tell by her voice she is not, but she is better than Dad. I’m starting to lose my patience with these two.
“GET IN!”
She turns her surprised face to me.
“NOW!”
She takes a step toward the Rhino and reaches for the door. Slowly, gradually, she eases herself in. “Close your eyes,” I tell her and then without waiting for whether she does or not, I drive forward to the end, pulling past where Matt is sitting on a
rock, and into a thin stand of trees. I turn the engine off and get out. “I’ll be right back.”
When I get back to Dad he is already creeping along the ledge, and just like Mom, is keeping himself as far away from the edge as he can get. I go to take his hand. He jerks away. “No! I’m fine.” He is angry with me. I walk next to him for a few steps. “You don’t have to stay with me,” he says. “I’m not a child.”
You’re acting like one. I smile and stay next to him anyway. It takes a long time but eventually we make it to the end. Dad sits on the ground next to where Mom is propped against a tree. I sit away from them with my back against a huge rock and soak up the sun, while staring across the hundred yards of ground we just covered. Where the hell are we going and what other death defying challenges are we going to meet before we get there? Why couldn’t we have stayed where we were? I actually consider suggesting going back but two things change my mind. One is the fact that I’d have to navigate these two people I’m embarrassed to call my parents, back across this ledge. I put away the thought that I may have to do that anyway at some point unless we’re going to spend the rest of our lives wherever it is we’re going. The second thing that changes my mind is the face of Smilodon who appears at the edge of the trees on the other side, as well as the silhouette of another. I had the hunch all along that we had escorts and I’ve been trying to convince myself that they’re under orders by Sam to not hurt us. Still, they’re visual presence is enough to keep me moving on; to keep us moving on.
I sense movement just behind me and then Dad sits down next to me. He picks a blade of grass and fools with it for a time. After a bit he clears his throat and says, “Thank you.”
I relax. I was afraid I’d be in the shits for a while. I still may be with Mom because I yelled at her. “You’re welcome.”
He puts his arm around me. “I’m proud of you, even if you did run away and start this whole thing.”
“I didn’t run away.”
“It seemed like it to us because you snuck off.”
Sabre-Toothed Cat Trilogy Page 64