Dad pushes to his feet. “If you always know what’s going on then you know that they’re only a few miles away and they have killer tracking dogs. There’s no maybe about it. With dogs and guns, they’ll kill us. You and Becky have got to escape. Yes, they’ll probably still try to go after you, but at least you have a chance. If you can get to the authorities and get them involved, then Victor and his people will have no reason to go after you. You’ll be safe from then on, even if he gets away.”
Matt takes my hand and says, “We’re staying.” I squeeze his fingers. I’d smile, too, but this isn’t a smiling subject. “You have no choice about it,” he finishes.
Dad closes his eyes and grinds his teeth. He’s knows he is in a battle he will not win. He doesn’t want to back down in front of Mom. I’m receiving his thoughts, his emotions. I’m also feeling the internal tears from Mom, as well as the shakes from Matt. His fear of stepping forward and making that speech was just as bad as all the others. And then, all of a sudden, I feel one more person. I turn around and look at Sam, sitting on a stump. I see her eyes, which are on Dad, and I see her mind. It’s only a second, maybe two. She’s replaying a kiss . . .
. . . with my dad!
And then it’s gone, and she is looking at me. Something roars up inside of me and before I can stop it, one word explodes from my mind . . .
BITCH!
. . . and the sudden change in her face tells me she got it. I didn’t mean to transmit my thought to her. It just happened. I’m not sorry it happened. As a matter-of-fact Dad deserves the same. I’m already in motion, my body turning to face him, my anger boiling up the appropriate male word.
NO!
I turn back to Sam.
It’s not his fault.
Is she projecting her thoughts at me, or is she just thinking them, knowing I’ll pick them up? How does she know what I’m about to do?
I did it, not him.
You’re lying!
He rejected me. Your father is a good man.
I saw it.
Her back straightens; she takes a deep breath; her eyes close. Again I see. It is gross. She is on top of him, her face plastered to his. She’s moving against . . . Shit to Hell! I don’t like this. I don’t want to see this.
STOP!
His hands are all over her.
STOP!
They’re like, grinding, and their tongues . . .
Shit to Hell, Stop, please! I can’t get control. I can’t block it. I try throwing up a wall, white noise, the equivalent of singing with my fingers in my ears. Nothing helps. Nothing blocks it, until . . .
. . . it stops.
Dad stops. She gets off of him, embarrassed, upset. She leaves.
It wasn’t his fault, I hear her think to me. “It’s too late,” she says out loud. Apparently only I knew she was here. The others had been looking elsewhere, Mom lying with her eyes closed. Now we are all looking at her. “I just found out that there is a second group tracking the route you all took to get here. They’re camped not far from where the Rhino is hidden. They’ll find it right after sunrise.”
We all say nothing for a very long time. I become deathly aware of the waterfall, a shroud of noise wrapping us up for safe keeping until the killers arrive.
“Shit!” Dad puts his hands against his temples, presses for a second and then throws his arms out. “We’re goddamned trapped! But Becky and Matt can still get away if they leave now.”
“Maybe,” Sam says, “But from what I heard a few minutes ago, that’s not going to happen.”
I glance at Matt for reassurance, get it, and then turn back to Dad and shake my head at him. I’m still angry with him. Just because he rejected her, doesn’t mean he’s off my list. He seemed to be enjoying it way too much before he stopped it.
He scowls at me and says to Sam, “How many men are we talking?”
“Four in the first group, and two dogs. I know that because I’ve seen them myself. The other group I only know about because of my cats. But, they have no way of communicating numbers to me.”
“Your cats?” Mom says.
Sam gives no reply to the statement, only a slight change in her facial expression telling me she was surprised, and pleased, by Mom’s choice of words.
“Double it then,” Dad says.
“That would be a decent guess.”
“Five unarmed against eight armed plus dogs.”
“Throw in seven sabre-toothed cats and we have an even match.”
“I don’t think so. We’re still not armed. And I’ll bet Vandermill is not among them. When he shows up he’ll probably have more men and guns.”
Sam shakes her head. “Maybe one or two, and his pilot, who will stay with the helicopter. Victor will not come here until he receives confirmation from his men that they either have me, or they have me trapped. My hunch is that they have orders to kill everyone. He’ll either personally kill me or I’ll become his slave again. One’s the same as the other as far as I’m concerned.”
“But we have the element of surprise,” I inject, breaking the momentary silence. “They don’t know we know where they are, and they probably don’t know about the cats.”
“What are you saying?” Mom says. “We should go after them now?”
“Absolutely,” Sam says for me.
“With what? Your cats?”
“And our brains, and as Reba says, the element of surprise.”
“This ain’t some damn movie where the good guys always win. This is real life and in real life the good guys usually wind up dead.”
“You’ve already resigned yourself to death, my dear,” Sam says. “The rest of us haven’t. If they get us there’re going to be a bunch of them going with us.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No. I’m sure it doesn’t. I’m just stating what could happen.”
Mom is fighting her emotions. “So, what the hell am I supposed to do? I’m useless, making it more like four against all of them.”
“Can you move at all?”
“Maybe. Zach, help me.”
Dad doesn’t move. It only takes me a split second to read him and understand why. “I’ll help you, Mom,” I say quickly and kneel next to her.
“No. Your dad is stronger.”
“I want to. I’m the one who hurt you. I want to help you.”
“That’s really nice, Sweetie, but your dad knows how to handle me without hurting me more. He has the experience. You don’t.”
“I can do it.”
“Damn it, Becky! Get away, now!”
I back away while giving Dad my dirtiest I’m sorry look. Even though I know that she’s right and I’m wrong, and that I was only trying to do it to protect Dad, I still feel Mom’s stinging words. I walk over and sit next to Sam. “You might want to go away for a bit,” I whisper to her. “This could get a bit ugly.”
She gives me the, what the hell are you talking about? look.
“I tried smoking once. One cigarette. Got sick. Walked into the house three hours later. You’d think it would have all been gone. I didn’t get within twenty feet of Mom and she accused me of smoking. She has the nose of a bloodhound.” I’m not telling Sam this because I feel sorry for her, or want to save her ass. If it wasn’t for her furry bodyguards, I’d probably try beating her brains in myself. “Dad’s wearing you all over him. I’m surprised she hasn’t already caught it.”
Her mouth drops open, but she doesn’t move. I don’t think she believes me. We watch as Dad reluctantly helps Mom maneuver to a position from which, with his support, she can stand. She pushes to her feet with a firm grip on his arm, and then waits for the pain to subside. Except for some painful groaning, she says nothing. After a few steps she lets loose of Dad’s arm, and then continues on her own for a few minutes, seeming to get stronger with each step.
“Not as bad as I thought it would be,” she says, her voice firm, pain-free, anger-free. I try to read her. I cannot. Am I wrong
about her picking up on Dad’s little indiscretion? “I think a soak in the hot water would be nice,” she says.
I stand up to volunteer to go with her, but Dad volunteers first.
“No, thank you, Sweetheart.”
Dad tenses up. Mom never uses the word, Sweetheart, as an endearment. It usually precedes an ass chewing of some sort. The word Sweetheart is her way of masking her intentions until she’s close enough to stab, verbally, or in this case, maybe physically.
“I’ll ask Aileen to help me.” She looks at Sam. “Would you mind joining me?” There is a layer of sweetness not normally part of Mom that’s going beyond Sweetheart.
“We need to start making plans,” Sam says, “and we have a lot to do before daylight.” She glances at me and back to Mom. “You go ahead and soak. I’ll get things going with these guys.”
“This really is important to me. It won’t take long. If you want my support on this suicidal mission, you’ll accompany me into the hot water.”
“It really makes no difference if I have your support or not. I’ll pass.”
Mom glares at Sam, her posture fencepost straight. “Fine—if that’s the way you want it. I will have to say it now in front of everyone, instead of when I had intended, when the two of us were alone.” She pauses long enough that I have to take a breath. I think Dad has stopped breathing altogether. “If you touch my husband one more time, you won’t have to worry about Victor. I’ll kill you myself.” She starts to walk away, then stops. “I’m no longer afraid of your cats.” She looks at Dad, “And you’ll wish you had joined her.”
We watch her image disappear into the dark of the next chamber. “Becky,” she calls back. “Bring the lantern and a towel. I’d like your assistance.”
I grab her towel and ask Dad to light the lantern for me. He is staring at the blackness where Mom was last visible. “Dad!” I grab his arm. He looks at me. “Light the lantern, please.”
He picks up the lantern and looks around as though in a trance. I tap his shirt pocket where I saw him get matches once before. He looks at the pocket, then pulls out the container, opens it and extracts a match, his expression not changing the slightest. He lights it and then manhandles the lantern until it is glowing. “It’ll be okay,” I say to him. He doesn’t seem to hear me. After staring at the flame for nearly a full minute, he hands me the lantern. “Talk to her,” he says.
“I will,” I say even though I have no idea what I’m going to say to her. “It’ll be okay.”
“Talk to her,” he says again and directs his eyes back to Mom’s last known location.
I look at Sam. I feel sorry for her and hate her at the same time. With the lantern in hand, I rush to catch up to my mother, leaving Dad, Matt and Sam to plan how we will stay alive.
My mission, if I should choose to accept it, is to cool Mom down.
Chapter 56
Zach
How did this all happen? Less than 96 hours ago the rest of our lives were spread out before us, long lives we could only assume; potential for greatness, or at least fair success, for Becky; college on the horizon. Tanya’s cliental has been growing, her resume expanding, her health settling out after so many years of therapy. Although not yet sliding off the tongue of every editor and literary agent in the country, my name is not entirely unheard of; my reputation has been building. I’ve actually been able to contribute to the net income of the family.
Now we are all going to die.
Why can’t Becky just run? She and Matt could make a lot of distance while not being hindered by us. We could keep the goons occupied for probably most of the day. Do they know how many people they’re looking for? The three of us might be it, might satisfy them. Vandermill might stop with Aileen, kill Tanya and me, and be gone. If I was assured that Becky could get away, I could live with that.
Could live with that! Funny. I could die with that. To save Becky, yes I could.
But she won’t go.
“Zach.”
She’s as hardheaded as her mother. And it’s not her fault. She was just being a kid; wanting adventure. Others go off on drugs and booze. Our daughter goes off on a vacation of hiking and exploring. It is mine, and Tanya’s fault. We’re the ones who panicked and took off after her. We’re the ones who threw the shit at the fan. Tanya was just being an over-protective mother. She has always been aggressive when it came to the girls. She would give up anything and everything for them . . .
. . . and now she will give up her life.
It’s not right.
“Zach!”
There has to be a way to protect her, to save her. I could drug her and then carry her deeper into the mountain and hide her. When she wakes up and finds her way out, it’ll all be over . . .
. . . maybe.
I have no drugs anyway.
“Zach!” Aileen grabs my arm.
“What?”
“We have to talk here. We’re running out of time.”
I look toward the dim light emitting from the hot spring room and then sit down next to Matt. Aileen squats in front of us. “It’s hopeless,” I say.
“No, it’s not. We’re not totally helpless, or defenseless. I don’t know why I didn’t mention it before—maybe because I hate the damn things—but I recovered the weapons from the first two guys. I also recovered their night-vision equipment, for what that’s worth.
“Where are they?” Matt says. Although after his speech he had said nothing, he did remain alert and aware during Tanya’s bit of drama. Now he is into it one hundred percent, leaning forward—his elbows on his knees—seeming to be intent and focused.
“They’re about two miles north, northwest of here.”
“No. Where are the guns and the night-vision goggles?”
“You don’t even know how to use one of those kinds of guns, Matt.”
“Please don’t treat me like a kid. And how do you know what kind of gun I can shoot?”
“These aren’t hunting rifles and pistols. These are like what terrorists would use.”
“They looked like Uzis to me,” I say.
He looks at me. “Have you ever fired an Uzi, Zach?”
I shake my head. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen one, other than on television.”
“Well, I’ve fired one.”
We both give him the dropping jaw look.
“Dad brought one home once. I got to actually shoot it. So did Mom.”
“How long ago was that?” Aileen asks.
“I was fourteen.”
“And you think you’re an expert now?”
He gives her a dirty look. “No. But since I’m most likely the only person here who has handled them, it would be logical that I take control of one. The basic function will come back to me quickly, and then I can teach Zach. With these, the cats and a bit of surprise, our chances have increased considerably.”
“He’s right,” I say. “Add in the night vision goggles and I start seeing the possibility of a future again.” I really am feeling better all of a sudden. I’d still like to send Becky and Tanya away, but I doubt that’s going to happen. I’m still going to try and talk them into hiding somewhere. I know Tanya will go if Becky will go with her. Becky might go if I tell her it’s to protect her mother. Play them as protectors of each other. Sounds like a plan.
“Okay,” Aileen says. “I guess it makes sense. The guns and goggles are in a canvas bag, behind a rock near where Simon was lying when you worked on his wounds. I dropped them there when I came in.”
Matt takes off on the run. When he is out of earshot, Aileen rises from her squatting position and sits next to me. “I’m sorry, Zach,” she says softly.
I don’t say anything.
“If you know of any way I could fix it . . .” She takes my hand in hers.
I shake my head, and then jerk it up to look toward where Tanya is, at the same time pulling my hand from hers. The movement is without thought, simply reactive to Tanya’s threat. Aileen stands and walks awa
y. She sits against the woodpile. Understanding or hurt—I don’t really care. I feel a pressure building inside me, and it has nothing to do with coming death or destruction. It is the pressure of anger.
If all of us should by some miracle come out of this alive, two families will be crippled if not destroyed—we will never be the same, no matter what; however, Aileen . . . Sam, whoever the hell she is or will become next, will go on to start a new life. She will change her name and disappear. She has so little to lose. We, on the other hand, have everything to lose—have already lost much—only our lives to gain. And I’ve been an idiot, still subconsciously pining for Aileen. Two of my three girls lives are in the balance and I’m acting like a newly hormonal schoolboy. What the hell has that been about?
I form a picture of a computer screen in my head with two icons and a trashcan. The icons say Aileen and Sam. I drag Aileen into the trash and she and the trashcan disappear. Aileen is gone and I feel better.
I do not feel less angry.
Matt returns and suddenly I have my anger wrapped around a gun. I don’t know what I expected, but it is heavy, five or six pounds. “These aren’t Uzis,” he says excitedly. “These are MP5s. I’ve fired these, too, and they’re even better.”
“Better? What’s the difference?”
“The Uzi shoots in bursts. Five rounds or seven rounds, something like that. The MP5 can fire single shots or in full automatic. Dad got into this thing for a while where he got his hands on all kinds of weapons so that his deputies could be familiar with them. That was right after 9/11. He kind of went a little bit ballistic for a while. We got to shoot some strange guns.” He pulls a clip from the bag and looks at it. “Even Mom. It’s 9mm, 30 rounds.” He does something to the weapon and a partially used clip drops into his hand. I look at mine and manage to extract the clip. By the balance of weight I guess it is half full. Maybe I’ve got the one that killed Brian.
Matt shoves the clip back into the weapon. “The son-of-a-bitches are going to get a taste of their own medicine.”
“Is that clip full?” I ask.
Sabre-Toothed Cat Trilogy Page 74