I start down the path. I have to be careful as I could pitch onto my face. At the switchback I stop to look for a sign of my family. I listen. The quiet is unnerving. I take a long, slow breath, wait for strength, and then head on down toward the light of the fire and torches.
There’s a sudden movement, a head pops up and disappears just beyond the fire, and then there is Becky’s voice. “. . . shit to hell!” Something flies through the air, into the darkness of the chamber containing the hot spring. The object reminds me of Fourth of July fireworks and suddenly I know what it is. I drop to the ground and cover my head.
Reba
There’s no explosion. I get off Mom. “Shit to hell! It didn’t go off.” Mom is staring at me; her mouth is hanging open. “It’s Dad!” I say to explain why I did what I did. I’m not only concerned about him, but also about the ramifications of having a bag full of useless dynamite. I jump from our hiding and run to him. He is lying on the ground, one arm over his head, the other holding on to his gun. I’m nearly getting sick to my stomach to think what I almost did.
“Dad!” He looks up at me and then rolls onto his back. “Oh, God!” explodes from my mouth. He is soaking wet and covered with blood. “Mom! Oh, God! He’s hurt.” I start to touch him and then pull back. There is so much blood, mud and leaves, I can’t tell where he was shot. My stomach lurches. I stand, take a deep breath to force it back, and then kneel down next to him again. “Dad.”
He moves his mouth but only a whispered gurgle comes out.
“Zach!” Mom is on her knees on the other side of him. He tries to talk but there is nothing we can understand. “Don’t try and talk,” Mom says. “Where’re you shot?”
He shakes his head slowly and points to his left arm. The shirt is blood soaked. He points to his neck. Mom pulls back the collar. I gag and turn away. “What happened?” Mom asks.
“Daaa,” Dad says.
“Dog?” Mom interprets.
He nods. I couldn’t have guessed, but then Mom is a dental hygienist and spends a lot of time talking to people with things stuffed into their mouth. It’s like another language.
“You were attacked by one of the dogs?” He nods. “If you’ve lost this much blood, you should be dead.”
He shakes his head. “Daaa,” he says again.
“Yes, I’ve got that part.”
He shakes his head again, then points to himself, running his finger from his brow down to his belt. “Daaa!” He starts coughing.
“I don’t . . .”
“He’s saying that that’s the dog’s blood.” I look at him. “Right?”
He nods.
“The Dog is dead?”
He nods and holds up two fingers.
“Both dogs are dead.”
He nods.
“Where’s Matt and Sam,” I ask. He shakes his head. “You don’t know?” He shakes his head again.
“Can you stand so we can get you where I can clean you up?”
He nods and then shakes his head.
“I don’t understand,” Mom says.
He lifts his right arm and points. We look but we don’t get it. “Whatever you’re trying to say,” Mom says, “it can wait. We need to get you fixed up.” He shakes his head but Mom ignores him. “You indicated you could walk, so let’s get you to your feet and down by the fire.”
He continues to shake his head, but Mom pays no attention. He gets to his feet he tries to shake her free, but he is weak, and her nursing instinct strong. He gives in and they make a few steps before he suddenly stops and violently shakes his head. This sends him into a coughing spell. We hold onto him until it passes. Blood is oozing from the wounds on his neck. He jerks his right arm away from Mom and before she can get it back he grabs the weapon that is dangling from his left hand and shoves it at me.
“What?” My hands clamp onto it and he looks me directly in the eye. “What?” I don’t want the gun. He puts his finger on my forehead, and then touches his own. He does this several times, moving his finger back and forth between my head and his, before it occurs to me. “Oh!”
“I don’t get it,” Mom says, impatience in her voice.
“He wants me to talk to him with my mind.”
“Give me a break.”
Dad is nodding.
“He wants to tell us something.” I put my hand up to shut her off. Dad?
They’re on their way.
Who?
The second group. Two men and a dog. They started early. Should be here any minute. He points up to the exit into the mountain. I repeat it out loud for Mom.
“How does he know?” she asks.
Dad tells me that it’s too complicated, and that there isn’t time to explain. He reaches into his pocket and hands me a magazine for the weapon. I don’t know how much is left in the gun, he says.
I don’t like this.
This is all you got.
I don’t like this at all.
It’s up to you.
What about Mom? She’s a real adult. I can’t do this.
I can’t trust her. She’s unpredictable. You’re stronger.
“No, I’m not!”
In the ways that count for this, you are.
“I can’t do this. It’s one thing to throw dynamite. It’s another to shoot a weird gun when I’ve never shot a gun before.”
“What’s he saying?” Mom asks.
Dynamite? I saw it. What happened?
“We thought you were one of them. I almost threw it at you. At the last minute I saw you being blown to bits and threw it in the other direction. It never went off.”
Where did you get it?
“Reba! Tell me what is going on!”
“Sam gave it to me just before you guys took off.”
She never told me. I thought you guys were defenseless.
“Yeah, but I almost killed you.”
But it wouldn’t have gone off.
“I didn’t know that.”
How much more dynamite do you have?
“Twelve. But they’re no good.”
“Reba!” Mom grabs my arm.
“They’re coming, Mom. Any minute they’re coming from up there.” I point to the dark hole into the mountain. “And we have to get ready.”
“Where’s Matt?”
“Dad doesn’t know. It might be just us.”
All of a sudden Simon is on the move. We back away as he comes down toward us. He stops briefly and looks up at the entrance into the mountain. The patch on his side is even more blood-soaked, and the gray of his snoot seems even grayer.
And then there is the sound of rock hitting against rock, and then a voice. It comes from inside the mountain. A combination hiss and growl erupts from Simon. He hunkers down and then sneaks up the slope to the entrance and disappears into the darkness. He has no chance against men with guns and night vision goggles.
“We’ve got to hide.” Suddenly there is barking and then a life-ending dog scream followed by shots.
“What the hell?” one voice yells.
“I got’m,” says another.
“No you didn’t. He’s still moving.”
Suddenly Simon reappears, the dog in his mouth, not much bigger than his head. Something is wrong. He looks confused, starts to stagger to the right, catches himself then looks back. There are more shots. The bullets that don’t hit him ricochet about the cavern. Simon tumbles down the slope, landing thirty feet from us. Run! Dad grabs my arm and Mom’s.
“Run!” I grab Mom too and we head up the path toward the exit to the waterfall.
Dad can’t make it. I let go of Mom and try to grab his hurt arm. He flinches away. Just go!
No! I hook onto his belt from the back and start pushing and together we practically carry and drag him up to the switchback. We don’t slow down, arriving at the top just as the two men appear. They don’t see us at first. They’re looking down with their goggles, possibly placing us outside their range of vision. Then one looks up and points.
“Over there,” he yells.
Without thought I bring the gun around and pull the trigger. The next thing I know I’m lying on my back with the weapon pointed straight up. “Go!” I yell to Mom as I jump to my feet. The two men are out of sight, not because I blew them away with my fantastic marksmanship, but probably because they didn’t expect to be fired upon, and dove for cover. The joke is on them. If they were in any danger it was more than likely from the bullets that bounced off the ceiling. I momentarily have an edge and take off after my parents.
Just as I turn the next corner there is gunfire. I expect a chunk of searing hot metal to come ripping through my back. Instead bullets strike the rocks near me. Maybe their shooting isn’t too much better than mine.
Or maybe I’m just plain lucky.
Dad is wheezing and Mom is panicking. I want to do the same but I’m the one with the gun. Since at least one person has to keep her head, it is logically me. Is this a role reversal or what?
Dad falls to one knee. Dad! His mind is a muddle of confusion, out of the middle of which comes the word, Run! And then he goes flat to the ground and rolls over on his back. Run, Damn it! His mind seems a lot stronger than he looks.
“He can’t breathe!” Mom is tearing his shirt open. “Help me! Help me!”
Get her off me. Leave me.
No! Get up! We’re not going without you. “He’s fine, Mom. He’s playing possum. He thinks if we go without him, he won’t slow us down.”
Mom looks at me and then gives him a dirty look. “Screw you mister. You’re not dumping me for her that easy.”
Damn it, he says and rolls to his hands and knees. He is still wheezing but at least he is breathing. Mom grabs his good arm and I hook my hand under his belt again. Together we lift him to his feet and force him forward, over the rise and down toward the foliage that hides the entrance. If we can get out and then head into the trees, maybe we can lose them. All their dogs are dead, so tracking us will be a lot harder.
I have an idea. “Keep going. I’ll wait by the entrance until I see them and then shoot at them. That’ll give you time to get into the trees.”
“No!” Mom yells.
“Yes. It’s our only chance. We’re too slow together. This will stop them for a few minutes. I’ll watch where you go. When I know you’re hidden I’ll take off after you. By the time they realize I’m not here to shoot at them anymore, I’ll be in the trees with you. They’ll have no idea where we went.”
I don’t like it.
“Like it or not, Dad, I’m doing it. It’s our only chance.”
Give me the gun and you two take off. He reaches for it and I dance out of his reach.
“No way. You gave it to me and you’re not getting it back. You can argue with me but all you’re doing is eating up time.”
“What’s he saying?” Mom demands.
“Nothing. Get going.”
Becky . . .
“No!” I’m blocking you out. I shut my dad out and suddenly feel sick to my stomach. “Get the hell out of here! I’ll catch up to you.”
They still don’t move.
“Shit to hell! We’re all going to die if you don’t go.” I point to my head. “I have the psyche. I know what I’m doing. Go out and turn right.”
Dad is making signs that he wants to say something to me. I ignore him and push at Mom. They finally move, and then they are through the bushes and trees, and gone.
I know what I’m doing? Shit to hell! I use the wall to brace myself against the recoil, partially under a tree, camouflaged. The wait is only a few seconds before one head, and then another, pops up, backlit by the light coming in through the waterfall. They don’t see me. I point, brace, and pull the trigger.
I’m more prepared for the recoil; still, my shots go wild. The men dive for cover. I figure I’ve got a minute to get my ass out of here. I’m proud of myself as I turn away and push through the bushes. I get a cold shower from rain water trapped on leaves and branches, and step directly into a hole containing six inches of water. All of this forces me to keep my head down until I’m clear. I run out of the water and slide to a stop.
Mom and Dad are standing twenty yards away, and they aren’t alone.
Chapter 63
Reba
“I recommend that you lay your weapon down, Miss Price.”
His voice is rough, kind of growl-like and hoarse, as though he’s getting over the flu. I’d expect someone six-foot plus, and broad, maybe even fat. Instead he is a small man; well, maybe not small; he is taller than me; just a lot shorter than I expect from the voice. He is also not armed. The three other men forming a half circle around Mom and Dad are. I bend and lay the gun on the ground and then straighten up.
“I hope you haven’t hurt any of my men . . . I assume that was you shooting a moment ago.”
I’m not going to give him the time of day. I edge over to Dad. Is that Victor Vandermill?
Yes.
Vandermill walks over to the bushes from where we all just appeared and yells, “Randall! Nick! Hold your fire. We got them! Get yourselves out here.”
A half minute later one man appears.
“Where’s Randall?” Vandermill says.
Nick, points a thumb over his shoulder. “Took one in the foot; a ricochet off a rock or something.”
I hit one of them? Yes!
“The little bitch got lucky,” Nick adds, giving me the evil eye.
Wish I’d blown their little brains out the back of both their heads.
“Any sign of Bravelli?” Vandermill asks.
“No, Sir.”
Vandermill scowls and turns away.
Nick adds, “Lost my dog though, to a big cat.”
“Cat!” Vandermill’s eyes get huge and he pivots back. “What did it look like?”
“Shit, I don’t know. Big as hell. Could have easily bit my head off. Had a couple of huge long teeth, like tusks or some shit.”
Vandermill turns toward Dad. “Smilodon?” I’m surprised that he’s surprised. Didn’t he know that his damned cats were running around up here? “Zechariah Price. Your book created quite a stir, but with the way things went, no confirmed sightings and whatnot, I figured that they all perished; that all that was left was rumor and conjecture, a big myth; that people were seeing mountain lions and telling stories of sabre-toothed cats.” His voice rises and falls, emphasis always on the nouns, with pauses after. It reminds me of my nineteenth century literature teacher. He talked the same way. I never fell asleep in that class. This guy is even better with the ragged edge to his voice. I love it, and hate the fact that I love it. “That was good, though, you know. You and your book lost credibility. Along with ceasing their belief in the sabre-toothed cat, they ceased any belief in me and my company. Everyone except the FBI forgot about me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sir,” Nick pipes up, “but what I saw is no myth. It’s lying dead in there with my dog still in its jaws.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Sir. And a damned nice little place they got. Huge. Fire going and everything.”
Vandermill turns toward one of the other men. “Sean. Get the first aid kit. Tell Ace to join us inside.”
I remember from Dad’s journal that Ace is one of Vandermill’s pilots. The chopper is sitting in the middle of the field. How lucky could we get that this was probably the only landing spot within a dozen miles?
“Let’s go,” he says to us.
“My husband is hurt, as I’m sure you can see,” Mom says. “He can’t walk very fast.”
“He seemed to be moving just fine a few minutes ago. I’m sure he can make it back in.” He looks at Dad. “And how are you doing, Zach? Every time I see you you’re all tore up and bleeding. Last time it was a stick in your eye and one in your mouth. Blind and dumb. What is it this time? Still dumb it appears.”
“He was attacked by one of your dogs,” Mom growls.
“I’m so sorry. Can’t cont
rol the dogs, you know. You’re not going to get much pity from me as now it appears I’ve lost three good dogs, and five men, and I still don’t have what I came for.”
He didn’t say five good men.
“And then you all shot another one in the foot. I thought I was up against an army. Instead it’s a few sabre-toothed cats and a lucky young girl.” He steps up closer to Dad. “Where is she?”
“Who?” Dad manages to say.
“Don’t bullshit with me. Where the hell is Aileen?”
“He doesn’t know,” Mom snaps. “None of us do.”
“Bullshit!”
She glances at me and then says, “She took off in the middle of the night. Left us high and dry. She knew you were coming.”
“No shit she knew I was coming. Get your ass moving. Let’s see what we have inside.”
Mom gives him the look. I’m sure it doesn’t have the same affect on him as on Christi and me. She pulls Dad’s arm over her shoulder and they head for the entrance. I follow, returning Nick’s evil eye as I walk past, my version of the look. I think I’m past when he grabs me and yanks me around. Suddenly I’m looking square into the barrel of his gun.
“Take off the knife,” he growls.
I blink a couple of times before I remember the knife I strapped to my belt. It doesn’t appear that this is a negotiable issue. I unbuckle my belt, slide the knife off and then hand it to him. He backs off and points the gun at the ground. I catch up to Mom and Dad.
Inside, Mom helps Dad lie down on a blanket. Sean opens the first aid kit and Mom thanks him for bringing the medical supplies. He ignores her and carries it over to Nick who is assisting Randall with getting his shoe off. The other two men, for whom I have no names yet, but who I’ve tagged as Baldy and Black Beard, for very visual reasons, hold their guns on us while trying to rubberneck over Vandermill’s shoulder. He’s examining the remains of Simon. His boots look foreign on him, too big for his body, brand shiny new. It’s like he dressed for a walk along a Hawaiian beach, and then as an afterthought, threw on a pair of hiking boots.
Sabre-Toothed Cat Trilogy Page 79