“Do you really think your men would let that happen? Order them to not let him near the controls until we’re all on board. And if you’re wondering about the cats, yes they’re watching, but they don’t like crowds. They won’t come near as long as your men are all together. You know that. Besides, with automatic weapons. The cats don’t have a chance. They won’t come out of the trees.”
No response from Vandermill.
“I just want a little time alone with you, Victor,” Sam adds. “Private time.”
“We can get plenty of that later.”
“This is important to me. Before I fully obligate to a future with you, we need to discuss one issue. I don’t want to share this with anyone but you. Please?”
She is sounding more and more like a mousy, submissive, housewife. The only thing she’s left out is, “If you love me?”
“Boss?” Nick is standing at the top looking down. “Is everything cool?”
“Yes, Nick. Everything is cool. We’ve got our objective and we’re getting ready to head out. Standby a minute.” He looks around at the bunch of us, considers for a moment and then says to Baldy, “Sammy. Take them up to the bird. No one gets in until I get there. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Nick. Where’s Sean?”
“Back there,” Nick says, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.
“I told you not to leave each other alone out there, didn’t I?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Get your ass back there.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Baldy and Black Beard walk over to us. “Get up!” Baldy says to Mom and Dad. He points his gun at me and says, “Come on Sweetie.”
Wouldn’t he shit a brick if I yanked that thing out of his hand and turned it on him? I almost giggle thinking about it.
“Lester stays with me,” Vandermill says.
“I said alone,” Sam says.
“I’m not a complete idiot. How do I know you aren’t planning something and you’ve got a knife or small gun hidden somewhere?”
Sam puts on a “I’m really hurt,” look and then stands up, puts her arms in the air like she’s going to do a ballet, and says, “You’re more than welcome to have your men search me.”
Baldy turns his attention from me to her, practically salivating. The perfect opportunity to kick him in the knee cap. I restrain myself.
“That’s not necessary,” Vandermill says.
“Or you could search me,” Sam corrects. “That would be much preferable for me.”
“I can’t go.” Mom’s weak voice steals everyone’s attention. “I can’t walk anymore.”
“She’s right,” Dad tries to say.
“She’s injured her back again,” I say. “She’s weak from not eating. She’s dehydrated. You saw how she moved when we went up and came back. There’s no way she can make it out of here again on her own power.”
There’s a long silence while Vandermill considers the additional complication. I’m sure he’d just leave her behind except that he’s made a deal with Sam. He has to at least put on the pretence that he’s honoring it. He looks over at Sammy and Lester. “Take these two out of here and come back with the stretcher.” He turns back to Sam. “It’ll give me some time to consider your request.”
“Yes, Sir.” Baldy grows a stupid grin and reaches down to grab my arm.
I jerk away and again consider driving his knee cap through the back of his leg. Again I restrain. “You want to join your buddy under the blanket?” It’s odd, but in the last few minutes, ever since I realized that Vandermill has no intention of letting us live, that our days, maybe even hours, are numbered, I’ve altered my attitude. I feel like jumping up and kicking Baldy’s ass. Not anyone else. Just him. I don’t like him.
To my under the blanket threat, Baldy’s hand retracts like it is spring loaded. He laughs and looks around embarrassed. I expect a backlash from him, but before I realize what’s happening, Black Beard grabs me under my right armpit and lifts me to my feet like I’m a rag doll.
“Thank you,” I say, reminding myself not to mess with Black Beard. He’s not stupid like Baldy. My new attitude dampens a little bit.
I start to help Dad to his feet but Mom snags him. He kneels down next to her and she says something in his ear. She finishes and he stands up.
What’s that all about? I ask Dad.
He smiles at me and says in my head, She told me she loves me.
Oh. I start to step after Baldy, who has headed out in the lead, and then feel something hit my leg. I look down. Mom is kicking me. She wiggles her finger at me to come closer. I kneel down next to her like Dad did, expecting something other than an I love you, like, “You’re grounded when I get you home.” Instead, she says, “I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry! My mother is saying she’s sorry to me? She really must be sick.
“I’m proud of you,” she adds.
“I’m the one who should be sorry,” I tell her. Suddenly Black Beard has me—by the left arm pit this time—and I’m flying up to my feet again.
“Go now!” he says firmly.
“Okay!”
Mom throws me a kiss and says, “I love you, Reba.”
I look over my shoulder at her as Black Beard drags me away. I try to resist. I want to go back and find out why Mom is being so lovey-dovey all of a sudden, certain it has something to do with her private conversation with Sam, but I’m no match against Black Beard’s iron grip. I’m going to have a thumb and four finger bruise in the morning. . . on both arms. He doesn’t let go of me until we’re at the switchback.
“Thank you,” I say, this time sarcastically. I then walk in front of him, behind Dad and Baldy, rubbing my arms and looking down at Mom. She is no longer lying down. She is on her knees, sitting back on her heels, slowly rotating her upper body back and forth, another of her many exercises. Is she trying to avoid having to ride the stretcher? It certainly doesn’t sound all that appealing to me, being carried out by Baldy and Black Beard.
Suddenly I’m on my hands and knees. It happens so fast I barely have time to catch myself before my nose hits the ground. My toe caught on something and down I went. Black Beard’s hand wraps around my biceps again. I jerk away this time before he has the grip. “Would you lay off already! I can get up by myself.” I push to my feet, noticing a fair amount of skin missing from my palms. Blood oozes out around embedded dirt and pebbles, and there’s a considerable amount of stinging pain. “What’s with you anyway,” I add without looking at him. My desire to kick Baldy in the kneecap has now transferred to Black Beard. Kicking either one of them would sure make the pain in my hands feel a lot better.
He gives me a shove and I nearly fall again. “You’re pushing your luck,” I say under my breath, and quickly catch up to Dad, who didn’t notice my little accident.
I focus between my walking and picking crud out of my hand, until we get to the top. I wish I had one of those bottles of water. Maybe Black Beard will let me put my hands under the waterfall. Then maybe I could grab him and leap through the waterfall. With luck he’d hit his head on the way down and then drown. I’ve seen where the rocks are and where the deepest area is. I’d know where to push him and then where to leap myself.
Then what? Baldy would probably look down and pick me off with his automatic MP5 gun. Like shooting fish in a barrel. Then Vandermill would get mad and probably kill Mom and Dad. Not a good idea. I’d be playing suicide with all three of our lives.
But then, if we’re going to die anyway, I’d be taking at least one of them with me.
As we start to walk away from the edge where I can still see down into the bottom of the cavern, I notice that Mom is on her feet, standing near the fire. Vandermill is a ways away, sitting face-to-face with Sam, partially turned away from Mom. Sam stands up and tips her tree trunk over. She then sets it back up so that the end that she was sitting on is now against the ground. She sits back down, having moved her seat three or fou
r feet in the process. What was that all about?
Vandermill turns to remain facing her, his back completely to Mom now. Is Sam maneuvering him so that Mom can pop him over the head with a log? Is that what they were talking to each other about? Is that why Mom said she was sorry to me, said she loved me, a settling of differences in case it goes wrong?
Mom picks up a stick. It’s not as big as the one she tried to crush Sam’s skull with, but it’s big enough to do considerable damage if swung with much intent. Black Beard starts pushing at me again. I’m afraid if he notices what I’m intent on watching, he’ll see what’s about to happen and call out a warning.
I take two steps and then glance over my shoulder. I figure she will hold it until we are out of sight. But that’s not what happens. She uses the stick to stir up the fire. I take two more steps and glance back again. She is placing the stick on the fire, which is now flaming up quite nicely. She crosses her arms and then turns around and looks at Vandermill, who suddenly turns and looks at her. He returns to facing Sam. He is oddly trusting. Black Beard pushes me again. I look ahead of me to ensure there are no more trip hazards, and then walk on. I don’t look back again until the last second, the furthest I can go and still be able to see down.
I don’t see Mom. I see only Vandermill’s head, and not Sam. Mom is nowhere, unless she stepped below my field of vision, which means she’d be in front of Vandermill where Sam is.
And then I see her. She is on the other side of Sam’s fireplace structure. She is moving around awfully well for someone waiting for a stretcher. She was apparently crouched down. Now she is upright and appears to have something in her hand. She places it on the structure next to the fire, but before I can see what it is—in the dim light at some fifty yards—Black Beard shoves me hard, and my attention returns to my footing.
I stumble again but keep my balance. Just before turning the corner—straight ahead is the waterfall—I glance back once more. All I’m able to see is the firelight painting reflections along the upper walls and ceiling. My mind immediately fills with an image I saw in a book once, a color reproduction of a painting of Satan surrounded by the fires of Hell, and I’m suddenly struck with an overwhelming feeling of doom.
I want to turn back but Black Beard clamps onto my arm. Dad is thirty or forty feet ahead, moving along steadily behind Baldy.
Dad! I call out.
There is no response. Dad!
He stops walking. Yes, Becky, he says.
Something’s not right.
What do you mean? He starts walking again.
Mom’s doing something weird. Black Beard finally releases my arm. He gives me a shove.
And? Dad asks.
I looked back when I could still see down, and she was putting wood on the fire.
Sounds like she’s feeling better. I guess that could be weird. Probably cold.
What do I say? She picked something up that wasn’t wood and put it on the fire too? What was sitting back there?
Maybe she’ll be able to walk out on her own, Dad concludes.
Yeah. A sense of gloom still hangs around me.
She put it on the fire. At least I think that’s what she did. Whatever she had in her hand, she didn’t place it next to the fire. She placed it on the fire, and it wasn’t a chunk of wood. We’re almost to the top of the rise were I’ll be able to see the light glowing around the trees and bushes that hide the entrance.
I guess I don’t understand your point, Dad says.
It comes to me in a flash that starts in the pit of my stomach and ignites every muscle in my body. In one quick motion I pivot a hundred and eighty degrees and yell, “Dynamite!” In less than the beat of my racing heart I slam my foot up into Black Beard’s crouch. His pink lips suddenly poke out of his hairy face. His eyes go big, and he crumples to the ground. In one more heartbeat, and much to both our surprises, I jerk the weapon from his hand. I try to run past. He tries to snag me. I stumble, catch myself, and then instead of continuing on like a smart person would, I turn to throw a kick at his face. Despite his painful condition, he catches my boot with his big hand, and holds on. Suddenly I feel the leading indicators of a nasty vision coming on.
Oh, God! If I was still wearing Mom’s shoes, I could slip out. Not so with my boots. I kick and struggle until I fall flat on my butt. Unless something changes here really fast, I’m dead . . . literally. So is Mom. The pressure in my chest rises like a thousand butterflies trying to get out, but the accompanying vision is not what I expect. Instead I get a clip of Baldy getting shot in the chest. That doesn’t hold my attention for more than a few seconds because Black Beard is dragging me toward him. He gets a grasp of my leg with his other hand. I kick at it with my free foot and then suddenly he has me by the other ankle. Holy shit to hell! I twist and roll, getting a look across Black Beard’s hairy head. Dad is struggling with Baldy. Baldy slams him alongside the head, and Dad goes down. He doesn’t move. Baldy starts heading our way. My vision rises again. There is blood oozing out of Baldy’s mouth, and a hole in his chest.
“Shit!” I try to hit Black Beard with whatever it is I have in my hand. He ducks and I realize that what I have is the automatic weapon I took from him. I get both hands on it, a finger on the trigger, and point it at his head. “Let loose of me!”
He does . . . with one hand, yanks me closer to him with the other and then grabs the barrel of the gun. It’s not on purpose, but my finger reflexes onto the trigger and the gun starts exploding out bullets. Black Beard holds the barrel away from him while I flop around on my end. In a matter of a few seconds, the explosions stop. The gun is empty. Black Beard drops it, screaming, relaxing the grip on my ankle at the same time. I drive one heel into his face, just for good measure, and then yank the ankle free. As I come to my feet, ready to sprint back to the cavern, I expect Baldy’s gun to go off, and my quick death. I look and see two things. One is with my eyes. Baldy is no longer on his feet. He is splayed out on his back, shocked eyes staring up at the ceiling. Blood is oozing from his chest and mouth. The other is my new vision. Mom is lying on the ground, her head up, looking at something in the distance. Vandermill is standing in front of the fire, looking at the canvas bag, flames licking up its sides. And then in one quick, decisive motion he reaches for it, and then my mind is filled with an instantaneous white light followed by the seeming collapse of the mountain.
“No!” I scream, and race for the cavern. It’s probably too late, and I’ll probably die too, but I can’t not try.
I slide to a stop and look down onto the scene below. Vandermill is on his feet, his gun out. He sees me, points his gun and shoots. I drop face down in the dirt. When I carefully lift my head and look down, he has Mom by her hair, and his gun to her head.
“No! Don’t,” I yell, jumping to my feet.
“Drop the gun,” he yells.
I look at the automatic weapon I’m still carrying. Since it’s empty anyway, I give it a fling.
“Victor!” Sam yells. She is on her feet. “It’s too late!” He pushes Mom and she falls to the ground. He points his gun at Sam. ‘It’s over, Victor,’ Sam says. ‘You can’t stop it. It’s all over.’ He follows her eyes and sees the canvas bag sitting on the fire. Mom didn’t set it in the exact right spot. The bag has not caught yet. There is still time to get to it, but Vandermill doesn’t understand what he is looking at.
I reach into Mom’s mind. Mom! Stop it! Pull it off!
Get out of here, Reba! It’s the only way.
No! It’s not!. Sean steps up beside me.
He’s going to kill us anyway, Mom says.
Vandermill walks over to the fire.
No one comes into my home and violates my privacy . . . our privacy. Besides, it’s too late.
“No! No! No!” I cry. “There is still another way.” Then Dad is standing on my other side. He signals with his hand that he wants to talk to me.
Take care of Christi, and tell her I love her, Mom says.
“No
, Mom! Nooooooooo!”
Vandermill is looking at the bag. Flames are now climbing its sides. Dad grabs my arm.
I yell, “It’s dye . . !” The explosion lifts me from my feet, and then I know nothing.
Chapter 74
Zach
A gun going off really close. It just keeps going forever before it stops. I think it is causing the pain in my head, but when it ceases, the pain does not. I’m lying on my back somewhere. I touch my head where it hurts and find I’m bleeding.
Where the hell am I?
“No!” Becky screams, and I suddenly remember her fighting with Lester, and then me fighting with Sammy, and then getting slammed alongside the head.
No, what? I try to sit up with my bad arm, and fall back. The pain subsides in a few seconds. I roll the other way and then get to my knees. When the throbbing in my head eases, I push to my feet. I’m looking at the exit. Someone is coming my way, Sean or Nick. I turn around. Sammy is lying on the ground, dead or dying. Fifteen feet farther is Lester. He is on his hands and knees, trying the get to his feet. He doesn’t look too good himself. I don’t see Becky, but I do remember the word she yelled before everything started going crazy.
Dynamite.
And then she somehow overpowered a man twice her size, beat the crap out of him, and then shot the other.
Dynamite? What was she telling me just before that?
“Holy Mother!” someone says.
I look to find Sean next to me, looking down at Sammy.
“Where’s your daughter?” he asks me.
“Ah doe no,” I say, and shrug my shoulders. We walk around Sammy and stop in front of Lester.
“Where’d she go?” Sean demands of him.
Lester is sitting back on his heels; blood flowing from his nose drips off the end of his beard. He points his thumb back toward the cavern. Sean heads in that direction. On some crazy impulse I give Lester a swift kick under his chin. He flops over backwards.
“No! Don’t!”
Sabre-Toothed Cat Trilogy Page 85