“Getting spooked, Mom?” Maxwell asked. Her expression remained flat, uninterested. “You’d better move on if you’re hoping to beat this weather.”
“Please, Sheriff.”
“Get off the road,” Lorne interjected, not unkindly. “If you’re worried about being followed. Once you’re out of town, head south of the 12. It’s walkable all the way to the Warren River bridge if you keep east of the swamp.”
Brooke checked over her shoulder to see if the others were listening, but Cawley was at the full extent of his rope, leaning against a telephone pole, and Milo was busy trying to calm the girls.
“Is there anything out there?” Brooke asked.
“My dad’s duck blind,” Lorne said. “That’s about it.”
“It’s not fair,” Sal wailed at Milo, louder than ever, her voice echoing in the square.
Brooke stalked back to the girls and forcefully covered Sal’s mouth.
“Brooke, no,” Milo said, grabbing her arm.
“We’re going,” Brooke said, pulling free of his grasp. “Bring Cawley.” She lifted a writhing Sal and carried her from the square, one hand still clamped over her mouth.
“Wait,” Milo pleaded behind her.
When Brooke turned to look over her shoulder, Milo and Holly were following, with Cawley trailing on his rope. The sheriff and her deputy stood with the old people by the fountain, watching them go, as the clouds overhead grew darker.
8
No,” Milo said. “We’re not going any further until you tell me what’s going on. What did you say to the sheriff back there?”
They were stopped a quarter mile outside of Buffalo Cross on Highway 12. As soon as Brooke put her down, Sal had run, still crying, to Milo. Ignoring her daughter’s tears, Brooke took Cawley’s rope back from Milo and stepped off the highway, intending to lead them into the ranch land that stretched south toward distant woods. But none of the others had moved from the road.
“Yeah, Mom, what’s going on?” Holly echoed Milo.
“We’re going this way,” Brooke said. “Come on.”
“Why would we go that way?” Milo demanded.
“To get to Shaw Station, like I told you. Let’s go.”
“But you said—” Holly started.
“Enough,” Brooke spoke over her. “All this bitching isn’t getting us there faster.”
“I’m not bitching,” Holly said, indignant.
“Talk to me,” Milo said. “Tell me why we’re doing this.”
“It’s serious, okay? Maxwell won’t help, and we have to get to Shaw Station, the sooner the better.”
“Fine,” Milo said slowly, sounding as if it was anything but fine. “Then why not stay on the road? Highway 12 goes all the way to Shaw Station. And there’ll be houses. Food. People.”
“We’ll get back to the road soon,” Brooke lied. From here, the highway ran southeast for many miles before veering back southwest. She intended to take them due south and find her way cross-country to the Warren River; once over it, she’d be on familiar ground as far as the outpost. “The highway loops. This is a shortcut.”
“I don’t think it is,” Milo argued. “I drove this way with my mum once. The road doesn’t turn west again for a long time.”
“I’m not sleeping on the ground again,” Cawley said. “It’s goddamn cold.”
“You don’t get a vote,” Brooke snapped.
“Do we?” Holly asked.
Brooke looked at them: Holly, stiff-backed and defiant, Sal’s eyes swollen from crying, Milo’s face pinched with strain. The second Delia heard about travelers leaving Buffalo Cross with Stephen Cawley prisoner, she would be hammering down this highway as fast as that big draft horse could take her. They had to get out of her path.
“Please,” Brooke said, looking at Milo and the girls in turn. “You have to trust me. I want to find somewhere to stay as much as you do. I promise this is the right way.”
“We do trust you,” Milo said, sighing. “Okay? But everyone’s tired, and cold, and the weather’s getting bad, and this whole plan is seeming like a worse and worse idea.”
“Maybe we’ll stay ahead of the weather,” Brooke said.
Milo stared at the tufty ground south of the road. Finally, he reached down and took Sal’s hand. Brooke watched gratefully as they crossed the ditch together. Holly followed, glowering and uncharacteristically silent.
“Good stuff,” Cawley said.
“Shut up,” Brooke muttered.
They walked through rolling pastures where thick stands of trees grew in the low places. The clouds darkened and the temperature dropped. The air smelled of storm. Behind them, the horizon was blurred. Brooke hoped the rain had reached the spot where they’d left the highway, to obscure their footprints through the ditch.
Two or three miles south of the road, they reached a large swamp where the limbless spikes of dead trees stood out of the water, as if waiting for someone. Brooke turned them east, skirting the marshy ground. She kept an eye out for the duck blind Lorne had mentioned, which might offer some shelter. It was difficult to see far ahead. Milo and the girls were dark shapes in the gloom.
“Where’s the highway?” Brooke heard Holly asking up ahead.
“I don’t know, Hol,” came Milo’s answer. “Please stop asking.”
Finally, Brooke spied a lean-to off to one side, made of skinned logs and plastic sheeting.
“Stop,” Brooke called forward. “We can camp here.”
“Here?” Milo turned, incredulous.
“It’ll have to do,” Brooke said, catching up with them.
“What will?” Milo asked. “There’s nothing here.”
“She means that,” Holly said, pointing with distaste at the rough structure nearly hidden under a carpet of fallen pine needles.
“That’s garbage,” Milo said. “It’s someone’s old tarp or something.”
“It’s a hunting blind,” Brooke said, twisting out of her pack.
“This can’t be right,” Milo said, staring at the heap of logs and plastic in disbelief. “You said this was a shortcut to the highway.”
“I guess it’s farther than I thought,” Brooke said.
“It’s not dark yet,” Milo said. “We should keep going. I told you, I traveled Highway 12 with my mum once, and there were plenty of houses then. I’m sure someone is still living out here. We need to warm up.”
Brooke wondered momentarily what could have brought Milo and his mother this way, but she tucked the question away and reached into her bag for the flashlight. On hands and knees, she drew aside the opening of the duck blind and shone the light in. No animals. Easily big enough for four. A raised platform that would keep the sleeping bags dry, assuming the ceiling didn’t leak. Brooke poked up at the milky plastic, dislodging an avalanche of pine needles outside.
“It’s fine,” she said, backing out of the structure.
“Dad,” Sal whined. “You said we would stay somewhere warm.”
“We will, we will. We’re not staying here. The highway can’t be that far.”
“I bet we’re nowhere near the highway,” Holly said. “I bet she took us here on purpose.”
“It’s just a little farther than we thought,” Milo said. “We’ll catch it soon, if we keep walking. Right, Brooke?”
“We’re staying here,” she said. If her image of the countryside was correct, the highway was now miles to the east of them, swinging its slow arc. “It’s going to rain soon, and this is shelter. It’s good enough.”
“It isn’t, Brooke,” Milo entreated.
“Told you,” Holly said.
“Tie him under those black spruces,” Brooke said, tossing Cawley’s line to Milo.
“No,” Milo said.
“You said you trusted me, Milo. So trust that I know what I’m doing.”
“How am I supposed to trust you if you won’t tell me what’s going on?” Milo stammered.
“Okay, fine, you don’t trust me. But you
’ve got to see that we don’t have time to get anywhere else before the rain starts. So tie Cawley up. Please.”
Milo looked up at the darkening clouds and sighed in defeat, easing his pack to the ground.
“This is bullshit,” Cawley complained as Milo led him to the ground under the spruces. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”
“I’ll make a fire,” Milo said.
“He doesn’t need a—” Brooke started.
“For us,” Milo cut her off. “The kids are cold.”
“That’s not a good idea,” Brooke objected.
“Sound good?” Milo addressed himself to the girls, ignoring Brooke. “We’ll cook those eggs. Fried eggs! Who wants to go look for firewood while Mom and I talk? There ought to be plenty around.”
“I’m cold,” Sal said. “I want to go home.”
Holly sat down with her knees in front of her and glared into her crossed arms.
“All right, I’ll do it,” Milo said. He shot Brooke a glance. “But we’re going to talk when I get back.”
Brooke watched him tramp off into the trees. He was going farther than he needed to, she thought. There were enough dry branches nearby.
Sal had started crying again. Brooke wanted to go to her the way she normally would. She hadn’t allowed herself to get close to the kids since Cawley arrived.
“It’s okay, Salamander,” she tried lamely. “In another few days this will all be done.”
“Another few days?” Sal sobbed.
“Don’t you want to check this place out?” Brooke held the front of the duck blind open, trying to mimic Milo’s encouraging tone. “It’ll be cozy with your sleeping bag.”
“What were you doing back there at the Legion?” Holly asked, her voice hard. “Tell me the truth.”
“I—” Brooke faltered. “You just surprised me, Hol, that’s all. I’m sorry if I scared you.”
“Ugh!” Holly growled. “Whatever. I’m going with Dad. Come on, Sal.”
Sal stood and wiped her tears with the back of a hand.
“You don’t have to go,” Brooke said. But they were already moving away. “Don’t go far,” she called after them. “Stay with Dad!”
Before they disappeared into the trees, Brooke saw Holly wrap her arm around Sal’s shoulders.
Trying to ignore the loneliness in her chest, Brooke resumed the job of making camp. She sorted their food into four days of rations, figuring they had another fifty miles to walk. It was scant but sufficient. Water would be the bigger issue. Maybe if she cut a piece of the plastic sheeting and brought it with them, she’d be able to trap rainwater. Inside the hunting blind, she unrolled the musty-smelling sleeping bags. Something tickled her hand and she flicked an earwig away. Holly hated earwigs.
Brooke heard the sound of rope running against the ground and charged out of the blind to see Cawley settling himself at the farthest reach of his tether.
“That’s too far,” Brooke said.
“Oh, god,” Cawley said wearily, shuffling a few steps closer. “When are you going to get this over with? If you’re not going to shoot me, just let me go.”
“So you can bring the rest of your family down on me? No. Why would I? I’m getting paid and I’m getting the hell away.”
“There is no rest of them,” Cawley said. “Don’t you know that? There’s no one coming.”
“You’d like me to think that,” Brooke said.
“Use your brain, you fucking moron. No one’s looking for you. No one cares.”
“Then how did you find me?”
“I fucking didn’t,” he said. “I didn’t know it was you.”
“Bullshit,” she said. “You want me to believe you showed up in my shed, down an unmarked driveway in the middle of nowhere, by coincidence?”
“Forget it,” Cawley said, laughing humorlessly.
“You just want me to slow down,” Brooke said, “get lazy, make it easy for them to catch us.”
“Sure,” Cawley said, leaning his head back against the rivened bark of the spruce. “Maybe I’m fucking with you. Maybe there’s a whole army coming to save me. And maybe you’re going to let Milo fry me one of those eggs.”
“Enough,” Brooke said. “You don’t say their names.”
Cawley smirked at her. “He’s not as dumb as you think, you know. He’s not buying it. Neither’s Holly. I could tell them, but it’s more fun watching them figure it out for themselves that you’re just a—”
“Shut up.” Brooke cut him off. A chipmunk had scolded in the distance, disturbed by something. Milo and the girls hadn’t gone that way. Brooke listened. A moment later, a starling took off from a tree closer by. Distant hoofbeats from back the way they’d come. She picked up the rifle and moved toward the sound. Fifty feet off. Forty. She raised the rifle, sighted the trees. There, from behind a thick spruce, a tall shape. Brooke kept her finger on the trigger. A tall man on a glossy black stallion. Plaid fleece jacket. Brooke recognized Lorne, the young deputy from Buffalo Cross.
“Don’t shoot,” he called out, showing her an open palm.
“Deputy.” She lowered her gun.
“I came to help, ma’am.”
“Oh, thank god,” Brooke said.
“Glad to see you found the blind.” The deputy dismounted. His stallion looked young and healthy enough that it might make Shaw Station in a day, if pushed. Whatever had changed Maxwell’s mind and made her send her deputy out to help them, Brooke hoped the town had a few such animals to spare.
“How many horses did you bring?” she asked, hoping he hadn’t left them too far off. She stooped to yank the sleeping bags out of the blind.
“Where’s your husband at?” Lorne asked.
“He’ll be back any minute. We can be ready quick.” The kids would fuss, but Milo would manage them. Brooke hastily rolled up the first sleeping bag and stuffed it into her pack.
“Lynn was wrong to turn you away,” Lorne said. “Traveling with children and all.”
“That’s fine,” Brooke said, rolling up the second bag. “Where are the other horses?”
“I can get your captive to Shaw Station,” Lorne said, ignoring her question. Brooke noticed he was moving closer to the spruces. Cawley sat looking from Brooke to Lorne and back again, an avid glint in his eye.
“Where are the horses, Deputy?” Brooke asked.
“I need to get moving if I’m going to stay ahead of the weather. It’s a ways back to the highway.”
“What are you saying?” Brooke’s relief faded as she began to apprehend Lorne’s meaning.
“Ma’am, why don’t you let me do my job, and you can get on with caring for your family?”
“I am goddamned caring for my family. What do you think this is? You’re here to take him off me? Is that what you call help?”
“If it’s the money you’re after, I’ll see that you get it.”
“Like hell you will.” Brooke moved toward Cawley.
“Ma’am—” The deputy held a hand out in a calming gesture that she suspected was borrowed from Maxwell.
“I’m delivering this man to the marshals at Shaw Station,” Brooke said, taking another step closer to Cawley. “You can help me or not. I’m not giving him over to you.”
“Ma’am, I regret this.” Lorne unsnapped his holster. “For your own sake and the sake of those kids, I’m taking custody of your prisoner. I suggest you go home.”
Brooke tightened her grip on the rifle.
“Don’t do anything silly,” Lorne said. “You don’t want this to get out of hand.”
His revolver was aimed at her now.
“Lorne.” Brooke breathed deep. Cawley watched them expectantly. She lowered the rifle. “You don’t know what you’re getting into. Please.”
Lorne holstered his revolver and bent to pull Cawley up from the ground. “I will say you did a real thorough job on those bindings,” he chuckled, plucking at the insulated wire and the plastic ties at Cawley’s wrists. He undid Cawley’
s ankle bindings and freed the lead rope from the spruces.
Brooke watched helplessly as Lorne negotiated the bound prisoner onto the stallion. Cawley’s knee must have been hurt by the rough movements required to get him onto the horse, but he only grunted.
“Don’t keep him that close to you,” Brooke warned as Lorne mounted behind Cawley.
“I can handle him,” Lorne said with a placating smile.
“Tie his hands down to the saddle, at least.”
“Don’t worry, ma’am. You take care now, and get your family back home. If you leave an address with the Legion, I’ll see you get your bounty. Fifty-fifty.”
The deputy flicked his reins and the horse bounded north into the trees, back toward the road.
“He’ll kill you,” Brooke shouted.
Cawley twisted around in the saddle to look back at her. “Take care of that family, now,” he shouted. Brooke was sure she saw a smile of victory on his face as he disappeared from view.
AT FIRST, after Lorne rode off with Cawley, Brooke chased them through the woods, sprinting, frantic, but they were out of hearing in minutes. She turned back, sharply aware of leaving Milo and the kids exposed. It wasn’t just Delia they had to fear now. Cawley would get loose; Brooke was sure of it. He would outsmart Lorne, who was only thinking of the money. A payday, he’d called it.
It was nearly dark and the first drops of icy rain were falling by the time Milo and the girls returned. When she told them that Cawley was gone in the charge of the deputy, they broke into smiles of relief.
“Thank god,” Holly sighed, pushing Sal ahead of her into the hunting blind, out of the rain. Inside, the flashlight came on, lighting up the plastic like a milky jewel in the darkness. “Where are the dry clothes?”
“We have to get out of here,” Brooke told Milo. “They might stop for the night. If we move fast, there’s still a chance we can catch them.”
“What?” Milo was sifting through the twigs and birch bark he’d collected to make a fire. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t bother with the fire. Help the kids pack.”
Holly laughed from behind the plastic sheet. “Mom, are you joking?”
“Do I sound like I’m goddamn joking?” Brooke snapped. “Get your sister ready.”
The Captive Page 10