In the seconds before she went airborne, Charlotte dropped a hand to her belt and came back with the razor-sharp dagger that she carried with her always, the very knife she had once contemplated killing herself with. She wielded it like an extension of herself, a single razor-sharp talon. She dove toward the petrified man, exactly like the attacking beast he imagined her to be.
He screamed and tried to jump to the side but he was not fast enough. Charlotte’s face collided with his head. She felt her nose burst and the warmth of her own blood running across her mouth and down her throat. It didn’t matter because she was where she wanted to be. She threw her left arm around his neck as they tumbled and pulled him to her as tight as she'd ever hugged someone she loved, keeping him from pulling away to fight back. She held him close enough that she could plunge the knife into his back over and over again.
His cry of surprise at having been overtaken turned into shrieks of pain. He got a hand to her hair and gave it a brutal pull, yanking her far enough away from him that he could get an arm between them. He put his hand to her throat and she sliced down the length of his arm, flaying his bicep from the bone. The flap of meat fell across his face, splattering it with blood. He let go of her neck, his scream now a constant, unending drone.
They rolled and she landed astride him, placing her left hand on his face. She clawed into his flesh to gain purchase on the blood-spattered skin. His good arm ineffectively punched at her head but the one she’d cut was too damaged to be of assistance. The muscles didn’t work any longer. He could not stop her. His head twisted suddenly, yielding, the muscles of his neck surrendering.
He’d failed to see her intentions, not realizing that her ultimate goal was to expose his vulnerable neck. By the time he understood his mistake, it was too late. His eyes twisted in their sockets, screwing in her direction, and he saw the bloody knife in the glow above him. He felt a solid, stinging punch to his neck.
There was grating inside his body, the steel blade crunching and scraping against the vertebra of his neck. He tried to cry out again and found he could no longer scream. His windpipe was severed and air whistled through his neck in an unfamiliar manner. He gave a wet, choking cough and blood sprayed from the hole in his throat, a pink mist in the harsh light.
Charlotte’s taste for blood and revenge was not sated. She raised her hand again, ready to deliver one more blow, until her daughter’s whimper penetrated her bloodlust. She glanced to the side and saw that his tilted head placed the beam of his spotlight directly on Kayla. Her terrified daughter stared at her in paralyzed horror.
Charlotte opened her arms to her daughter but Kayla was too terrified to move. Charlotte could hardly blame her. She could only imagine how she must look. She thought about the things Kayla had just seen her do. Staring at her daughter, trying to decide what to do next, she noticed movement in the trees behind Kayla.
She assumed it to be her mother and Randi, the pair having finally caught up with her, but it was not. Three horrified faces stared at the scene. Three bearded men. Men who must have been waiting on the kidnapper to reach them with his victim. Two of them she’d never seen before. One she knew.
Fred Wimmer.
Charlotte had not come this far to lose now. The knife upraised in her hand, she brought it down on the dying man's headlamp, crushing it and throwing the scene into darkness. She threw herself to the side, across her daughter, as gunshots began whistling through the air above her.
Already raising their weapons, the men chose to shoot before turning their lights on, thinking the memory of the scene before them would guide their aim. They got off several shots before one finally raised a hand to his headlamp and clicked it on. All they found was their dead friend. The two girls were gone.
Charlotte, safely behind a tree with Kayla, would not flee these men. As far as she knew, they were as complicit in the kidnapping of her daughter as the one she’d already killed. She drew her handgun and aimed around the tree. Fred Wimmer would die first. She pulled off a shot and hit him. He dropped and screamed, clutching his stomach.
One of the remaining men scrambled for cover, while the second dropped to Fred Wimmer’s side, grabbed the back of his shirt, and tried to drag him away. Charlotte sent rounds in his direction but didn’t connect. A barrage of new gunfire lit up the night and some of those rounds found their targets. Help had arrived.
Randi and Debra had come upon the scene in time to see Charlotte shoot one of the attackers. They flattened themselves against the ground and opened up, Randi with her rifle, Debra with her handgun. The man trying to drag Fred Wimmer away began flinching and jerking like he’d disturbed a hornets’ nest. A 5.56 round caught him in the side of the head and he dropped like a ragdoll.
The remaining uninjured man was lit by his own headlamp. Although he’d placed a tree between him and Charlotte, it didn’t block him from the new arrivals. He hadn’t seen them arrive and made a fatal mistake in the positioning of his body. Randi put a red dot on the right side of his chest and pulled the trigger twice. Two rounds pierced his lungs and he was down.
Debra tried to get to her feet but Randi held her back.
“That one hollering is still alive. He might be armed,” Randi said.
“Are you okay, Charlotte?” Debra called out, desperate to put eyes on her daughter.
“Yes,” Charlotte replied.
As Debra and Randi lay there trying to get an angle on the injured, screaming man, Charlotte took matters in her own hands. In the bubble of light created by Fred Wimmer’s headlamp, Charlotte appeared like an actor in the spotlight, gun raised. She stepped on Fred’s right hand and stood there, her pistol pointed at his face.
“Why did you try to take my daughter?” she demanded.
Fred coughed and spoke, his voice wet, weak. “We thought we could trade her for Jim. He’s brought nothing but grief to this valley.”
Charlotte was gripping her pistol so tightly that her arm trembled. Her jaw was clenched, barely releasing enough for her to form words. “You would steal a child to get rid of Jim?”
He met her eyes, his expression sincere. “Without a second thought.”
The boom of the pistol sounded so much louder than any of the other shots, isolated as it was from the chaos of battle. Debra broke from cover and ran to find her granddaughter. Randi got to her feet and approached Charlotte, who was standing over Wimmer, gun aimed at his face as if he might repair himself and attack anew.
“It’s okay,” Randi said, her hands extended in a comforting gesture. “Put the gun up.”
The crackling of footsteps drew everyone’s attention and they whirled around to find a light bobbing toward them through the woods. All guns leveled on Will as he ran into the clearing. He froze in his tracks, a hair away from dying.
“It’s me!” he said.
They lowered their guns, not wanting to think how close they’d come to killing one of their own. Everyone knew to be certain of their target first but their adrenaline was up, and everyone was in fight mode.
“Will,” Randi said firmly, “I need you to keep watch while I try to clean Charlotte up.”
She dropped her pack, digging through it for alcohol wipes. In the background, Debra was soothing Kayla, talking to her in low, soothing tones as the girl wept. Charlotte was silent, somewhere else in her head. Still in a violent place. Still in warrior mode. Randi talked to her while she cleaned the blood off her face, the tone of her voice similar to that Debra was using with her granddaughter.
“You did well,” Randi said. “You got her back. It’s okay now.”
Charlotte’s eyes flickered and met Randi’s for a second, then pulled away.
“She needs you, Charlotte. This is like before, when you wanted to die,” Randi whispered. “You found your way back then and you can do it now.”
Charlotte’s eyes met Randi’s and stayed there this time. Her wall crumbled and she burst into tears. She was a morbid visage in the unforgiving glare of Randi’s h
eadlamp, her tears streaking the bloody gore on her face. Randi took her in her arms and let her weep.
It occurred to Randi for the first time how similar Charlotte and Jim were. Each struggled to find their way back from the world of violence and death. Each seemed as if there might be a day when the single strand they followed back from that dark place, their love of family, may no longer be enough to get them home.
32
Will and Randi searched the bodies, taking any weapons and ammunition, then the group headed back toward Jim’s house. They had to travel a fair distance before they were able to communicate by radio with the rest of their group.
“We got her back,” Randi reported immediately, certain everyone was desperate for that single piece of information.
There was a barrage of questions from everyone with a radio but Randi said they’d be at Jim’s place in a few minutes and could talk then. She’d learned from Jim not to speak too openly on these cheap radios. When they reached Jim’s house, he, Gary, and Hugh were there, along with Scott. Lloyd was there as well, having waited nervously with Ellen until everyone returned.
Gary took Kayla in his arms and immediately broke down into tears. Debra and Charlotte did the same and he wrapped them into the embrace. Gary stroked Kayla’s hair, hardly able to believe what had transpired in his absence. He had come so close to losing his granddaughter.
Pete and Charlie escorted the group from the cave back to the house and everyone gathered in Jim’s backyard once more, and wood was thrown onto the fire. They established a secure perimeter using the good night vision, no one wanting a repeat of what had transpired earlier. Concerned about the shooting, Mack Bird checked in by radio. When he offered to come down, Jim assured him it was probably better he stay with his own family in case there was more trouble. Carla took all of the children inside and occupied them with a movie so everyone could speak outside the range of sensitive ears.
“There has been a lot of trafficking,” Scott said. “Selling women and children as slaves. Some people have even sold themselves into slavery just to get regular meals.”
“This wasn’t about anything like that,” Charlotte said.
“How can you be so sure?” Scott asked.
Randi, Debra, and Ellen exchanged glances. They all knew what this was about but no one had spoken of it yet.
“This wasn’t about Kayla. It was to bargain for his surrender,” Charlotte said, pointing accusingly at Jim.
“What?” Jim looked around the room, unable to believe what was being said. He was waiting on someone to protest that the idea was preposterous but no one did. When he caught Ellen’s face, the way she was looking at him, he understood it was true.
Her eyes on Jim’s, Ellen unfolded the ransom note from her pocket. “Carla found this in the yard. The man who snatched Kayla threw it down. It basically says they would have given her back if you surrendered to them. One of the men was Fred Wimmer. The other two were from outside the valley. I didn’t recognize them.”
Jim’s mouth gaped in shock. He took the note from his wife’s hand and sat down unsteadily. He had an expression of revulsion on his face as he read the note, the unpleasant realization that this was all his fault. A child had been taken because of him. The fact she’d been rescued was immaterial. What if she hadn’t been?
“Can I see that?” Scott asked.
Jim stood and handed it over. “This is exactly what we’re dealing with here, Scott. This is why I reached out to you guys. I’m at a loss here.” He looked around at his tribe. “I’m sorry. I apologize to you all. I never intended for this to happen. I can’t take a chance on anyone else getting hurt.”
Before he could continue, Randi spoke up. “I know what you’re thinking but leaving won’t help,” she said. “They’ll just keep coming for you. They may even kidnap someone else to see if they’ll reveal where you are. We have to find some way to end this once and for all.”
“I’m not thinking about leaving,” Jim said. “I see no other solution but to turn myself in to them.”
Ellen shot to her feet. “The hell you are!” Her eyes were wild, both angry and terrified.
Jim appeared defeated. “I don’t see that I have a choice here. What am I supposed to do? I can’t have children being kidnapped on my conscience. I don’t want anyone here to die because of me. I know I’m a bastard but I actually care about the people here.”
“But you’re willing to condemn your own family to death?” Ellen demanded. “How do you think we’re going to get by without you? You don’t know what it was like when you were on the road and we were waiting for you to get home. You have no fucking idea!”
Her use of profanity silenced the group. No one had ever seen her this angry.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Jim said. “I’m not sure this is the time or place.”
“We’ll talk about it now,” Ellen replied with venom. “If you’re making this decision because of other people, then they can damn well listen. There might even be some here that secretly feel relieved you would turn yourself in but there’s nothing honorable about this decision. It means my family will die. Your wife and your children will die. Our things will be stolen and we will suffer for this. Is that what you want?”
“You know I don’t,” Jim said.
Ellen turned on the rest of the tribe, imploring. “Is this how you repay the things he’s done for you? Is this how you repay Jim for bringing you to the valley and finding homes for you? For helping get Gary and Randi home? For all of the things he’s done for each and every one of you?” Tears of rage welled and filled her eyes.
“Ellen,” Jim said, his voice low, trying to calm her.
“NO!” she roared. “It’s not going to happen. I cannot do this by myself. I will not. If you’re going to turn yourself in, you might as well go ahead and kill us now because that’s that will happen eventually. We’ll. All. Die!”
Ellen glared around the fire circle, glaring at every silent face, then stalked off. She climbed the back steps, went inside the house, and slammed the door behind her. Jim sat focused on the fire. He didn’t know what to do or say. Judging by the silence, neither did anyone else.
“I might have an idea,” Scott ventured.
Everyone turned to him but not all expressions were receptive. He was an outsider inserting himself into an emotionally charged situation.
“You don’t necessarily have to turn yourself in, Jim. The townspeople just have to think you turned yourself in,” Scott said.
Jim shrugged doubtfully. “I’m sure it’s going to be a public spectacle on the 4th of July. If I don’t show up, I doubt people are just going to accept a rumor that I’ve already turned myself in. They’re going to want to see proof.”
Scott shook his head. “I’m talking about a group of men escorting you into town in cuffs. I’m talking about a chopper dropping out of the sky to take you away.”
“It would be hard to keep you safe walking through town,” Gary said. “You’d be walking a gauntlet. I can’t imagine people just letting you waltz through town. One group would likely be trying to steal you from the other up until the second the chopper landed.”
“We could counteract some of that with diversions,” Hugh suggested.
“If people are gathered at the football field,” Scott said, “we could land somewhere else first. It might draw them off, thinking they had the wrong location.”
“When I say ‘diversion,’ I mean explosions,” Hugh said. “We could blow some shit up. If people think the town is under attack, some of them might decide they don’t want to stick around for the show.”
“So we reduce the number of people who might try to take him, but it sounds like we can’t eliminate all the risk,” Gary clarified. “There will always be an element of danger.”
“That’s probably true,” Scott said. “I don’t know that taking all of the danger out of it is a possibility.”
Hugh held up a finger in a eureka moment. “S
cott, you don’t land somewhere else. What you do is shove out two pallets on cargo chutes. If the people gathered at the field think they have a chance of intercepting the reward without even having contributed to the capture, they’ll clear the benches and race after those chutes. It’ll be like kids chasing an ice cream truck.”
Scott grinned. “That’s genius.”
“I don’t care how dangerous it is. I’m agreeable to trying it if we can stay alive for a few more days,” Jim said. “It’s going to take some planning.”
“I can leave Hugh a radio that will allow him to speak to the chopper,” Scott offered. “We’ll plan on heading back this way early on the 4th of July. When we get close, Hugh can update us on your position so we minimize how much time you’re exposed to danger.”
“We take a low profile route into town,” Hugh said. “Set off some decoy explosions. By the time people figure out what’s going on, we have you at the football field, pop some smoke grenades to draw the chopper, and wait to hand you off. There’ll be a lot of confusion and people won’t know what’s going on.”
“What then?” Jim asked. “I go into the witness protection program?”
“No,” said Scott. “We drop you back in this valley and you don’t show your face for a good long time.”
Jim glanced around the fire circle. “Is everyone agreeable to trying this? It’s risky and I’m going to need some help to pull it off.”
“Everything is risky,” Randi said. “I don’t see this as being any more risky than anything else we do every damn day.”
“Thanks,” Jim said.
“And for the record,” Randi went on, “I am not agreeable to you turning yourself in for real and just giving up. I owe you. Several of the folks here owe you. I’ll always have your back.”
The Ungovernable Page 23