by Ty Patterson
The killer fell away.
Zeb rolled on top.
Both men still sliding. Still heading to the bottom.
Someone screamed.
Sara.
He looked up.
They were accelerating.
Heading straight to large boulders jammed together.
With the last of his energy, he got both arms around Tavez’s upper body.
Which buried the knife deeper inside him.
Ignore.
He hauled the Mexican up.
Kicked back with his legs.
To speed up their slide.
Crashed the killer’s back against the rock.
A shriek escaped Tavez.
Zeb got a palm around his jaw.
The cartel man bit his fingers.
Ignore that too.
He slammed the killer’s head against the stone.
Kept bashing it.
Till the screams turned to cries, to pleading.
No give. No mercy. No remorse.
Zeb pounded. The earth tilted. Blurred. He still continued, savagery possessing him.
Until his world turned dark.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
The sound of rushing water woke Zeb.
He lay motionless, memory returning.
Tavez. Sliding on rocks. Screaming. Yelling.
He blinked, trying to make out where he was.
Something soft beneath him.
He turned his head.
He was near the stream.
On the ground.
His jacket underneath him.
His shoulder almost numb with pain.
I took a knife.
He looked down. His T-shirt, what remained of it, was bloody. But the strapping on his wounds seemed to be new.
‘I used Tavez’s clothes.’ Sara stood over him. Dark hollows under her eyes. Her fingers twisting. Clenching and unclenching.
‘I didn’t know if you would …’ She swallowed.
Zeb tried to lift an arm. It felt heavy.
Darkness claimed him again.
The sun had set when he woke again.
He was lying where he had been earlier. Next to the flowing water.
Wisps of smoke assailed his nose.
He propped himself up slowly, gritting his teeth.
Sara was bent over a small fire. Holding a stick over it. Pieces of meat skewered on it.
Her smile, when she looked at him, was like the sun rising.
She helped him stand and took him to the water.
Stood by him as he bent and washed his face. Drank from the stream.
Cool, cool water that went inside.
Life.
‘Thank you.’
She brushed his words away.
‘You must be hungry.’
He was.
He bit into the pieces of meat. They were still raw. But he wouldn’t trade them for the finest cuisine.
Strength returned. With it, awareness.
He got to his feet.
Tested his left leg and arm.
They felt like red-hot pokers were buried in them.
Deal with it.
He dealt with it in his usual way.
Went deep inside his mind.
To the white drawers that were rarely opened.
Many of them contained memories. Of laughter, blue eyes, and dimpled cheeks.
He opened an empty one.
Swept the agony into it and slid the drawer back.
And returned to the present.
‘Where is he?’
‘There. Behind the rocks. I dragged him away when you were out. Removed his clothing for your dressing.’
Her voice was matter-of-fact.
I have lived an adult life. He recollected her words.
He inspected his weapons. The HKs and the M24 had survived the fight with Tavez. They were badly scratched and their stocks had a couple of dents, but they were serviceable.
His Glocks and knives were intact.
I had no time to draw any weapon. He was on me so fast.
He stripped and started cleaning them.
‘We head home tomorrow, ma’am.’
‘Dad. I would like to find his …’
‘I will come back, ma’am. Once you are safe.’
‘You can hardly walk. You need to see a doctor.’
‘I have been injured worse. The next campers we come across, we’ll take their help.
‘What about Namir?’
‘He will have to wait.’
‘If he doesn’t?’
‘Then he can meet Tavez.’
Chapter Sixty-Eight
‘Did your father say anything about Namir? He did an investigative piece on him, didn’t he?’
It was eight am on Saturday. A clear day, promising to be sunny and warm. A good sleep behind them. No further attacks. There were no more cartel killers left.
No sign of the terrorists.
Sara nodded, wisps of steam surrounding her face as she sipped the coffee Zeb had brewed.
He was feeling better. His injured limbs hindered movement and throbbed continually.
I am alive. That alone matters.
‘It was a long time back.’ She scrunched her face. ‘Dad said he was the most brutal terrorist he had known of.’
‘How so?’
‘Namir likes killing. He has blood lust. I saw that with my own eyes.’
She shivered, her eyes clouding. ‘But something else drives him. I remember Dad saying something. It will come to me.’
The stream was easy to cross. It was shallow, rocky, making it a little more difficult for Zeb, but they got across it without much trouble.
The ascent over its bank had him gasping and sweating, and once on top, they took a breather.
‘I was hoping to reach Erilyn this evening.’
‘We won’t, will we?’
‘I don’t think so, ma’am.’
* * *
They came across campers just after lunch.
They had covered thirty miles, not encountering another person.
At one point they had come across a black bear and her cubs.
Sara wanted to get closer to them, but Zeb pulled her back.
‘It’s their land,’ he said, suppressing a grin at her mutinous expression. ‘Besides, going to your grandfather is priority.’
Two miles away from the bears, they sniffed the distinctive odor.
Zeb dropped to the ground. She followed.
A slow crawl, senses alert.
Taking care not to rustle any bushes, until they spotted the tents.
Two of them, green, in front of a bunch of firs.
What was on the ground held his attention.
She gasped, turned away, and retched in the bushes.
Two bodies. Adults.
One male, one female.
Zeb’s Glock was in his hand the moment she had thrown up.
The sound would have given away their presence.
No hostiles emerged, however.
The forest was quiet, except for their breathing and her soft crying.
He gestured at her to stay where she was and approached the camp cautiously.
The bodies bore marks of a struggle. Bruised faces and hands.
Both had died of knife wounds. Multiple stabs.
Someone likes killing, he thought bleakly.
He bit back an oath and tightened his lips when his eyes swept across the woman.
He hadn’t noticed from the distance, but now, it was clear.
She had been raped.
Her jeans were around her knees. Her privates exposed.
He heard the girl moving and blocked her immediately.
‘You shouldn’t see this.’
‘Zeb, I grew up in Mosul. There is nothing that I haven’t seen,’ she sounded confident, but he detected the tremble.
She shoved past him and immediately fell to her knees, dry-heaving.
‘Who could have done th
is?’ she whispered.
Her hand flew to her mouth in horror when he replied.
‘Namir.’
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Zeb shifted the bodies to inside one tent. It was bare. No possessions, no backpacks, no cellphones.
The other was in a similar state.
Why would Namir steal as well?
Supplies, he answered himself.
He hustled Sara out of the camp after making note of its location.
‘Can you …?’ she swallowed, ‘How long ago do you think they were …?’
‘Several hours, ma’am. Maybe sometime in the night. Not recently, for sure.’
He tried to work out just how much of a lead Namir had on them, and then gave up.
At least a day, if not more. We got sidetracked by Tavez. Lost time because of my wounds.
There was urgency now. Both of them striding swiftly. Wanting to catch up with the terrorists before they reached the town.
Or at least get to Erilyn as quickly as we can.
By late evening, their pace had slowed, however.
His thigh and shoulder were flaring up. His trouser leg had turned dark with blood, while his chest was wet.
They no longer had any loose clothing from which to fashion dressings.
He unbound the existing bandages, squeezed them and applied them again.
‘It will have to do.’
‘Let’s walk through the night.’
‘Let’s not,’ he countered. ‘Namir isn’t a fool. He could have posted watchers. We won’t see them in the dark. Until it’s too late.’
She didn’t argue. He could see she was exhausted as well. Her shoulders drooped, her hair was matted to her forehead.
They made camp behind rocks, in an open plain, under the sky.
Cold rations and water to fill them up.
Stars and the thin sliver of the moon looking down at them.
‘Churches,’ she roused him as he was drifting into sleep.
‘Huh?’
‘Namir has a thing about churches.’ She propped herself up on her elbow. ‘It came to me. That time in Beirut. He had fired into a church. Dad said it wasn’t the first time he attacked such places. There were other instances.’
Zeb examined it in his mind.
He didn’t come all the way to this country just to kill Kenton Ashland.
However, he wasn’t convinced of the church angle.
He settled back and stifled a yawn. ‘Tomorrow. Let’s deal with it then.’
* * *
He woke her at three am on Sunday.
‘I thought you didn’t want to travel in the night,’ she grumped.
‘It’s the morning, ma’am.’
She snorted but followed him without a word.
They made good time in the cool of the dawning day.
He could sense her feelings as they neared the town.
Relief. Worry. Uncertainty.
‘That couple.’
He cocked his head, waiting for her to continue.
‘You put them inside their tent. There was no one for Dad. I fled.’ Her voice broke.
‘Ma’am,’ He caught her shoulder and turned her around. ‘I made you a promise. I’ll hand you over to your grandfather and return. Kenton Ashland was a hero. He will have a hero’s funeral.’
‘My life, it’s no more,’ she sniffed.
He knew what she meant.
He hugged her as she broke down. Bawling and crying, wetting his shirt with her tears.
The weight of the last few days breaking her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, struggling to be free.
He released her.
‘I tried to be strong. But …’
She sniffled and brushed her tears angrily.
She’s only fifteen.
‘Ma’am, crying isn’t weakness.’ He cursed himself for not finding better words. ‘Your world has collapsed. It’s normal to feel that life is dark. That there is no light.’
‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Your grandfather will. I will stay in town until we sort everything out. I will help him.’
‘You will? Why? You have your own life. Work.’ She half-laughed through her tears.
‘Because if I didn’t help, I couldn’t look myself in the mirror.’
She looked at him for a long time. A teenager with tears on her cheeks, hair ruffling in the breeze, eyes large.
She looked at him while the Earth rotated on its axis and hurtled along its orbit.
Then she nodded, clasped his hand once and turned around.
Started walking toward Erilyn.
Which they reached at six am.
Chapter Seventy
Zeb kept them away from major streets and roads. They cut across office buildings and parking lots, all empty. It was early Sunday morning.
There was no traffic. No vehicles, no pedestrians.
Red lights blinked lazily at crossings.
‘Gramps is on Farloe Street,’ she spoke over his shoulder as they surveyed Main Street from the shelter of a bar’s building.
‘I know where it is.’ She tugged at his jacket impatiently. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Wait.’
He kept watching. Trying to get a feel for Erilyn.
It was like thousands of small towns across the country.
Main Street. Small stores. Banks. Wide pavements. Trees lining the sidewalks.
In the distance, the white spire of a church.
‘What are you looking for?’
‘Namir and his men.’
‘You think he will be in town?’
‘I don’t know.’
He started again, taking his cues from her whispered directions.
She took the lead after a while, almost running in her haste to meet her grandfather.
‘There.’ She pointed to a white-walled house.
A large porch. A neatly maintained front yard. A pick-up truck in the driveway. A flag flapping in the wind.
It was the cruiser that drew his attention.
It was parked behind the truck. No one inside it.
Sara didn’t heed his wait up.
She broke away from him, raced to the door and banged on it.
‘Gramps!’ she cried out.
She pounded it again, her tear-streaked face turning back once in Zeb’s direction.
She had raised her fist again when the door opened.
A tall man opened the door.
White-haired. White shirt neatly tucked into blue jeans, despite the early hour.
Zeb climbed onto the porch.
The man didn’t look at him. Worry lining his face.
Relief replacing it instantly.
‘Honey,’ he opened his hands.
Sara hugged him tight, sobbing.
The door shut behind them.
Zeb waited patiently. He could hear the crying from inside. Muffled questions. Broken answers.
The old man’s ‘My God!’
Another voice joined in.
Rapid footsteps approached the door.
It opened again.
Sara, brushing her eyes with her sleeve.
‘Sorry, Zeb. Please come in. Gramps, this is—’
‘Mr. Carter?’ A burly police officer brushed past the girl. ‘Chief of Police Terry Schwartz.’
The porch steps creaked.
A uniformed deputy was climbing up the steps behind him, not in the best of shape. Huffing, wheezing. Reid Frazier, his nameplate proclaimed. ‘You got licenses for those guns, buddy?’
‘You’re carrying many injuries, Mr. Carter.’ Schwartz stated, his face expressionless, his hands close to his holstered gun.
‘The HKs, the M24, those aren’t mine. I’ve got permits for the Glocks,’ Zeb replied. ‘The wounds … we met some people.’
Something’s not right.
‘Can I see them? The licenses?’ Frazier extended a hand, barely concealing a knowing look. His free arm was hooked on his be
lt.
‘Not here, Reid. Sara and Pete have a lot of talking to do.’
‘Pete?’ he called over his shoulder, his eyes still on Zeb.
‘Yes?’ the grandfather’s face was wrinkled with worry, hugging the girl with one hand.
‘I’ll send over an ambulance. Another cruiser, but that might take a while. We’re short-handed, as you know.’
The white-haired man nodded, his eyes meeting Zeb’s briefly. Dropping away.
He’s embarrassed?
‘Mr. Carter. You need to come along with us, sir. Hand over your weapons. Slowly.’
‘What?’ Sara exclaimed, freeing herself and pushing forward, as the cops took his guns. ‘No. Zeb helped me. Gramps, what’s going on?’
‘They are taking him to the station, honey. To answer some questions. It’s routine.’
‘No!’ She grabbed Frazier by the shoulder and spun him around. ‘He saved my life.’
‘That’s not the story we heard, ma’am.’
A shocked silence.
‘What?’ she breathed.
‘We have witnesses. Mr. Carter killed some hikers. He might have been involved in Kenton’s death.’
Chapter Seventy-One
‘That’s a lie,’ Sara cried out. ‘Namir killed dad. I was there. I escaped. Came across Zeb’s camp. He protected me from those terrorists. He didn’t kill any hikers.’
‘That’s not the eyewitness statement we have. We’ll get to the bottom of it in any case. Pete?’
The grandfather tugged at the girl’s hand, drawing her away. ‘Terry will sort it out, honey.’
‘No,’ she yelled, her face turning red. ‘It’s not right. It’s not true.’
‘Ma’am?’ Zeb addressed her, ‘It’s all right. I will go with them.’
‘But you didn’t—’ Her lips trembled. Tears coursed down her face.
‘I know. But it’s not a big deal. Just some questions.’
Frazier jerked his head at the cruiser. Stomped off. Zeb followed, Schwartz covering from behind.
Frazier opened the door for him and pushed him inside with a shove.
He was grinning. A savage killer was in his custody.
Couldn’t help sniggering at how easily they had captured Zeb. Slid behind the wheel and chuckled at Schwartz, next to him.
Zeb saw the girl’s face at a window. Pale, blurred. Then they turned a corner.