Authors: John Gilstrap
enemy after all.
Why did this come as such a shock to her? How could she have ever thought otherwise? With this newly cleared vision, she understood that she was alive now because he'd been selfless enough to throw himself in front of a madman's gun. That scene back on the bridge in the house wasn't about giving up Steven. It was about saving her.
It was about loving her more than he loved himself. And now, here he was, every bit as terrified as she, driving through the night to rescue a little boy he'd never even come to know.
"You know," she said, finally breaking the silence, "I really do love you."
"I love you, too." He said it mechanically as he tossed a forced smile her way.
"And it occurs to me that I've been something of a shit today." "Have you?" he asked, a genuine smile finally cracking that look of stress and gloom. "I hadn't noticed."
As it turned out, discovering the body in the woods, and all the attendant nonsense surrounding it, was the best part of Sarah Rodgers's day. Ten minutes after Agent Coates drove out of Catoctin National Forest, she received a report of a brush fire on the far southern end of the 73,000-acre facility, and by the time they were able to muster the necessary fire-fighting forces, the blaze had charred over twenty acres of old-growth hardwood. But for the arrival of a cold front around six-thirty, and the rains that came with it, things might have been a whole lot worse. As it was, the fire was contained, and the
local fire chief assured her that there'd be no problem with flare-ups tonight.
As the chief put it so succinctly, "Ain't no fire yet been made that can burn wet wood."
Thank God for small favors.
But even that wasn't the low point of the day. According to the National Weather Service, they could expect the temperatures to continue to drop through the night to an unseasonable twenty-five degrees, with the rain to transition to snow that would accumulate up to six inches by morning.
All of this would mean stranded campers, short staffs, and a workday for Sarah that would stretch to every bit of sixty-five hours. Even now, as she piloted her green Chevy pickup into one of five narrow parking slots in front of the Area Five ranger station, she noted the big heavy flakes that tumbled through the beams of her headlights.
Gardner Blackwell looked up from the pile of papers on his desk as Sarah walked through the door. "Coffee's on the burner," he said, offering a big buck-toothed smile. "Just made a fresh pot."
Sarah's addiction to caffeine was the stuff of legend. "You're a life-saver, Gard. So, what's your bet? The weather says up to six inches from this one."
Gardner shook his head. "Nah, I say four at the most. It's been too warm for too long."
"Just to be ornery, then, I'll say eight." Sarah poured a half inch of coffee into the bottom of a heavy white mug, swirled it around, then tossed the rinse into the wastebasket. "Nobody up here's got communicable diseases, do they?" She refilled the cup and helped herself to a thinly padded, gray metal chair in front of Gardner's desk.
That's my cup," he replied, eyeing her less-than-complete washing regimen. "I was about to ask you. By the way, you look like crap."
Sarah laughed. "It's too late to try and sweet-talk me now." A moment passed while she watched him sift through park passes. "Got any murderers in there tonight?"
Only three that I know of," he replied without dropping a beat.
But I sent them all down to Area One. Thought the Tourist Center could use a little excitement."
"Kinda weird, though, isn't it?" Sarah mused aloud. "I mean, chances are we've handled paperwork that was filled out by a killer."
Gardner cocked his head as he regarded her. "How weirdly morbid. I think it's time for you to take a nap."
"That time passed unnoticed about twelve hours ago."
They shared a laugh before Gardner changed the subject. "Oh, before I forget, we've got to get some new chain strung at the entrance road at the top of Challenger Trail. It's busted again. I just noticed it on my last rounds."
Sarah closed her eyes as she tried to remember precisely where Challenger was.
"Connects to Powhite," he reminded her. "Leads to Route 630." Of course. Now she remembered. She never ceased to be amazed by the extent some people would go to save a few bucks on a permit. "Put it in tomorrow's briefing for everybody to be hard-asses on permits for the next few days. No excuses. If they can't cough up a permit, hit 'em with a ticket." As outdoor lovers themselves, rangers too often let such transgressions go unchallenged, their hearts going out to people who just want to commune. Sarah couldn't help but wonder if last night's murderer hadn't been just such a scofflaw.
As an afterthought, she added, "Have you looked around up there? Seen any signs of who might have broken the chain?"
Gardner shrugged. "I just assumed it was kids. Why, you think it had something to do with the murder?"
"I think I should include it in my next chat with my FBI contacts." "Speaking of which," Gardner teased, "a little bird told me you were charming the hell out of a fed."
Sarah blushed and leaned over to rest her head on the front of the desk. "And someone doesn't have enough to do. What have you heard from the patrols about the condition of the roads?"
Gardner rose from his chair and carried her empty cup back to the coffeepot. "So far, none of them have mentioned anything, so I guess things are still in good shape. I'll be sure to ask when they check in on the hour." He didn't bother asking her if she wanted a refill. "Come on now, heads up. There's plenty of work to do. You are our leader, after all."
IT HADN'T OCCURRED to Samuel until he cleared the pass at the top of the mountain that he'd forgotten to put the bolt cutters back into the truck. If someone had replaced the chain across that road, he'd have to think of something pretty quickly. As he pulled off Route 630, he nearly cheered when he spotted the barricade right where they'd left it, lying in the dirt.
He tried turning off the headlights the way his brother had done the night before, but he turned them back on after barely missing a tree in the darkness. Fifty yards later, he realized that even the headlights weren't enough to see properly, so he just parked the truck and turned off the ignition.
The night was so much darker out here in the woods. So dark that Samuel couldn't find the flashlight on the seat without first opening the door for the dome light. Walking around to the passenger side, he pulled open that door and lifted the sack from the floorboard down onto the wet ground. When did it get so cold? he wondered.
The boy didn't move while he untied the cord that knotted the mouth of the bag, and for a brief moment, Samuel worried that maybe Justin was hurt. As the fabric fell away, though, he saw that the little boy was just fine. He lay on his side, with his eyes open, his thumb stuck into his mouth.
Samuel squatted down as low as he could without getting his pants wet in the sopping mulch. "Hey, little boy," he said cheerily. "We're almost there, okay? We're almost done. Now, are you going to be a good boy this time?"
Justin said nothing. He didn't even make eye contact. He merely lay there on his side, staring straight ahead.
"I need you to stand up now, okay, Justin? Can you do that for Uncle Samuel? Can you just stand up for a minute?"
But still the boy did not move.
Anger churned in Samuel's stomach. "Dammit, boy, get up!" He raised the heavy flashlight over his head, ready to hit him with it, but little Justin didn't even cringe. He didn't seem to care anymore.
The anger went away. Maybe Justin was just too tired to play right now. Maybe that was it. Maybe he was just plain too tuckered out to do what Samuel told him to do.
"Want me to carry you instead?" The boy didn't respond, but Samuel knew that his answer would have been yes. That was it, he was just too tired.
Justin fought some as Samuel worked his hands under his armpits to get a handhold, but it was nothing like the fights he'd put up in the past. And once Samuel got him up so his little butt was resting on Samuel's forearm and the mussed mop of hair was resting on his shoulders, the boy seemed to relax again. His thumb never left his mouth.
Justin smelled just like babies always do, kind of sweaty and pissy, but tonight, there was a new smell-one that Samuel hadn't sniffed in a long, long time. His brain flashed more pictures he hadn't seen in years. Jacob and Samuel were little boys, and they were playing with their mama. She had a huge smile on her face, and everyone was having fun. In these pictures, no one was angry, and no one was afraid. It must have been because Daddy wasn't home. He must have been on the road.
Things were always so much better when Daddy was on the road.
Baby powder. That was the new smell. Baby powder. And it smelled delightful, filling Samuel's sinuses with the kinds of memories that never seemed to come anymore. Each night, when he closed his eyes, all he saw recently were the jobs he'd done with Jacob. He saw the way the people lay so still when Jacob was done. He remembered too much blood. And if he thought real hard, he could remember the screaming.
Not many of the jobs screamed-Jacob was too good for that, but even he made mistakes sometimes. But when they did, it was a terrible, terrible thing to hear. Those were the times when Samuel would take one of his trips.
Those people were all bad, he thought, and The Boss said that they had to be taken care of. That's all Samuel needed to hear. When The toss wanted something, he got it; that's all there was to it. And Jacob said it was all okay.
The screaming.
The sound built in Samuel's mind even as he worked feverishly to shut off the flow of thoughts.
What kind of game makes you bury a little boy?
That was a new voice in Samuel's brain. That was his own voice. He didn't think many thoughts in that voice anymore, and hearing it now startled him.
There's nothing fun in that. That's no kind of game.
Samuel found himself hugging Justin closer to his chest as he worked his way through the thick woods on the way toward their special spot. The boy's breathing seemed to be coming faster than it should, and his little body trembled in his arms. "Are you cold?"
That was a stupid question, wasn't it? Of course the boy was cold! It was snowing out, for God's sake!
Without slowing his pace much, Samuel unzipped his coat and wrapped one of the flaps around Justin's pyjama-clad body. He hugged him tighter still and vigorously rubbed the outside of the coat where the lump curled himself into an even smaller boy.
"Just a little bit further. Just a little bit further and we'll be with The Boss. Then everything will be just fine."
The Boss is going to hurt him.
There was Samuel's own voice again. Why was it saying things like that?
"No, he won't," Samuel insisted aloud. "He's not going to hurt anybody. He told me so. Jacob told me so, too. Isn't that right, Jacob?"
He waited for an answer, but when none came, Samuel just shook off the bad feelings that climbed his spine. Jacob wouldn't ever do anything to hurt this boy. Samuel liked the boy, and Jacob would never hurt anybody Samuel liked. Jacob had said so himself countless times. That voice in his head didn't know what it was talking about, pure and simple. It was just crazy. As crazy as Samuel. Maybe even crazier.
Games should be fun, you dummy!
Of course they should be fun, but as Jacob said, sometimes they just have to be more fun than the alternative.
And what is the alternative?
"Stop it!" As Samuel shouted at the voices, Justin jumped in his arms and began to cry.
The sudden shriek of the telephone nearly launched Sarah out of her chair. Out here in the area offices, the annual budget didn't allow for the beeps or the electronic warble of modern phones. Out here, they were still stuck with good old-fashioned ringing phones. In the fog of her grogginess, Sarah could have sworn it actually rang inside her head. Gardner was still laughing as he brought the handset up to his ear. "Area Five. . . . Oh, yeah, she's here, but it may take me a minute to get her fingernails out of the ceiling."
Sarah stuck out her tongue at him and reached for the phone. "This is Sarah Rodgers."
"Your fingernails are in the ceiling?" "Never mind. Who is this?"
"Jerry Bartlett down at entrance four. Thought you'd like to know that your favorite Explorer is back in the park."
Sarah's brow knotted as she tried to decode what he was trying to tell her. "I'm not sure . . ." Then she got it. She jumped to her feet, instantly wide-awake. "Oh, my God, you mean the one from last night? The one you pulled over?"
"Yeah, I just finished collecting the entry permits, and I happened to notice the license number matched the one we were told to look out for. Once through the gate, I don't know where they headed, but I thought you'd want to know right away."
Jesus, she couldn't believe it. Criminals really do return to the scene of the crime! "Okay, listen to me, Jerry. I need you to make a phone call for me, and then I want you to meet me at the bottom of Powhite Trail, okay?"
"What, you think-"
"Exactly." Then she read a number to him off of a business card from her pocket. "Call that number, tell whoever answers exactly what you told me, and then get your ass up to Powhite."