Authors: John Gilstrap
The Ruger split the night as well, kicking hard against the heel of his hand as Samuel pulled again and again and again. In the strobes of the muzzle flashes, Samuel thought for sure he saw the other man fall.
He thought it, but couldn't be positive because now he was running, plunging through the woods downhill, his momentum moving him faster and faster down the slope. From behind, he heard still more gunshots, but he never even glanced around to see. There was no time for that. He had to get little Justin back to safety. He had to get him back home.
You stupid fool, the car's behind you!
"So are they!" he tried to yell, but he was breathing too hard to make any real noise.
The flashlight splashed through the woods in mottled patches, casting weird shadows that camouflaged the real hazards of branches and tree limbs. He ducked and dived past branches and over rocks, moving faster than he'd ever run in his whole life.
And the boy was cooperating now. He stayed perfectly still, allowing himself to be hugged tightly to Samuel's chest.
The very same chest that glistened black and wet in the night.
Susan screamed at the cacophony of gunshots. They sounded so close, but as they echoed and deflected through the forest, they could have been coming from anywhere. Instinctively, she and Bobby drew closer together, shoulder to shoulder, and scanned the trees for some sign of movement, or even another sound.
"I think it was from up there," Bobby said, pointing straight up the trail.
Susan pointed more to the left. "No. From there." Bobby didn't want to argue. They split the difference and left the trail, heading up the hill and toward the river. Susan wanted to run, but Bobby held her back. "If we make too much noise, we'll never hear anything."
"But Steven!" she breathed. "He's hurt. I know he's hurt. I feel it." "I hope not," Bobby whispered. "But if he is, well never be able to help if we can't find him."
Down the trail, Sarah and Gardner recognized the sounds for what they were and quickened their pace, breaking into the closest thing to a run that the steep slope would allow.
"Sounds close," she gasped. "Keep your eyes wide open."
"I'll keep them open for the deputies is what I'll keep them open for,"
"Oh, God, little boy, are you hurt?"
Even as Samuel stumbled through the forest, he brought the little boy out from under his jacket and held him out in front to get a better look. The lower half of his nightie-nights were soaked in blood, the heavy fabric sticking to his stout little legs. Oh, no. Oh, no, you're hurt, aren't you?"
But Justin didn't seem to be. Now that he was out from under the coat and exposed to the snow and the cold, he started wriggling all over again.
It's not him, you idiot. It's you.
Samuel gasped at the thought of it, and as he did, a terrible pain stabbed him, deep in his guts. The intensity of it made him yell out, an animal-like howl that rose from his throat without his even thinking of it.
out of his throat as he continued his downhill stumble, propelled by his momentum. "You promised me it was a game. You promised!"
Just as he'd promised that Mama and Daddy had died accidentally, even though Jacob had been the only one close enough to see anything.
Just as he'd promised never to hurt anything that Samuel ever loved.
"Oh, Jacob, you promised ..."
It was as if someone had pumped concrete into Samuel's legs. Suddenly, each of them weighed a hundred pounds and was getting heavier by the second. Sheer force of will kept them moving, one after the other down the hill, and it took all the concentration he could muster to keep from falling face-first into the branches and leaves and bushes.
If he fell, he'd hurt the boy. Can't do that . . . can't do that.
His stomach hurt so bad. There was blood in the back of his throat now, making him want to cough, while at the same time making him afraid to cough-afraid of what might come up if he did.
And still he plunged through the woods. He wasn't making half the speed that he was before, but it was taking three times the effort.
Tears streamed down his face as he realized just how stupid he'd really been. How stupid he'd been for as long as people had been calling him names.
"That sounds like a person," Susan said hurriedly as the two of them jolted to a halt.
Bobby agreed. That's exactly what it sounded like. And they both knew exactly the direction from which it came.
Finally, it was time to run.
RUSSELL HANDED THE pilot the sheet of paper on which he'd jotted down the radio frequencies from that morning. "Dial these into your radio," he said over his intercom. "I want to see what I can find out from them."
For the first time, the pilots seemed unnerved by the weather. They didn't say anything, of course, but Russell could see it in their faces. He wondered if maybe they should have opted for some Dramamine as well.
When the frequency was set, Russell heard the familiar pop in his headset, and then the pilot's announcement that the radio was his. Mimicking what he'd heard the others say, he opened with, "Fairfield County Helicopter Eagle One to Catoctin National Park ranger units, how do you copy?"
For a long moment, the radio was silent, prompting the pilot to recheck the numbers he'd dialed in. Russell was ready to key the mike a second time when a tinny, breathless voice crackled in his earphones. "Go ahead, Fairfield Eagle One."
Russell instantly recognized the voice. "Ranger Rodgers, I presume," he said, smiling.
They're here!" she shouted. "They're here at the murder scene from this morning and shots have been fired."
This got everyone's attention. Without prompting, the copilot started digging for the map that would show the layout of Catoctin National Forest.
"Is anyone hit?" Russell asked.
"I don't know. The shots were not directed at us, but they were close by."
"Do you have backup on the way?"
"That's affirmative, but they're still a long ways out."
"Shit." Russell meant for that to be silent, but it went out on the air anyway. "Okay, Sarah, stand by." This time, he keyed the intercom button. "Hold that map up so I can see it."
The copilot shifted the map and the gooseneck light while Russell leaned in closer. It took him a good ten seconds to get himself oriented, and then he pointed to the spot where he'd spent the morning investigating. "That's where she is. Now, where are we?"
The copilot pointed to a spot east and south of Sarah's location. "That's about seven minutes' flight time from here. But I'm not sure about the flight conditions-"
Russell keyed the radio mike before the copilot could finish. "Sarah, this is Coates. We'll be there in six minutes."
Each step felt as if somebody were running a hot knife through Samuel's guts. His head had begun to feel funny, and while he knew that only pussies cried, he couldn't help himself.
And somebody was following him.
He couldn't bear to turn around and look, but he just knew that someone was following him. Trying to hurt him. Trying to hurt Justin.
"Can't let that happen," he panted. "Can't. Got to protect your friends. Got to protect friends and hurt your enemies. Before they can hurt you."
So why did Jacob hurt Mama and Daddy? Why did he hurt them so badly? Why did he set Daddy on fire?
Oh, God, the screams!
The inside of his head whirled as his brain replayed the pictures of the smoke, the sounds of those horrible screams, and the look on Jacob's face. The happy look.
Oh, sweet Jesus, he did it for me!
It was so clear now. He saw the pictures of the chicken shit, and of his own blood mingling with it. He heard the whistling of the switch,
and somehow, even beyond the agony of the searing pain in his belly, he remembered how that switch had dug furrows into his flesh.
He remembered the look on Jacob's face the first time he saw it. He remembered the look of sheer fury. And how Jacob swore to get even with the son of a bitch who'd done it.
"I'll be okay, Jacob. Really I will, you don't have to do that."
"I'm gonna kill the son of a bitch. I swear to God I'm gonna kill him..."
Samuel's steps had slowed to a virtual stagger, though in his mind he was still running as fast as he could. He heard the sound of people.
Were they coming up behind him? Were they coming to hurt little Justin?
He couldn't let that happen.
He'd die first.
Bobby heard the big man approaching at the exact same instant he saw him. Recognition came instantly. This was the man from the hallway. This was the man who'd threatened to kill him and his family.
"Steven!" Before Bobby could move to stop her, Susan bolted forward to retrieve the boy, who reacted to the sound of her voice as if he'd been shot with electricity. He wrenched himself free of his captor's hands and dropped to his hands and knees in the mulch.
"Oh, God, my baby!"
Bobby hadn't ever seen that much blood on one person. Even the man in the woods hadn't bled that much.
The big man struggled to get a hand on the boy, but he never had a chance. He stood there for a long moment, listing off to the side and trying to gather the strength to lift the pistol that just barely dangled from his right hand.
"No!" Bobby shouted, and lunged at him, just as he'd lunged the night before, only this time, his opponent fell easily.
The man howled in agony as he impacted the earth, and blood frothed up from his lips. "Help him," he gasped. "Help the little boy."
Bobby wrenched the pistol from the big man's hand and brought to bear on his face, only to find the slide locked back, the magazine empty. He threw the weapon into the woods. Curiously, Bobby noticed that the man was crying. Not the way that someone cries when he's hurt, where tears come from the sheer agony of it; this man sobbed the way a child cries when he's ashamed. He tried to cover his face, to hide himself from the humiliation, but it was as if his hands were just too heavy to
move.
"I'm so sorry," he sobbed.
Bobby didn't know what to do. He found himself torn between wanting to stay and wanting to run. Could he leave another man to die alone in the woods? He leaned in closer. "You're hurt. Is your name
Samuel?"
Samuel's lip trembled as he nodded, but he still refused eye contact.
"I'm so, so sorry . . ."
Bobby knelt up straight and looked back over his shoulder to see Susan locked in an embrace with Steven. Well, whatever came of all this, at least they were finally safe.
Three inches from his head, a two-inch gash exploded from the side of a tree at the very instant that the woods shook from another gunshot. Susan screamed and tried to shelter the baby while Bobby scrambled toward them. Two more shots passed within inches. "Who is that?" Susan screamed.
Bobby ran full tilt, bent at the waist to grab a fistful of his wife's coat and drag her deeper into the woods, away from where he thought the shots were originating. "Run!" he hissed. "Run! Run! Run!"
Susan had difficulty finding her balance as Bobby pushed and dragged her through the woods, the tree branches pummeling her as she tried to shelter Steven from them. "Let me carry him," he said, reaching out to grab the boy, but Susan turned away. "I've got him." "Fine. Then move!"
The worst part of all was not knowing where the shooter was. In the darkness of the night, they could be running in circles and never know it. That could mean death for sure. If not at the hands of the man with the gun, then at the hands of Mother Nature as they got lost in the unrelenting expanse of the forest.
The river beckoned him. The sound stood out above all others, a great and constant rush of noise-and as long as he knew where that river was, then he'd at least know basic north from basic south. As they plunged through the woods, he found himself drawn toward the water; not directly, but at an oblique angle that took him ever closer.
If this were a different time of year, the rushing waters might even provide them with a convenient means of escape; but here, in the frigid cold and the snow, the river was a death sentence in itself.
Please, God, just get us out of this alive. I'll take what's ever coming to me, but just let us escape from this alive.
Another gunshot split the night. Bobby didn't know where this bullet went, but he knew that they weren't running nearly fast enough.
Sarah instinctively ducked at the sound of the last shot. It was that close, up ahead and over to her left. "There!" she barked, pointing. "It's coming from over there."
Startled that she'd heard no answer, she turned to face Gardner, but he was no longer next to her. "Gard? Where are you?" Then louder: "Where are you?"
Terrified that he'd been hit, she whipped her head around, and then her body, the strong beam of her flashlight illuminating hundreds of falling snowflakes, which themselves cast a confusing array of shadows on the forest.
Then she saw him. He stood over in the trees, a little to the right of the path, trying his best to stay out of sight. He wasn't hit; he was just scared shitless. "Gard!" she called, but he refused to acknowledge her. She supposed it was shame, but the least he could do was pretend to cover her with the shotgun.