Backwoods (16 page)

Abby’s palm itched to slap his face. She crossed her arms over her chest, smothering the urge to respond with a violent outburst. “She’s my daughter. I should take the greater risk.”

“We have to overpower them, and Leo is stronger than you are.”

“I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“Neither do I,” he said coldly. “But here we are.”

“Leo can keep watch.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Do what I fucking said or we’re leaving.”

Abby looked to Leo for help and found none. He stood by his father for once. She had no choice but to nod her assent.

Taking a deep breath, she ducked behind a tree. From there, she could see the side of the escarpment and its grassy plateau. As Nathan and Leo approached the door, her fear skyrocketed. He’d never forgive her if this plan went terribly wrong. The tenuous connection they’d made over the past few days had just snapped, unable to bear the strain of the horrific circumstances.

She waited, knees trembling, for all hell to break loose.

* * *

A
FTER
HIS
FATHER
LEFT
, Wyatt got up and wiped his chin with the same washcloth he’d used on Brooke.

He didn’t seem shaken by the abuse. This was the way he expected to be treated. There was a slamming sound and movement overhead, as if the monster had ventured aboveground. Dirt rained from the ceiling of the bunker, which had been reinforced with log beams. It settled in her hair and tickled her nose.

Blinking the grit from her eyes, she examined Wyatt’s homely face. He was in that awkward stage between man and boy. One day he might grow into his big ears and shaggy brow. Would he also develop into a psychopath? She couldn’t count on him to free her. He hadn’t lobbied for her release or fought back when challenged. If he had his way, she’d be
his
captive. But still, a captive.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m fine.”

“That looked like it hurt.”

He returned to the crate beside her. His gaze met hers for a moment before he flushed and glanced away.

“I don’t like my dad,” she said, trying to appeal to him.

“Does he hit you?”

“No. He ignores me.”

“I wouldn’t ignore you.”

“Untie me,” she whispered. “Please.”

He studied the bloodstained rag, making no move to help her.

She tried again. “You don’t have to stay here with him. We can leave together. I’ll help you run away.”

Wyatt didn’t look at her. “He hunts down runaways.”

“And brings them back?”

“No.”

Brooke grimaced at the thought, fighting another wave of nausea. She didn’t see a way out of this predicament. She felt weak and sick. Even if she could loosen her bindings, she couldn’t run or fight until the drugs wore off.

She might die in this room after a prolonged torture session, perhaps years of captivity. The possibility loomed before her, nightmarish.

Wyatt watched her in silence. She got the impression that he was waiting for something. As if he was counting on her to be his salvation, instead of the other way around. They were both helpless, trapped here together, and she couldn’t think of a solution. Her brain was sluggish. Whatever drug they’d given her was strong and long-lasting. She could only stay alert for a few moments at a time.

“You took off the boot,” she murmured, drowsy.

He squeezed her hand in warning. “Shh.”

When the footsteps returned, Wyatt broke the contact. Their captor burst into the room, carrying two guns. She guessed that one was a shotgun because it had twin barrels. The other might be a rifle. “They’re outside.”

“Who?” Wyatt asked.

“Her family. I can’t believe they found us.”

Brooke let out a whimper of distress.
No. Please God, no. Not a shoot-out.
She could live through another earthquake. She’d dodge cartoon creatures and floating heads. This was too real, too violent. If her mom tried to get in, they’d kill her or capture her. “Don’t hurt my mom,” she begged Wyatt.

“They’re in the tunnel,” the man said, handing Wyatt the shotgun. “Take this and get down there.”

He accepted the shotgun with reluctance. “I can’t.”

“You can’t what?”

“Shoot people.”

“You can and you will,” the older man said. “Just fire a warning round to send them running the other direction. Your birdshot won’t kill them.”

“What if they’re armed?”

The older man turned to Brooke. “Does your dad have a gun?”

“He’s not my dad.”

“Answer the question.”

She hesitated, uncertain. Nathan didn’t have a gun, and lying about it might put them in more danger. “I—I don’t know.”

“Is he a tracker?”

“A what?”

“Does he hunt?”

Brooke wasn’t sure how to respond. She had no idea.

“They’re tree huggers,” the man said to his son. “No balls and no weapons. They’ll run as soon as you fire at them.”

Wyatt glanced at Brooke. His hands trembled as he held the barrel of the shotgun in a white-knuckled grip.

The monster pointed the rifle at her, but spoke to Wyatt. “Don’t forget what happens when you disappoint me, boy. Maybe you need three more days in the pit with your new girlfriend, after I put a bullet in her pretty little head.”

“No,” Wyatt said. “Please.”

“Get down there!”

The man opened a hatch in the floor that she hadn’t seen before. While Wyatt descended into a dark space, his father stood in the doorway, rifle trained on Brooke. She stared back at him, terrorized into silence. He had crease lines in his forehead and stains on his shirt. His fatigue pants were torn. Threads of silver snaked through his unruly beard and mustache.

Although she wanted to spit in his face, she looked away, trembling. She couldn’t even scream to warn her mother. He was large and filthy and probably insane. She supposed he had a mental illness, but she felt no sympathy, only fear. Wyatt had a sense of decency she could appeal to. There was a caring person behind those stark eyes and odd features. In the older man, there was nothing. No humanity.

Following his orders, Wyatt opened fire.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T
HEY
CREPT
TOWARD
the hidden door, side by side.

Leo’s heart hammered against his ribs with every step. He’d never been so afraid—or so pumped up with adrenaline—in his entire life. The thought of Brooke being terrorized by two psychos made him crazy. He wanted to tear those guys apart with his bare hands, to pop out eyeballs and rip off arms. He’d chew through their fucking necks.

Even through the haze of bravado and bloodlust, he understood why his dad had lobbied to play it safe. This was a scary situation, and it could end badly. Leo was worried about their chances for survival. The odds were stacked against them. Their opponents might be armed with a crossbow and an arsenal of other weapons. Leo had only a hastily made fishing spear, his dad a hunting knife.

They were taking a big risk. Maybe a stupid one. But they had no other choice. Leo couldn’t walk away while Brooke was in danger. Abby
wouldn’t
walk away. Leaving both women behind would be disastrous.

In a dark corner of his mind, Leo wondered if this was partly his fault. He hadn’t been the best stepbrother to Brooke. His gut tightened at the memory of their wrestling match yesterday. He regretted being rough with her and using harsh words. The idea that he might never see her again rocked him to the core.

His feelings for her went deeper than he’d realized. All of the emotions he’d kept buried had rushed to the surface. His attraction to her wasn’t just about hormones and rebellion. It was stronger than their wavering family connection.

Leo wished he’d done things differently. He’d failed to protect Brooke. He also shouldn’t have lied to his dad about the bag of weed. The deception had made the thieves seem like stoner opportunists, mercenary but harmless.

When they arrived outside the door, he studied its composition. It appeared flat, and was covered with clumps of dirt. Someone had spackled the door with mud to make it blend in to the hillside. There was no doorknob or handle. Leo tried to pry it open with his spear, to no avail.

His dad grew impatient and motioned for Leo to step aside. He started kicking the middle of the door. It only took a few tries before the clay-caked wood splintered. This fortress wasn’t designed to keep out intruders; invisibility was its main defense. Behind the door lay a tunnel. Leo had figured that this entrance led to some kind of larger dwelling. It was almost pitch-black inside.

Leo took a cigarette lighter out of his pocket and pantomimed the sparking motion. His dad nodded and entered the tunnel. They had to duck their heads to accommodate the low ceiling. The squat, narrow space invited feelings of intense claustrophobia. Leo continued into the dark with caution, sticking close to his dad. After about ten feet, he sparked the lighter and held his arm out. The flame flickered and wavered, illuminating the passage. It reminded Leo of an animal burrow. The acrid smell of piss assaulted his nostrils. Perhaps this tunnel was an emergency exit that doubled as a latrine.

Sick.

Wrinkling his nose, Leo shuffled forward. Around the next corner, he paused, lifting the flame higher. The passage widened into a dugout with a reinforced ceiling. The wooden planks appeared to be ax-chopped, with rough edges and no uniform size.

Leo lowered his arm too quickly. The flame went out, casting them into darkness. He smothered a curse as the hot metal singed his thumb.

His dad gripped his shoulder, holding him still. There were muffled voices overhead. Leo heard an ominous scraping sound. He waited, his pulse thundering in his ears. Then he caught a flash of motion about ten feet in front of them. Light filtered in from the ceiling near the end of the tunnel. It was some kind of hatch, he realized. A figure climbed down the short ladder and raised the barrel of a shotgun.

Oh, shit.

“Run,” his dad said, pushing Leo in the opposite direction.

Before they could get around the corner, the gun blasted. Bullet fragments peppered the tunnel walls. Fire struck his right leg, ripping through his jeans and flaying his skin. Leo stumbled sideways and dropped the spear. He gripped his thigh with a strangled yell, shocked by the searing pain.

He’d been shot.

* * *

A
BBY
ALMOST
COULDN
’
T
bear to watch.

She suppressed the urge to clap one hand over her eyes as Nathan and Leo broke down the door. It appeared to be locked from the inside, and solidly built. After five or six blows, the door split open. So much for stealth.

No one came out. Was Brooke even in there?

Nathan moved the ruined door aside and stared into the dark space. He entered the passageway with Leo following close behind. Abby bit the edge of her fist, terrified. Her heart was beating as fast as a jackrabbit’s, threatening to burst from her chest. She took deep breaths and tried not to faint.

Waiting was such a sharp misery. She couldn’t stop thinking about Brooke and picturing worst-case scenarios. This path led to madness; Abby knew that from experience. It led to soul-deep anguish and mental collapse. The third day after the earthquake had been the most challenging. There was no long walk to focus on, no helpful distractions. Her injured elbow had been set and cast. She’d reunited with Ella and spoken to her parents. There were so many survivors with horrific tales of the utter devastation downtown.

But...no Brooke.

Boom!

The sound of a gunshot brought her back to the present and turned her blood to ice. Nathan had been right—the men were armed. Had he been shot? She smothered a scream, plagued by visions of torn flesh and bloody mayhem. The ground seemed to shift beneath her feet, like a phantom earthquake.

Movement on the hillside divided her attention. Oh, no. She’d forgotten to keep watch! Racked with anxiety, she peered around the tree she was hiding behind. A camouflage-clad figure emerged from a cluster of boulders. Gunmetal glinted in the sunlight.

No. Oh, God. This couldn’t be happening! What should she do?

Nathan had told her to run, but she was frozen. She couldn’t leave them. She couldn’t leave Brooke.

Gripping the tree bark, she looked again. The man was crouched on top of the cliff with his rifle trained on the broken door. With a sinking stomach, she realized he was going to shoot whoever came out. Maybe there was no alternate exit, or he’d blocked it. He was waiting for his targets to appear so he could pick them off.

There was only one way to stop him.

She slipped off her backpack and reached for the sock weapon inside. When she had it in her trembling fist, she scurried through the trees, putting distance between her and the gunman. As soon as she’d gone far enough to escape detection, she circled around and climbed along the backside of the cliff.

He thought he could ambush
them?
She’d ambush
his
sorry ass.

There wasn’t much cover on top of the cliff, just low-lying rocks and bushes. She crouched down and moved forward quickly. The weighted sock felt heavy, the cotton hot in her sweaty grip. A breeze ruffled the damp hair at her temples. That was a good thing, she supposed. The wind was blowing away from the gunman, so he probably couldn’t hear the sound of her approaching footsteps.

Abby didn’t give herself time to hesitate.

Don’t overthink it.

When she reached the man in camouflage, she knew she had to act fast, before he sensed her presence. She rushed at him, swinging her sock weapon like a wild banshee. She aimed for the side of his head and missed by a wide margin, connecting with his right shoulder.

Oops.

He roared in surprise and scrambled to his feet. Although he’d left his weapon on the ground, Abby was paralyzed with fear, unable to strike again. She recognized him from the trail. His countenance was menacing, his eyes devoid of light.

Making a pathetic noise, she stumbled backward and almost fell down. Another plan was born out of desperation: run away and hope he gave chase.

Somehow, it worked. When she turned to flee, he abandoned his post and followed her. The sneak attack must have rattled him as much as it had her. Maybe she’d sparked his predator instincts. He couldn’t resist hunting her.

She bolted away from him as fast as possible, fighting to stay upright on the rocky slope. She wasn’t a track star like Brooke or a pro athlete like Nathan, but she was able to put distance between them. Adrenaline increased her speed and kept her going. She reached flat ground and tore through the trees, her legs pumping. If she could lure him far into the woods, Nathan and Leo might have a chance to rescue Brooke.

She didn’t see the exposed root until it was too late. Her shoe glanced off the edge. Although she tried to recover her balance, it was no use. She tripped and went flying, arms outstretched. After a short tumble, she landed on her back in a pile of dirt and damp leaves. The oxygen squeezed from her lungs.

He was on top of her in a flash. Before she could gasp for breath. Before she could swing the sock-mace again.

Grabbing her by the hair, he rolled her over and shoved her face into the leaves. Her arm was wrenched backward with shocking pressure, almost to the point of breaking. She struggled for air, tears stinging her eyes.

While she sucked in a lungful of oxygen, he trapped her wrists together and cinched them with a plastic tie.

Abby couldn’t believe it was already over. He’d captured her in less than two minutes. She was winded, her shoulder throbbing. Her hands and knees felt raw from the fall. Her scalp ached from the hair-pulling. She didn’t know where her sock-weapon went. It wasn’t clutched in her fist anymore.

“Get up,” he said, jerking her to a standing position. He squinted at her and smiled, as if she pleased him. “Move.”

She wanted to make things more difficult for him by refusing to walk. But when he nudged her, she stumbled forward, too shaken to resist. Her knees felt like jelly and her body trembled with tension. She’d used up all her bravery in the attack. There had been a lifetime’s worth in that one swing.

Up close, the hunter was scary enough to star in a horror movie. He wasn’t hideous or disfigured, as far as she could tell. It was hard to imagine what he looked like underneath the dirty clothes and overgrown facial hair. What disturbed her wasn’t his unkempt appearance, but the perverse enjoyment he seemed to take in her fear. He reminded her of a cult leader or a religious fanatic. There was a Manson-like glee about him.

And he smelled bad. Like chewing tobacco and dead animals.

Remember Brooke,
she whispered to herself as she trudged forward.
Focus on Brooke. Pray for Brooke.

Never give up.

Abby was a survivor. She could get through this. As long as Brooke was still alive, she could endure anything. She would keep a firm grip on hope, grasping it with both hands until she could hold her daughter again.

* * *

N
ATHAN
HAD
KNOWN
that breaking in was a stupid idea.

He couldn’t believe he’d let Abby talk him into it. He was so scared and pissed off that he didn’t even want to fuck her anymore. Unlike Leo, he had no interest in playing hero. He was too old for this shit.

He hadn’t agreed to do it for Abby, though. Not for Leo, either. If he’d wanted to, he could have kicked his son’s skinny-jeans-wearing ass and dragged him out of here. He was still stronger than Leo. He wasn’t
that
old.

He hadn’t walked away for one reason: Brooke.

Damn it all to hell. He liked her. She needed help. Her quiet tears over that throwaway compliment last night had undone him. Ray was a deadbeat dad, despite his buckets of money. He was an even worse parent than Nathan, and that was saying something.

If Brooke was his daughter...he couldn’t imagine making any other choice. That didn’t mean he thought barging into the fortress was a good strategy. But, emotionally, he understood Abby’s point of view. The longer Brooke stayed in captivity, the more harm would come to her. She might suffer multiple attacks. There was a strong possibility that she would be killed before help arrived. She could be dead already.

Nathan hoped he hadn’t sealed his own doom with this decision. Or worse, Leo’s.

As soon as the shots rang out, Nathan grabbed Leo and hauled him around the corner. But it was too late; they’d both been hit. A searing pain tore through his forearm, white-hot. The dark seemed to close in around them.

Grimacing in pain, Nathan reached out with his free hand to touch the tunnel wall. “Come on,” he said, dragging Leo toward the exit. Leo loped along beside him, making a hissing sound between his teeth. Blood trickled down Nathan’s forearm. It felt like a flesh wound, but he was too pumped up to judge.

“I got shot,” Leo said, his breathing labored. “That motherfucker shot me.”

“Can you run?”

“No!”

Nathan couldn’t hear anyone coming after them. He hoped the other hunter wasn’t waiting outside the door. That would be a game-changer, even more than these inconvenient gunshot wounds. But staying in the tunnel wasn’t an option, so he moved forward, his gut clenched with dread.

He didn’t say “I told you so.” Nor could he bring himself to choke out, “I love you.” There were no fitting words for this situation. Trying not to panic, he kept going. He refused to believe it would end this way.

They broke out of the tunnel into daylight. Nathan didn’t slow down. He helped Leo through the copse of trees and beyond, heading toward the creek. They stumbled across the forest as quickly as three good legs could carry them.

When they reached Silver Creek, Abby wasn’t there. He’d assumed she would start running at the sound of gunfire. In his rush to get Leo to safety and evade the hunters, he hadn’t thought to look for her.

Leo took a seat on a flat rock, groaning. His jeans were dotted with red patches, but not soaked completely through. The spread-out pattern indicated small ammunition, which didn’t cause as much damage. He wasn’t going to die or lose his leg. Nathan tried to smother a sob of relief, and couldn’t quite manage.