Backwoods (19 page)

“Yes. The boy saw us, too. But he didn’t say anything.”

“Why?”

He shook his head. “I think the older one is the psychopath.”

“It’s his father.”

“How do you know?”

“Just a hunch,” she said, shivering.

Time ticked by, and the sky darkened with the threat of precipitation. Abby wasn’t sure if it was getting late, or just stormy. With each passing moment, Brooke and Leo got farther away from danger. But what about Abby and Nathan? They’d have to return to camp and hope the men didn’t come after them.

It was going to be a long night.

A crack rang out through the trees, like an ax splitting wood or a thunderclap. “That’s rifle fire,” Nathan said, gesturing for Abby to stay low.

“From where?”

“Close. The creek.”

They watched and waited. Ants crawled along her arms and under her clothes. The wind picked up. Her anxiety rose and rose and rose. She wanted to curl up in a little ball and wish everything away. To go to sleep and end this nightmare. After the terrifying, traumatic events of the day, her strength was sapped.

When it started to drizzle, they rose from the hill and fled into the trees. Abby couldn’t stop shaking. As soon as they reached the woods, Nathan gripped her arm and jerked her behind a tree. He pressed a finger to his lips, his eyes darting sideways. She followed his gaze to a hooded figure in a camouflage rain jacket.

It was one of the hunters—and he was coming right toward them.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

L
EO
DIDN
’
T
HAVE
any trouble handling the ATV.

At first.

It was slow going, with a lot of boulders to skirt around and no discernible path for several miles. He jumped when he heard the faraway crack of a rifle shot, but he didn’t stop. Even though Brooke was only half-lucid, the sound scared her. She clung to him tighter and kept looking over her shoulder.

Once they reached the old forest service road and headed south, it started to rain. Then it got dark. The headlamp on the Rincon was too dim to illuminate more than a few feet. Brooke pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over her head and slumped against his back. She dozed off, lulled by narcotics and the sluggish pace.

Leo drove as fast as the conditions would allow. He knew time was of the essence. His dad and Abby were out in the middle of nowhere on a stormy night, being hunted by a mountain man and a circus freak.

The road got increasingly bumpy and muddy. It was full of potholes, which turned into rain puddles of various depths. He lost count of the number of times his wounded leg got splashed. He’d probably develop a nasty infection. The off-highway vehicle area might be easier to navigate, but he didn’t want to get lost on an interconnected network of recreation trails. If he stayed on this simple route, they’d make it to town.

He was punching it a little too fast on a straightaway and hit a pothole. When the vehicle listed to one side, Brooke couldn’t help him countercorrect. Her slack weight tipped the already-precarious balance of the ATV. They both tumbled off the seat and hit the mud with a splat, while the heavy vehicle crashed down an embankment.

Leo landed on his shoulder with a hard slam. He rolled over into a mud puddle. Sputtering, he tried to free them both from the hooded sweatshirt that had kept Brooke from falling but also helped cause the accident. Escaping the fabric was beyond his capabilities. He finally tore the neckline down the front and scrambled upright.

Brooke was sprawled beside the puddle. Her hair was wet and bedraggled, her face pale. Although her eyes were open, he feared the worst: Internal injuries. Broken bones. Slipped disc. Fractured skull.

“Are you okay?” he choked out.

She sat up and lifted both arms, as if checking to see what still worked. “I think so. Nothing hurts.”

He collapsed with relief, his breaths ragged. His
entire body
hurt. He’d read somewhere that drunk people were less likely to be injured in a car accident because they didn’t tense up before the impact. That statistic had always bothered him. When he’d recovered well enough to stand, he slid down the embankment to turn off the vehicle’s engine. The Rincon was wedged on its side in the ditch. Leo attempted to push it out, with no luck. He found a tree branch to use as a lever, but that didn’t help.

After a few minutes, Brooke joined him. Although she seemed more alert, she was too uncoordinated to contribute. The rain continued to fall, complicating the process. Leo started to think
he
was going to get stuck in the mud and die there.

“Fuck,” he yelled, shaking the stick at the sky.

“Let’s just go,” she said. “I can walk now.”

They didn’t have much choice. He threw the branch down and helped her up the embankment.

“Do you think we’re close to the main road?” she asked.

It was hard to judge. They might be two miles away or ten. Either way, it would be a grueling journey. His leg throbbed in misery. He felt bruised and sore from head to toe. Brooke had none of her usual pep. They were in for a long haul.

He didn’t ask what the men had done to her. He was afraid to find out. The idea of anyone hurting her filled him with impotent fury. If she told him they’d raped her, he might lose his mind. In some ways, she
was
like a little sister to him. She was his family. He’d seen her in braces, gangly and flat-chested. She’d never been an ugly duckling, but she’d definitely become a swan. Although he found her sunny personality annoying at times, he couldn’t stand the thought of her light going dim.

They trudged forward in the mud. It was dark and dreary. The rain transformed into a steady drizzle, then a fine mist cloaking the trees. Leo became increasingly weak, wincing every time he set his foot down. Brooke supported him on one side and murmured words of encouragement.

“I can give you a piggyback ride,” she said.

He didn’t doubt her. She was a tall girl with strong legs and the endurance of a horse. But he outweighed her by forty pounds, and the ground was slippery. If she fell and broke her ankle, they’d both be screwed.

“I need to rest,” Leo said.

“Let me carry you.”

“No, Brooke—”

“There’s a light up ahead,” she exclaimed, pointing through the trees. “Do you see it?”

Leo squinted at the faint glow in the distance. “Hurry,” he said, picking up the pace. They lumbered away from the main road and across a hill that had to lead to the off-highway vehicle area. There was a big white RV parked next to a cliff, along with several ATV trailers and a black Jeep. Light filtered through the flowered curtains in the RV’s side window, welcoming them like a beacon. He almost wept at the encouraging sight.

Brooke started calling out to the inhabitants when they were about twenty feet away. “Is anyone there? We need help!”

Before they reached the door, a man opened it. He was wearing an American flag T-shirt and a frayed baseball cap. There was a can of beer in his hand. He looked from Brooke to Leo, dumbfounded. “What the hell...”

“Please,” she said. “My stepbrother’s been shot. We need a phone.”

Another man came up beside him to gawk. They must have resembled a pair of wet rats. But Brooke was beautiful, even while covered in mud, and a face like hers opened every door. “Let ’em in, Bud.”

Bud let them in.

Brooke went up the short row of steps first, accepting the second man’s helping hand. Leo followed her inside. There was a third man at a built-in table and booth. He stood to offer them a place to sit. Leo lowered himself into the space with a grimace. Brooke took the seat beside him.

The three men stared at them with bleary eyes. They were drunk, Leo realized. Drunk rednecks. Bud’s T-shirt said Love It or Leave It. Lynyrd Skynyrd was playing on the radio. In addition to a mountain of crushed beer cans, there was a half-smoked joint in the ashtray. For once in his life, Leo had no urge to spark up.

“Do you have a phone?” Brooke asked.

The guys fumbled for their devices, none of which had reliable service in this location during a storm. Leo hoped one of them was sober enough to drive. Maybe he was paranoid from the day’s harrowing events, but he felt vulnerable. He didn’t like rednecks, for various reasons. He couldn’t protect Brooke against three men. They were in their forties or fifties, and they were all large, if not physically fit.

“What happened to you two?” Bud asked Leo.

He tried to deliver a condensed, easily digestible version. “We ran into some weird guys. They kidnapped Brooke at our camp. My dad and I fought them and I got shot.” He swallowed hard, adding, “Our parents are still out there.”

“This is your sister?”

“Stepsister,” Leo said.

“You don’t look alike.”

“We’re not related by blood.”

Bud inspected Leo’s muddy, torn-up leg before narrowing his eyes at Brooke. “Did somebody hurt you, girl?”

“No,” she said. “They would have, if Leo hadn’t helped me get away.”

The three men exchanged glances.

“Where are your parents, exactly?” Bud asked.

Leo explained that they’d been camping at the hot springs and pointed out the general location of the hidden fortress on a map. The men knew the area well. After a short argument, it was decided that Bud would drive Leo and Brooke to town while the other two took ATVs to the hot springs.

Bud’s friends introduced themselves as Alan and Jeff. Leo shook their hands gratefully, fighting back tears.

“What’s your dad’s name?” Jeff asked.

“Nathan Strom.”

“Like the baseball player?”

“That’s him.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

Alan and Jeff didn’t waste any more time talking. They put on rain jackets and grabbed a pair of shotguns. Maybe running into rednecks was lucky. Men like this were serious about exercising their right to bear arms.

“Thank you,” Leo said.

“I have a daughter your age,” Jeff said to Brooke, and left it at that.

After the rescue crew ventured out into the rain, Bud exchanged his beer can for a soda from the fridge. “Are you two thirsty?”

Leo and Brooke both said yes. Bud passed out sodas and the three of them exited the RV. Brooke climbed into the backseat of the Jeep while Leo sat passenger. They drove out of the off-highway vehicle area, toward the main road. Bud was careful not to go too fast or get stuck. Although inebriated, he wasn’t reckless.

“I can’t believe your father is Nathan Strom,” Bud said.

Leo could anticipate the next question with 100 percent accuracy.

“Do you play baseball?”

“No.”

“He speaks three languages,” Brooke said.

“Is that right?”

Leo just shrugged. He knew his accomplishments weren’t as impressive as being a superstar athlete in America’s favorite sport, but so what. He’d helped rescue Brooke. He hadn’t given up. If his dad could accept him the way he was, he could accept himself.

“Are you okay?” he asked Brooke, glancing back at her.

She looked out the window. “I will be.”

* * *

T
HE
ROUGH
TREE
BARK
bit into Abby’s spine as Nathan crushed his body against hers.

She trembled with fear. The soft rain had turned into a torrent, flooding the branches overhead and soaking through her clothes. Puddles gathered among the leaves at their feet. While she stood motionless, watching a pulse throb in Nathan’s rain-streaked neck, the hunter in the raincoat passed by them.

He stopped at the edge of the trees, less than five feet away. She couldn’t see his face, but she assumed it was the older man. There was a rifle slung over his shoulder, and he had a lump under his jacket, like a backpack. It was smart of him to take an indirect approach to the dugout instead of walking straight to the entrance.

Where was his son?

Nathan and Abby were in plain sight. It was too late to find a better hiding place. She was sure they’d be spotted. The boy might cut through the woods and discover them at any moment. Her heart thumped against Nathan’s as she imagined the hunter turning around, raising his rifle, and taking their lives.

Nathan drew his knife. The wet blade glinted in the muted light. She knew he was thinking about going on the offensive. Striking first, cutting the hunter’s throat. But instead of pouncing, he waited.

She held her breath until black spots danced across her vision. Again, she was reminded of the earthquake. Chaos. Pressure. Entrapment. When her car had stopped shaking, she’d wondered if she was dead. The magnitude of the event had been unfathomable, the destruction massive. It was end-of-the-world brutal.

“Abby,” Nathan said, snapping her back to the present.

The hunter was gone. His retreating form was barely visible in the downpour. He disappeared amidst the cluster of boulders at the top entrance to the dugout. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen them.

They were still alive.

“We have to go,” he said, studying her carefully. She could guess how she looked to him. Pale, freckled skin. Panicked eyes. Blue-tinged lips.

She took a few deep breaths, dazed. When she was ready to move, Nathan tugged her deeper into the woods. The rain was relentless, inescapable. He urged her to keep walking. She hobbled along as fast as she could.

“Are you hurt?” Nathan asked.

“I’m okay,” she said, her teeth chattering. She was chilled to the bone and her ankle ached with every step, but she forced herself to continue. Carrying a full-grown woman was no easy task, even for someone as strong as him. He’d had enough trouble with Brooke. If Abby collapsed, they’d both suffer.

After what seemed like hours, they stopped to rest and take shelter under a large oak tree. Night was falling. She slid to a sitting position, hoping they weren’t lost.

“I couldn’t tell if that was the father or the son,” Nathan said.

“Why would they separate?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the shot we heard was...” He paused, as if reluctant to voice his thoughts out loud.

“What?”

“The father had the rifle.”

“You think he killed his son?”

He stared into the rain, wiping the moisture from his face. It was a disturbing suspicion. Abby was already cold and scared, fighting off a mental breakdown. The short break eased the pressure off her ankle, but it didn’t help her core body temperature. She began shivering uncontrollably.

They started hiking again. She endured the journey for as long as she could, retreating to a meditative state where fear and pain couldn’t touch her. There were no guns, no kidnappers. No threats to Leo and Brooke. No worries.

Suddenly Nathan was standing over her, his eyes dark with concern. She could see his lips moving but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

His image faded as the door to reality closed, immersing her in oblivion.