First Night of Summer (28 page)

Every well-equipped aircraft carries a top-notch survival kit. Isaac located the bright orange bag with shoulder straps and yanked at the zipper. Within, he found the necessities for one to subsist in the wilderness.

The contents spilled onto the grassy earth. He only needed certain tools to get him through the next hour: a personal locator beacon, flashlight, knife, and water bottle. Bearing a light load would help conserve energy. He stowed the four items, threw in a trauma kit just in case, and closed the bag. If Josie were wounded, he wanted the means to treat her.

With the backpack over his shoulders, Isaac groaned and forced his legs into a jog. His throbbing head intensified in sync with each pump of his accelerated heart rate. Three minutes in, his lungs grew hungry. The physical demands on his body were worse than he’d thought. But he refused to use the burning lungs and wobbly legs as excuses to rest.

The terrain was rugged. He ran in the direction of the road, nearly twisting his ankles on shifting, slope-side rocks. If he could make it to the logging road—even with the added distance of a winding path—it would be faster than a direct line through the bush.

When he reached the hard-packed track, he relished the humble victory, and quickened his pace. Resolute, he vowed,
I will save Josie or die trying
.

Chapter Sixty-Four

J
osie’s hands slapped against Ricky’s backside. She was slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Each step he made up the ridge toward the ghost town swayed her arms back and forth. The coincidental contact was not lost on him.

He walked into the clearing and surveyed the ancient settlement. Several single-room shacks were scattered about, built of logs from the old resident miners. Long years and hard seasons had faded the crudely erected walls to gray, drafty wood. Uninhabited for decades, only the wind spoke here.

A few more paces brought them to the glorified hut he had pre-selected. It was the sturdiest of houses, and all his documentation equipment was inside.

They passed under barely recognizable fragments of bison hide nailed to the door frame. The primitive inhabitants had used the skins as door flaps.

Ricky laid Josie on a padded, blue shipping blanket that covered the earthen floor. He flipped on a battery-powered headlamp and sifted through his supply bag. Two-foot-long pieces of rebar were placed at each corner of the blanket. A three-pound mini sledge drove them into the dirt until they were well seated. As much as he wanted to have Josie without restraints, he remembered the rejection when Mindy had tried to escape from his home in Colorado. Certain he didn’t want to endure a similar experience, he began to wrap her wrists and ankles to the steel rods.

He made four slipknots, spread her arms and legs, and bound each one to the nearest stake. Josie stirred at the tugging. When he pulled at the braid on her ankle, it cinched the coarse, grass fibers into her Achilles tendon, and her eyes flashed open.

“Welcome back,” he offered.

Josie remained fixed, her eyes darting around the dark space. Sunlight poured through cracks and holes in the walls. She could see the lit doorway, but not who spoke to her. He was just a silhouette, and when he faced her directly, the LED lamp on his head was blinding.

“Don’t try to move. The ropes will get tighter if you pull.” He drew her other ankle snug and tied it to the post. A satisfied smirk curled his lip. “Okay?”

Josie didn’t respond. Nothing made sense, and she couldn’t reason it out. Her natural instinct was to flee, but his warning proved true. When a jolt of panic swept sensibility away, she writhed to gain freedom. The coils tightened in unison and sharply quelled her attempt. She grimaced in agony.

“Told you,” Ricky reminded her. “I don’t want to hurt you, but if you hurt yourself …” He shrugged his shoulders.

Josie tried to say something, but it caught at her lips.

Ricky pinched the gag between his thumb and pointer finger. “Yeah, about that.” He motioned out the open door. “Sound can be funny in the mountains. Sometimes you can’t hear things that are ten feet away. Other times, it carries for miles.” He winked. “Sorry. Can’t take any chances.”

Scared out of her mind, Josie began to cry. Unfamiliarity with her location, situation, and the man holding her hostage, not a single thread of hope presented itself for her to latch onto. The tears came steady. The gag muted the crooning.

Ricky ignored her and readied the camera equipment. He took a few snapshots, fully clothed, and continued to the video. He placed the recorder on a tripod and adjusted it until satisfied with the frame. Its lamp cast a cozy, yellow glow upon her. This particular footage was going to be the masterpiece of his collection. It had to be perfect.

Finally, with everything situated, Ricky was ready to begin.
Make it last. This is it for a while
.

He rummaged within his bag. It was near impossible to deny the physical any longer, but not writing his feelings down would haunt him forever. His hand probed deeper, searching for the diary. He glanced to his left and then right. “Where is it?”

Soft illumination from the video recorder revealed the small room in its entirety. He couldn’t locate the journal anywhere. “Son of a bitch!” he lashed out. A frustrated leg kicked at nothing in particular.
I left it at the cabin
.

Ricky reached a stalemate. He studied the warm, supple skin of Josephine Snow and made the call.

Chapter Sixty-Five

T
he aggressive tread on Isaac’s hiking boots chewed into the dry soil and carried him up the rugged mountain. A slight hobble made his stride uneven from where he’d twisted an ankle on loose scree. He ran along the road’s shoulder, just in case he had to sidestep into the trees for cover. The last thing he wanted was for Josie’s captor to know he was onto him.

For twenty minutes, he kept a grueling pace. If it meant rescuing Josie, he would graciously sacrifice his body a thousand times. Footfall after footfall, pebbles crunched beneath his weight. Lack of oxygen caused him to feel faint. He had experienced blackouts before. It was part of air force fighter training. They’d put him in a centrifuge to build his body’s tolerance to g-forces. He recalled the “hic” maneuver, a diaphragm exercise to keep blood in the brain. But this was different. Training or no, ten thousand feet did not cater to an oxygen-starved system. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep it up.

Bent on endurance, he rounded another curve and was taken off guard. The cabin came into full view, and he dove into the woods. He crawled across the needle-strewn floor, nestled between two pine trees, and devoured as much atmosphere as the altitude allowed. Forty yards ahead, the tailgate of a white Chevy truck protruded from beneath a fallen pine. This was definitely the right place.

Charging the shelter, while tempting, would not work. Isaac could hold his own in a fight, but busted up and exhausted, physical confrontation with a wily man was too risky. When it did come down to a scrap, shock and awe were his best advantages. That would take some thinking and slick maneuvering.

There was only one shot at this. No tiebreakers. No ribbon for second place. Ultimately, Josie would live or die by the outcome.

The cabin’s door stood in the center of a dilapidated front porch. One window sat to the right of the entrance. The remaining walls were solid. He couldn’t see but guessed there was also a rear door and considered which one to approach. No noise or motion was detectable from within, and no smoke rose from the chimney.

All was quiet and still, his stomach the one exception. It growled with a vengeance, perhaps from physical exertion. Or maybe it was an omen of the rumble to come. Either way, he pushed it from his mind, but not before heeding the warning.

Josie was in there. He was sure of it. And the instant he barged in, the struggle for her life, his life, would ensue. It made him think of Sarah and wonder if he would ever see her again. He had to harness every ounce of focus and callousness. It had been years since he had taken a human life. Once upon a time, he struggled with the idea of it, wondering how it would feel to kill. He approached his commanding officer with the concern, a man he trusted and deeply respected, and was given an answer that ingrained itself into his character.

“Isaac,” his CO told him, a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’re a pilot in the United States Air Force. Your job entails doing things that others don’t want to do or don’t even realize needs to be done. It brings safety to our country and freedom to our people. You bear the burden others cannot or will not. Don’t think of the few lives you’re ending, but the many you’re saving.”

The wise commander had delivered the words without a single emotion, and Isaac had never questioned them. Now with the lesson ringing clearly in his mind, he understood the responsibility staring him in the face. For the sake of every innocent child in America, including his own, the man he tracked needed to die.

His thoughts turned primal and violent. Instinct came to power and reigned over exhaustion.

Sitting between the trees, Isaac gathered himself. He quietly shucked off the backpack and reached in. The personal locator beacon was wrapped firmly in his grip. His thumb slid toward the activation button while he weighed the options.
If I activate it now, search and rescue will come. If they get here before I have Josie, she might end up a hostage
. The notion was less than appealing.

He put the beacon back inside the canvas and decided to risk going it alone.

The rubber handle of the fixed-blade survival knife found his fingers. It was firmly seated in his right hand with the blade facing outward from the bottom of his fist. He slashed the air to get a feel for it. Within an arm’s reach, he noticed a broken limb lying among fallen pinecones. Roughly an inch and a half thick and five feet long, the branch was perfect for a spear. He used the knife to whittle a tip at the narrow end. Wood shavings dropped steadily with each stroke. The point was crudely shaped, but if thrust with enough force, it could easily penetrate flesh. Double weapons made it easier to deliver a lethal stab.

With his spear in his left hand and knife in his right, he scrambled for the left wall of the cabin, certain to avoid any loose footing or dried sticks. The windowless barrier provided cover from anyone inside. He wished he hadn’t put the heavy-duty flashlight in the survival bag. It bounced with every stride and eventually became a painful nuisance pounding against his vertebrae.

At the wall, he pressed his ear to the logs and listened. Silence. The lack of sound unnerved him, like the last seconds of stillness before a predator pounces. He wondered if his presence were known and, if so, who was hunting who.

He stared at his fists, both wielding potential harbingers of death. His dream of retribution for Caroline’s murder neared reality. The idea wasn’t sadistic but practical. Anyone who trampled on the rights of others, especially children, should no longer have rights of his own.

The floor of the porch was assembled of wide, timber planks. He poked his head past the corner and waited. Some boards might hold his weight, others not. He tested each foot placement, creeping along before submitting the full weight of his body. A single squeak was one too many.

Without incident, a heavy coat of sweat polishing his torso, he made it to the door. Adjacent was the small, square window cut into the logs.

He let out a shaky breath. The gauze around his head kept sweat out of his eyes. Once again, Sarah entered his mind.
If this goes badly, I’m sorry. I love you
.

He didn’t want what was. He wanted what used to be: Caroline and Josie running barefoot in the green grass beneath the shade of the old cottonwood tree; Sarah cooking in the kitchen, the warm smell of food drifting through the screen door onto the back patio; Charlie, his best friend, enjoying the day with them; and even little Jason doing something crazy. All had once been. Now he would give his life if he could put it back in place for everyone.

In that pause of reflection, it felt like Caroline was with him. He could sense her presence all around.

“Please help me,” he whispered, hoping she could hear.

He crouched, passed in front of the threshold, and knelt under the hazy window. Steady as the tide, he rose and leveled his eyes with the bottom of the pane.

Covered in soot from the fireplace and years of dust, only the vague outline of shapes presented themselves on the other side. A dark spot in the middle of the room stood out. He could see it was a chair, but the opaque glass obscured his view. Squinting, he scrutinized it harder, and then something moved.

It was a girl, facing away from him and bound to the chair. She was small and shook her head from one side to the other. He couldn’t see her face, but it didn’t appear like she was wearing any clothes. Fear and hope swelled, fear that Josie had been raped and hope that he could keep her alive. He struggled to contain the relief.

A quick scan didn’t reveal anything else of concern. Josie appeared to be alone. Regardless, he was ready. He worked the knife and spear in his hands in anxious preparation.
Swift and strong
.

The front door had an old-time, wooden latch, the kind that lifts and lowers into a slot. He used the knuckles on his knife hand to carefully raise the lock. In one seamless motion, he flung open the door and sprang into the room.

A shotgun erupted, and Isaac froze. The thunderous boom rattled him to the core. Fresh blood exploded. He pictured Josie and wished he could have held her, like Caroline, one last time.

Chapter Sixty-Six

T
ime was not to be wasted. Ricky grabbed the rifle and headed back to the cabin. This would be his third trip, including the two he had already made to haul the equipment and Josie. He was at the apex of his life and now had to take a nonsensical pause to retrieve the journal. The delay irked him.

Rifle in hand, he crabbed his body sideways to help with the steep gradient and hustled down the trail. Bears and mountain lions lived in the wilds of New Mexico, and in case of a chance encounter, the firearm gave him security.