Love and Glory: The Coltrane Saga, Book 3 (19 page)

She wrapped a bright cloth around her hips, not bothering to cover her breasts. Stepping toward the door, she motioned for him to follow. Dressed, making sure his gun was still in place, he moved behind her and ordered, “Lead the way, and remember what I told you, Molina.”

She took a half step through the door, then turned suddenly and threw her arms around his neck, thrusting her face as close to his as she could reach by standing on tiptoes. With tears sparkling in her chocolate eyes, she asked, “Will you tell me you do not hate me, Travis Coltrane? Will you tell me that what we have is good for you, and that you will return?”

He sucked in his breath, then let it out slowly. “I never made you any promises, Molina, and I’m not going to now. Let’s just move. We’ve wasted enough time.”

“But you will think about it, no?” she persisted.

He pushed her forward. “Move,” he growled. “Take me to where Harcourt is, Molina. I’m not fooling around anymore.”

Her voice breaking as she stumbled along, she said, “You could at least give me something to hope for, Travis Coltrane. You could at least make me think that maybe this is not good-bye forever.”

“God damn it, Molina, move!”

She mumbled to herself in that broken language again, but began to move forward. Travis would not let her slow her pace. Each time she faltered, he was right behind her to give her a quick push. The wind from the bay picked up, blowing wildly, causing them to struggle against it.

He felt a gut-gnawing urgency to hurry. Every moment counted. Damn, he never would have taken the time to make love to the wench, but had he not done so, she would not be cooperating.

At least the blasted drums were silent, he thought absently as they moved along, then tensed at the realization. He yelled to Molina above the wind, “Why have the drums stopped? What’s going on? And don’t lie to me.”

“We must hurry,” she replied, gasping. “The drums do not beat. I had not noticed. I do not like.”

“What does it mean, Molina?” he gripped her bare shoulders and squeezed. “Why have they stopped?”

She began to cry, her words tumbling out so fast that it was difficult for him to make sense of what she was saying. And all the while the wind continued to beat at them relentlessly as the rains slashed their bodies. “Could mean…sorcerer is invoking…Baron Samedi. Sorcerer must…ask permission to dig up your friend from his grave…without interference of spirits in graveyard. Drums must be silent while Baron Samedi is called upon.”

“Molina, listen to me and listen carefully.”
God,
Travis thought frantically, furiously,
I’ve got to make this stupid, superstitious girl realize what’s happening!
He kept his hands on her bare shoulders, felt her tremble beneath his touch. Her terrified eyes on his face surprised him. The depth of her superstition was awesome.

“I know you believe in all this,” he yelled. “I know you don’t know any different, because you were raised in all of this, but there is no way that anybody is going to raise Eldon Harcourt from the dead if he is, in fact, dead. But if they do get him out of that grave and drug him again, or if they’ve got him so damn scared he’s lost his mind and became a lunatic, then, he’s just as good as dead. We’ve
got
to get him before they do, understand? You’ve got to help me save a man’s life!”

“I try!”

He could barely make out her broken whimper.

“Travis Coltrane, I try!”

He gave her a careless hug. Then, taking her hand in his, he said, “Tell me the way. I can’t let you lead anymore. You might get hurt. Just help me along.”

“Straight ahead. The graveyard is straight ahead. We must be careful. Perhaps we arrive before the sorcerer. We may still be in time.”

Holding onto her right arm tightly, Travis groped along. They had not moved far when she exclaimed suddenly, excitedly, “Here! Feel it? The fence! The graveyard fence. Follow me to the gate. I was here when they brought him. I know where he is buried.”

Travis felt as though he had just been hurled into the depths of an icy ocean. “You were here?” he echoed hollowly. “You saw them bury him? Then he
is
dead.”

“No. He is under spell. Come. Hurry. We may be in time to break spell before sorcerer comes to dig up man, make him living dead.”

Defeat was not a familiar emotion to Travis, and he was having great difficulty accepting the overwhelming inevitability now. But logic pointed to the fact that, indeed, Eldon Harcourt was dead. And how would they ever find him in this damned darkness?

Molina tugged at his hand. “You hurry, please. Afraid of graveyard. Baron Samedi not like nonbelievers here. You are in danger.”

Damn it to hell and back, how had he gotten himself into such a mess?

“Here!”

Molina’s hand slipped from his and, for an instant, he panicked, thinking she had run away.

“Here!” she repeated urgently. “Down here. Help me, quickly.”

Travis groped in the darkness, falling against her. “Help me dig. He can breathe. There is hole for air.”

Travis began to claw with his hands at the muddy earth. “Damn it, Molina, why did you make me make love to you?” he cursed, digging frantically. “Why did you take so much time when you knew he was buried? If he’s dead—”

“He will live,” she said calmly. “And Molina only wanted you to love her once again. I have a terrible hunger for you, Travis Coltrane. I will never get enough of you.”

You’ve gotten all you’re getting,
he swore silently, coldly.

His hands touched something rough, splintery, a plank. Molina felt it and warned, “Careful, now. The board lies on top of his body. Careful not to make dirt fall on him when it is lifted.”

“Hang on, Harcourt,” Travis muttered, more to himself than to the man he hoped was still living. “We’ve almost got you. Damn this rain. If only I could see what the hell I’m doing.”

His fingers worked their way through the dirt clods till he found the end of the plank. With a strong, quick jerk he lifted it upward and flung it up and out into the night. He reached down and groped for Harcourt’s body, lifting him up to a sitting position, found his nose, and placed fingertips beneath his nostrils. He was still breathing! But there was no time to lose.

Placing his hands beneath his shoulders, Travis lifted the limp body from the shallow grave and hoisted him up and over his left shoulder. “We’ve got to get him back to the village,” he said brusquely. “Lead the way and hurry. If we reach a clearing, let me know so we can run.”

Suddenly there was a flash of light, and Travis blinked against the flare of a torch, squinting to make out the face of the black man who held it. The face was painted in a distortion of weird designs in many colors, and his mouth was twisted with fury.

“Back off, you crazy bastard,” Travis warned. He was not scared, only angry. He ordered himself not to do what he really wanted to do, and shoot the man where he stood. The important thing was to get Harcourt to a hospital. There would be time later for retribution.

The black man wore a headdress of wildly colored feathers, and only a scrap of cloth covered his genitals. In the lantern’s glow, his eyes bulged, shining eerily. He held some sort of greenery in his left hand. Shrieking maniacally, he cried to Harcourt, “By Dambella, by Baron Samedi, by your
loa,
which I now possess, I order you to rise from the grave and be obedient to my every command henceforth!”

Travis took a step forward, wondering absently what had happened to Molina, for he could not see her in the halo of light. “I’m warning you, old man! Get out of my way!”

The sorcerer stood his ground. Travis had spotted the long, slender spear held in his left hand along with the greenery. Shaking the spear and the greenery, he spoke once more to Harcourt’s body. “By Dambella, by Baron Samedi, by your
loa,”
he repeated his incantation, “which I now possess, I order you to rise!”

Travis gave him a rough shove with his free hand and sent him sprawling into the mud. The lantern fell to one side but did not go out.

“Your voodoo didn’t work, you fool,” Travis yelled as he moved by him. “Not this time.” Travis called to Molina, “Get his lantern. It will help us move faster.”

She stepped out of the darkness, trembling with fright. To obey him meant going against the sorcerer, the
houngan,
the
loas,
and everything else she had been taught to believe in from the day she was born.

Travis knew the turmoil churning within her, and he made his voice gentle. “Please, Molina. We have to get him back to a doctor. Do as I ask. They can’t hurt you unless you let them.”

Avoiding the sorcerer’s blazing stare, Molina knelt slowly, reaching out with trembling fingers to clutch the lantern.

“Good girl.” Travis nodded, but then, in a flash, he saw the movement as the black man lifted his arm, spear poised. Without hesitation, Travis whipped out his gun and fired before the deadly weapon could be flung through the air at Molina.

With a single garbled cry of rage, the sorcerer clutched his stomach and slumped back into the mud, face up, his body jerking convulsively. Then he lay still.

Molina stared down at the sorcerer. The golden lantern glow danced across the man’s black skin, making it shine and sparkle as bright red blood ran from the gaping wound in his stomach.

“You…have…killed him,” she choked.

“I had no choice. Let’s move.” Travis put his gun away and turned. He had killed men before, and while he did not like taking another man’s life, he never hesitated if it meant saving a more worthy life.

Molina hung back.

“Move!” Travis cried, bringing her to life again. “He was going to put that spear in your back, woman. I saved your life. Now you help me save Harcourt’s.”

She led the way from the graveyard, and Travis glanced around apprehensively. Molina sensed what was bothering him. “You do not have to fear another,” she cried above the wind. “The sorcerer must always come here alone to bring back the dead.”

Travis said nothing. Shifting Harcourt carefully across his shoulder, he followed Molina out of the graveyard.

When they reached Port-au-Prince, Molina led him to the closest hospital. He was weary from carrying Harcourt so far, but determination would not let him give way to exhaustion. He started up the steps, washed with relief, then realized that Molina was no longer in front of him. Why was she hanging back? He turned to talk to her.

She was gone. She had disappeared into the night. He called to her, but there was no answer. Somehow, he had not expected there would be.

It was all over between Travis and Molina, of that he was sure.

Travis sat before Orville Babcock’s desk, booted feet propped on the edge. Travis studied his fingernails, a slight smile touching his lips. He knew his obvious preoccupation was annoying the man.

“Damn it, Coltrane, you could have caused a big problem! This might have led to fighting here!” Babcock’s fist hit the desk with a resounding thud.

Without raising his head, Travis looked at him out of the corners of his lowered eyes. “I don’t like people to bang their fists at me, mister. It annoys me.”

“You killed a man. You shot a citizen of this country.” Babcock glared at him accusingly.

“He was going to kill the girl.”

Babcock sighed. “Couldn’t you have just wounded him? Did you have to kill him, for God’s sake?”

Travis continued to pick at his fingernails. “I don’t draw my gun unless I plan to use it, and I don’t shoot unless I aim to kill.”

Babcock emitted another sigh. “Well, thank heavens we were able to smooth things over, cover up the incident.”

“I think a hell of a lot has been covered up.” Travis lowered his feet to the floor with a loud thud. He sat up straight, facing the other man. “Doesn’t it mean anything that those fools almost killed an American? That they drugged him? Buried him alive? If it hadn’t been for that girl, they’d have him out staggering around in a field somewhere, drugged, and calling him a zombie!”

Travis’ voice had risen and Babcock sank lower in his chair, uncomfortable. He attempted a smile. “Well, it’s all over. That’s why I called you in here, to tell you it’s over.”

“No, hell, you didn’t!” Travis laughed shortly, then snarled, “You wanted to rap my knuckles like a bad little boy but it didn’t work, because I don’t feel a damn bit bad about any of it.
You
just better be glad they took Harcourt into the hospital that night and brought him around, because if he had died, you can bet your ass you would have had a lot more trouble on your hands because I would have gone after everyone responsible.

“Do we understand each other, Babcock?” Travis gazed unrelenting into the man’s eyes. Unable to meet his look, Babcock lowered his gaze. Travis smiled. It was not a nice smile.

“Uh, yes, of course.” Babcock cleared his throat and sat up quickly.

“Is that all?”

“No,” Babcock replied almost happily. “Sam Bucher is waiting for you down at the dock. There is a ship leaving for the States today. You are dismissed.”

“Dismissed or fired?” Travis laughed. “You know, it makes no difference. I was leaving anyway.”

Tipping his hat, flashing a grin, Travis Coltrane left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.