Nothing Short of Dying (18 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

I
thought it was a dream at first. In the dream I'm throwing on my pack and walking into the wilderness, and Allie is standing at the trailhead, crying and telling me not to go. I kiss her on the cheek and tell her it will be okay. But she doesn't stop crying.

That's when I realized I was lying facedown in the dirt and it wasn't crying but cursing that was coming from behind me. Allie was pacing the far side of the camp and swearing.

I'd fallen asleep at my post. Yup, that was it. I hadn't been attacked. I hadn't been conked on the head by a sap. I'd simply
fallen asleep.
Still, my noggin felt like a smashed pumpkin and my shoulder burned as if sand had worked its way under the skin. All my joints protested with the smallest movements, and even breathing was excruciating. Other than that I felt fine.

Allie paced her way over to stand beside me. “Barr,” she said. “You fell asleep.”

“Yeah, I gathered.” I looked at her with one eye open. “But apparently so did you.”

“I did. And now we have another problem.”

“Such as . . .”

“It's a big one.”

“Out with it, woman,” I said, opening my other eye. It was bright. The sun was almost directly above me. I guessed I must have really needed the sleep.

“You can be such a bastard, you know that?”

“I've been told. What is it now?”

“Jen's gone.”

I sat up quickly, too quickly, and nearly blacked out. I waited for my vision to return to normal and said, “What do you mean, she's gone?”

“She's gone.”

“You mean she just up and walked away? Where the hell did she go?”

“I don't know. I woke up and looked over and she was just . . . gone.”

“Well, she sure didn't take a horse.”

“How do you know that?”

“The horses have scattered. Zeke chased them off before he and I met up.”

“Damn it . . .”
Allie looked both angry and exasperated.

“It's my fault,” I said. “You were right about keeping watch.” I pushed myself to my feet and stumbled over to where Jen had slept. The tracks there, though trampled in places by Allie's pacing, told me everything I needed to know.

What I saw were drag marks and the deep prints of a man carrying something heavy. What an idiot I was. If I were more flexible, I would have kicked my own ass.

“We need to go,” I said. “
Now.
Alvis's man didn't drive off with him; he followed us. And he took Jen while we were getting our beauty rest.”

Allie didn't argue. She helped me fill our small packs with what little we needed and hide the rest of the gear.

“How do you know it was the man from Zeke's?”

“That guy was big, and those tracks over there”—I pointed at where Jen had lain—“are size thirteen. I can't be a hundred percent sure, but I'm pretty certain. Alvis must still be alive and calling the shots. He sent his man after us.”

Allie helped me make sure the fire was completely out, and then we buried the ashes to erase the fact that we'd been there. “I don't understand how he could get in here,” said Allie. “I mean, how could he take Jen and leave without us knowing? And if we were sleeping
that
hard, why didn't he just kill us?”

“Couldn't take the chance,” I said, guessing. “He was outnumbered and didn't know how deep we were sleeping. Plus I was off to the side. Maybe he didn't spot me. If I were in his situation I'd use a gag or a chemical-soaked rag and get the hell out without making a sound. Make myself a hero to Alvis. Get a promotion.”

“I guess so,” Allie said. “Still, he'd have to be good.”

“He was. I think I might have underestimated Alvis and his men.”

“You think?”

We both stared at each other, immensely frustrated. Yesterday—­recovering Jen, almost dying at Zeke's ranch, ­surviving Zeke's attempt to deliver payback—had seemed like climbing the tallest mountain imaginable. It had pushed us both to the edge, demanded everything we had. And now all our gains had disappeared. It was as if we were at the base of the mountain again, staring up at its towering summit.

Allie rallied first. “The good news is that they need her for something. And they'll keep her alive until then. We just have to get her back, again, before they don't need her.”

“Yeah, that's all we have to do,” I said.

“You thinking of giving up?”

“What?” Her question startled me. “
Hell
no.” Not for the first time I marveled at this woman who'd come into my life, at her fierce resolve. “Let's get to it.”

As we slung the packs onto our backs, I told Allie to stay directly behind me—to try and walk in my footsteps.

“Like a good woman should?” she asked.

“No,” I said, “so you don't accidentally ruin sign.”

It was maybe one o'clock, well past the prime morning tracking time, where the slanting rays of the sun would cast shadows on one side of the tracks and make them easier to see. I'd have to wait for twilight to have the same light, and that was too long. I circled the inside of our little rock castle, cutting sign, and found the big boots. I started on his trail, following it through a gap in the rocks.

“Are you just guessing where he went, or do you actually see something on the ground?” Allie asked as she clomped behind me.

I crouched down, the pounding in my head increasing, and pointed the track out to her: large, size-thirteen tactical boots with extra weight on the outside of the right foot—due to carrying my sister. “See?” I said, tracing the print softly with my fingers, memorizing the feel in case I had to track by touch alone.

“No. Wait, yeah. Barely. Can't we just go to the compound, or Zeke's? That's got to be where he's going.”

“We
could
. But what if they had a rendezvous point somewhere else? What if he's taking her to town? What if Jen fights, and they're stopped until he can settle her down? What if the guy breaks an ankle and is laid up between here and the road?”

“Okay, I get it. Track on.”

I went prone, tilted my head, and looked across the ground for the next track. With the different light from that angle, I was able to see the depressed pine needles six inches in front of the first track. That position, though, also made me want to take a nap.

The tracks showed that we might have a chance to catch up with them before they got to the road, depending on what time the man came into camp. I noticed a single wave in the middle of the tracks, which meant a very slow gait. Also, there were occasional wobble marks on the sides, which indicated resting and heavy breathing. It's not easy to carry a body for miles, no matter how good you are.

Some of the prints had clean peaks at the top, showing that they'd been made only a couple hours ago. In the daylight. God, we must have crashed hard. One of the human body's greatest flaws is that when the brain demands sleep, it gets it. No amount of caffeine or drugs or adrenaline can keep someone awake forever.

“We can catch them,” I said. I pulled my aching body up, and almost fell before Allie grabbed me.

“You sure you're all right? We should go to town, get you to the hospital.”

“I'm fine,” I said. I wasn't, but I'd been worse and knew I could push through. I
had
to. Jen needed me.

So that's what I did. I brushed Allie away and went into the trance you need while tracking. I took off fast, keeping the tracks on my right, watching for prints, kicked gravel, compressed pine needles, flattened grass. When a track was faint, I used the average gap between steps to find the next one.

A quick hour later, we'd tracked Mr. Size Thirteen to the main road leading to Zeke's, maybe four miles from his place.
There'd been multiple stumble marks as the man grew fatigued, even a few spots where he'd fallen, and by the end his stride had shrunk to two inches. At that speed, we should have caught up with them.

But they weren't there.

Instead I found the twin-oval marks where the man had rumped down. Allie called me over and pointed at the tire tracks in the road. The pickup and Jeep marks were gone. Run over at least twice by the wider, knobbier tires of the Rover. Meaning that Alvis had driven out, and back.

The only tracks out of place were the tire prints next to where the man had sat down. And the footprints of a lighter male. He'd exited the vehicle from the driver side and walked to the side of the road. Jen's tracks scraped along beside the tracks of the two men on the way to the vehicle.

On the other side of the road a mess of torn and flattened new grass showed where the Rover had turned around. The trees on our side were starting to sway, and leaves blew across the road. The wind that whipped across smelled like cold rain.

“What's it mean?” Allie said, staring at the ground in confusion.

“Means they're gone. Either to the compound or somewhere farther away.” It also meant that everything we'd done had been in vain. I sat down hard, in nearly the same spot that the man had.

Allie sat down beside me, put a hand on my leg. “So . . . what now?”

I threw up my hands, exasperated. “I don't know. Walk back to the ranch, grab the Jeep, and start all over. I need to think about if and when to call the Feds now that Jen is at risk again. I have no clue what the Feds' priorities will be if she's back at the compound and they decide to storm it.”

Allie squeezed my leg. “Well, that's just great,” she mumbled, before jumping up and pulling me to my feet.

Now that Alvis knew I was out here somewhere and aware of his compound's location, I was pretty sure he'd be more on guard than ever—and likely not even at the compound. Which meant that my next plan would have to involve finding his location and building in an element of surprise. I'd just started running through options when the storm hit.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

M
aybe two hundred yards down the road, the wind doubled in intensity. It slapped at our faces and dragged small rocks across our path. The trees whipped in crazy circles, the smaller ones leaning over so far that their needles touched the ground. Allie stopped, her hands over her face, her back turned to the wind. I jogged over to her and shouted, “We aren't going to make it. Not today.”

“Why?” she said. I could barely hear her because the wind pulled her words away as soon as they left her mouth. She sounded miles away.

“Look,” I yelled, and pointed at the horizon.

A wall of inky-black clouds rumbled down off the peaks toward us. The occasional lightning strike lit up whole sections of the wall as it advanced. Allie looked, saw the clouds, and put up her hands. I couldn't hear her, but I could read her lips: “Now what?” It was easy to read; she'd said it so many times it could have been her personal slogan.

I pointed up the slope at a ridge with a jumble of rocks that looked like our best chance of shelter. Allie nodded and we took off at a run, letting the wind push and occasionally throw us toward our refuge. We soon found a suitable spot: a
medium-size cliff carved at the bottom into an overhang. We ran inside and threw down our packs. It wasn't large, maybe twenty by thirty feet, but it would do.

Outside our cave the wind continued to howl, only slightly slowed by the tall, thick pines that ringed the opening. Inside it was much quieter. The floor of the cave was soft, dry soil without any miniature gullies or washes. Meaning we'd be dry in the coming storm.

I sat down on my pack and Allie did likewise. She hugged her knees and rocked back and forth. “Why don't we just keep going, make it to the cabin? Where it would be warm?”

“Thunderstorms bring more than rain. There'll be lightning and flash floods and mud. Better to wait it out. If it lasts until dark we'll camp here.”

Allie didn't reply. She just sat there and kept rocking. This woman continued to surprise me. She had to be exhausted. She'd been through as much as I had in the last few days. But she kept going.

In her own way, over the past week Jen had shown resiliency, too. She'd been kidnapped, dragged into the mountains and dosed . . . then kidnapped
again.
Her toughness never ceased to amaze me. Like when we were kids: she'd taken beatings worse than the ones I'd gotten and still had the nerve to talk back.
Hold on, Jen
,
I said to myself.
Just hold on a little bit longer.

“Here it comes,” Allie said, pointing. The clouds had caught up with us, and the first fat raindrops started falling, spattering the rocks and pooling to form small lakes and rivers in the low spots. Thunder boomed and rattled the sides of the rock, followed almost immediately by a bright white flash. We both scooted farther into the cave and stood close to each other, following some primitive human instinct.

“Barr?” Allie said, looking over.

“Yeah?”

“You're bleeding.”

I looked down, saw the dark stain on my shoulder. The sand hadn't stuffed it well enough, I guessed, and the piece of flesh that Zeke had cut was dripping again. It didn't hurt though, not compared to how exhausted I felt.

“There's a medical kit in one of our packs,” I said, looking beyond the cave's roof. The rain outside fell harder and the large drops were so frequent that the air looked solid.

Allie found the medical kit and tossed it to me. I pulled off my shirt and set it on my bag.

“Nice,” Allie said, looking at my shoulder.

“If you like half-chewed meat.”

I couldn't see the wound very well. It was on the back of my deltoid, near the triceps. I poked at it, then found an alcohol wipe in the kit and tore it open.

She pointed at her pack. “Sit down.”

“I got it.”

“Just sit down and shut up,” she said, grabbing my shoulders and pushing down. “You might pass out. Let me do this.”

“Do you know what you're doing?”

“I can fix a little boo-boo, Barr,” she said. “Although, if the hole was any bigger, I'd have to put you down.”

I sat down. I felt, more than saw, her wipe the wound and slather antibiotic ointment on it. Then she opened a four-inch square bandage and taped it on. She did a great job, but it felt so strange having someone else take care of me. It hadn't happened much when I was little, and very rarely since. Having a woman like Allie do it meant more to me than I wanted to admit.

After the wound was cleaned, dressed, and taped well
enough to last a couple of days, Allie stood and put away what was left of the medical kit. I started to stand and grab my shirt.

“No,” she said, coming back over. She pushed my shoulders down again and left her hands there. “I need to check the rest of you.”

“I'm fine now. Thanks.”

She shook her head. “You don't look fine. You look like you fell off a goddamned mountain. I'm going to check the rest of you, whether you like it or not. Take off the pants.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said, sliding out of the pants and putting them with the shirt. She squatted beside me and looked me over.

“You're different, you know that, Barr?”

“I've been told.”

“I mean, you
look
different,” she said. “Like these scars, for example. There's so damned many.” She ran a warm finger lightly over some of the bullet and shrapnel scars on my shoulders. Whether or not she'd intended it, the touch excited me. She continued, tracing her finger along the calligraphy of past pain, first on my shoulders, working her way around and down my back, then past my boxers and onto my legs. She lingered on the bad leg.

“This where the hyena tried to make a snack of you?”

“One of the strongest sets of jaws in Africa,” I said, somehow ashamed that she was seeing me like this.

She rubbed the hyena scars, then hunched up next to me. “You lived through that, I guess you'll make it through this.”

Both of us didn't say anything for a moment. Outside, the rain continued to pound. “Hey,” I said finally. “You're a pretty good nurse, you know.”

She smiled. “That's me, Nurse Martin. Always on call.”

“It's only fair I check
you
over, though, too,” I said. “Make sure you aren't in need.”

“Uh-huh. What did you have in mind?” We both knew where this was going but were having fun pretending we didn't.

“I'll need that shirt off.”

“And the pants, too, I suppose?”

I nodded.

She scrunched her face, wriggled out of her shirt, and pulled the pants down. Kicked them both into the pile and shivered. “Okay?”

“Let's take a look.” I took hold of her shoulders and slowly twirled her around, looking at the green bruises, the crusty cuts, and the road rashes. “You seem okay,” I said—if you ignored the injuries. She looked like she'd fallen off a smaller mountain, but the way her pearly pale skin contrasted with her black underwear looked better than okay. So did the way the little scars and old tattoos stood as markers of a complicated life. They made her look real.

I stepped back, said, “Wait a second.” I took the kit and started to fix her up. I took my time cleaning the cuts, rubbing ointment on the bruises, and washing out the abrasions. I wasn't very good at taking care of someone else's injuries, but I pretended to know what I was doing. It gave me an excuse to run my hands up and down her soft, goose-bumpy flesh, to get close enough to smell her intense womanly smell.

“I think you need a shower,” I said.

“Really? I had one this week. Isn't that enough?”

“Usually. But you're getting pretty ripe. I think you could use one now.”

Before she could say anything, I picked her up and carried her, confused and kicking, out into the pouring rain. Then we
both screamed. The spring day may have been warm but the water wasn't. It was as if a glacier had suddenly turned liquid and fallen on us. My heart missed a couple of beats and it took me a while to catch my breath after that first scream. Allie caught her breath before me.

“Sweet-Holy-Christ-Mother-ColdAss-PissRain-God­dammit-Barr!” she yelled.

I agreed, threw her over my shoulder, and ran back into the cave. We ripped through our gear, flung the sleeping bags onto the ground, and fell onto them in a heap.

“Damn you, Barr. That was cold!” She rolled over on top of me.

“Yup. And we won't be able to start a fire, either. All the wood's wet.” I grabbed her around her waist.

“Well, then, warm me up.”

So I did.