Spirit of a Hunter (16 page)

She could barely make out his voice. “Then we should leave,” she said, with equal care. “Get ahead. We’ve already wasted most of a day.” He’d promised her she’d find Scotty today, that she’d hold her son in her
arms. Instead they’d followed the Colonel’s men on a useless chase, let Scotty get farther away.

“We’re going to do the unexpected,” Sabriel whispered, retracing his steps. “It’s our best chance to even the odds.”

“This isn’t the time to play macho games.”

“It’s going to buy us time. Divide and conquer.”

“We’re not at war.”

“Of course we are. The prize is your son.”

The gut punch of truth had her hand clamping over her heaving stomach. Her voice was a thread she fought to keep from breaking. “How will whatever you’re going to do help us find Scotty?”

“Without food and weapons, they won’t be as much of a threat.”

She shook her head, the weight of terror sinking to her feet. “What if you get caught? How will I find him?”

“I’ve never been seen.”

“There’s always a first time.”

“Give me an inch, Nora. I’ll get you the prize.”

That huge a slice of trust was too much to ask when Scotty’s life was on the line. Truth was, she couldn’t bear to see Sabriel hurt, either. The Colonel’s men had orders. They always followed orders. A shudder raced down her spine. And in this wilderness, making a body, or two or three, disappear was too easy.

Sabriel wound around the mountain until he reached a thick tangle of bushes from where he could observe the thugs’ camp. Close enough to hear their too-loud voices. Close enough that, if they were spotted, Boggs’s rifle could easily pick them off. Sabriel was right. The
type of weapon did make a difference. Worry descended on her in a cloak of lead.

Sabriel retreated deeper into the woods, to a safe distance away from the camp. He handed her an energy bar, ordered her to eat, then applied camouflage right over his clothes, using the mud, dirt and soil of the land, sculpting himself into a shadow of texture and color that made him virtually invisible against the forest.

She watched Sabriel prepare for warfare and the almonds and apricots of the energy bar turned into a tasteless paste that scratched her dry throat. He’d stripped every sign of civilization from his body, leaving only a savage essence. He bore the total transformation as magnificently as the tuxedo he’d worn on her wedding day.

His green eyes, when they met hers, burned with a fierceness of purpose that made her want to dab on mud, and shed the scared mouse trembling inside her—transform herself into a confident warrior able to face the Colonel, tell him exactly what she thought of the way he handled people.

Sabriel had faced the Colonel, and Sabriel had won. That gave her hope for herself and for Scotty. They could escape. They could have a life outside the estate.

“You okay?” Sabriel asked.

Unable to trust her voice, she nodded and put away the second half of the energy bar in her jacket pocket. She’d played a part for so long now that she wasn’t sure who the real Nora was anymore. The one thing she did know was that she couldn’t go on like this, scared, always scared. Not if she was going to hang on to Scotty.

Sabriel shifted fallen branches to form a thicker shield around her. “Tommy’s last sign said he was going to Blueberry Hill.”

She was in no mood for Tommy’s wordplay right now. He’d gotten her into this mess. He was the one risking Scotty’s life because of whatever harebrained notion he’d gotten stuck into his sick mind. “Yeah, what a thrill.”

“What’s your problem?”

Because she wanted to hit something, anything and he was standing there next to her, she stuffed her hands under her armpits. “I’m just mad. Mad at Tommy for taking Scotty. Mad that I can’t help you. Mad at myself for not fighting to get away earlier and avoiding this whole situation.”

“The Colonel’s good at finding a man’s weakness and using it against him. He used Scotty to control you.”

“Doesn’t make rolling over any more pleasant.”

“No, it doesn’t. But trust me when I say, you’ve survived longer than a lot of men.”

The breeze surfed through the trees, whispering the words neither of them could say.
Longer than Tommy. Longer than Anna
.

Sabriel stepped behind Nora and turned her around. Arm extended over her shoulder, he pointed at the horizon. “See that knob over there? The patch of short shrubs?”

Even caked in mud, there was a confident solidness to him, to his body, one that went straight to her gut. She nodded.

“That’s what we called Blueberry Hill, because of the
lowbush blueberries that grow there. Tommy’s next sign will be there.”

“Why are you telling me this? You said you never got caught. You said—”

“A Ranger is always ready for unexpected trouble.” He unbuckled the holster from his hip, then slipped out the weapon and stood next to her, showing her how to operate it. “If you have to use this, aim for the biggest part of the target and shoot.”

Her hands flew up and her voice came out in a low, guttural growl. “I can’t use a gun!”

“Not even to protect your son?”

She relented. Her hands fell to her sides and turned over, palms up, to accept his offering. For Scotty, she’d do anything. She’d die. She’d kill. “What about you?”

“It’ll get in the way.”

Signs. She’d been good at interpreting them as a kid, taking her mother’s little presents, guessing what each meant. She closed her eyes and shook her head to banish the vignette of images flaring up against her will. An ice-cream cone or a chocolate bar—her mother would have a “friend” over and need quiet time. A Happy Meal—Mom would be gone late into the night, maybe even until morning. A brand-new Walkman, and Nora had known those taillights would never turn around.

A gun. He was giving her a gun.

“You had better come back,” she snarled, fingernails biting into the cold steel of the pistol. How had she let this happen? How had she become so dependent on him?

He leaned forward and pecked her cheek, branding her with the still damp mud of his disguise.

She slapped a hand over her cheek, feeling it warm. “What was that for?”

“Stay right here. You’ll be safe. Remember the birdcall?”

She nodded.

“If you hear anyone else approaching, be ready to shoot. I’ll be back in four hours.” He turned to leave.

So long? She grabbed his wrist.

He smiled. “Ah, you like me. You really like me.”

“You’re such a jerk.” Her grip relaxed. “Four hours.”

“It’s a date.”

* * *

S
ABRIEL HAD TOLD HER
to stay put, but she couldn’t sit, curled into a ball, her imagination magnifying every noise, every eternal second into a disaster. She dug the palm-size binoculars she’d seen Sabriel use from the pack he’d left behind and one slow step at a time made her way back to the edge of the brush about two hundred feet from the camp. On her stomach, she wedged in until she had a good view, but was still hidden.

The men sat in a loose circle. Their attention wasn’t on their surroundings, but on their meal. No one stood sentinel. No one guarded their flank. Wasn’t that a basic? But then why should they care? They were hunters. And they thought their prey was running scared.

That’s how she’d been, too, living with blinders, seeing only what she needed to see to survive. The roof over her head. The three squares. The financial
support. Except that the roof might as well have been supported by bars. She could never eat what she wanted, only what was placed in front of her. She might not have had a mortgage to pay, but she also hadn’t handled more than spare change in over ten years. What was so grown-up about depending on someone else for everything?

She caught a glimpse of Sabriel. He blended with the trees, became a bush, hid behind a stump. A shadow, he moved to the far edge of the camp, unseen by the men whose goal was to capture him—or at least stop him with a bullet.

One man against six. Armed men. And the arrogant fool had gone to them without his gun—only a knife and some rope. Her lips rolled in and her teeth sealed them shut.

Please, please make him come back safely
.

Scotty needed him. She needed him. If he got in trouble, was she close enough to hit a target? Did she have the courage to squeeze the trigger? She pulled the weapon from the holster and placed it within reach.

Through the binoculars, she watched as Costlow got up and stretched. Everything about him was square, from his head to his torso to his hands. The overall effect reminded her of the Lego robots Scotty still liked to build on rainy afternoons. Costlow walked away from the group—right toward the last spot Nora had seen Sabriel. She sucked in her breath, held it trapped. Costlow unzipped his fly and let out a stream of urine.

She jammed a hand over her mouth. She wanted to scream, run, laugh, cry all at the same time. Sabriel was
going to get caught. He was going to leave her stranded and her beautiful boy would end up another one of the Colonel’s failed experiments. What was she supposed to do? Just sit there and watch him die?

Give him a chance, Nora. He knows what he’s doing
. She raised the binoculars to her eyes and focused on the group.

Where was Sabriel? As hard as she tried, she couldn’t see him.

The men began to turn in, using their packs as pillows. Soon they shuffled, snuffled and eventually snored. Sabriel made no sound as he flowed through the camp so slowly she could barely see him, even when she cranked up the power on the binoculars. He planted Boggs’s knife on the man next to him, switched some of the contents of one pack to another’s, placed the socks—drying on a bush—in the coffeepot. Moving as if in slow motion, he plucked a weapon here, another there. He took the MREs remaining in the men’s packs and stuffed them down his shirt, then disappeared.

A stone landed on the man closest to the brush. Frowning, the man sat up and looked around. He seemed to listen to something coming from behind him. The man reached for his pistol and headed into the brush.

A wave of sick fear surged over her. Should she cause some sort of distraction, draw the man away from Sabriel so he could escape? She was too far to shoot or throw rocks. And either of those options would wake up the rest of the camp. And if the Colonel’s men got her,
they got Scotty. But she couldn’t let Sabriel die, either. She’d never wanted to put anyone—him—in danger.

She had to get closer.

* * *

E
VERYTHING AROUND
Sabriel slowed, became in tune with the rhythm of the earth. No tension, no nerves, no anything, except awareness—of every breath, of every heartbeat, of every ripple in the invisible field that moved through all things. The preparations were done. All he needed was to tug the right string to set his mission in motion.

He lured the man on the outskirt of the camp out of sleep with a rock and the tantalizing sounds of a footstep or two. Weapon drawn, the soldier slipped into the brush and into the woods.

Just as if he’d been coached, he followed the path Sabriel had laid to the narrow ravine, and hit the trigger Sabriel had set. The spike from the trap whipped through the air, catching him right below the knee in a powerful wallop. The man rolled on the ground holding his knee in agony. Before he recovered, Sabriel had him gagged and trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey. The small cave would hold him until he could ensnare the others. Someone would have to know where to look to see him in the thick brush at the bottom of the ravine.

The next man stepped into a pit trap, spraining his ankle. Sabriel tied him near the first man, lashing one to the other.

The third backed into a leg-hold trap and Sabriel added another token to his bad-guy chain.

Three more to go, and he and Nora would have a clear trail to Scotty.

Adrenaline revved from the successful hunt, Sabriel approached the camp once again and two things hit him at once: Nora had moved from her safe position and Boggs’s satellite phone was ringing.

Swearing silently, he retreated and made his way around the camp. He’d only gotten four sidearms and Boggs’s rifle. Boggs and Hutt still had their pistols.

Nora moved again. His heart knocked. What was she doing? If she took another step, Boggs would see her. Didn’t she realize she was putting herself in danger?

Moving faster than he liked and risking discovery, he reached her, clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled her back into the brush.

“What are you doing?” he growled.

She gasped and rolled over on her back, ready to kick and fight. “Saving you.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. Saving him. The little fool. “Next time, wait. You almost got us caught. I had to leave two pistols and three men behind.”

“I—” she started, then blinked as if she were holding back tears. “I’m sorry. I thought they’d found you.”

“And what were you planning to do?”

“You told me to aim for the biggest target.”

Things were getting messy. When he called Seekers for the pickup of the Colonel’s men, he should leave her behind. He could get to Scotty faster without her, keep her safer in Seekers’ care. He helped her up. “Let’s roll before the rest of them wake up and all hell breaks loose.”

With a nod, she followed him back to where they’d left the packs.

“How did you know they wouldn’t see you?” she asked.

“Practice. Tommy and I used to play this game all the time, leaving people scratching their heads. The only rule was that no one get hurt by our pranks.”

“But I could see you.”

Sabriel reached around to help her down a tricky stack of rocks. “You knew what to look for. The Colonel’s men were too intent on their own agendas to think that we might backtrack and take a look at what was going on right where they were.”

“But Boggs. He looked right at you.”

“He saw what he expected to see—tree trunks. All I had to do was find the hole in his awareness.” He cocked his head, listened to the broken surf of wind.

“Where the hell are Garo and Aggas? Hilferty?” Boggs’s shout cut the night air. “What do you mean they’re missing?”