She sighed in frustration. The men couldn't be more than a half mile from the interstate but the hike was taking forever. To go back and find a way around the wall would add another ten minutes.
Brynn looked back, then surveyed the wall. It was about twenty feet high and not completely vertical. The slope was probably seventy degrees in most places and the surface was cracked and craggy. She asked Michelle, "Can you do it?"
"Damn right, I can."
Brynn smiled, said to Amy, "You remember when you were little, Amy? You and I'll climb together. We'll play piggyback?"
"I guess. Rudy wants me to ride piggyback sometimes. I don't like it. He smells bad."
Brynn shot a glance to Michelle, who grimaced in disgust. But Brynn smiled at Amy. "Well, I probably don't smell too good either. But it'll be fun. Come on. Let's go." Brynn turned around. She whispered to Michelle, "I'll go up first. If something happens, I drop her, try to break her fall. Don't worry about me."
Michelle nodded and boosted the girl up, whispering, "Can you handle her?"
"No choice," Brynn gasped.
The theme for the evening.
Though the burden wasn't as great as it could be. She was thinking how thin the little girl was...and about the sad fate that had landed her squarely in such neglect.
They started up the cliff, a foot at a time. Heart slamming, legs burning, Brynn slowly climbed. About fifteen feet from the ground, the muscles in her legs began quivering. More from fear than from effort. How she hated heights.... She paused frequently.
Amy, with her arms around Brynn's neck, was holding on very tightly, making it hard for Brynn to breathe, but she'd rather the child kept a solid grip.
Her rubber legs propelled her another five feet, then ten, grasping handholds harder than she needed to, fingers cramping. Even her toes curled, as if she were climbing barefoot.
Finally, an eternity, her head was over the edge, and she was looking at a flatter plain. In front of her was a huge tangle of forsythia. Not daring to look down, she grabbed all the vines within arm's length in her right hand, tested them and, with a deep breath, let go of the rock. She pulled herself halfway over the edge and then said, "Amy, go over my head. Put your knees on my shoulders and climb. When you're on the top, stop. Just stand there."
Brynn was about to offer more reassurance but the girl said quickly, "Okay," and climbed off. And stood motionless, at attention.
A child used to doing exactly as she was told.
Brynn then pulled herself the rest of the way over the top and sat down, breathing hard. She looked over the side--disappointingly, it seemed much less intimidating from this end, as if the effort and fear had been wasted. She beckoned Michelle up. The young woman climbed quickly, despite her bad ankle--thanks to youth and that fancy butt-firming health club of hers. Brynn helped her over the edge and the three sat together in a huddle, catching their breath.
Brynn oriented herself and, looking around, found what seemed to be a path that led upward. They started walking again.
Michelle eased close to Brynn. "What'll happen to her?"
"If she doesn't have kin, a foster home."
"That's sad. She should be with a family."
"The system's pretty good in Kennesha. They check on the families real well."
"Just nice if she could go to somebody who really wanted her. I'd love her."
Maybe one of the problems between Michelle and her husband had to do with children. He might not have wanted any.
"Adoptions're possible. I don't know how that works." Brynn touched her cheek. It hurt like hell. She saw Michelle's eyes focused on Amy. "So you'd like kids?"
"Oh, they're the best. I just love them.... The way you guide them, teach them things. And what they teach you. They're always a challenge. Children make you, I don't know, whole. You're not a complete person without them."
"You sound like an expert. You'll be a good mother."
Michelle gave a laugh. "I intend to be."
For the moment at least, thoughts of unfaithful husbands and marriages in shambles had faded and the woman seemed to be looking at a brighter future.
And what about me? Brynn thought.
Keep going, she told herself. Keep going.
LEWIS HAD MADE
an improvised sling for the shotgun and was carrying the weapon on his back. The men were going straight up the slope as best they could, Hart figuring that the women would be taking an easier route because of the girl. Hart thought of the professional couples and their kids he saw at the rock-climbing walls at recreation areas and sports stores near where he lived. He'd wondered if any of the parents actually had jobs that required them to climb like this. But no, of course they didn't. They were paper pushers. They made ten times what he did, their lives were never endangered, they never felt the pain that Hart was experiencing. Yet he would never dream of swapping lives with them for any money.
They're nothing but dead bodies, Brynn. Sitting around, upset, angry about something they saw on TV doesn't mean a single thing to them personally. Going to their jobs, coming home, talking stuff they don't know or care about....
They came to a flat stretch and paused, looking around carefully. He wasn't going to forget that both women had attempted to kill them tonight and he had no reason to think they'd given up trying. Sure, they wanted to escape. But he couldn't get Brynn's eyes out of his mind. Both in the driveway of the Feldmans' house and then in the van just before she released the brake, risking her own death to stop him.
You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney....
Hart had to smile.
At that moment a faint scream sounded in the distance, ahead of them. A high squeal.
"The hell's that?" Lewis looked alarmed. "Fucking Blair Witch Project."
Hart laughed. "That's the girl. The little girl."
"She's as good as your GPS, Hart."
And they broke into a run.
"AN ANIMAL?" MUNCE
asked in a whisper. Graham cocked his head, listening to the keening howl somewhere nearby, to their left, it seemed, carried on the breeze. He'd seen an animal--a coyote or feral dog, maybe even a wolf--on a ridge, looking their way. Was that the source of the sound? He knew plants, he knew soil and silt and rock. He didn't know animals or their habits.
"Could be, I don't know."
It hadn't sounded like a woman's voice. It had almost seemed like a child. But that couldn't be.
"Maybe the wind," Munce offered.
Though there'd been a sense of alarm, an uneasiness about it. Fear more than pain. Now silence.
Wind, bird, animal...Please. Let it be one of those.
"Down there," Munce said. "Right below us."
Graham was frowning at the daunting sweep of trees that disappeared away from them. They'd come about a quarter mile, picking their way slowly through the dense woodland. It was a much longer trek than expected, owing to detours around brush thick as scouring pads and steep cliffs that couldn't be negotiated without rappelling gear--which Munce had announced he wished they'd had and Graham was grateful they didn't.
They started down the hillside, using trees as handholds once again. Then they found themselves stymied--in a funnel of rock. "I think that's our only option," Munce said, pointing down a chute descending away from them. It was about six feet wide and at a forty-five-degree slope, littered with shale and gravel and dirt. Slippery as ice. And if you fell you'd slide along the rugged stone surface for a good fifty feet to a precipice. They couldn't see what lay beyond. "Or we go back and try to make our way around."
Just then another wail filled the night. The men looked at each other, eyes wide.
There was no doubt the sound had come from a human throat.
"We go," Graham said, torn between a frantic need to find the source of the screams and fear that, if they lost their footing here, they'd find themselves tumbling off a cliff--or sliding into a grove of deadly honey locust.
&nb
sp; "WHERE'S MY MOTHER?"
Amy shrieked again. "Please, honey," Brynn said to the little girl. Held her finger to her lips. "Please be quiet."
Exhausted, emotionally drained, the little girl was losing it.
"No!" she wailed. Her face was bright red, eyes and nose streaming. "Noooo!"
"Those men will hurt us, Amy. We have to be quiet."
"Mommy!"
They were on a relatively flat stretch of ground in a thick forest, the trees only a yard or two apart. They'd been moving along well when suddenly Amy had become hysterical.
"Where's my mommy? I want to go back to Mommy!"
Forcing a smile onto her face, Brynn knelt down and took the girl by the shoulders. "Please, honey, we have to be quiet. We're playing that game, remember? We need to be quiet."
"I don't want to play any game! I want to go back! I want Mommy!"
The girl's age was close to ten but once again Brynn thought she was acting more like a five-or six-year-old--maybe a reaction to this terrible evening, maybe a harrowing insight about her upbringing.
"Please!"
"Nooo!" The volume of the accompanying squeal was astonishing.
"Let me try," Michelle said, kneeling in front of Amy and setting down the spear. She handed the girl her stuffed toy. Amy flung it to the ground.
Brynn said, "I'll check behind us. If they're nearby they had to've heard her." She jogged back twenty feet and climbed a small hillock, gazed back.
The girl's screaming seemed like a siren.
Brynn squinted through the night.
Oh, no...
She was dismayed, but not surprised to see, two hundred yards away, the men making their way in this direction. They paused and looked around, trying to find the source of the commotion.
Thank goodness, though, just at that moment Amy fell silent.
The men continued to look around them for a moment and then started walking again. They vanished behind a stone wall.
Brynn returned to Michelle and Amy. The little girl, though still unhappy, had stopped crying and was clutching her toy once more.
"How'd you do that?"
Michelle shrugged, grimacing. Whispered: "Wasn't such a great idea. I told her we were on our way to see her mommy. Couldn't think of what else to say."
Well, it didn't matter. The girl would learn the truth sooner or later but for now they sure couldn't afford the screaming. Brynn whispered, "They're back there."
"What? Hart and his partner?"
A nod.
"How?"
Hart, of course. Brynn said, "Reverse-reverse psychology. Two hundred yards or so back. We've got to move."
They headed toward the gorge, the ground being flatter, then north again toward the interstate. They knew the direction, because the river was on their right but, with the landscape more open as they rose higher, they were forced to zigzag--now seeking out brush and trees for cover. It was taking too long, Brynn reflected, feeling Hart's presence growing closer.
She led Michelle and Amy back into the thicker woods and they continued north. Suddenly faint light streaked from left to right, a truck or car on the interstate. A half mile, maybe less. Brynn and Michelle shared a smile and started forward again.
Which is when they heard a snap of a footstep, to their left, somewhere in a thick pine forest. The sound was close. Brynn looked at the little girl, whose gaunt face warned of another outburst.
Another snap. Closer. Footsteps, definitely.
Hart and his partner must have moved faster than Brynn had expected, closing the two hundred yards in only fifteen minutes. They'd probably found a smooth trail the women had missed.
Brynn pointed to the ground. The three of them went prone behind a fallen tree. Amy started to cry again but Michelle pulled her close and worked her magic once more. Brynn picked up handfuls of leaves and, as quietly as she could, spread them on top of the other two. Then she also lay down and camouflaged herself.
The footsteps grew closer, then were lost in the rustling wind.
Then Brynn gasped. She believed she heard somebody whispering her name.
Her imagination, of course. It was just the breeze, which was blowing steadily, swirling leaves and hissing through branches.
But then she heard it again. Yes, definitely, "Brynn," in a faint whisper.
Her jaw quivered in shock. Hart!
Eerie, as if he had a sixth sense she was nearby.
Again, though the name was indistinct, lost in the sounds of the forest.
In her exhaustion and pain she almost thought the voice sounded like Graham's. But that was impossible, of course. Her husband was home, asleep now.
Or perhaps not home and asleep.
"Brynn..."
She touched her finger to her lips. Michelle nodded, reaching into her jacket for the knife.
The steps began again, very close, it seemed, and heading directly toward the fallen tree they hid beneath.
Times to fight and times to run.
Time to hide too.
Thinking of the men with their loud, loud guns, another memory came back to her again: her first husband, eyes wide in shock and agony, stumbling back under the nearly point-blank impact of the slug, as Brynn's service weapon clattered to their kitchen floor after the discharge.
Was some sort of justice at work here, a divine or spiritual payback?
Would her fate now be similar to Keith's?
The footsteps grew closer.
Silently Brynn sprinkled more leaves over the threesome. And closed her eyes, recalling that when he was younger Joey believed that doing this would make you disappear.
"BRYNN," GRAHAM CALLED
again, as loud as he dared, but still in a whisper. Listening. Nothing.
As they'd approached this portion of the woods, the screaming had stopped. And they'd seen no one. But as they continued their trek, Graham was convinced he'd heard a woman's voice, whispering, and some rustling of leaves very close by. He couldn't tell where, though, and risked saying his wife's name.
No response but he heard more rustling and they'd headed for the sound, Munce with his shotgun ready.
"Brynn?"
Now the men were next to the trunk of a large fallen oak, looking around in all directions. Graham frowned and touched his ear. Munce shook his head.
But then the deputy stiffened, pointing to a field of rocks and brush. Graham caught a glimpse of a figure about a hundred yards away, holding a rifle or shotgun, moving from right to left.
The killers. They were here!
Graham pointed down at the deputy's radio, which was off. But Munce shook his head and pointed again to his own ear, meaning presumably that to turn it on would result in a telltale crackle.
Munce hurried along a path Graham hadn't seen before. He realized the deputy was going to flank the man with the gun.
He thought: What the hell am I doing here?
And lost himself entirely in this mad pursuit.
THE FOOTSTEPS RECEDED
from the oak tree. Finally Brynn lifted her head, gingerly, worried about the noise the leaves would make.
But when she peered over the tree trunk she saw the shadowy forms moving away into the early-morning murkiness.
The men had been just a few feet away from where they'd hidden. If Amy had made a single whimper all three of them would be dead now. Brynn's hands were shivering.
The men vanished into a wall of trees.
"Come on," she whispered. "They're headed away from us. Looks like they're going back down the hill. Let's move fast. We're not far from the highway."
They rose, shedding leaves, and started uphill again.
"That was close," Michelle said. "Why'd they go on past?"
"Maybe heard something. A deer." Brynn wondered if their guardian angel, their wolf, had distracted the men. She looked at Amy. "I'm proud of you, honey. You stayed quiet real nice."
The girl clutched Chester and said nothing, remaining sullen and red-eyed. He
r expression echoed exactly how Brynn felt.
They wound their way up several long slopes. Michelle gave a smile and pointed to the horizon. Brynn saw another flash of headlights.
The glow of heaven.
She assessed the last obstacle: a tall rocky hill, to the right of which was a hundred-foot drop into the gorge. To the left was a dense thicket of brambles that extended some distance to more tall, rocky outcroppings.
They couldn't climb the hill itself; the face was a sheer ascent that rose forty or fifty feet above their heads. But on the left side of the rise, above the brush, a narrow ledge ran upward and appeared to lead directly to a field and, beyond that, the interstate. The ledge was steep but could be hiked. It was apparently a popular starting point for rock climbers; the stone face above it, like the ones she'd seen earlier, was peppered with metal spikes.
Brynn was wary of the ledge for two reasons. It would completely expose them to the men for the five or so minutes it would take to traverse. Also, it was very narrow--they'd have to go single file--and a fall, though not far, would land them in a tangle of bushes that included barberries. She remembered these from Graham's nursery. They were popular with customers, having striking berries and brilliant color in the autumn, but evolution had armed them with thin, brittle needles. After the winter's dieback these beds were now barren of foliage and the needles, along the entire lengths of the branches, were vicious spikes.
But, she decided, they'd have to chance it. There wasn't time to look for alternative routes.
Besides, she recalled, after coming so close to the oak tree where the women had been hiding, Hart and his partner had turned the other way, moving back down the hillside.
"Time to go home," Brynn murmured and they began to climb.
GRAHAM AND MUNCE,
moving cautiously, in silence, were getting close to where they'd seen the man with the shotgun disappear into the bushes. Munce motioned for them to stop. The deputy cocked his head and scanned the landscape, the muzzle of the scattergun following the course of his gaze.
Graham wished he'd insisted on a weapon. The Buck knife in his pocket seemed pointless. He thought about asking for the deputy's pistol. But he didn't dare make a sound now. Ahead, no more than thirty feet, came a rustle of branches and dry leaves as the invisible suspect pushed through brush.