Bad Nights (11 page)

He stood, rolling up the bandages.

“I'm going to see if I can find another way out,” he said. It was a logical next step, but it also gave him a good reason to get away from Morgan, because everything they did now felt much too intimate.

He watched her pull her knees up to her chin and wrap her arms around her legs as he walked away.

Wade Trainer left a spotter in the woods to keep tabs on the firemen. Then he took the rest of the team back to the RAM compound. He figured that since there wasn't much for the firemen to do besides making sure the embers were cold, they'd clear out relatively quickly.

Sure enough, his man called an hour later to report that the coast was clear.

“Did the fire marshal show up?”

“I don't know.”

“Okay. Sit tight. We'll be back in fifteen.”

It was just before sunset when they returned. They parked in the woods and walked to the house. Instead of going back through the tunnel, Wade led his men directly to where they'd found the exit that came out in the woods. He examined the trapdoor and the area around it but couldn't determine if it had been opened recently.

“We'll fan out,” he said, “and look for evidence that Barnes and the woman escaped. And look for Gibson.”

The men obeyed orders, moving through the woods, looking for clues.

Five minutes later, Jessup called out, “Over here, sir.”

Trainer clenched his teeth. The man was supposed to use the comms unit, but apparently that had slipped his mind.

Trainer hurried toward the sound of Jessup's voice and felt his chest compress again when he saw what had elicited the shout.

Gibson was lying face down, unmoving on the ground, his body pinned under a dead tree limb.

The militia leader went to him and knelt. When he felt for a pulse at the man's neck, he encountered only cold skin. And when he lifted one of the man's arms, he found that rigor mortis had set in. Which probably meant that Gibson had bought the farm not long after they'd started the fire.

“He's dead,” he informed the men. But the question was, what had happened here?

Trainer looked up, determining where the tree limb had fallen from.

“Get up there and see if it's been cut or if it's broken off,” he ordered Jessup.

The man inspected the lower branches which were several feet above his head.

“I need a boost up.”

“Help him,” he ordered Porter.

The other man made a stirrup with his hands, and Jessup stepped in, straining to reach a branch. When he got his hands around it, he pulled himself up, then began to climb.

Halfway up the tree, the trooper stopped.

“You reached the place where the limb fell?” Wade called out.

“Yes.”

“What do you see?”

Jessup inspected the area. “No cuts,” he reported. “I mean, the edge is jagged like it broke off.”

Or was it pulled down, Wade wondered. He wished he could get up there himself, but he had never liked heights. “What about the color of the wood?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Jessup asked.

“The tree looks like it was dead for a while, and it's bleached from the elements. What about the place where it broke? Is it the same color?”

“That's darker,” Jessup reported. “But it's hard to tell in this light.”

Which didn't prove anything one way or the other, Wade decided. Obviously the limb had fallen recently—and come down on Gibson. Whatever the reason. Maybe the storm last night had weakened it.

Trainer went back to the body and looked for evidence that the man hadn't simply been caught in an unfortunate accident. Gibson's clothing was scuffed up, but that could have happened when the limb fell.

Had the blow from the branch been enough to kill him? Again Wade had no way of really knowing. He could have been hit, then died of internal injuries or something. They could find out if someone did an autopsy, but that wasn't going to happen, because nobody was going to report the death.

Still, it was interesting that Gibson had been in the vicinity of the man and woman, at least if they had emerged from the tunnel and come this way.

Trainer examined the ground, walking back toward the tunnel exit. About thirty-five feet from the fallen log, he thought he saw where something might have been dragged across the ground, but he couldn't be sure. And now that the light was fading, he wasn't sure what else they were going to see. But he had the gut feeling that Barnes and his girlfriend had gotten out through the tunnel, killed Gibson, and kept going.

If Barnes had staged this accident, it would be to keep Gibson from talking. A pretty cold-blooded decision, but he'd always known Barnes was a warrior.

And determined. As evidenced by his escape. How far could he and the woman have made it on foot in the rain, with Barnes still in bad shape from the torture session? Their quickest route out of the area would be the road, where they could hitch a ride. But that would be taking a chance that the militia wasn't patrolling the highway.

He was pretty sure Barnes wouldn't take that chance. He hoped not because he meant to find them and bring them back.

***

Shining the flashlight beam from side to side and moving cautiously so as not to tumble into a hidden crevice, Jack walked farther back into the cave, stooping slightly as the roof grew lower.

In the interior he saw some stalactites hanging from the ceiling. And about ten feet from where the ceiling lowered, it opened out again, and he saw some loose rock and a crevice in the floor. He stooped and slipped the bandages into the opening, using a rock to push them down, hoping they wouldn't be found anytime soon.

Ahead of him he saw dim light filtering in from above. He moved toward the light source, shining his flashlight beam upward. There was a natural chimney that went up from the roof of the cave. It was about three feet wide, but when he reached up, he found hand- and footholds that he could use to climb.

He wasn't sure if someone had put them there or if they were natural, but he was able to work his way slowly toward the top, being careful of his ankle. As he climbed, he felt cold air drifting down toward him. But the way wasn't totally clear. He reached a spot where a boulder partially blocked his upward progress. Moving to the side, he braced his back against the wall of the shaft and worked at the obstruction. It wasn't firmly in place, and he was able to wiggle it back and forth, thinking that he could ease it down.

Instead it slipped from his grasp, dropping downward and landing with a crash on the cave floor.

Below him he heard running feet, then saw the beam of a flashlight and heard Morgan's frantic voice as she called out to him.

“Jack? Are you all right? Jack.”

“Stay back,” he shouted down. The big rock had dislodged smaller ones, which were still coming down.

“Where are you?”

“I'm in a vertical tunnel above you.” He switched on his light and shined it down into the cave. “There was a boulder blocking it, and I worked it out of the way. Sorry I scared you.”

“I see it now.”

“There's more stuff coming down. Stay back,” he warned again.

“I thought something had happened to you.”

“I'm fine. Can you see my flashlight beam?”

“Yes.”

“Are you standing back?”

“Yes.”

“I'm going farther up.”

He worked his way upward again, the sensation of cold getting stronger as he climbed.

It took several more moments for his head to emerge into open air. In the gathering gloom, he couldn't tell much, but he thought he must be on a ledge above the cave. He wanted to investigate, but it was too dangerous to climb around out there now, especially with one bad leg. Instead he made his way down, wishing he was wearing a pair of pants as his bare legs emerged from the chimney.

As he suspected, Morgan was waiting below.

“I think there's a way out up there,” he told her. “But I can't tell for certain until tomorrow where it actually goes.”

“Okay.”

“We'll stay here tonight and leave at first light.”

They made their way back to the spot where they'd left their gear.

“Get back in the sleeping bag,” he said.

“What about you?”

“I'll stay out here for now,” he said. He carried both packs to the cave wall, emptied one, and used it for a cushion.

He saw Morgan watching him as he pulled out crackers and cheese from the other.

“Dinner,” he said as he handed her some food and water. Then he took another water bottle for himself. He found the fig bars he'd stuffed into the pack and handed her four, then took a bite himself.

“Nourishment?” Morgan asked.

“Dessert.”

“First?”

“Yeah.”

***

As they ate, Morgan eyed the man sitting across from her. A while ago they'd been in the sleeping bag together and that hadn't worked out too well. Now they were sitting facing each other, and she didn't think that was much better.

“That can't be very comfortable,” she said in a low voice.

“I'll survive.”

“Because you're tough?”

“Yeah.”

“That's from your SEAL training?”

“When you grow up in the military culture, you learn the value of being tough early.”

She nodded, wishing she could think of something they could talk about. Most people could talk about movies they'd seen or television programs. But she hadn't been to the movies in a long time, and television had little appeal for her.

She wasn't going to start a conversation about politics or religion. And she knew he didn't want to talk about anything that sounded like therapy.

She finally settled on a subject he'd probably enjoy. “What if we hadn't brought food from the house? What would we eat?”

“There's plenty of stuff around here. I saw wild strawberries along the wall. They don't taste great, but they're not poisonous.”

“That's not much of a recommendation.”

“Then there are mayapples, those plants that look like little umbrellas.”

“Yes, I know which ones you mean.”

“You're supposed to be able to eat the fruit, but the roots, stems, and leaves are poisonous.”

“Oh goody.”

“I could catch fish.”

“You said we couldn't light a fire.”

“Raw fish are a delicacy, don't you know that?”

She made a face. “I tried sushi a couple of times when I was in college. I never developed a taste for it.”

“Well, there's wild garlic mustard. Also violet leaves. Of course, you've got to get the leaves while they're young and tender. Also fiddleheads of ferns. The young shoots that come up.”

“Right. I know about them. And dandelion greens.”

“And wild mushrooms.”

“You know which ones are okay to eat?”

“Yes.”

“You'll have to make me a salad with all that stuff.”

“When we get out of here.” The thick quality of his voice had her searching his face. It was in shadow. What was he thinking? That they might not escape? Or that maybe they could have a relationship when they got away? Or maybe not?

Her stomach knotted. A few days ago she couldn't have imagined a relationship with anyone besides Glenn. Certainly not with a man like Jack Brandt. Now she was starting to imagine it.

She brought herself up short. It was probably like Stockholm syndrome. She wasn't exactly his captive, but she was thrown together with him in dangerous and intimate circumstances. And as soon as they were away from each other, her thinking would revert to normal.

Did she hope that was true? She was honestly too confused to know.

***

Dressed in plaid shirts, jeans, and baseball caps, Shane and Max loaded their Jeep Cherokee in the afternoon, partly with supplies they'd brought from home. Other equipment was from the office storage room. They had fishing rods and tackle boxes, but the boxes held handguns as well as tackle.

They waited until after rush hour, driving around the Capital Beltway, then south into Virginia, on Highway 66, heading for the town of Skyline, which advertised itself as the gateway to the beauty of Skyline Drive, a scenic highway that ran one hundred and fifty miles north and south along the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains in Shenandoah National Park. The militia compound was on acreage near the edge of the park.

They arrived at the town near twilight. It was loaded with motels, and they stopped at the Red Bud, a rustic cabin-style establishment on the outskirts of the tourist community.

A plump woman with salt-and-pepper hair who was wearing a name tag that identified her as Mrs. Sweeney greeted them with a friendly smile in the pine-paneled office.

“We're going fishing tomorrow,” Shane told her as they registered.

“Nice weather for it,” she commented.

“That's what we were thinking. Where's a good place for dinner?” Max asked.

“Hendley's Diner has good food and good prices.”

“Appreciate the tip,” Shane said.

“We had some excitement around here,” Mrs. Sweeney volunteered.

“Oh yeah?”

“A house about five miles away burned down.”

Shane's ears perked up. He was glad that she'd brought up the fire, and he didn't have to work his way around to it. “A propane accident?” he asked, thinking it was probably something else.

“The fire marshal said it was arson.”

Shane made a clucking noise. Hoping to keep Mrs. Sweeney talking, he asked, “Who would do something like that? Is there a bad element in town?”

The woman shook her head. “There didn't used to be, but I hear there's some kind of military camp up in the hills.”

“The government's doing something up there?”

“I think it's a private group. The Real Americans Militia or something like that.”

“They're near the house that burned?”

She nodded. “It belonged to a widow lady. Mrs. Rains. She inherited the property from her parents.”

“Uh huh,” he answered, thinking that this woman was full of information.

“She's a professor at George Mason University. Hasn't been down here all that much since her husband died.”