Chill Factor (28 page)

Miraculously, Dutch's brain hadn't been instantly liquified by
the
impact. He was sentient, and was surprised to realize that he was alive
and basically unhurt. Apparently Hawkins had also survived. Dutch could
hear him mewling pitiably.

Dutch unbuckled his seat belt and, putting his shoulder to the
passenger-side door, shoved it open. He rolled out, landing several
feet below, in snow that came almost to his waist after he struggled to
his feet.

He tried to get his bearings but was blinded by the
wind-driven snow
that seemed to be aimed at his eyes. He couldn't even see what had
stopped the truck's descent. All he could make out was a forest of
black tree trunks against a field of white.

However, he didn't have to see it.

He heard it.

He felt the vibration of it in the ground, in the trunk of the
tree
he had propped himself against for balance, in his balls.

He didn't bother to shout a warning to Hawkins or try to pull
him
from the wreckage to safety. He didn't attempt to run and save himself.
Defeat had robbed him of initiative, immobilized him.

The futility of his life culminated in this single moment. He
would
just as soon die here and now because his hope of reaching Lilly had
been crushed.

Wes watched in disbelief as the sanding rig disappeared over
the
ridge.

He leaped from his car and stood in the wedge of the open
door, as
though being outside would give him a dearer understanding of how this
had happened.

He could hear the rig plowing its way down the slope. A
tremendous
crash was followed by what sounded like a metallic sigh, the truck's
death rattle. Following that was an eerie silence that was even more
horrific. The hush was so absolute, Wes could hear snowflakes striking
his clothing.

The quiet was broken by Begley and Wise, who approached as
quickly
as the slippery incline of the road would allow. Their vehicle had been
far enough behind Wes's that they hadn't had his vantage point. Begley
reached him first, huffing and emitting plumes of vapor from his mouth.
"What happened?"

"They went over."

"Holy shit."

Begley didn't even chide Hoot for his whispered expletive.
Because
at that moment the three of them heard another sound, one which they
couldn't identify but which they knew portended a continuation of the
disaster.

They traded mystified looks.

Later they determined that what they'd heard was the
splintering of
wood. Trees that three grown men couldn't reach around had been snapped
as easily as toothpicks. At the time, they couldn't see it happening
because of the whiteout.

Speaking for all of them, Wes said, "What the hell is that?"

Then they saw it, dropping out of the low clouds, snow, and
fog,
destined for earth like a landing spacecraft with its red warning
lights still flashing. The power line tower struck the ground with such
force that even the deep snow didn't cushion it. Later, Wes swore to
those to whom he gave an account of the bizarre event that the
repercussion caused his car to bounce off all four tires.

He and the two FBI agents stood in speechless awe for several
moments, unable to absorb what they'd just witnessed, unable to believe
that they'd survived. Had the tower fallen thirty yards closer, it
would have crashed on top of them.

Dutch's fate was unknown. Wes could only hope that he and
Hawkins
had survived. But the other casualty was Mountain Laurel Road. It was
now blocked by tons of steel and forest debris that formed a barricade
two stories high and almost that wide. No one could go up that road now.

It was equally impassable to anyone hoping to come down.

CHAPTER  19

LILLY ADDED A STICK OF FIREWOOD TO THOSE SMOLDERING on the
grate.
She'd been stingy with them, adding one at a time, and only when
necessary to keep the fire alive.

Despite her frugality, the wood supply she'd carried in
earlier had
dwindled to a few chunks, which she'd hacked off the larger logs. If
the wood continued to burn at this rate, she might have enough for
another two hours.

What she would do when it ran out, she didn't know. Even
inside the
cabin, without a fire she would probably freeze during the coming
night. She desperately needed the fire to survive. But—and
here was the
irony—the exertion of carrying in more firewood would likely
kill her.

"Lilly?"

She rolled her lips inward and squeezed her eyes shut, wishing
she
could close off her ears as effectively. His voice was too persuasive,
his arguments too reasonable. If she let them sway her, she could
become victim number six.

Arguing with him was exhausting. They went round and round,
getting
nowhere. She wasn't going to release him; he had an arsenal of
arguments for why she should. And then there was her wheezing. Talking
exacerbated it, so she had stopped answering him altogether.

"Lilly, say something. If you're still conscious, I know you
can
hear me."

His tone had developed an angry edge, sharpened by her refusal
to
respond. She left her place near the fireplace and went to the living
room window, glancing into the open bedroom door as she walked past.
"Why don't you be quiet?"

She pushed aside the drapery and looked out, hoping to see
that the
snowfall had abated. Far from it. It was so thick she could see only a
few yards beyond the porch overhang. The mountain peak had become an
alien landscape, white and soundless and separate.

"Has it slowed down any?"

Shaking her head, she turned from the window and hugged her
elbows
for warmth. Moving away from the fireplace for even a brief time had
allowed the cold to penetrate through her layers of clothing. She had
put on every pair of socks she had with her, but her feet remained
cold. She would have blown on her hands for warmth, but she couldn't
spare the breath.

Tierney hadn't complained of being cold. His strenuous efforts
to
escape the handcuffs were keeping him warm. Apparently he had decided
that escape was worth having raw, bleeding wrists after all. He hadn't
even tried to cover the sounds. She'd heard the continual clank of
metal against metal, the thumping of the headboard against the wall,
and curses of sheer frustration when the cuffs refused to
give.

"How's the firewood situation?" he asked.

"Okay for now."

"For now. What about later? An hour from now?"

She stepped into the open doorway. "I'll worry about it when I
need
to."

"When you need to, it will be too late for worry."

He had vocalized her worst fear, so she didn't waste breath on
a
contradiction. "Would you like… another blanket…
over your legs?" She
was forced to pause between phrases to gasp for breath.

"When did you take the last dose of your medication?"

"My pill?" she wheezed. "Yesterday morning."

"You don't sound so sure."

God, could he read her mind?

Truth was, she couldn't remember taking her pill yesterday
morning.
Thinking back over the day, she couldn't isolate a memory of taking her
medication.

She'd had several errands in town. She had gone to the local
moving
company to purchase some packing boxes. After that, she remembered
stopping at an ATM to withdraw cash for her trip back to Atlanta.

Her final stop before returning to the cabin had been at the
phar
macy.
She had taken her last pill the night before. Luckily, when she started
visiting Cleary on a regular basis, she'd had a local doctor write her
a prescription for theophylline, the drug she took to help prevent
asthma attacks. The extra prescription was a safeguard, so she would
never be caught without.

Yesterday William Ritt had filled the prescription for her.
From
there her memory got hazy. She couldn't remember if she had taken the
tablet when she stopped at the soda fountain to buy a vanilla Coke from
Linda Wexler, or if she had waited to take it once she reached the
cabin.

Surely she hadn't forgotten to take it. She never failed to
take her
medication. It was part of her daily routine. However, yesterday had
been an unusual day, and not only in terms of her schedule. Dutch had
placed her on an emotional seesaw.

He was waiting for her when she returned to the cabin. He was
sitting on the edge of the sofa, staring into near space, shoulders
hunched, looking forlorn. His greeting had been "How could you do this
to me?"

In view of the events that had followed, taking her medication
might
have slipped her mind.

"Lilly, are you sure you took it yesterday?"

She refocused on Tierney. "Of course I'm sure," she lied.

"But it's been over twenty-four hours."

Or thirty-six.

"It's worn off," he said. "You're in distress."

"Well, that happens… when you discover…
you're trapped with a …
serial killer."

"You know I'm not a killer. Unlock the handcuffs. I'll go get
your
medication."

She shook her head.

"You're running out of time."

"We could be rescued—"

"Nobody's coming up that mountain road until at least
tomorrow.
Probably not even then. And if you're counting on some Rambo-type
helicopter rescue, think again. Not even the bravest pilot is going to
take one up in this storm and risk being slapped down by these winds or
crashing into a mountain he can't see."

"Somehow…"

"It is not going to happen," he said with mounting asperity.
"You
may be willing to gamble with your life, but I'm not. Get the key."

"They could come… on foot."

"No one's that crazy."

"Except you."

That silenced him, but only for several seconds. "Right.
Except me.
I'd take any risk to keep you alive. I don't want you to die, Lilly."

"I don't… much like… the idea
… myself."

"Let me go."

"Can't."

His lips flattened with anger. "Let me tell you what you can't
do.
You can't afford to keep me chained to this goddamn bed. Every second
spent arguing about it uses time and breath that you don't have. Now
get the key and unlock these—"

"No!"

"—fucking handcuffs!"

The lights went out.

Dora Hamer approached the closed door to Scott's bedroom. It
seemed
ominously silent in the house without his stereo system vibrating the
walls. She knocked twice. "Scott, are you okay?"

He opened the door as though he'd been expecting her. "Fine,
except
for the electricity going out."

"I think it went out all over town. I don't see any lights in
our
neighbors' windows. Are you warm enough in here?"

"I put on an extra sweater."

"That may help for a while, but it's not going to take long
for the
house to get cold. Until the power comes back on, we'll have to rely on
the fireplace for heat. Would you bring in some more wood from the
garage, please?"

"Sure, Mom."

"And get the lantern you and your dad take on camping trips
.
Do we have fuel for it?"

"I think so. I'll check."

He disappeared down the hall. Dora followed him part of the
way
before hastily retracing her footsteps back into his bedroom. The
college application forms were scattered across his desk. She didn't
take the time to read them, but a glance showed her that he'd been
working on them as Wes had mandated.

Quickly she moved to the nearest window and checked to see
that the
alarm system detector was intact. Two magnets, one on the window frame,
the other on the jamb, formed a connection which, if broken, would
trigger the alarm whenever it was set. The components were aligned as
they should be. The same was true
of
the
second window she checked.

Not wanting to be caught snooping, she paused to listen. She
could
hear Scott stacking logs in the open space in the rock wall of the
living room fireplace. She heard him dusting off his hands as he headed
back to the garage for another armload.

She went to the third window. Two magnets were making the
required
connection, all right. But the one on
the
window jamb
was an ordinary magnet, a kid's toy. It had been used to replace the
missing connector and positioned so that no connection would be broken
if the window was opened.

"Mom?"

When he called to her, Dora jumped as though she were the
guilty
party. She hurried from his bedroom, hoping she looked more composed
than she felt when she joined him in the living room.

"Should I stack some wood up here on the hearth?" he asked.

"Good idea. It'll save you the trouble of going for more
later."

"Okay. Want me to light the lantern?"

"Let's reserve it for nighttime."

"The kerosene can is practically full. I'll leave it and the
lantern
in the kitchen."

"Fine. I've got candles to use until dark. And there are
plenty of
batteries for flashlights."

She followed him as far as the kitchen, where he disappeared
through
the door to the garage. She wanted to go after him, place her arms
around him, and hug him close. Wes accused her of babying him. Well, so
what? Scott
was
her baby. If she lived to see him
become a
very old man, he would still be her baby and she would want to protect
him.

Something was going on with him, and whatever it was, it
terrified
her. "Worried sick" wasn't merely a figure of speech. After the
discovery she'd made in his bedroom, she was nauseated with worry.

He had rigged the alarm detector on his bedroom window not to
go off
when he sneaked out. What other explanation could there be for his
tampering with it? How long had this been going on? Was she blind,
deaf, and dumb not to have known that he was leaving the house?