Dead Man's Tunnel (32 page)

“Edgeworth outsmarted us all,” Hook said. “My guess is he suckered the bo onto the train to use him as a diversion. It didn't matter to Edgeworth if the bo succeeded or failed because all along he planned to grab Ballard after the test run, after our guard was down. And he's had plenty of time to prepare for his escape. He likely has a cache of supplies waiting somewhere out there in the canyon, enough to get him through.”

“But with Ballard along? Even if they managed to get through the desert, how would he ever get him out of the country?” the lieutenant asked.

Hook lit a cigarette. “Maybe he has no intentions of trying. He'll get whatever information he can from Ballard and then kill him.” He drew on his cigarette, dropped it on the ground, and squashed it out with his foot. “I'm going after them,” he said.

“Then I'm going with you,” she said.

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

She clenched her jaw. “Ballard's safety is my responsibility.”

He pointed to her shoes. “Wearing those? Hardly made for that canyon.”

The lieutenant looked down at her shoes and then lifted her chin. “I'll manage,” she said.

*   *   *

At the bottom of the trail, Hook waited for the lieutenant to climb down.

“So which way?” she asked.

Hook looked up and down the canyon, but before he could answer, Mixer bound from out of the rocks, dirt stacked on the end of his nose. He put both feet up on Hook's chest and licked him on the cheek.

“Alright, Mixer,” Hook said. “Let's go find a skunk.”

Mixer marked the trail and then struck off up canyon. Now and again he'd stop, his tongue lolling, and look back at them. They struggled to keep up as Mixer bounded through the jumble of rocks, sometimes disappearing, only to reappear farther up the way.

When he reported with a sharp bark, Hook said, “He's hit a trail.”

Within the hour, the sun broke over the canyon rim, and the temperature mounted. Hook tied his jacket around his waist. Soon, the air fell still, and the heat rose in ribbons from out of the rocks. Sweat ran into his eyes and dripped off the end of his nose.

The lieutenant's hair clung to her neck in wet curls. In despite of her shoes, she followed close behind and without complaint. They had no water or food. And in a place like Johnson Canyon, those things could make the difference between life and death.

They stopped to check for tracks. The lieutenant's hands trembled, and she hid them under her arms. He lit a cigarette.

“We could stop for a rest,” he said.

“No,” she said. “All's lost if Edgeworth gets away.”

The sun bore down, and the rocks scalded their feet and hands. Each time their confidence waned, Mixer would fire up somewhere in the distance, assuring them that what they sought lay just beyond.

Without the horizon, Hook's sense of direction faltered, and he lost his feel for distance in the monotony of the canyon. On top of that, the rocks rendered his prosthesis useless, and fatigue twisted deep into his back.

When they rounded a bend, Mixer had stopped at a small spring that gathered at the base of a rock overhang. The earth smelled damp, and moss thrived from the cracks and crannies around the spring. An old juniper twisted from the rocks.

The lieutenant bent to drink from the spring. Scratches marked her arms, and her socks sagged with burrs and dirt. She dabbed the water from her chin with the back of her hand.

Mixer nosed here and there. Suddenly, he barked, his tail wagging.

“What is it, boy?” Hook asked.

The lieutenant moved over to where the water trickled into the sand. “Look, over here,” she said.

A footprint had been left in the soft earth and, next to it, a heel print from a smaller shoe.

“Two of them,” Hook said. “We're headed in the right direction.”

Mixer took off and within moments yelped somewhere up canyon.

The lieutenant ran her fingers through her hair to straighten out the tangles.

“We better get moving,” she said. “Before that dog makes the Canadian border.”

*   *   *

When Hook came around a sharp turn, he pulled up. The canyon wall, having given way at the top, had slid to the bottom of the canyon and clogged the passage with tons of rubble.

The lieutenant shaded her eyes and looked at the slide. “Now what do we do?” she asked.

“That's been there a long time by the looks of it,” he said.

She searched out a place to sit. Taking off her shoe, she pulled her sock away to reveal a blister on her heel.

“We'll stop awhile,” Hook said.

She slipped her shoe back on. “It's nothing,” she said. “I'm ready to go.”

Hook scanned the mass of rock that blocked the passage. Over the years, crevices and cracks had opened up, some several feet wide.

“The thing is, there's some pretty tough climbing up there.”

The lieutenant worked her cuff down and stood. “I know how to climb,” she said.

He rubbed at his shoulder. “It's not you I'm concerned about.”

Hook walked down the canyon a distance. He lit a cigarette and considered the path they'd have to take. Even if he managed the climb, there were no guarantees that it would pay off.

At best, it would be a scramble for them to catch up with Edgeworth. But the rocks provided a perfect place for a cache, and he figured that was where Edgeworth had headed.

Mixer barked again, a hot yelp from somewhere above. Hook returned to where the lieutenant stood, her hands on her hips.

“Well?” she said.

“Okay. We go up, but you might regret this.”

*   *   *

The sun bore down on their backs as they climbed their way up the slide. Their lips cracked with the heat, and their throats turned to dust. Again and again the lieutenant dug her heels in, reached out, and pulled him over. Her jaw set, she bore ahead, her fatigue masked with determination.

Sweat stung Hook's eyes as he struggled to keep up. Even with the lieutenant's help, his lack of grip and balance soon caused fatigue to gather in his core like a hot iron.

A rock shelf, large and flat enough for a rest, presented itself. Hook dropped down and leaned back. He rubbed at the tension in his shoulder. The rocks around them had cracked into fissures, the result of frigid nights and torrid days.

A lizard sunned in the boulders above and watched with shuttered eyes. Locusts hummed from the canyon below, and buzzards circled like kites in the sky. Even Mixer had grown quiet as the temperature soared.

The lieutenant removed her shoe and rolled her sock down. The blister had broken and refilled with blood.

“You okay?” he asked.

She pulled her sock up. “I haven't heard Mixer for a long time now,” she said.

Hook stretched out in the shade. “He's not big on overtime. Comes from hanging out with railroaders.”

He looked up to see the lieutenant's face paled. And when a dry rattle issued from out of the crevice behind him, he froze. A snake, fat as a man's wrist, its jaw unhinged and its fangs cocked, fixed its black eyes on him. Sunlight lit the pink of its mouth and the yellow of its engorged venom sacks. Adrenaline dumped into Hook's veins, and his ears rang like engine bells.

He lurched to the side just as the snake struck, its length propelling from out of its den with the force and speed of an arrow. The fangs sank into his arm. He rolled away, tearing at the snake's writhing body, flinging it into the rocks. His heart shriveled in anticipation of the poison rushing toward it.

“Oh, my god!” the lieutenant screamed.

Hook fell back and looked skyward. Soon his body would swell, and his lungs would fill with body fluids. He'd die a slow and suffocating death.

The lieutenant, her hands trembling, searched for the wound. She sat back on her haunches.

“This one?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “It's gone dead as a post.”

“For heaven's sake, that's your prosthesis.”

Hook sat up and looked at his arm. “I knew that,” he said.

*   *   *

For the next hour, they clambered over the rockslide. The lieutenant's foot worsened, her limp more pronounced as they worked their way along. When the sun had lowered and the shadows had lengthened, Hook stopped.

“Let me take a look at that foot,” he said.

“It's alright.”

“If you don't mind.”

She crossed her leg over her knee and slipped off her shoe. The blister had eroded deep into her heel.

“It isn't good, Lieutenant, and it will be dark soon.”

She rubbed her foot. “Why would Edgeworth come up here in the first place?”

“Only one reason,” he said. “A supply cache.”

“We couldn't follow him into the desert without our own supplies?”

“No,” he said.

He stood and studied the canyon face. At first he thought it was Mixer waiting for them to come, but when he looked again, he could see the top of a man's head.

He slid down next to her. “I think there's someone up there.”

“Edgeworth?”

“I need a closer look.”

They crept up to higher ground. Hook eased his head up and then dropped down next to her again.

“It's a man alright,” he said. “I'm going in.”

“Be careful,” she said. “He might have heard Mixer. He could be waiting.”

Hook pulled his P.38 and worked his way in closer. He stood and leveled the sidearm.

“Lift 'em,” he said. The man neither moved nor acknowledged Hook's command. “You've about two seconds before I empty this clip, mister,” he said.

He circled to the side. John Ballard sat on the ground, his legs stretched out in front of him. A forked stick had been jammed under his chin and staked into the ground between his legs to hold him erect. His hands were secured to his ankles with strips from his shirt, and his torso had been wrenched forward until the forks penetrated the glands under his ears. His tongue, having been bitten through, bled down his front.

A garrote made from a belt still hung about his neck, and his eyes were now sunken and indifferent. Hook's stomach tightened. He spat in the dirt and then untied him. John Ballard, still warm in death, slumped over onto the ground.

“Oh, no,” the lieutenant said from behind him. “Edgeworth's killed him. He's killed Ballard.”

Hook turned. “Yes,” he said. “And not the easy way. Like you said, he knew we were coming, and he didn't want us to hear a gunshot.”

She knelt, touching Ballard's shoulder. “He's been tortured,” she said.

“Edgeworth knows his business,” Hook said. “Whatever he wanted from Ballard, he probably got.”

Hook dug out a cigarette, lit it, and threw the empty pack away. “He left in a hurry,” he said. “I think we're close. If we push ahead, we might just catch him.”

She leaned back. Dirt covered her uniform and her hands. She pulled back the hair that had fallen across her face.

“You better go on without me.”

“What?”

“My foot,” she said. “I'm slowing you down.”

“Come on, you can make it. I'll help.”

“I'll be okay here. You can come back for me.”

“But I can't leave you alone.”

“All I know is that we must not let Edgeworth get away. There's too much at stake, and I can't keep up any longer.”

Hook chewed at his lip. “I don't think so. He could circle back. He might even be watching us at this minute.”

“This is not your decision,” she said. “Edgeworth has one thing on his mind right now, escape, and he might have gotten information from Ballard that could cost us dearly.”

He handed her the sidearm. “Then you take this. Use it if you have to.”

“Edgeworth is armed,” she said. “You might need it; besides, you know what kind of shot I am.”

“It's this way,” Hook said. “You keep the weapon or I don't go.”

She looked at him, weariness in her eyes. “Okay,” she said, taking the gun. “Now get out of here before it's too late.”

 

40

H
OOK STRUGGLED ON,
but without the lieutenant's help, the going turned slow. Mixer fell silent as the moon lifted into the sky.

At first Hook thought it only a moon shadow in the rocks. He crouched and waited as the moonlight edged into what appeared to be the opening of a small cave.

He approached with caution. Edgeworth could be anywhere. When satisfied that the cave was empty, he moved in. Containers of water, crackers, and packets of jerky had been stacked next to the wall. A rolled sleeping bag lay near the entrance.

It had to be Edgeworth's cache, and he had abandoned it all in his rush to escape them. Without supplies, no sane man would attempt to make it through the desert. Edgeworth was ruthless but not stupid. He knew that his only hope for escape now would be to double back.

Hook checked his watch. By taking the high ground, he could bypass the slide and make up some time. With a little luck, he just might get there before the next train came through.

*   *   *

Hook paused at the trestle to catch his breath. In the moonlight, it looked like a giant centipede stretching across the canyon. On the farside, the boxcars waited to be towed back to Kingman. On the nearside, the tunnel entrance opened into the mountain as a black hole.

As he worked his way toward the tunnel, he considered his strategy. He'd check the guardhouse first. Then he'd cross over the trestle and clear the boxcars. They presented a damn good hiding place for Edgeworth to wait for the next train.

The clean smell of the desert night rolled in. He crouched in the darkness and checked for any signs of movement. Turning his ear into the night, he gauged the sounds. Somewhere in the distance, a screech owl hooted.

He paused at the tunnel entrance, where a cool draft swept out from the mountain. From this vantage, he could see the guardhouse and Folsom's outline in the rocking chair on the porch. The guardhouse windows lit in the moonlight, shining like the eyes of a giant cat.