In The Forest Of Harm (25 page)

THIRTY-SEVEN

Mary opened her eyes. A hard white circle of moonlight burned through the black lacework of limbs above her. Joan snored softly beside her, curled against the logs that shielded them from the cabin. Panic shot through Mary. She had not awakened Joan to keep watch; instead, she had fallen asleep herself and both had carelessly dozed away the afternoon and most of the night. Her plan of watching the cabin in shifts had failed. She'd screwed up already. He could have sneaked up on them and slit their throats as they slept. How could she possibly expect to rescue Alex like this?

She rose and peered over the logs. The cabin sat silent in the silver meadow; not even a wisp of smoke seeped from the old chimney. Mary rubbed the sleep from her eyes and touched Joan's arm.

“Yeah!” Joan jumped awake.

“Have you been asleep the whole time?”

“I woke up about dusk. A big flock of bats or something came swarming out of the chimney.” Joan shrugged. “I guess I fell back to sleep after that. Shit, my foot hurts like hell.”

“Did you see anything besides bats?”

“No. Thank God.”

“No sign of Alex?”

“Mary, if I'd seen Alex, I'd have woken you up,” Joan said testily, rubbing her grotesquely swollen foot.

By the high angle of the moon Mary guessed it was close to midnight. She and Joan had been asleep for hours. What could Ulagu be doing to Alex in the cabin? If indeed Alex was still in the cabin and not buried somewhere in the mountains. She shook her head. Some thoughts were better turned away at the door.

Joan was shivering, although a feverish heat radiated from her body.

“What are we going to do now?” she whimpered.

“I'm not sure.” Mary had hoped to sneak down to the cabin under the cover of night and peek in a window. But Ulagu's being a trapper had given her pause. She had seen what traps did to an animal's leg. The thought of those metal teeth snapping into her own flesh made her cold inside. She ignored the sudden queasiness in her stomach and said firmly to Joan, “First we need to see if Alex is really inside. If she is, then we'll go get her when he's out checking his traps.”

“What do you mean
if
Alex is there?”

“Like you said before,” Mary reminded her bluntly. “He could have killed her days ago.”

“But sneaking up and peering inside?” Joan shuddered. “Jeez, Mary. What if you looked in and there he was, staring right back at you?”

Mary did not answer. The sky above them shone like a clear obsidian bowl. It was a hunter's moon, for sure. All prey would be illuminated tonight. She studied the terrain around the cabin. If she jumped over the logs and ran straight ahead, anyone who happened to be looking outside would see her the instant she left the cover of the trees. Circling around to the front offered no greater advantage, either. So that left the rear. She scowled at the weedy creek that ran across the back of the property. A trapper might have it studded with sets that could break her ankle as easily as snapping a twig. An injury like that would forever destroy whatever slim chance they had. But if she could make it unobserved to the water and then wade down the creek . . . then she might stay hidden until she could sprint across the back field to the cabin. The whole idea made her cold inside, but with Joan so crippled, it seemed like their only hope.

“How about this.” Hastily, before her brain had a chance to reconsider, she blurted out her plan to Joan. “You have to stay up here and be my lookout. If anybody comes out, yell.”

“Yell?” Joan stared at her as if she were insane. “Yell what? Fire? Police? Bloody murder?”

“Anything. Just something to warn me.”

Joan's mouth curved down in disbelief. “And what will you do then, Mary, when I start yelling? That is, if I
could
yell. I'm dying of thirst.”

Mary shrugged, her cheeks warming with embarrassment. Out loud, all her plans sounded ludicrous. “Have you got any better ideas?”

Joan scowled at her. Then her expression softened. “No, I don't guess I do.”

“Okay, then. That's it.” Mary braced herself.
More
death might soon be upon your head,
she thought, but she couldn't help that now. As her mother had told her so long ago, sometimes there was no other direction to go but forward.

She tightened the laces on her boots and told Joan: “I'll take the paint box and bring us some water from the creek. And remember, if you see anyone, yell.”

Joan studied her face, then reached over and touched her cheek. “Please, Mary, promise me one thing. Promise me you'll be careful.”

With her paint box tucked under her arm, Mary Crow nodded, and slipped into the shadows.

She reached the creek with surprising speed. The brilliant moonlight allowed her to thread her way easily between the trees. Every few moments she glanced at the cabin to see if anyone was sighting down a gun barrel at her, but the yard remained vacant, the cabin eerily silent. As far as she could tell, she was the only creature moving upright on two feet.

In the moonlight the creek rolled like a ribbon of gurgling black ink. It edged the clearing as neatly as a fence, keeping the wild dark tangle of the forest back from the cabin. Mary knelt on its bank and looked for any submerged stumps that a trap might be attached to, but the surface of the water flowed smooth and unbroken. If this creek concealed a trapline, the sets were buried deep. She shoved her paint box beneath a thicket of bearberry as she sat down to remove her boots. Wet shoes might squeak. After she untied the laces, she felt Wynona safe in the pocket of her sweatshirt.

She tucked her shoes beneath a bush and tentatively stuck one foot in the creek. Involuntarily, she gasped. The water pierced her skin like needles and a wet iciness began to numb her legs. If she was going to get there this way, she would have to move fast. She began to hurry forward, but her left foot slipped on a slick, algae-covered rock. For an instant she teetered over the chill water, then, miraculously, she regained her balance. More cautious now, she hunched over and began to creep down the center of the creek as if she were walking a tightwire, arms extended.

She moved carefully, testing the slimy bottom with her toes, waiting with every step for the snap of a trap to clamp down on her flesh. Twice, she felt something slither around her ankles, but she pressed her lips together and waded on through the black water. By the time she stood abreast of the cabin, both legs were numb from the knee down. Slowly, she edged to the bank, then stepped out of the water, lowering herself down among the weeds.

“
Wahdoe
, Wynona,” she whispered as she peered over the razor-sharp rushes and studied the cabin, yards away. Though the back wall was windowless, the only cover between the creek and the house was a single maple tree. Anybody peering through a missing chink would clearly see her crossing the meadow. She looked up at the hunter's moon and had to smile at the irony: on one hand she was the hunter, on the other hand she was the prey.

Run!
The warning rippled inside her head.
If he has a
gun you'll be harder to shoot.
Without considering further, she took a last look around, then leapt out of the rushes and dashed across the meadow. Her feet hit the ground like frozen stumps, but she did not break her stride until she dived into the concealing shadows of the chimney, gulping air like someone drowning.

Lungs burning, her body pressed tight against the chimney, she waited. Then she realized she was safe. No one had awakened. No one had seen her. The meadow and the cabin were as silent as they'd ever been. Now she just had to find the right window to look into. Cautiously, she turned and moved toward the corner of the cabin.

Foot by precious foot she slunk along the back wall. A bat swooped low over her head; there was a sudden thick splash in the creek.
Dear God
, she thought, her heartbeat accelerating.
He's been out setting a trapline. Now he's coming
home.
She dropped to the ground and pressed herself against the earth. With the blood rushing through her head she waited for him to lumber dripping from the creek, but the meadow remained empty. When her vision began to blur from staring at the muddy bank she realized that whatever had splashed in the water had nothing to do with her.

Still, she remained on her belly. It would be slower, but down low she would be harder to spot. She crawled along the ground, rising only to press her ear to the cabin to listen for any sounds inside. All she heard was the rattle of her own breath.

Finally she reached the corner. She tried to spot Joan across the meadow, but the woodpile was invisible in the shadows of the forest.

For a moment she lay still, thinking hard. The earth felt warm against her cheek; the sweet aroma of autumn grass filled her nose.
This is insane
, another voice taunted in her brain.
You are an assistant District Attorney for Deckard
County, Georgia, not some Cherokee commando.

“Oh, but tonight I am,” she countered silently. “Tonight I am exactly that.”

If she was going to do this, she must do it now. With a final flex of the cramped muscles of her legs, she crept toward the broken window.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Her toes dug for purchase in the stiff weeds, her fingertips sought the cold metal teeth of a trap. Inch by inch she crawled along the cabin wall. Finally, she looked up. In the moonlight, four grimy panes of glass glimmered above her head.

She studied them. Three were intact, but half of one bottom pane had been broken out. The jagged hole would reveal the interior of the cabin clearly. It would reveal her just as clearly, but she had no choice. With a swift, silent intake of air, she scrambled up, and pressed herself against the wall. The broken pane was just beneath her shoulder. She would have to crouch down to see inside.

Mentally cursing the glistening moon, she eased down and turned her face toward the gap in the window. The air inside the cabin smelled sour, its breath redolent of gun oil and roasted meat and another sharp scent she could not identify. She inched forward, peering inside.

The amber firelight revealed a kitchen of sorts. Embers glittered orange in a stone fireplace. Close to the window stood a small table; on it lay magazines and a bottle of vitamins. Suddenly, she caught her breath. Propped against the vitamins was the smiling photograph of Jonathan and a blonde woman. Jodie Foster. Ulagu had been at Little Jump Off! He must have been following them since Friday afternoon.

The banked fire illuminated the back part of the cabin, but it left the front shadowy and impenetrable. Her heart sank. She would have to look in the second window, too.

She withdrew her face from the fetid warmth and dropped back on her stomach. Again she squirmed forward through the dirt, still groping for traps. To her right a curious indentation dimpled the earth. Probably an old well, she decided. It seemed odd that anyone would put a well so close to the side of a cabin, but this was Ulagu. Ulagu could put his well any damn place he pleased.

She crawled for what felt like decades, the rustle of her body moving through the weeds thunderous in her ears. Ulagu must surely have heard her by now. Any second he would storm out of the door, shotgun in hand. But nothing happened. The cabin remained so still she wondered if he hadn't slipped away while she and Joan slept. Finally she neared the last window. She could make no mistakes now. Who knew what the snap of a twig might pull down upon her head?

Her whole body trembling, she rose to her feet. Except for a single top pane, all this glass had been shattered. If anyone was looking out this window now, she would soon be staring them straight in the face.

Resolutely, she steadied herself.
Just let Alex be in there
, she prayed silently.
And please at last let her still be alive
. Finally she turned to the empty mullions. Her eyes took a moment to accustom to the light, then the interior of the cabin materialized from the darkness.

A cot stretched beneath the window. Though the head lay cloaked in shadow, she could see two feet protruding from the end of a ragged blanket. Two feet with long toenails and a thick growth of hair.
Ulagu
, she realized with a calm which surprised her.
Now where's Alex?
She squinted into the darkness. A puddle of moonlight fell on a knotted rope looped around the man's ankle. The rope sloped to the floor, then led to a torn mat a short distance from his bed. Mary fought back a gasp. There, not six feet away, staring straight at her, sat Alex.

She huddled there nude, her eyes riveted to Mary's face. Her golden hair hung matted and limp. Her upper lip was bloody, both eyes were almost swollen shut. Her skin seemed pulled too tightly across her skull.

For an instant Mary could only stare helplessly at the beauty who had once reigned as Miss Chance Station, Texas. The features that two days ago she had known as well as her own now looked like a stranger's. How dare this man do that to Alex! How dare this man harm anyone.
Kill him now
, the voice thundered in her brain.
Roar
through this window and tear out his eyes.

Suddenly Alex blinked, then her mouth began to quiver in a feeble version of her old smile. She put one finger to her lips, then pointed at the sleeping man and shook her head. Mary nodded her acknowledgment, then smiled. Whatever else Alex was, at least she was still alive.

A row of raccoon pelts stood on stretchers across the room, while snake skins hung from the ceiling. In one corner stood a sagging table that looked like it might have been stolen from some flea market—trinkets and clothing and toys and sporting equipment jumbled together, dripping from the table to the floor.
Souvenirs
, Mary thought, the realization raising the hairs on the back of her neck.
Ulagu takes scalps.

She pushed that out of her mind. Instead, she looked back at Alex and smiled. In the shadows, Mary could see hope rekindling in her friend's face. They would have to be beyond careful now. One sound from either of them would get them both killed. Cautiously, she reached through the shattered window and extended her index finger. Alex rose noiselessly, careful not to disturb the rope that bound her to Ulagu. In the moonlight they pressed their fingers together. Not much, but enough. The spark that had bound them together for the past twelve years passed between them again. Mary mouthed the word “later” and withdrew her arm. Alex raised her hand in farewell. With an extragavant wink, Mary grinned and nodded, then began to back away.

She had taken only a few steps when she saw Alex's mouth become a horrified gap in her face. Simultaneously she felt the ground beneath her right foot give way. With a deep
whump
she tumbled backwards. The base of her spine bounced once on something hard, then she began to slide. She scrambled to catch herself in the slick damp clay but the hole angled precipitously away; disastrously out of control, she slid lower and lower, until her left foot snagged something that felt like a small root. She trembled there suspended, her hands clutching the earth above.

Idiot
, she scolded herself.
You've tracked Alex through hell
and half of Georgia, only to fall in a stupid well!
She looked above her and saw only darkness and the stars, but then she heard voices. Alex's, then a second, deeper one. Angry, yelling.

“What the hell are you doing, Trude?” The deep voice boomed like a cannon.

“Charting my horoscope, you pinheaded asshole!” Alex's Texas twang sounded weak, but it still carried the sting of spurs. “Now just leave me alone! Go back to where you came from!”

The hoarser voice roared something back in a language Mary couldn't understand; Alex's shrill “Get out of here!” ended abruptly with a slap and a muffled cry.

As Mary struggled to cling to the ground above her she realized what was happening. Her fall had awakened Ulagu. Now Alex was creating a diversion to give her a chance to escape. By the sound of the voices overhead, she needed to move fast.

Quickly, she began to search for a foothold. Balancing on the one small root that held her, she nudged the earthen walls with her free foot. She had just found a small crack she could dig her toes into when she heard it. A soft, buttery sound. She cocked her head and listened. Surely she was imagining things. Surely this was just an old well this monster had forgotten to cover. But the sound continued. Suddenly it was joined by another; then a third.

“Oh, God!” she cried involuntarily, an icy sweat instantly bathing her skin. This was no well she had fallen into. This was Ulagu's lair, and she had fallen into Ulagu's snake pit.

Panicked, she dug her toes desperately into the earth. If she fell to the bottom she would die. You could survive one snake bite, maybe two. But a dozen? Two dozen?

“
Inadu,
” she cried the Cherokee word for
snake
as she scrambled frantically upward. If she could just lift herself enough to get her elbows above ground maybe she could get the leverage to pull herself out . . .

She felt for another toehold in the earthen walls. A shower of crumbly dirt sifted into the darkness below; the snakes rattled louder as Alex and Ulagu bellowed through the darkness above. She searched the walls with her foot. Finally, one toe found another minuscule crack. She pressed her foot into it and pushed up. Her shoulders trembled with pain, but it felt like she moved a fraction of an inch upwards.

She clung with her fingers and now dug her toes into the earth, this time a little higher. She pushed up. More earth sifted down on the snakes, but her right elbow had almost reached the grassy surface above. She pushed and kicked once more, then suddenly she could bend her arm. Pressing it hard against the ground, she pushed with her left leg and abruptly her other arm and shoulders were free. Cool, sweet air caressed her face. She tugged herself upright, then turned to the cabin. She saw nothing, but she didn't need to. Alex's screams resounded through the moonliight like souls being ferried into hell.

For a moment she crouched frozen in place. What should she do? Her first instinct was to run back and rip out Ulagu's heart with her bare hands. But Alex had screamed “Go away” and “Get out of here” too many times for her to ignore. Was she just yelling at her captor, or was it some kind of message for Mary?

She cringed as their shouts still echoed in the air. Ulagu was big and strong. His blood would be hot now, his muscles limber and warm. She would have little chance hand-to-hand with someone like that.
Better to
leave now
, the voice whispered inside her head.
Better to
sneak up and surprise him later.That was what Alex was trying
to tell you.

She turned and wriggled through the grass as quickly as she could, certain she would be discovered; waiting for Alex's screams to stop and a bullet to snap her spine. Her breath sounded like a windstorm in her ears. When she reached the back side of the cabin she gathered her strength for the final sprint to the creek, then, with only thirty more yards to go, she took off. Her lungs were on fire but her legs, her heart, kept pumping. Finally, the shadows of the bushes reached out for her as she plunged into their forgiving darkness. For an eternity she lay flat on her belly, the cool, damp rushes soft against her cheek.

When she caught her breath she sat up and looked back at the cabin. Once again it was silent and ominously still. Alex had either been beaten to unconsciousness, or to death. Suddenly Mary felt a heat begin to bubble inside her. A rage. A hunger. A desire for revenge. All at once she remembered the six stones piled upon her mother's grave, and she realized that the one act that would redeem her lay ahead.

“Tonight you have six, Mama,” she said quietly, thinking of the mystical Cherokee number that would grant her absolution. She stared up at the high, white moon. “But tomorrow you shall have seven.”