In the Woods (31 page)

‘Wait.' Harper stood. ‘When you came into our camp, searching for your husband, you were all muddy.'

‘No, I don't think so.'

‘Yes. You were covered with mud, definitely. I thought you must have been to the bog looking for him.'

‘Unless she was there, taking her ex's rifle.' Jim stood, faced Angela. ‘Jesus – did you do it? Did you kill Al?'

Slader leaned back, crossed his arms, watched the cornered look in the woman's eyes. No question. Angela Russo was the shooter.

Not that it mattered.

‘Why are you all staring at me?' Angela scooted backwards on her cot, pressed her back against the wall. ‘I didn't shoot anyone. It was Stan—'

‘Cut the crap.' Jim came at her, indignant. ‘What's the point of lying? We're going to be killed in a few hours. Tell us the truth. What did you do?'

Angela cowered, her eyes filled with tears. ‘You wouldn't understand,' she muttered. ‘None of you.'

‘Tell us anyway.' Harper's voice had authority, but it was soothing. Like a nurse's or a mom's. ‘You'll feel better.'

Angela met her eyes. ‘It was Stan,' she insisted. ‘It's all Stan's fault.'

‘Stan didn't shoot anybody.' Slader was tired of Angela playing victim. ‘Why don't you just own it?'

Tears streamed down Angela's face. ‘Own it? Why should I be blamed for ending a life? No one blamed them for ending mine.' She sniffed, smeared tears across her face. ‘Because that's what they did. They took my house, my husband, my name – they ended the life I had. And nobody, not a single person, did anything about it.'

‘So your ex-husband dumped you. How does that entitle you to kill your new husband? And my partner, who didn't even know you?' Jim's voice cracked.

Angela closed her eyes. ‘Don't you judge me. You don't know what it was like. Having Phil as a husband was an insult. A mockery. A joke. But I don't admit anything, not a single blessed thing. I don't care what you think. Or what you do. I don't even care if these people kill me. Stan and Cindi finished me a long time ago. I'm already dead.'

Above them, the trapdoor opened.

‘Angela Russo.' Slader nodded at her as he got to his feet, hitched up his pants. ‘I'll read you your rights later, but consider yourself under arrest for the murders of Al Rogers and Philip Russo.'

While she protested, he motioned for Harper and Jim to join him. Armed with metal rods, they waited for the ladder to descend. There were only three of them, but together they'd be stronger than any one of them alone.

Harper didn't pay attention to the boots. She clutched her metal rod, ready to spring, watching the man climb down the ladder rungs. Captain Slader stood ready, eyes gleaming, but it was Jim who struck first, bashing the guy's legs even before his head came through the hatch.

When it did, Harper yanked Jim by the shoulders and threw him to the ground.

‘What the hell?' Jim bounced back up, coming after Harper, but she'd whirled around, reaching for the newcomer. ‘Hank?'

Hank was on the ground, favoring the leg Jim had hit, but he reached for Harper, embracing her. Holding her. ‘Harper, thank God. Are you all right?'

Harper answered yes, but she didn't let him go. Didn't want him to see the worry in her eyes. How had he gotten there? What about the state police? He must have convinced them to let him go and followed her trail to the compound. But now what? Hank had been their last hope of rescue. Now that he'd been taken, he faced the same fate as the rest of them. Harper clung to him, picturing Chloe. She'd be okay. Trent and Vicki would take care of her. But she was so young – when she grew up, would she even remember her parents?

Never mind. There was no time for sentiment. Another man was descending the ladder.

‘Don't hit him.' Hank put a hand in front of Jim. ‘It's Daniels.'

Ranger Daniels stood at the bottom of the ladder, breathless. He looked around with wild eyes. ‘Captain Slader? Damn. They've got you, too? These locals have gone crazy. The Hunt Club's starting a damned revolution.'

Someone shouted from above. ‘Back away from the ladder. We're coming down.'

Harper finally let go of Hank, nodded at Slader, who motioned for them all to take a step back. Hunting boots stepped through the trapdoor and came down fast. A second man was on the ladder, just a few rungs up from the first.

‘Now!' Slader said. Jim took hold of the second rung, Harper of the third and Slader the bottom one. ‘Ready, and up,' Slader commanded.

The three picked up the ladder and yanked it backwards, pulling it down through the open hatch. The ladder fell flat, taking the men who were on it down with it.

They didn't fall far. As people shouted threats from the open hatch, Moose lay flat on his back, and Ax crawled onto his knees to get to his feet. Hank pounced, twisting Ax's arm behind his back while Daniels grabbed Ax's pistol from his waistband.

‘You stupid fucks.' Ax bent over, glaring at Daniels, wincing when Hank tightened his grip on his arm. ‘Are you nuts?' His eyes darted around. ‘Moose! A little help, please?'

Moose bounded to his feet and struck Jim in the face, knocking him out. Pulling a hunting knife from his belt, he went after Slader. ‘I'm going to gut you, Chief,' he growled.

Harper hung back, gauging her position, watching Slader edge back and around, armed with only a flimsy metal rod. They circled each other slowly until Moose swiped, knocked the rod from Slader's grip, and lunged. Blood spurted from Slader's shoulder, spattered the wall. Someone screamed – Angela? Harper couldn't wait any longer. She leapt at Moose, pouncing onto his back, wrapping her legs around his ribcage, grabbing his throat with one hand, clutching the wrist holding the knife with the other.

‘Take the knife,' she barked at Slader. He was bleeding but still on his feet, holding his shoulder. But Slader didn't take it. He wobbled onto a cot, staring blankly.

Moose was too strong. Harper couldn't handle him alone. She tightened her thighs, moved her hand from Moose's neck to his eyes and dug her fingers in. Moose roared, shimmied, used his free hand to claw at Harper's fingers, peeling them away one by one.

‘Huh!' Angela grunted.

Moose released Harper's fingers. Harper felt his body absorb a blow. She turned her head, saw Angela standing on one leg, swinging Slader's metal rod like a baseball, striking Moose's shins and knees. ‘Huh. Huh.'

Moose spun around, bucking, trying to throw Harper off and deck Angela. But Harper held on and pressed her fingers deeper into his eye sockets. Angela slammed him again and again, hitting his shins, his knees. Moose grunted, careening blindly around the room, stumbling over Jim's legs, crashing into a cot, finally tripping over the ladder and falling to his knees. Still Harper hung on, not releasing him or his eyes even after he dropped the knife, even after Hank told her that it was okay, that they had him, that she could let go. No, Harper stayed on his back, clinging to it as if she could ride it to freedom. She didn't get off even when Daniels shouted, ‘Look out,' and Hank called, ‘Get down, damn it.' When the shooting started, she didn't move. Finally, Hank had to dive onto her, pull her to the floor and roll them both away.

Eyelids flapping, Pete stared at the shotgun.

‘Put down your weapon and get up.' The guy had a long reddish beard, curly auburn hair. He motioned for Pete to come out of the shed.

Pete put his rifle down, stood up slowly. Didn't look around at Bob, but glimpsed him hunkering behind the rocket launcher as he stepped outside.

The guy's friend walked around from the back of the shed. He was chewing gum or maybe tobacco. He aimed his gun at Pete, smiling. ‘Well, look at what you found. Who is this?'

‘No idea. We haven't been introduced.'

‘Who do you suppose sent him?'

Sent him? Pete looked from one of them to the other, didn't like their grins.

‘Got to be the gas company. He doesn't look like a Fed – too young.'

‘Not that it matters. He's trespassing, either way.' The darker guy chewed. ‘He alone?'

The red-haired guy peeked into the shed, didn't see Bob hiding in the dark. ‘Looks like it.'

‘So what should we do, shoot him?'

‘No – wait.' Pete took a step back, couldn't stop blinking. ‘My name's Pete – I'm just up for the weekend with a friend.'

The men looked at each other. ‘What friend?'

‘No, he's not here. I got lost and wandered around for a real long time, and then I saw that fence, and I thought maybe I could find somebody here to help me …'

‘Really?' The red-haired guy lifted his chin. ‘Then what the fuck were you doing hiding in that shack?' The guy lunged forward, jabbing his muzzle into Pete's belly.

Pete bent forward, trying to protect his gut. ‘Nothing. I swear—'

‘I say we shoot him.'

‘No! Wait …' Where the hell was Bob? Was he going to just sit there and let them kill him?

‘What? You got some reason we shouldn't?' The red-haired one moved to Pete's side. ‘Something to tell us? Like, for example, the truth?'

The truth? Pete's eyelids raced. ‘Okay. Okay. I'll tell you.'

The darker one turned his head, spat out whatever was in his mouth. ‘You got like thirty seconds.'

Pete tried not to turn and look for Bob. Tried to trust that his friend would rescue him. Tried to think of something to say, but all he could think of was the truth. ‘Like I said, I came here with my friend—'

‘Aw, he's just bullshitting. Let's just shoot him.'

‘—to blow up the pipeline.'

‘What?'

Pete repeated it.

The two men gaped at him. Glanced at each other. The darker one tilted his head. ‘You're telling us that it was you set off those explosions?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘You.'

‘With my friend. Look.' Pete held up his hands. ‘That's how I got these burns.'

The men eyed his hands, his face. They looked at each other. And burst out laughing.

‘He came to …' The red-haired one guffawed. ‘To …' He couldn't finish, he was laughing so hard.

The darker one was bent over, holding his belly. ‘Can you believe that?'

‘A couple of kids—'

‘—blew up the old septic tanks.'

They roared with laughter, and while roaring, forgot about aiming their guns at Pete.

‘That'll do.' Bob stood at the door to the shed, holding a backpack.

The two men kept laughing, couldn't stop right away. Took a moment to realize that someone else had joined them. When they did, they raised their rifles, aimed them at Bob.

‘You don't want to shoot me.' Bob smiled, held up the backpack. ‘You'd set off a terrible blast that would kill us all.'

‘Bullshit,' the darker one said, but he didn't move.

‘I was looking around in the shed, and guess what I found in the refrigerator?'

The men glanced at each other.

‘I found lots of explosives. Plastic. Liquid. All kinds. And I packed it up in my backpack. Pete's, too. Thing is, I'm pretty sure some of that liquid stuff is sensitive. By “sensitive”, I mean that unless it's kept cold, it will explode on contact. Like if somebody even bumps into it. So. Here's the thing. You two are going to escort us safely to the gate and send us on our way.'

The men looked at each other, grinning. ‘Kid's got balls, right?'

‘I've also got this backpack. Want to see what happens if I drop it? Or toss it at you?'

‘All that's in this shed is ammo.' The red-haired guy turned to his friend. ‘He's bullshitting, right?'

‘Hell, Simon. You said that kid was alone. Didn't you even check?'

‘Of course I checked. I didn't see anyone.'

‘My ass you checked—'

‘Gentlemen, please.' Bob's eyes gleamed. ‘Stop bickering. Put your weapons on the ground.' He directed Pete to confiscate their rifles and radios, held the backpack like a bag of groceries.

The men hesitated, called his bluff. Pointed out that if his explosives would kill them, it would kill him and his friend, too.

Bob smiled. ‘No doubt.' He held the pack over his head as if he'd smash it on the ground.

‘For real.' Pete put his hands up. ‘You don't want to fuck with him.' He and Bob had almost died twice in the last day, and it hadn't fazed Bob. Hadn't stopped him from coming back for a third attempt.

‘I figure you guys want to kill us.' Bob lowered the backpack. ‘If you really want to, that's fine. But if I'm going, you're coming with me.'

Pete couldn't stop his eyes from blinking crazy fast. Couldn't tell if Bob was bluffing, was pretty sure he wasn't. He took the two guys' radios, heard a woman asking for a check-in, or maybe a shift check. Some kind of check. He set the radios on the ground with the rifles. And, using some cord Bob had taken from a shelf, tied the men back-to-back, inside the shed.

When he was finished binding them, Bob was beside the shed, listening to a woman on the radios, asking about Ranger Daniels. A man answered that Daniels was in the compound. He and his friend were in the hole with the other conspirators.

‘So this is real? We're going for blood?' the woman asked.

‘Oh yeah,' the man answered. ‘No prisoners. Full-out war.'

What was going on? Had she said
blood
? Pete looked around. The sun was dipping behind the trees. His burns throbbed and his stomach kept flipping. He was out of sync, disconnected, as if watching himself from far away. Forget about saving the environment and ending the use of fossil fuels; all he wanted was to run back to the Impala and fly back home.

‘This has gotten weird, Bob,' he began.

‘Sure has.' Bob grinned. ‘I don't know what we can do for those women. Let's just gather up our stuff and do what we came here to do.'