Inferno (16 page)

Using the near miss as an opportunity, I bolted towards the tree line.  I was pumping my body as fast as I could through a waist high field, but still heard Sara’s pounding feet gaining.  I heard an echoing boom followed closely by a whizzing sound flying past my ear.  A crash and muffled cursing from behind had me praying for the allowance I needed to reach cover safely.

I broke free of the meadow, weaving deep into the shelter of the woods.  Sara began calling out insults and threats as she crossed the threshold.  Hiding behind a thick trunk, I ripped a ragged strip from the hem of my shirt.  Needing to end the trail of blood shadowing my movements, I wrapped the wound as best as I could. 

I set out, picking my way quietly through the foliage, and listening intently for any signs of my now silent stalker.  A snapping twig to my left, forced me into a low crouch, immobilizing me.  A bullet exploded the bark of a nearby tree.  I remained motionless until I heard movement heading away from my hiding spot.  Holding my breath until I was sure I was alone, I choose a new direction and began to move.  Thunder rumbled both helping and hindering my flight. 

********************

The Escalade followed the sirens speeding down the dirt road, skidding to a stop on the grassy berm.  Ethan and Makayla vaulted from the front, followed by both of their fathers.  They hurried to where uniforms were huddled.  Makayla gasped, covering her mouth with her hand at the sight of the dead man lying in the grass.  She backpedaled, falling into Frank’s arms, preventing her from tumbling in the sticky grass.

Detective Carlson appeared from inside a small, deteriorating, stone block outbuilding.  “The dusty flooring has been disturbed in there.  This is where she was held.”  He ordered two officers to search the main building, and then he began to inspect the scene before him, barking at everyone to quit mucking up his crime scene.  He studied the disturbed dirt, crouching in spots to get a better look. 

The two officers returned, confirming what Carlson already knew.  The house was empty.  Standing, the detective addressed the gathering, eyes still roaming across the ground.  “Coffield, call in a bus and keep the civilians here.  Do not let ‘em touch anything.”  Raising his head, he blasted Ethan with a wave of authority.  “I mean it Storm.  I’ve been lenient with you so far, but if you want your girlfriend back in one piece, you need to stay here and outta our way.”  Impaling Ethan with an uncompromising stare, he spoke to Officer Coffield.  “Storm gives you any trouble, cuff him, and put him in a squad.”

The detective swept a trail with his eyes.  He began with the ground at his feet, moving across the yard towards a golden field, and finally ending with an intent stare into the distance.  With a frightening smile, that no doubt has starred in countless nightmares, he spoke to the rest of his men.  “Saddle up boys, we’re going hunting.”

Ethan stood next to his father, clenching his fists as he watched the men wade into the high grass.  Frank placed his hand on his son’s shoulder.  “Carlson’s the best.  He’ll find her, have faith.”

“I’m not worried that he won’t find her.  It’s the shape she’ll be in that’s got me concerned.”

Mac and MaKayla came to stand beside the pair.  Eyes glued to the spot where the police disappeared, Mac affirmed, “she may be quiet, but she’s the toughest of my girls.  If anyone can make it out of this, it will be her.  Alexis is resilient and smart.  She has a natural knack for remaining calm and rational, better than most men I know.  She’ll be just fine.  She has to be.”

Speaking into a radio, Officer Coffield provided and update on the team’s progress and a detailed description of the scene in front of him.  A gunshot rang out in the distance, echoing from the surrounding hills and valleys, and the group cultivated into an edgy silence.  Coffield resumed his narrative, requesting an ambulance and coroner’s van.  Thunder boomed, reverberating around the countryside, and a gentle shower releases from a clear sky, forcing the group to seek shelter under a roof overlooking the forest.  

********************

The light rain has made the ground slick, and I keep slipping on wet debris. I’m not a trained survivalist, but I don’t need to be a Boy Scout to tell that I am not stealthy enough to traipse over the muddy ground without leaving tracks a blind man could follow.  I need a place to hide so I can regroup.  I need a better plan, my stay as far away from the crazy ass, gun wielding bitch by running around a forest I’m not familiar with, isn’t going to get me out of here.  I’m not sure I could even find my way out, not on purpose anyway. 

Fatigue is rearing its ugly head.  It is getting harder and harder to keep going at any rate of speed.  I’m not sure how much more my body can endure.  The temporary bandage I improvised is drenched with blood, and the rain is washing it down my arm.  I need to make a new one.  Passing out from blood loss would be very inconvenient right now.

The rain stopped, but the beads of water are still falling at random intervals from above.  Each time I hear a drop or a critter emerging to engage in a little post storm exploration, fear seizes my heart.  I’m starting to hear footfalls all around me.  I know it’s irrational.  Sara and I are the only people out here, and she cannot be in more than one place at a time.  Maybe I am hurt worse than I initially thought, and I’m hallucinating.  Fantastic, as if I don’t already have enough, now I get to add going mental to my growing list of problems.

Moving slowly, I’m crawling over a downed tree when I hear it.  Someone is crashing through the underbrush, crunching the flora beneath their feet.  Sara is nearby and heading this way.  Adrenaline spikes through my system, pushing me onward.  No matter how many turns I make or how fast I go, I can’t shake her.  She’s closing in, and my luck has just run out.  I’m standing with my back to the edge of a steep hill, and I have nowhere else to go.  It’s not terribly high, but would take too long to traverse under the circumstances, leaving me vulnerable.  With flight out of the question, I prepare myself to fight.  Just as a shape rounds a tangled mass of vines, I take an instinctual step backwards, plummeting head over heels down the sudden embankment.  Coming to a stop at the bottom of the ravine, a dislodged rock lands a solid blow to my head, rendering me unconscious.

********************

Detective Carlson is following a blood trail, red smears coat the golden shoots every few feet, leading them into a wooded area.  The trail ends near the base of a big oak.  He switches tactics, combing the forest floor for any signs of disruption.  Using broken twigs and torn leaves as a guide, he travels deeper into the canopy.  His men fan out, following him at irregular intervals.

He tracks his prey, standing at the apex of a trail before it branches off to the left.  A bullet casing lies at his feet.  Scanning the area, he notices bark stripped unnaturally from an adjacent tree.  Moving in that direction, the detective stops, kneeling at a patch of decimated foliage.  Someone, presumably Reed, crouched, hiding behind the brush.  Blood droplets indicate she’s the one injured, but the amount says it’s either not life threatening, or she’s lost too much already.  Carlson weighs his options, deciding to track and remove the threat first. 

Movement up ahead puts the team on high alert.  With a raised fist, he wordlessly orders the men to halt.  Assessing their location, he raises a finger high, moving in a circular motion, prompting the other three to circle silently, surrounding the suspect.  When the forces are in position, a double whistle signals the others to begin moving in, trapping their target.

“ELIZABETH PACK.  THIS IS DETECTIVE JOEL CARLSON.  YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR THE MURDER OF STANLEY MONROE AND FOR THE KIDNAPPING AND ATTEMPTED MURDER OF ALEXIS REED.  PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPON AND PLACE YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD, LOCKING YOUR FINGERS TOGETHER.”

Sara looked around, surprised to see guns pointing from all directions.  From his vantage point, Carlson could see the fanatical gleam in her eyes.  Throwing her a second warning, the officers watched as Sara transformed from a homicidal killer to a misunderstood victim.  Surrendering her firearm, she began to narrate a story, reversing the roles that she and Alexis played. 

********************

Hours passed before there was a sign of anyone emerging from the darkened shadow.  Two uniformed officers escorted a sobbing Sara, placing her in the backseat of a police car.  The older man approached the waiting family, informing them of the decision to remove the threat in order to improve the ease of a successful rescue.

He recounted a simplified version of events, admitting that Lex appeared to be injured and confirming the probability that the blood found upon their initial arrival was hers.  The officer was also quick to inform them that they did not believe the wound was life threatening, easing some of their worry.  After fielding their questions, he joined his partner, and together they drove the prisoner away from the scene.

********************

I came to lying on my back, stretched out on the cold, wet dirt.  My whole body aches, protesting even the thought of moving.  A rugged looking man is kneeling over me, cautioning me not to move. 
Like that’s going to be a problem
.  I can feel the presence of another person near my ankles, but I’m too sore and exhausted to care.  I start to lower my lids, and the man starts yelling in my face.

“Stay with me Alexis.  I need you to look at me.  Open your eyes Reed!” 

I do as I’m told, but I’m not happy about it.  I’m not sure why I feel the need to tell this stranger how annoying he’s being, but I do.  “You can stop yelling at me.  I’m tired, not deaf,” I snapped.  In my mind, I roared at this man like a lion.  In reality, I sounded more like a newborn kitten.

He let out a manly chuckle, saying, “I can see why Storm likes you.  Ms. Reed, I’m Detective Joel Carlson, and down by your feet is Detective Rick Statler.  We’re going to get you out of here, but first we need to evaluate the damage.  Can you tell me if anything hurts?” 

“I’ve been shot and I fell down a hill, everything hurts,” I muttered sarcastically. I uttered what I thought should have been obvious to anyone with a set of eyes and the reason I fell, along with memories from the past few days, came flooding back.  Awareness that I had left a very discernible line leading to where I remained motionless for far too long, forced panic to saturate my system.  Knowing I had to move before Sara found me, I attempted to rise.  My efforts met the resistance of two sets of hands holding me immobile.

With terror coloring my words, I released my fear.  “I have to move before she finds me.”

“We got her.  She can’t hurt you.  There is no one out here but us.  I need you to calm yourself, sweetheart.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in.  The realization that the danger was over and the knowledge that I was finally safe took root, tears of relief pricked at the corner of my eyes.  Adrenaline receded, and my muscles relaxed.  Feeling the transformation, gentle hands began running over my body.

Firm fingers began pressing at the sides and back of my neck.  I felt movement along both arms, carefully avoiding the incision already present.  Large hands massaged up and down my sides, from my armpits all the way down my hips and upper thighs.  Satisfied with the results so far, the detective pushed gently on my abdomen, quickly examining the entire area.  Palms ran over one leg and then the other, vanishing when pressure placed on my ankle produced a feeble yelp.

“Does that hurt?” he asked, what I thought again was a stupid question.  My immediate reaction was,
no dude, I always cry out in pain for the hell of it
, but what I said aloud was a simple yes.

I felt the denim scrape up my calf, allowing the men to determine the extent of my impairment.  They gingerly prodded tender flesh, each poke mirrored by an anguished whimper.  The material was back in place, and the detective refocused on the fabric encircling my arm.  Peeling away sticky cloth revealed the meaty cut.  The bleeding had slowed, becoming a congealed gel around the edges.  He hid the gory split with a clean bandaged ripped from the sleeve of his tee.

“All things considered, I don’t think you’re too bad.  Your arm will need stitches and it looks like you have a sprain.  I’ll feel better about it once we get you to the medics though.”

He studied our surroundings intently, finally coming to some type of conclusion.  Helping me to my feet, the detectives assisted me up and out of the gully.  Progress was slow as we climbed our way up the steep slope, with me gritting my teeth at the pain shooting up my leg.  When we reached the summit, Detective Carlson swung me up into his arms and tucked me in close to his upper body.

********************

Sunlight was fading, but a full moon smiled down from its home in the sky, offering the only support it had to offer.  Ethan remained vigilant at his post, eyes trained on the horizon.  Several hours have passed since the kidnapper was taken into custody.  Never voicing it aloud, fear of what the time lapse implied was growing stronger.  Another thirty minutes passed before movement registered in the distance.

Ethan met the party long before they could reach the halfway point.  Seeing the woman he loved sent relief to wash through his body.  She was filthy, mud and small pieces of debris matted her long hair.  Dirty skin peeked from holes torn in her jeans.  The shirt she wore the night of her abduction is ragged, displaying a multitude of scratches and cuts covering soft skin.  A mixture of brown and red smears paints her skin and clothing.  She is tiny and fragile huddled in the other man’s arms.