Missing (30 page)

 
"Wes?"

 
He answered without taking his eyes from the road. "What?"

 
"What's going to happen to us?"

 
"Nothing," he said. "I promise you that."

 
"What about my brothers? What about Storm?"

 
"God only knows," he muttered.

 
She leaned over her father, holding him closer and tighter as the miles sped by. Suddenly she saw the road leading to Granny Devon's house. They were past it before she could speak.

 
"Stop, Wes. Stop!"

 
He slammed on the brakes, sending the truck into a sideways skid. Smoke was bearing down on them in thick clouds, loaded with tiny flying embers.

 
"Granny Devon! Her house is just up that road. She'll die if we don't get her out!"

 
Wes wouldn't let himself look at how close the fire was behind them. Instead, he slammed the truck into Reverse and backed up to the driveway, then shifted into Drive and raced up the road.

 
The smoke was seeping into the cab of the truck now. Gideon started to cough. Ally grabbed the handkerchief from his back pocket and put it over his face.

 
"Here, Daddy, breathe through this," she said.

 
He clutched it against his face, and then slumped forward.

 
There was a muscle jumping at the corner of Wes's mouth as he struggled to speed on an unfamiliar road, and he kept feeling uncertain as to whether this was really happening or was part of his past.

 
"How much farther?" he asked.

 
"There!" Ally cried, and pointed through the smoke. "It's there!"

 
Wes barely missed the porch as he braked to a swift stop.

 
"Wait here!" he said, and jumped out on the run.

 
Within seconds he was gone, swallowed up by the smoke. Ally couldn't see him, and the only thing she could hear was the roar and crackle as the fire jumped from treetop to treetop.

 
Just when she thought they were going to die, Wes appeared out of the smoke carrying the tiny woman in his arms.

 
Ally opened her door and held out her arms. "Give her to me!" she cried. "She can sit in my lap." Wes dropped Granny Devon inside and slammed the door on the run. The fire was so close that the skin on his face was starting to burn. His hair was singed, and the metal studs at the seams in his blue jeans were so hot they were burning his skin.

 
Granny Devon's voice was faint, and her body was trembling. She leaned against Ally for strength, as well as comfort.

 
"What's happening, Ally girl? I smell smoke."

 
"Forest fire, Granny. The mountain is on fire."

 
"Oh, Lord, poor Mr. Biddle. Thank you for comin' to get me, darlin'. I surely would have died."

 
"We're not out of danger yet," Ally said as Wes slid into the seat, turned the truck around and once again accelerated through the smoke. This time he was driving almost on instinct, because the road was barely visible. Once he ran into the ditch but quickly backed out, and twice he narrowly missed hitting a tree. Just when he thought they were done for, they emerged from Granny's drive, back onto the main road leading down to Blue Creek.

 
A wind was starting to blow, pushing the fire in a more easterly direction, which would bring it directly down their backs.

 
Granny shifted nervously in Ally's arms. Even though she couldn't see what was happening, she felt the power of the blaze, as well as Wes's erratic driving.

 
Ally tightened her grip on Granny's waist with one arm and held her father steady with the other as she looked at Wes. His shoulders were tensed, and he was holding on so tight to the steering wheel that his knuckles were white.

 
"Wes, are we going to get out of this?"

 
"I won't let you die. I swear." Then he suddenly swerved and cursed softly.

 
"What happened?" Ally cried.

 
"The wind's shifted. Hold on!"

 
He pounded the gas pedal all the way to the floor. Now they were going so fast that Ally thought they'd gone airborne. Sweat ran out of Wes's hair and into his eyes, momentarily blinding him. Blinking rapidly and ignoring the salty sting, he sped past a wild-eyed doe and her fawn. Their backs had been singed, and their tongues were foam-flecked and hanging out the sides of their mouths' as they ran.

 
"Oh, God," Ally whispered, then looked away. Those poor animals were already dead and just didn't know it.

 
Up ahead, a tree at the side of the road began to crack, teetering from the pressure of fire and wind. Wes saw it swaying and knew it would be close if they made it past before it fell.

 
"The tree!" Ally screamed.

 
"It'll be all right," Granny said, and grabbed hold of Ally's hand.

 
She was right. They sailed past the tree mere seconds before it fell, blocking the road behind them. But they were safe, and yard by yard they drove out of the smoke, then, finally, away from the fire. When they finally reached the river for which Blue Creek was named, they knew they were safe.

 
Blue Creek Bridge had been built during the WPA days following the Great Depression. The iron spanning the wide, shallow river was rusty red and in need of painting. The creosote-treated lumber that had first made up the bridge bed had been replaced several times over the years, and stood up well to the wear and tear. But today, as Wes sped across it, the planks rattled long and loud. He'd been struggling to stay focused on reality ever since the smoke had caught up with them, but that sound was, in Wes's mind, so reminiscent of machine gun fire that he actually swerved and ducked.

 
Ally had been watching him, and when she saw his expression change from intent to distracted, she grabbed at his arm.

 
"Wes! Wes! We made it! We're across the bridge."

 
Her voice yanked his focus back in place, but it was her touch that settled the moment of confusion and panic. He shook his head slowly, as if shaking off a bad dream, then began to tap the brakes to slow down.

 
A dozen men were gathered just beyond the bridge. Wes recognized them as the firemen he'd turned back. When one of them hailed him, he braked to a stop. It was his boss, Harold, from the feed store. Harold leaned into the window and grabbed hold of Wes's arm.

 
"Wes...you don't know how glad we are to see you people, and thank God you got to Granny." Then he looked back up the mountain and frowned. "Where're Danny and Porter?"

 
Gideon moaned and covered his face.

 
"We don't know," Wes said, then added, "We need a doctor."

 
Harold turned to the man beside him.

 
"Is Doc Ferris still over at Kathy's Cafe"?"

 
"Yeah."

 
"Go get him, will you? Gideon don't look too good." Then he noticed the blood on Ally's face and clothes. "Good grief, honey. Someone get Granny Devon out of Ally's lap. Looks like she's in need of a doctor, too."

 
Granny Devon patted Ally's hand.

 
"She's gonna be just fine, but I would appreciate it if someone would take me to my niece Charlotte's house. She's probably worried half to death."

 
Wes jumped out of the truck and raced around to open the door beside Ally. As he leaned in to lift Granny out of her lap, their gazes met.

 
For a moment, Ally felt as if time stopped. She could see her reflection in the pupils of Wes's eyes and a streak of ash on the side of his cheek.

 
His expression softened as his gaze slid to her mouth, but when he saw her injuries up close, he frowned again. Then he remembered what he was supposed to be doing, and lifted Granny up and out.

 
"Easy does it, ma'am," Wes said. "Ally, watch her head for me, will you?"

 
"Yes, of course," Ally said, and helped ease the little woman out of the cab. "Take care, Granny," Ally called as they led her away.

 
Dr. Ferris appeared, took one look at the occupants inside the truck and frowned.

 
"I think we better get Gideon to the hospital, and we need to get those scratches on Ally's face cleaned up."

 
"Lead the way," Wes said, and got back into the truck and followed the doctor to the small country hospital.

 
As soon as they pulled up to the emergency room door, a nurse emerged with a wheelchair. Wes helped Gideon into the chair, then the nurse wheeled him into emergency, while Wes followed behind, carrying Ally. They put Gideon in a bed in one curtained area and Ally a short distance away in another.

 
Ally winced as she settled back against the pillow, then a nurse appeared.

 
"Hey, Marsha," Ally said.

 
Marsha had known the Monroe family all of her life and was obviously concerned by their condition.

 
"Hello, honey," she said. "What on earth happened to you and your daddy?"

 
"We got caught in the fire," Ally said.

 
Marsha gave Wes a curious look, but when he chose not to speak, she turned her attention to the job at hand. When she began to remove the shoe on Ally's injured foot, Ally bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain.

 
"That sore, honey?"

 
"Yes."

 
"Sorry. The doctor will be with you shortly."

 
"Yes, all right, but could you tell me how Daddy is doing?"

 
"We'll know something soon," Marsha said.

 
Wes watched the nurse as she poked and prodded at the bruising and swelling on Ally's foot and leg. Then, when she gave a slight twist to the foot and caused Ally even more pain, he grabbed her arm.

 
"That's enough," he said.

 
Marsha frowned. "Sir, I need to ask you to go sit in the waiting room."

 
"No."

 
Marsha was more than a bit taken aback. She'd had people argue with her before but never had one flatly refuse.

 
"I'm sorry, sir, but you can't—"

 
"You're hurting her unnecessarily," Wes said. "X-ray her foot or leave it alone."

 
Ally gave Wes's hand a quick squeeze.

 
"Marsha is just doing her job," she said softly.

 
The frown on Wes's face just got deeper.

 
"I didn't say she wasn't," he muttered. "I just told her to do it better."

 
Marsha laughed in spite of herself. "It's all right, honey. He's sort of right, you know. We poke and prod on so many people, we often forget there's pain behind the reason they're here. Just rest easy. Someone will be down in a bit to take you to X ray."

 
Wes watched until she was gone, then turned back to Ally. She looked so small and hurt, lying there on the bed. And he kept remembering the fear on her face when she'd come running out of the trees. He laid the back of his hand against her cheek, taking care not to touch the scratches.

 
"What did he do to you?" Wes asked.

 
Ally shuddered. The look in Wes's eyes was deadly.

 
"He never touched me," she said. "But not for lack of trying. He was chasing me. The ATV ran out of fuel. I pushed it off the road and started running." Then she grabbed Wes's hand. "Thank God you were home."

 
"What the hell were you doing up there? I told you he was stalking you. You had to know it was dangerous."

 
His anger fueled her own. She rose up on her elbows.

 
"Family matters to me," she said. "You didn't see how Porter and Danny had been behaving. They were scared of what was up there, and yet they went back. I had to know why."

 
Wes frowned. "Scared...how do you mean?"

 
Ally shuddered. "I don't quite know how to explain, but you didn't see them. The first day they worked for him, they came home in a terrible mood. It was like they were mad at each other and everyone else, which is just not normal for them. And their clothes... Porter wouldn't let me touch their clothes. They stripped off outside and put them in the washer, and then he told me not to touch them—ever. Every day they were there was worse than the last. Then today, when I got to Storm's property, they were like crazy men, slapping at themselves, and digging at their eyes as if they were trying to rip them out of their sockets. There were insects crawling over them like some God-driven plague, and then they were fighting. It was awful. They never fight. Not physically—ever. And there were the animals."

 
"The dead ones?" Wes asked.

 
"Yes. They were everywhere. Skunks, raccoons, squirrels, deer, birds, everything. But nothing was eating them. They were just there...rotting."

 
She covered her face. "I can't explain it, but I think the Devil is on the mountain."

 
Wes's gut knotted. He'd felt the same thing the night he'd snuck onto Storm's property, but he hadn't been able to put it in words. Ally had.

 
Ally clung to him again. "I'm afraid...for my brothers...for us...for everyone." Then her face suddenly crumpled as tears spilled down her face.

 
"What?" Wes asked.

 
"Buddy. I just remembered him. He was such a good dog. He didn't deserve such a terrible end."

 
"Yeah, death hardly ever announces its arrival."

 
Immediately, Ally realized what she'd said.

 
"Oh, Wes, I'm so sorry. Here I am moaning over a dog, when you lost your whole family. Forgive me for being so insensitive."

 
"No. Don't do that," he said.

 
"Do what?"

 
"You can't measure regret and sadness against whose loss is the greater. Grief is part of healing, or so I've been told. I do know this. You have to grieve for what you loved, so it seems okay to me to be sad about Buddy. He was a really good dog."

 
Ally leaned toward him and closed her eyes. "I'm so scared."

 
She spoke so softly, he almost didn't hear. He scooted onto the side of the bed and put his arms around her.

 
"I won't let anything happen to you," Wes said.

 
Ally slid her arms around his waist. "I'm sorry, Wes Holden."

 
"For what?"

 
"For delaying your journey. If I hadn't offered you my house, you would have been long gone and free of this awful mess."

 
"My life was already a mess before I got here," he said. "Knowing you has made it better."

 
Ally shivered. She'd come close to dying today, and she knew if she didn't say what was in her heart, she would regret it for the rest of her life.

 
"It wasn't just kindness that made me offer you a place to stay."

 
"What do you mean?"

 
"This is going to sound crazy, but after what we've been through, leaving it unsaid is even crazier. All my life, I've had the same dream. I used to imagine that a stranger would come walking out of the trees behind the house and into my life. Just like you did. When I saw you, I thought you were nothing but a manifestation of those dreams. You asked for a drink of water, just like in my dream, so you see, I had no choice but to offer you shelter, because I have been waiting for you to come."

 
Wes was touched, and yet so torn. She deserved so much, and what was left of him was hardly worth having. He felt as if he would be cheating her if he took advantage of her affection.

 
"Oh, Ally, I am so messed up."

 
"And I am falling in love with you," she said.

 
Wes took her in his arms. "What if I hurt you?"

 
"What if I die without ever having known what it's like to love a man?"

 
He stilled, his voice barely above a whisper as he laid a hand at her waist. "You've never been with a man?"

 
"No."

 
He willed his heartbeat to a slower rhythm and then leaned down. And while Ally was waiting for the rest of her life to begin, Wes kissed her.

 
Her lips were soft, but her will was strong. The salty taste of her blood was on his lips, and still he couldn't bring himself to pull away. It wasn't until he felt her hand at the back of his neck that he remembered where they were.

 
He tore himself away from the kiss, then held her face, staring long and hard into her eyes.

 
"Look at me," he said, and when she would have looked away in embarrassment, he said it again, only louder. “No. Don't turn away. Look at me. I'm all messed up in the head. Odd things trigger flashbacks that make me think I'm still at war. What if I hurt you?"

 
"Just think of what my life would have been like if you hadn't come. Roland Storm was already here, creating God knows what. My brothers would still have been working for him, and I would have done nothing different than what I've already done. But if you hadn't been here, I wouldn't have been able to out run Storm or the fire. That's what would have hurt me. Not you."

 
Wes felt as if he'd just been kicked in the gut. She was right.

 
"Okay, but nothing matters right now but getting you and your father well, and finding a place to keep you safe."

 
"And finding out what happened to Danny and Porter."

 
Wes nodded, but it would have been very difficult, if not impossible, to get past the power of that are. If they’d been caught in its path, there was no way they could have survived.

 
As Wes and Ally made their escape down the mountain to Ally's home. Roland was crawling out of the little indentation in which he'd been hiding. He'd smelled the smoke at the same time he'd taken cover, and after thinking about the smoke he'd seen earlier at his home, it made him nervous to be on the mountain without knowing what was going on. He knew the drought that West Virginia had been suffering would make putting out a forest fire extremely difficult, but he still couldn't see much except a little smoke over the treetops. The only thing that caused him much worry was that the smoke was moving in his direction. Anxious to see exactly what he was facing, he ran to the road for a clearer view.

 
To his horror, about a mile away was a rapidly approaching wall of smoke. As he stood, he thought he could hear the pop and crackle of the fire as it ate its way through the trees. At that point, he knew he was facing the tenuousness of his mortality. Without a moment of hesitation, he turned around and began to run.