No Cry For Help (21 page)

CHAPTER 56

Mr. Black anchored his feet on either side of the well, gripped the nylon rope tightly in both hands, and descended into darkness. When his right foot slipped over the crevasse and found purchase on the narrow ledge, he was able to stop.

He squatted down and peered between his bent knees at the two boys. At first glance, they didn’t look much like brothers. The younger one had ginger hair and a mass of freckles that covered forehead, nose and cheeks as though a jar of peanut butter had exploded through a colander. The slender nose and bright eyes, however, clearly showed which parent he favored.

The older one had dark hair, large protruding ears and a longer, more adult face. It was a face he still needed to grow into. And despite being just as terrified as his brother, his small hands were curled into protective, fight-ready fists.
Like father, like son
.

Mr. Black didn’t know how to look unthreatening and he imagined his fierce coal-black face was exactly what little white boys feared most of finding in the dark.

He smiled, but that elicited a squeal of fright from the younger one.

“M-m-make him g-g-go away.” The younger boy buried his face in his older brother’s chest.

“If I go away,” said Mr. Black, “you’ll die down here. Both of you. In the dark and the wet and the cold. Do you want that?”

The older brother attempted to lift his chin and steel his gaze, but fear made his lower lip quiver and courage lost its way in the inky folds of Mr. Black’s shirt.

“We want to go home.” His voice barely reached a whisper.

“Only one way to do that.” Mr. Black glanced skyward. “You must rise.”

The older brother gulped and lifted his gaze slightly higher, but he still fell short of Mr. Black’s stare. “How can we trust you?”

“I haven’t said anything about trust,” said Mr. Black. “But I will make you a promise.”

The younger brother lifted his face. “W-w-what’s th-th-that?”

Mr. Black inexplicably smiled wider, but the exposure of that many shiny white teeth made the young boy clamp his eyes shut and bury his face again.

“Have you always stuttered?” Curious. A flicker of memory; the smell of smoke and burning children.

“It’s getting better,” said the older brother. His voice had become less tremulous, like the first flutter of a hatchling’s wing. Not yet strong enough to fly and yet tempted by the possibility. “Fred goes to a speech therapist after school.”

Mr. Black cocked his head to one side and sized up the older boy. Despite everything, he still had fight. Perhaps he took after his mother after all.

The younger boy, Fred, opened his eyes again. “Wh-wh-wh-wh . . .” His face turned red, but he couldn’t get the words out.

“He wants to know what your promise is?” said the older boy.

Mr. Black cocked his head to the other side. “How do you know that’s what he wanted to ask?”

“Because I want to know, too.”

“And will you believe me?”

“If you promise.”

Mr. Black straightened his legs and swung away so that his head and upper torso vanished from the cone of artificial light being shone from above. In the darkness, he ground his teeth and refocused his energy. His curiosity about the children was unhealthy. Their trust and naivety stirred an anger that constricted blood vessels and made his head start to pound. He inhaled deeply. Remembered who he was. The shadow. The ghost. The killer.

He bent his knees and dipped back into the light.

“I promise to take you and your brother out of this dark place. Nothing more.” He didn’t smile or attempt any expression of friendliness. “I can take one at a time.”

“Take Fred,” said the older boy. “I can wait.”

Mr. Black snarled at the growing bravery in the boy’s voice. He swung in close until his face was inches from the boy’s alarmingly large eyes.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” he growled. “I made a promise to get you out of the hole. That’s where the pact ends. Understand?”

The boy’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ll wait here,” he repeated in a shakier voice.

“Yeah,” said Mr. Black. “Like you’ve got a choice.”

The younger boy screamed hysterically as Mr. Black snatched him off the shelf, threw him on his back, and climbed the rope.

WHEN THEY
broke the surface, Gallagher grabbed hold of the boy and untangled his rigidly locked arms from around Mr. Black’s neck.

“What kept you? It sounded like a bloody U.N. debate down there.”

“They’re alive, aren’t they?” said Mr. Black.

“So?”

“They’d be less trouble dead, but more awkward to carry.”

Gallagher snorted and tightened his grip on the squirming boy’s wrist. “Get the other one.”

WHEN BOTH
boys were finally out of the well, Gallagher and Mr. Black headed back to the house. They were only halfway across the clearing when the woman burst through the kitchen door and came running towards them.

The boys saw her and instantly transformed into squirming, mewling vermin with jagged teeth and sharp, dirt-encrusted nails.

Gallagher cried out in pain and let the younger boy go.

“Little prick bit me,” he snarled.

Mr. Black held onto his captive for a short while longer, just to prove a point, before finally relenting.

The boys ran across the muddy yard at breakneck speed before tumbling into their mother’s waiting embrace.

Mr. Black turned to Gallagher.

“What are you planning to do with them?”

“Not me,” said Gallagher. “You.”

Mr. Black slid his tongue across his teeth in an attempt not to show his true reaction.

“And what do you want me to do?”

“Take them to Canada,” said Gallagher. “Drop them at that friend of Wallace’s. The Indian.”

Mr. Black was puzzled. He hadn’t told Gallagher about his encounter with Crow.

“Why?” he asked.

“It’ll draw Wallace back there pronto. Once he’s across the border, you’ll tip the cops and that’ll end this.”

“End it?”

Gallagher grinned. “The Mounties are looking for a man who may have killed his family and dumped the bodies, right? We give them two of the bodies. Only they’re stored in the basement of his best friend’s house.” Gallagher laughed. “Let Wallace explain his way out of that one.”

Understanding dawned.

“You don’t want the boys alive.”

“Fuck, no,” said Gallagher. “Like you said, they’re less trouble dead. Be as messy as you like.”

CHAPTER 57

Wallace was dumbfounded as he accepted the phone from Crow and placed it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Wallace? It’s Delilah.”

“Delilah?”

At the mention of his wife’s name, Crow winked at Wallace and snapped the shotgun to his shoulder. He pointed it unwaveringly at Ronson.

“Is everything alright?” Wallace asked in a panic.

“We’re fine,” said Delilah, “but listen. Alicia posted an update to her Facebook page.”

“When?”

“Within the last half hour.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” Delilah became flustered and her voice rose in pitch. “It doesn’t tell me
—”

“OK,” Wallace blurted, angry at himself for the question. “What did she say?”

“It’s kinda strange. Here, I’ll read it out: ‘SOS. SOS. High hill. Ocean visible. Trees. 2 men. Military? Afraid. Name Douglas. Boys are—’ That’s where it ends. She must have been interrupted.”

Wallace’s head spun and the locking ability of his knee joints suddenly began to fail. He shoved the phone at Crow before staggering to the corner and dropping into an old armchair. His stomach churned as he buried his face in his hands and allowed tears to flow unabashedly.

S.O.S.

Save Our Souls.

Alicia and the boys were still alive.

Thank God.

“YOU OKAY?”
asked Crow.

Wallace looked up and wiped his eyes. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s just a relief to know she’s still fighting, that we’re not too late.” His voice broke and he struggled to get the words out. “All this time, I didn’t know.”

“How could you?” said Crow. “Nobody else even believed you.”

Wallace looked up through puffy eyelids. “You did.”

Crow shrugged. “Even then, I could’ve done more.”

Wallace shook off the suggestion. “I wouldn’t be this close without your help. Laurel only trusted me because you did.”

Crow smiled at the mention of Laurel’s name. “She’s a hell of a woman, ain’t she? Hope my girls turn out as good as she has.”

There was a hint of sadness in his friend’s voice that troubled Wallace. Almost as though he thought he might not be returning home to watch his daughters grow.

“They will,” said Wallace. “They’re being raised by two of the best people I know.”

CROW SLIPPED
the phone into his pocket. When his gaze returned to Wallace, his smile was gone and his tone had returned to business.

“I had Delilah read Alicia’s message back to me. She only mentions two men.” His voice became iron. “We can take them.”

Wallace drew on his friend’s strength. He wiped at his face again, took several deep breaths and stood up.

“OK.” He tried to sound strong. “I’m ready.”

They turned their attention to Ronson who hadn’t moved an inch from his spot on the couch. His eyes darted around the room at a frantic pace and his tongue slithered across his lips like a serpent.

“Is Gallagher’s place on a hill overlooking the ocean?” Wallace asked.

Ronson gulped and nodded.

“Do you know how to get there?”

Ronson shrugged. “I’ve been up once when he was first starting to build. Most of the time when he wants something, he just calls or—”

“Who’s the second man?” interrupted Crow.

Ronson sucked air through his teeth. “Probably Bone.”

“Tennyson Bone,” said Wallace, remembering the computer print-outs. “A tall black man? Shaved head?”

“Yeah,” said Ronson. “That’s him.”

Wallace caught Crow’s eye. “You talked to Laurel?”

“That’s how I found you.”

“If this Bone character is the same one who surprised us at the guard’s house, they probably have that blond bastard with them, too. He’s injured, but still . . . that makes three.”

Crow didn’t blink. “I still like our odds. This black man and I have unfinished business.”

Wallace turned, curious. “Why’s that?”

“He killed JoeJoe and put me in hospital for a short while.”

“Christ,” said Wallace. “Why?”

Crow’s eyes glistened. “He was looking for you.”

Wallace cringed and his face turned pale. “God, Crow, I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault, but I aim to make him pay.” Crow turned his attention to Ronson. “And you’re going to help.”

Ronson threw up his hands in frustration. “I only set up the phones, man. I didn’t get involved in any revenge shit, but you don’t want to mess with Gallagher. He’s the bravest motherfucker I ever served un
—”

“Brave?” Wallace sneered. “Is that what you call abducting an innocent woman and two young boys?”

Ronson lifted his shirt, exposing his scars. “You see these? Just fucking games, man. Gallagher kept those al Qaeda bastards off me as long as he could. They were cutting him to pieces and he was spitting it right back in their faces. Every time they moved on me, he found some way to bring the focus back to him. I wouldn’t be alive today if—”

“Who fucking cares,” snapped Wallace. “If this is what you do with your life, you don’t bloody deserve it.”

“I agree.” Crow lowered his shotgun and removed a large knife from a leather sheath on his belt. He held it up to the light. “I say we finish what they began.”

At the sight of the glistening knife, Ronson began to shake uncontrollably and the front of his boxers darkened with urine.

People like to say that what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. But in Wallace’s experience, the opposite held more truth. Ronson had been tortured to within an inch of his life and now it merely took the threat of violence to bring the nightmare flooding back.

Wallace held up one hand. “We don’t have time for this. We need to get to where that son of a bitch is holding Alicia and my boys.” He pointed at the cowering man on the couch. “He knows where that is.”

CHAPTER 58

When Sgt. Gallagher reached the reunited family, Alicia threw the boys behind her back and bared her teeth.

“You son of a bitch,” she snarled. “You said that well was dry. My boys are soaked to the bone, starved and frozen. You promised that if I—”

“They’re alive,” said Gallagher. “Be fucking grateful.”

Alicia pounced like a bobcat, her nails sinking into the man’s cheek and drawing blood as her teeth reached for his throat . . .

She howled in pain as Gallagher’s companion clamped a hand on her shoulder and squeezed the nerve cluster. The entire left side of her body went numb and she hung limply, powerlessly, in his grip.

Then the real pain came—

Gallagher slapped her back-handed.

Callused knuckle and sandpaper skin. His wedding ring, a simple platinum band, split her lip and rattled teeth.

She was torn loose of the soldier’s nerve-deadening grip and spilled to the wet ground, gasping and spitting blood.

Her first instinct was to curl into a ball, but Gallagher wasn’t done. His booted foot found her soft center before she could protect it.

Air exploded from her lungs and her eyes bulged.

The pain was crippling, but the only thought that flashed in her mind was a primal need to protect her children.

She tried to roll over, but became trapped on her back in the mud, her neck at a perilous angle as Gallagher’s foot began to descend again.

The heavy sole was aimed at her head.

A killing blow.

Fury had overtaken sense, her defiance triggering something dark and monstrous within him.

Alex, her oldest but still just a child, charged forward and threw himself at Gallagher’s leg. The top of his tiny skull smashed into the large man’s knee and yet he still found the strength to coil his arms and legs around the powerful limb and hold on for dear life.

Gallagher twisted in the air, his balance suddenly off kilter. His redirected foot missed Alicia and hit the slippery ground at an awkward angle. It skidded out from under him, causing his arms to windmill uselessly as he fell ungraciously on his backside into the mud.

But he didn’t stay there.

He was a soldier. A fighter whose only rules were maim or be maimed, kill or be killed.

Gallagher roared in anger and grabbed the young boy by the hair. He yanked him off his leg and shook him by the roots until the boy howled in agony. Then he pulled back his other fist
—

“DON’T!” SCREAMED
Alicia. “He’s just a child.”

Gallagher glanced over at the woman and flashed a cruel smile. Then he launched his crippled fist and smashed it into Alex’s agonized face.

The loss of his fingers weakened his punch, but Gallagher could still hit hard enough to snap the boy’s head back and deliver a man’s dose of pain. The boy’s eyes rolled in his head before his body slapped the ground.

Alicia howled and curled her body around her oldest son. The younger one held onto her back, weeping so hard that streams of snot flowed down his chin.

Gallagher rose to his feet and angrily shook off the mud. Embarrassed, he wanted to continue the hurt, but the woman and her children were too soft a target, too easy to break and destroy.

He stepped forward and pressed his muddy face as close to his soldier’s as a drill sergeant at boot camp.

“What are you doing just standing there,” he hissed. “You let that kid blindside me.”

“I figured you could handle him,” said Mr. Black.

Gallagher snorted. “Don’t get fucking smart. You’re not paid to think.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll be paid at all,” said Mr. Black. “You never asked for a ransom.”

Gallagher winced, but immediately extended the only whole finger remaining on his right hand and pressed it into the center of his soldier’s forehead.

Mr. Black didn’t flinch as the sharp nail bore into his flesh, the disfigured hand turning clockwise until its upraised thumb resembled the hammer of a gun.

“You’re my soldier,” said Gallagher. “I’m your sergeant. Don’t . . . ever . . . fucking . . . forget.”

Mr. Black didn’t say a word as Gallagher withdrew his finger and stepped back.

Gallagher walked around the weeping, huddled mess of bodies on the ground.

“Bring them inside,” he ordered. “We’ll deal with it there.”