Tribe (18 page)

He looked up at her. “Not if I get out of here without being seen.”

“Relax,” said Rawlins as the two of them rode the elevator down. “It wasn't so hard finding him.”

“What are you talking about?” countered Todd with a distinct frown. “We haven't found him yet.”

“Well, at least we know for sure that he works here. Don't worry, we'll find him tomorrow. First thing in the morning we'll come out and talk to the personnel department. They'll have an address for him.”

“What if it's a P.O. box or something?”

“Then we'll just have to wait until he shows up for work. If he was here earlier tonight, then he works a late shift and he'll probably be here tomorrow afternoon. You'll see.”

The elevator doors opened on the ground floor and Todd started out, unable to hide his frustration. Sure, they needed to find Zeb to tell him that the baby had been taken and see if he could help locate the child. But most of all Todd wanted to see Zeb, meet him face to face, look into his eyes.

They headed to the left, down the long quiet hall and toward the front doors. Realizing how sore he was from the scuffle at Janice's, Todd felt himself moving slower and slower.

“You look exhausted,” said Rawlins, placing a reassuring hand on Todd's shoulder. “Let's get you home so you can rest.”

Todd nodded and managed a smile, for this was what he liked about Rawlins, not simply his ability to read Todd, but the ease with which he offered comfort. Comfort that Todd not only found easy to accept, but for the first time in his life, easy to return.

“Thanks, but I can't go home,” said Todd. “We should head back to Janice's. I'm sure she's a wreck.”

“So let's spend the night there—she's got plenty of room.”

“Okay.”

They proceeded down the hall in silence, passing a closed gift shop, another hallway, the lone receptionist sitting behind the counter. Farther down they came to the hospital guard, a lanky older man, who had just returned and was now seated at his small desk.

“Good night, gentlemen,” he said, looking up from a fishing magazine. “Now drive safely. It's pretty nasty out there.”

“Good night,” replied Todd.

They paused before the revolving door, zipped up their jackets, slipped on their gloves.

“Ready?” asked Todd.

“Yeah, ready to go to Florida,” griped Rawlins.

Todd went first, and as soon as the automatic doors slid open and he'd exited the building, he was slapped by stinging snow. He looked up at a tall streetlight and saw not only how heavily the snow was still falling but the nearly horizontal angle at which it was blowing. Great, the wind had picked up and the conditions worsened to near blizzard. Clenching his jacket collar around his neck and squinting his eyes, Todd thought this was unbelievable, things were going from bad to worse. Stepping into snow well above his boot, Todd led the way, trudging quickly through the deep white stuff and toward the parking ramp.

“Hey!” called a voice through the wind. “Hey, you two!”

They paused, looked back, and saw the tall guard poking his head out and waving at them.

“Hey!” he called again. “Come back here!”

“Maybe this is our lucky break,” said Todd to Rawlins.

They turned around, running through the snow, their heads bowed. Rushing inside, Todd and Rawlins found the guard gesturing with his hands, unable to hide his excitement.

“That kid you were looking for, he's here. Now, right now. One of the nurses just called the front desk, and she said she just saw him.”

“Where?” demanded Todd.

“Right here on the ground floor, straight back this way!” The guard turned quickly and said, “Come on!”

The woman at the front desk leaned over the counter and added, “The nurse said he's got a baby!”

“What?” snapped Todd.

”A baby—she said he's got one all wrapped up. Is that his? Does he have a baby? Dear Lord, he didn't take one from the maternity ward, did he? That's all we need, trouble like that.”

“Oh, shit,” Todd muttered as he glanced at Rawlins.

Both Todd and Rawlins hurried after the guard, rushing past the elevator and turning right at the next corridor, which was long and dimly lit. The guard then turned left, hurried up a ramp, through some large, swinging double doors, and into another part of the building.

“She saw him back here in the annex,” he said.

He led them past the X-ray department, past a lab, through another set of doors, and back toward the commissary. Rounding a corner, they came upon a nurse, a woman with short brown hair and one of the people that Todd and Rawlins had shown the picture to upstairs.

“One of my patients was hungry, so I came down to get something for her to eat. And there he was, the kid you showed me in the picture, the one who works here. I mean, I'd seen him earlier tonight, but just now he was coming out of a room—with a baby. He saw me, I tried to say something, but then he got real scared and took off.”

“When?” demanded Todd.

“Just a couple of minutes ago.”

“Where'd he go?” asked Rawlins.

Pointing down the hall to a door, she said, “He went out the back.”

Todd and Rawlins took off, racing down the hall, hurling the door open, and bursting outside once again. Todd quickly looked from side to side, took note of a parked truck with a thick layer of snow covering its windshield and hood. Straight ahead on the edge of a small parking area sat a brown Dump-ster. And there, leading off to the right and through a line of drifting snow, was a set of tracks.

“This way!” shouted Todd.

Bracing themselves against the weather, they followed the prints around the corner of the brick building. From there, the broken trail of snow led across an open area and past the parking ramp itself. Their heads bowed against the wind, they finally reached a well-lit parking lot. At most there were twenty or thirty cars parked about and buried in the blowing snow, yet there was no immediate sign of Zeb or anyone else.

“Either he was parked out here in the employee lot,” speculated Rawlins as he surveyed the area, “or someone was out here waiting for him.”

In which case, Todd realized, Zeb could already be gone. Shielding his eyes, Todd glanced around, unable to make any sense of this.

“I don't get it,” said Todd, totally perplexed, “If he's got a kid, whose is it? I mean, it couldn't be his own, could it?

Ribka was taken from Janice's not even two hours ago. And I was there, I fought with the guy who took her. Zeb was nowhere around. He couldn't have her, could he? If Zeb nabbed a kid from the maternity ward or something like that, however, then this is going to get really complicated.”

Rawlins was focused on the tracks, and as they reached the first row of cars the prints plunged through a pile of snow, then disappeared in a barren, windswept area. Right behind him, Todd searched to the left, then to the right. Some fifteen feet away he saw the tracks pass again between two parked cars.

“Over here!”

Even as he spoke he saw the taillights of a small car, one parked on the far side of the lot, suddenly burn red. In an instant both Todd and Rawlins were running through the snow. It had to be Zeb. Just as quickly, though, it seemed that Zeb saw them, for the car's tires started desperately spinning in the snow. Just let him be stuck, prayed Todd, who felt as if he were running through deep sand. But why would Zeb be trying to get away? What had he done?

Even though Zeb had obviously floored the gas, the vehicle barely moved, and the tires screamed a high pitch. Then the little beat-up car started fishtailing, swinging from side to side. As fast as he could Todd tore through the snow. But neither he nor Rawlins was fast enough, for the vehicle was gaining speed and circling around.

“He's headed for the gate!” shouted Rawlins.

There was only one way out, an exit that was blocked by a wooden gate swung down into position, and Todd and Rawlins swerved around, tried to cut Zeb off. By then, however, the little car was going even faster, and in a desperate moment it went shooting past Todd. Right at that instant Todd's eyes locked on those of the terrified driver, a young man behind a frosty glass window who might or might not be Todd's son. Todd hung on to the image of those dark eyes, then slowed to a stop when he realized it was useless. His breath huffing out of his body in great clouds, he watched as the small car went swerving across the snowy parking lot, then smashed right through the wooden entry gate, blasting it to bits, and disappeared into the blizzardy night.

Oh, man.

Zeb's heart was racing. Little Ribka, barely strapped into the car seat next to him, was screaming and flailing her arms. It couldn't have been any closer—another minute and those guys would have caught him. As he sped much too quickly along a small road behind the hospital, he checked his rear-view mirror, but couldn't see anything, for his rear window was covered with frost and snow. Cranking down his window, snow tumbled inward and freezing air blasted him as he brushed off the sideview mirror. As far as he could tell, though, there was no one following him. But Zeb didn't slow down. He couldn't tell who they were, but he was sure they were from The Congregation, which meant they wouldn't give up. No way.

“It's okay, Ribka. Everything's fine,” he said, touching his daughter with a gloved hand. “They didn't catch us.”

At least not yet. Luckily they had a place to go, so on to Brenda's, for she'd given him her address. She'd even called her roommate to say that Zeb and the baby were coming, get out some clean sheets. He pulled out a small piece of paper from his coat pocket, glanced at the map she'd drawn in pencil. Okay. Just go up here, turn right on France, cross over Highway 62, and head back toward 50th Street, then another right and head all the way down to Nicollet, then turn and go another block. Fifteen minutes, at most twenty or twenty-five in this weather, and his daughter and he would be safely and warmly hidden away. Now, if only the roads were passable.

He took a deep breath, switched the windshield wipers on high. God, that had been too close. Steering around a drift, he reached France, a broad, well-lit street that led in one direction to Southdale, the rejuvenated grandmother of all malls, and in the other direction back toward the city. Zeb glanced to the left, saw only a big orange plow with a flashing blue light, but no car speeding from the other side of the hospital. After he turned and slowly made his way over the highway, he was relieved all over again. So far so good. Way back behind him only one car was creeping along through the snow.

Driving up France, which had recently been plowed and sanded, Zeb reached over and placed a hand on Ribka, rocking her slightly, hushing her. Within a few seconds she began to quiet, lulled as much by the car ride as by her father. But Zeb couldn't relax. Okay, he thought, tonight was taken care of. Maybe the next few nights as well if Brenda was as generous as he hoped she might be. But then what? Oh, brother, just how in the hell were they going to survive? Should he call Suzanne and plead with her to call off the guys from The Congregation? No, she'd never be able to talk her dad out of pursuing him. His word was second only to God's, and he'd always ordered her around. What was it that gas bag was always saying anyway? “A man is the head of a woman as Christ is the head of the Church.”

Which meant the decision wasn't Suzanne's at all. It was her dad's, the one and only self-proclaimed God's Apostle on earth. Shit. So there would be no reasoning. Zeb recalled being cornered by Harry in that barn after he'd found out his baby girl was pregnant. Okay, okay, so that way was out; there could be no rational discourse with Harry or anyone else from The Congregation. Maybe, though, Zeb could arrange a secret meeting with Janice. Maybe Zeb could explain why he'd taken Ribka in the first place and convince Janice how dangerous it would be for him and his daughter to return to The Congregation. Perhaps she'd give him some money. Maybe even a credit card. Or couldn't she do something as a lawyer to protect him and Ribka? Hey, he wondered, maybe she could arrange something like one of those witness-protection programs he'd seen in some movie before he'd rejoined The Congregation. Then again, he hadn't seen a movie—worldliness!—since he'd been at The Congregation, so maybe they weren't doing that kind of thing anymore.

He was somewhere around 54th Street when a small patch of frost on his rear window melted away and he could see the road behind him. Staring into the mirror, he saw a pair of headlights approaching quickly from behind, and suddenly he felt like a tiny animal about to be pounced upon by an eagle.

“Oh, no,” he muttered.

He couldn't tell if it was a car or a truck or even a cop, but whoever it was was driving unusually fast and gaining on him, the lights growing brighter by the moment. What had The Congregation done, bugged Zeb's car? How else were they able to follow him like this?

Zeb saw a street sign and automatically turned right. He just couldn't continue along like this, out in the open, so easily seen, and he steered the car from the plowed surface of France Avenue onto a small street where the snow was at least a foot deep. All at once Zeb felt the car slide to the left of the side road. He spun the steering wheel, gave the car gas—wasn't that what you were supposed to do on a slippery surface?— but the vehicle did just the opposite of what he wanted. Struggling to maintain control, Zeb spun the wheel the other way, felt the car slowing. No, this couldn't happen. He couldn't get stuck so late on such a snowy night. He had a child to take care of. Eyeing a pair of tire tracks in the middle of the road, he stomped the gas pedal all the way to the floor and tried as desperately as he could to maneuver his auto to the packed-down snow. Using all his strength, he steered right, then left, next right again in an attempt to maintain control of the fish-tailing car as it made its haphazard way down the street.