by Lindy Ryan
The sedan was close. Too close. When Rachel could see the grimacing mouths of the men in the car soon to crash into her, she closed her eyes and braced for impact.
Brakes. Then, the sound of screeching tires.
No crash.
Thank fuck. Rachel’s eyes popped open and flicked to the rearview mirror. Just as she’d predicted, the sedan had turned away. Burn marks marred the asphalt where the car had slid to an angry halt. Rachel didn’t let off the gas as she watched the sedan right itself, spinning sharply into place before setting off after her.
“Good luck catching me now, fucker,” she sneered. She glanced at Lucy, “Told you the bad guy always swerves first.”
Rachel continued at full speed, barreling down the long road toward the wild. Soon trees would hug the sky over the road and the pavement would give way to dirt. The foliage would conceal her from the helicopter, and cloud trails of dust should spin up enough of a fog behind her to give the sedan a hard time following her too closely.
The truck spluttered.
Not now. “Come on, old gal,” she coaxed the vehicle. She glanced at the gauges on her dash. The speedometer was almost pegged, topping out at eighty-five miles per hour as the truck climbed the steep incline into the mountains. “Just a little farther now. Don’t give out on me.”
The cab shook, jostling around her like it were moments away from coming apart completely. A low grumble sounded in Lucy’s throat as if she were also encouraging her mistress’ old truck to keep going just a bit longer.
Rachel’s body jerked when the truck hopped off the asphalt and onto the dirt road, slipped as it groaned uphill. The day’s few sprinkles hadn’t made it past the overhanging tree branches, and the dry road reacted to the assault of the truck’s wheels exactly how Rachel had hoped–puffing clouds of dust out in heavy streams behind her.
Yes!
Then the rain started, the moody gray clouds overhead finally breaking open. Fat water drops flattened against the windshield seconds before the thick sound of heavy rainfall pelted against the roof.
“No!” Rachel slammed her fist against the seat beside her. Wet would weigh down the dust, would turn the dirt to sludging mud that slowed her pace and turned the road slick.
Cold wind slapped her cheek when Rachel arched her head out of the window again. The rain had brought the cold with it, dropping the temperature several degrees—enough that the water on the truck’s glass was quickly hardening to ice. But the helicopter was gone. One down.
She pulled her head back in the truck and glanced in the rearview. The sedan was still behind them, but the old rust bucket was gaining distance, seeing as the car was unable to keep its speed up on the uneven, uphill climb. Having four-wheel drive was a lucky break.
Lucy barked, jerking her attention to the road.
Rachel barely had time to register the sharp bend in the road before her foot hit the brakes and she yanked the wheel to the right as hard she could. The truck’s tires squealed, the heavy vehicle skidding crookedly toward the bend. The momentum flung Rachel’s body forward and Lucy was tossed against the dash.
“Hold on, girl,” Rachel screamed, watching as the turn came closer, closer. Too close.
Gravity gave way beneath her. Her bottom lifted off the seat, her shoulders pulling her body too far to the side. She saw Lucy’s eyes—white and startled—as the dog’s hindquarters lurched over her back.
Everything went silent, stuttering as sky appeared in the truck’s windows.
The bed fishtailed, pulling the truck over the side of the road. Off the edge.
Ruby’s hand, disappearing over the cliff.
Rachel fell in slow motion. She barely felt the impact of metal against mountain, hardly heard the crunch of splitting glass, the compaction of the truck roof as it concaved around the cab. Lucy was a blur of silver, spinning midair on the other side of the cab. Her snout was open, tongue out, silent.
Ruby’s scream, her last words lost in the wind.
The truck slammed upside down into the ground, spun into the trunk of a thick oak. Stopped. A pained yelp sounded from her side, and a thump marked the sound of her body being tossed against the crumpled truck ceiling.
Rachel’s head whipped left, then right. The sudden stop slammed her face into the steering wheel. A wet, cracking sound reverberated through Rachel’s body, followed by a current of pain. The seatbelt dug into her midsection, knocking the wind from her lungs. Blood splattered against the wheel through the painful bulge of her ruined nose.
Breathe. Ruby’s voice.
Rachel gasped. Oxygen flooded her lungs, bringing reality slamming into her as violently as the wreck had. Blood dripped into her eyes, and Lucy lay motionless against the truck’s roof, eyes closed.
It took her lips a few tries to form words.
“Lucy,” Rachel tried, her voice coming out in a harsh rasp. “Lucy c’mon girl, wake up.”
Nothing.
Adrenaline flooded Rachel’s bruised body, eclipsing the pain in her face. No, no, no. The word matched pace with her heartbeat, becoming a chant as she mashed the button to release the belt. The button gave way and gravity reclaimed her, sending her body crashing down against the ceiling.
“Shit.” Wincing, she palmed away blood and phlegm from her eyes, wiped her forearm as gently as possibly against her broken nose. She used her arms to half-pull, half-crawl her body across the cab. Tears streamed from her eyes, her body expelling the pain she refused to feel.
The dog still hadn’t moved.
Rachel’s voice came out louder with her lungs full of air again. “Lucy! Lucy, wake up, girl!”
Nothing.
No, no, no. Rachel’s body ran cold. She couldn’t lose Lucy. Not now, not ever. Lucy was all she had left, all that remained—
The dog stirred. A grunted sound signaled her return, and her tail thumped. She was alive.
Oh, thank God. Rachel flung her body briefly against the dog’s, the sharp sting of pain in her limbs pale against the relief of seeing her companion move.
Rachel pushed herself back into a sitting position and leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the top of the hill. Were they still following her? It didn’t look like it. Not yet anyway.
Slowly, painfully, she maneuvered around the cab, straining to reach the pack. The heavy sack had been tucked behind the bench seat, but the tumult of the accident had tossed it loose. She grasped onto the pack, pulled it close. Untied the cords. Fished out the satellite phone.
Would he even answer? Her brother-in-law might have been the only one who had handled Ruby’s death as badly as she had. He was halfway across the world, doing God knew what in a jungle somewhere.
Rachel powered the phone on, flipped up the antenna, and dialed. The line rang. Rang.
“Answer the fucking phone, Rake.”
A new fear gripped her chest. Was it possible he was gone, too?
Figures appeared at the top of the hill. Shit. She had to move.
The windows were broken, but shards of glass still clung to the frame. Freedom was just on the other side, but if they moved through now the glass would slice them to ribbons. Rachel leaned hard onto her right side, her head brushing against the cushion of Lucy’s fur, as she trained her boot on the window. The dog adjusted, lifted one paw to her mouth to lick at a small wound.
Carefully, Rachel kicked free the remaining glass, then drug the thick rubber of her boot’s sole against the frame, smoothing out the rest. She pulled the pack over one arm, refusing to acknowledge the pain radiating through her shoulder. Her arm wasn’t broken, but it was damaged. A dislocated shoulder, maybe.
“Come on, Luc. We need to move.”
The dog hesitated, favoring her bloodied paw. Her body was stiff, but her eyes were clear, not the white terror Rachel had seen during the car chase. Still, she hesitated.
Rachel cleared her throat, deepened her voice into a command. “Come.”
Lucy rose to her feet but didn’t move. O
ver the dog’s shoulder, the figures on the hill were moving around, looking for a safe path to descend.
“It’s okay,” Rachel said, coaxing the frightened animal as she began to inch backward through the gaping hole of what was once the window. “We’re going to get out of this, but we have to move—” The figures were halfway down the hill. “Now.”
With no time to waste, Rachel reached over and grabbed Lucy’s collar, guiding her through the window. Small slivers of glass peeled through Rachel’s coat, scraping needle-like against her skin. She bit down, determined not to cry out and startle Lucy.
When her elbows hit the grass, she pushed back onto her knees, still drawing the dog out into the open. She allowed a few seconds for them to catch their breath, but then a shot cracked through the air and a small mound of dirt—inches away from Rachel’s hip—exploded.
A bullet. Someone was shooting at them.
She looked up.
The figures at the top of the hill were on their way down, and they were carrying firearms.
5
Rachel grabbed onto Lucy, pulling the dog against her, and then maneuvered them both in front of the truck, out of harm's way. She peered around the busted body of the old clunker, focusing her attention on the top of the hill. Two men stood there, scanning the region. One was talking into a small handheld radio while the other watched her. He had a pistol in his hand, and his legs were placed apart—in shooting stance.
Military.
“What do you want with me?” Rachel screamed. Her whole body rattled.
“Do not move,” the man with the pistol shouted back. “I won’t tell you twice!”
Rain came down in sheets now, making it almost impossible for Rachel to hear what was going on around her. The water pulled her curls into tangled ropes, soaked through her clothes. Her wet bones throbbed, ached, and her eyelids felt like they were made of lead.
Lucy moved beside her, sharing her heat, her comfort. Rachel stroked the dog absently, her eyes still locked on the men now beginning to make their way down the steep incline.
Move.
Rolling onto her hip, Rachel scanned the area below. The truck had anchored itself against a tree, but the hill continued another two hundred yards before leveling off into a small, green valley bordered by a thick tree line. Beyond that, she couldn’t see anything else, but Juneau’s terrain was predictable: all peaks led to the ocean, even the ones edged in green.
“We’re not going to let these men or anyone else take us, girl.” Rachel looked into Lucy’s eyes. “You hear me?”
She ran her fingers through the fur atop Lucy’s head, then pulled her close and kissed her muzzle. “We’re in this together, and we’re going to get out of this together, too.”
The dog’s stubby tail beat back and forth in a hesitant wag. Okay.
Rachel tucked her knees up under her, moving slowly so as not to alert the approaching men. Hopefully, they’d think she was still cowering behind the shield of the truck and not preparing to make a break for it—which was precisely what she was about to do. “We’re going to make a run for it, and we’re going that way.”
She nodded in the direction of the tree line, shrugging her pack over her shoulder. Sitting for so long, the cold had begun to seep through what was left of her coat. She’d need to move fast—not only to escape the men but to keep her body warm before the chill turned her movement slow, heavy.
The men were making their way down the hill sideways, slipping and scuttling down the hill. Their movements were quick and stunted—
Like crabs, Rachel thought, and then she was moving without deciding to.
“Okay, girl,” she told Lucy. “Let’s go.”
Summoning every ounce of courage she had, Rachel flung herself forward, pushing her body downhill as fast as she could. Lucy ran beside her, a silver bullet tearing through the wet green. Mud caked onto Rachel’s clothes as she slid. Small, sharp rocks tore into the palms of her hands. The men chasing after them hadn’t yet seen her roll, their view still blocked by the wrecked truck.
They haven’t noticed yet, Rachel thought as a thick bramble of devil’s club wrapped around her ankle, its spines stabbing through her exposed sock to prickle her ankle. Her flesh stung, tore. But she couldn’t stop, couldn’t acknowledge the pain. Not now. A few cuts were nothing compared to what a bullet would do if it plunged through her skin, destroyed her muscle, shattered bone—killed her.
“Stop!” The voice came from somewhere above.
Rachel dared a quick look back. Both men now stood only about a hundred and fifty yards away, in front of the truck. Right where she had lain after crawling out of the wreckage. She watched as one of the men—a burly brute who wore a scowl only slightly more unpleasant than the barrel of his gun—pointed the weapon directly at her. Even at this distance, Rachel could see his jaw was tight, teeth gritted in an angry line.
“Faster,” she grunted. She had to move faster. Being upright was a risk, gave her aggressor a larger target to aim at, but it was a choice now between speed and size. It didn’t matter how small she was if she was slugging along. They’d pick her off easy, a tumbleweed, bloodied and broken.
On her next roll, Rachel planted both feet firmly into the ground and pushed, catapulting herself forward, onto her feet. She hit the ground running, but her equilibrium worked against her. The sudden speed, combined with the near-vertical drop of the hill, was too much. Her arms flailed at her sides as the upper portion of her body swung over the bottom, tipping her off balance.
Rachel fell, slammed onto her left shoulder, and began to roll, head over feet. The rocky crag cut into her shoulders, then her back. She banged hard against the ground, raking her head across the uneven surface of rock and bramble.
A shot rang out as a bullet hissed by her head. Another.
Shots echoed through the sky as Rachel tumbled uncontrollably down the hill. Ground, sky, ground, sky. Blue and green blurred together, twisted into a kaleidoscope of color until it bled into one shade, turned red. Gold.
Ruby’s hair, brushing against Rachel’s skin. Her lips, sticky with kisses.
Rachel crashed into a tree. Her body bent in half as pain shot through her legs, her back. Her head whipped sideways, and she gasped for air. For the second time in the space of just a few minutes, the wind was knocked out of her, and this time her lungs stalled, grasping for breath.
The men were close.
Blood dropped from her ear, mingling with the stream of red flooding from her nose. Her left eye throbbed, the sensation of swelling radiating pain through her temple. A reddish hue filtered her vision.
Damaged. She was damaged. And Lucy was gone.
Sensation returned to her limbs and Rachel gripped the trunk, pulled herself behind the massive tower of bark. Her gaze swept the surrounding area, but there was no sign of the dog, no evidence of the silver streak that had run beside her. She looked back up the hill, fear seizing her chest. What would she do if she saw fur on the grass, the stilled body of her faithful friend?
But there was nothing. The ground was clear.
The shots must have scared her.
Relief flooded through Rachel, followed by the sharp sting of tears. Her ears rang. How had an average morning turned into a nightmare? People were gone, including her parents. Cowboy was missing. Rachel felt like she was the only person left on the planet, other than the two men hunting and attempting to kill her like she was a wild animal. Her body ached, she felt broken, and Lucy was nowhere in sight.
Is this how it ends? She wondered. Is this what you prepared me for, Ruby? Well, I want out. I don’t want to be a part of this. I want to be back home and in the warmth of my own fucking house. With my parents, with my dogs, and with you!
Rachel lowered her head. Liquid welled in her eyes, bursting in a wave of salt and mud down her cheeks. Emotion raged inside her. Anger. Frustration. Pain. Grief.
“Fuck!”
Another shot rang out overhead and bark splint
ered above, showering wooden shards into her hair. Rachel gripped the sides of her head, her body curling into a ball. The men were still coming for her and they were getting closer, more upset, along the way. They probably had not expected to come this far, had not expected her to put up such a fight. She pushed herself against the trunk and pulled her knees in close to her chest as another piece of bark blew apart, this time on the other side of the tree. Multiple shots echoed through the valley.
Two shooters now. Both men were emptying their guns in her general direction, and there was not a damn thing she could do about it. Rachel scanned the area for Lucy once more, and—seeing nothing but green and looming death—lowered her head.
“Well, I guess that’s that,” she muttered. There was nothing she could do now. Nothing but wait. Whatever destiny God had planned for her was moments away, but at least the end would come quick, like it had for Ruby, and—perhaps if she were very, very lucky—she might finally see her wife again.
“Ruby,” she said, pain coloring her vision. “My red bird.”
Leaves crunched behind her. Boots.
The men were just feet from her now.
“Move away from the tree!” said one of them, the same voice who’d called out before. “Do it now or we will kill you. It ain’t a request.”
Even with her fear running down her cheeks, Rachel rolled her eyes. Why did men with guns always sound so sure of themselves—so confident with their little pieces of plastic murder?
Murmurs. She could hear the men talking quietly. Then, silence. Heartbeats.
Brush cracked behind the tree on Rachel’s left, then her right. They had her surrounded, flanked, each man coming from a different side. Rachel’s rucksack slid from her back onto the ground. She unwrapped her arms from her legs and began to raise them into the air, the gesture automatic—one she’d seen people do hundreds of times before when it had been her with the gun, her with the plastic confidence. Those days seemed so long ago now, faded memories against the sudden stark reality of two men with pistols aimed at her chest.
