by Alex Kava
It was Demarcus Otis seemed concerned about. The warden was squirming on the ground. Maggie could see his arms wrapped around himself.
“It’s a stomach wound,” Jack told him without taking his eyes off Maggie. “He’ll die. It’ll just take a while. I thought you might want him to suffer a bit. But we have a problem here. I might have just winged this one.”
Tully shifted and Jack raised his Glock.
“I’m not going anywhere without him,” Maggie said, lifting her left hand and showing him the handcuffs.
“Now, why’d you want to go and do a thing like that?”
Otis laughed but it was a nervous, forced sound followed by his tongue darting out again and wetting his lips.
“You realize I can shoot that off.”
“Jack hates guns,” Otis said. “Ain’t that right?”
Otis stood a head taller than Jack and was about two times his size. He could easily pick up Jack and snap him in two, yet the giant fidgeted around him like a boy, looking to please a mentor.
“What’s that you’re always saying?” Otis continued. “Bullets ruin the meat.”
She noticed the hunting knife in a sheath attached to Jack’s belt and Maggie’s pulse started to race. Meat? Then she remembered that the bodies had been cut. Several decapitated. Ethan’s dismembered. Zach Lester’s intestines pulled out and strung across the branches of the tree above him.
“He better be able to walk,” Jack said, gesturing to Tully. Then to Otis, he said, “Get his gun out of his jacket.”
Jack’s eyes met Maggie’s and this time he was smiling like he suddenly found the situation amusing.
“Actually doubles are much more interesting,” he told her. “Maybe I’ll just cut him off of you, piece by piece.”
CHAPTER 58
Maggie could hear the storm growing closer. Back inside the forest the tall pines provided her only a sliver of a view. The sun had been playing hide and seek all afternoon. Now it was gone, replaced by a bruise-colored sky.
She had struggled to get Tully up on his feet. Jack wouldn’t allow her to check his wound. Although Tully stayed conscious he seemed to slide in and out at different levels. She had handcuffed her left wrist to his right. In order to help him walk she had to loop his right arm up over her shoulder and neck, then keep her left wrist held up to his at her right shoulder.
It was awkward. Maggie had to walk with her left arm stretched across her body. Since Tully was about six inches taller he had to lean down onto her. It felt like walking with a straitjacket and a backpack on at the same time. Every time Tully lifted or jerked his arm, he also wrenched hers. The handcuff bit into her flesh and her arm felt like it’d be yanked out of its socket.
And Jack, of course, found all of this amusing.
They hadn’t walked far when the river appeared. A fog hung over it like a displaced cloud had fallen out of the storm-brewing sky. A rowboat had been dragged halfway up the beach. Tall reeds made up the rest of the bank and they waved in the breeze, further indication of the change in weather.
Maggie knew if she got in the boat it would mean leaving behind anything and everything that was familiar. She remembered Trooper Campos saying this forest was over two hundred thousand acres, most of it isolated this time of year. And Jack looked like he knew the terrain quite well. She wondered if there was even a dumping ground. Or had Otis simply made it up as part of the game to deliver her to Jack.
Earlier he’d had Otis pat her down after he finished with Tully, and immediately he found the Taser. Jack made a tsk-tsk sound and gave a slow shake of his head to scold her, but again he smiled, and this time he actually looked pleased.
He’d also taken both hers and Tully’s cell phones. But neither of them had thought to feel around her ankles. Not like the ASR spray would do much good. She couldn’t act quickly enough with Tully shackled to her. And she would have seconds, not minutes, to take down both men while trying to strong-arm one of their weapons away. But Otis had stayed back after Jack had told him “to take care of business.” This might be her only opportunity with only one of them.
“Get in,” Jack told her, throwing one of his legs over the side of the rowboat and holding it steady.
“And if I refuse?”
“Have you ever cut into human flesh? I mean really cut. Deep down. Maybe right at a joint? Snaps just like butchering a hog.”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. She’d seen plenty.
“So why not cut me here instead of taking me somewhere?”
“Oh, I’m not talking about you.”
He pointed to Tully and the implication felt like a punch.
“He’s an asshole,” Tully mumbled.
“Get in the boat.”
She could shove Jack while she pretended to help Tully in. But what if it didn’t work? She was playing with Tully’s life, too, not just her own. Maybe if she got into the boat, then sprayed Jack with the ASR canister and shoved him out. Could she row far enough down the river that Otis couldn’t come running after them?
She eased Tully up and over into the rowboat. It started rocking and nearly yanked her off balance and into the river. The handcuff sliced into her wrist and Tully let out a groan, but he caught her. He conjured up enough strength to hold her up.
Jack just stared back at them. He shook his head again, and Maggie knew the opportunity was lost.
A scream made all three of them jolt. It was blood-curdling, wild and pained and definitely human. Maggie felt it all the way down her spine. Birds fluttered up in response. Even the breeze seemed to pause.
Demarcus.
Then Otis came thrashing through the trees, a mountain of a man pounding up the same path they had just followed. He was drenched in sweat, his orange jumpsuit splattered with blood all over the front where there had not been a splatter before. He was grinning like a madman and holding up something in his right hand like it was a trophy.
“You’re right. Ain’t nothing to it,” he said to Jack.
Now at the side of the boat, he was breathing hard and Maggie noticed he had Jack’s knife in his left hand. In the other he held up what had to be one of Demarcus’s fingers.
CHAPTER 59
BLACKWATER RIVER STATE FOREST
Creed had gotten Tully’s text message. But the GPS readings he sent were surprising. He would have never guessed the killer’s dumping ground to be in the middle of a state forest. But as Creed drove along the winding road he thought, What better place?
Bolo sat in the back, mouth open, tongue out, anxious and panting. Creed had gotten Grace home safe and sound and into Hannah’s protective hands. Unlike Grace’s, Bolo’s body filled the back half of the Jeep.
As far as Creed could tell, the dog was part Labrador, part Rhodesian ridgeback. He got the happy, tongue-lobbing attitude from the Lab part of him along with webbed paws, which made him an excellent swimmer. From his ridgeback ancestry, Bolo had acquired an unshakable bravery. He was hands down the best multitask air-scent dog Creed had, but he was careful about when and where he used Bolo. The dog was overly protective of Creed, almost to the point of being fanatical. The last time he used the big dog, a sheriff’s deputy had yelled at Creed and seconds later the man was flat on the ground, pinned there by ninety pounds of muscle and bared fangs.
In police slang, BOLO was an acronym for Be On the Look Out. Seemed totally appropriate.
From Tully’s text messages, Creed knew that he and Maggie were accompanied by two state troopers, a Virginia prison warden, and Otis P. Dodd. Though the prisoner would be shackled, Creed was glad to have Bolo along this time. As well as his Ruger .38 Special +P placed under the driver’s seat.
Creed found the two black Chevy Tahoes and sent a text to Tully that he’d arrived. As Creed gathered his gear from the back of the Jeep he scanned the trees that surrounded this small clearing. He had one last GPS coordinate from Tully. He glanced at the gadget’s screen and it looked like they were close by, yet he couldn’t se
e them inside the thick forest.
They were losing light and soon the rain and thunder would arrive. Right now the storm was a rumble on the other side of the west tree line. He had warned Tully that it would be too dangerous during the storm. He wouldn’t allow his dogs to be out in lightning. Tully had assured him if they didn’t locate the site before all that happened, they would resume tomorrow.
Bolo whined, excited and filling the liftgate opening. He nosed Creed’s hand as Creed loaded his backpack. Then he head-butted Creed’s shoulder.
“Bolo, take it easy.”
He glanced at the dog and stopped what he was doing. Something was wrong.
Bolo’s eyes were wild. The hair on the back of his neck stood up straight. His nose was working the air and he was already breathing hard and fast.
Creed stood completely still and tried to listen. Bolo looked as if he heard something. But to Creed’s ears, it was quiet. Almost too quiet.
He checked his phone. No return text message from Tully, but reception would be spotty in the middle of the forest. He told Bolo to stay still while he put on and buckled the dog’s vest and harness. He could smell the dog’s sweat and feel the tension in his body.
Dogs didn’t associate different scents with different emotions. But some large scents would elicit a reaction. A large scent could mean a cadaver exposed and in the early stages of decomposition.
Creed felt a knot start to twist in his gut. The other possibility for a large scent would be blood—fresh blood and lots of it.
CHAPTER 60
Jack had chained Maggie’s right ankle to an iron ring in the floor at the back of the boat. Not like she’d be able to fall over the side and disappear under water and out of sight. The river was too shallow.
Otis rowed while Jack directed him around the fallen branches and tree stumps that appeared in the middle of the river. A snarl of tree roots appeared out of the fog like a sea creature with tentacles. It even startled Otis. Maggie tried to commit landmarks on the banks to memory, discouraged each time Jack directed Otis into another outlet from the main river.
There seemed to be dozens of creeks and streams that forked off. Each one snaked and curved. Sometimes it looped around what appeared to be a dead end with a sandbar of sugar-white sand or a bank of red clay. Then Jack would point out yet another channel for Otis to take, one that was hardly visible beneath the overhanging branches and the tall reeds.
The forest towered over them on both sides with very few clearings. Water lilies covered the surface of the water in some areas. Birds had quieted, either because of the approaching storm or the approaching madman. The sounds of the water swooshing under the oars would normally be soothing. Now it reminded Maggie that the farther they went, the farther away he was taking her from civilization.
Otis asked questions, even more soft-spoken out here, as if paying reverence to nature or to Jack.
“Why is the water so clear but it looks dirty, almost like weak tea?”
“The water’s clean. It’s stained from the tannin in the tree bark.” Jack gestured to the bank, where huge trees grew halfway in the water, their roots sticking up like gnarled fingers.
“The color’ll change depending on the depth of the water. Shallow is tea colored. A bit deeper, caramel. Deeper still, almost a cola. The deepest is black.”
Otis nodded like he finally understood. “I get it—that’s why it’s called Blackwater River.”
“Lots of creeks flow into Blackwater. We’re traveling several of them. Juniper, Coldwater. The first time my daddy brought me out here I knew it was the most fascinating and beautiful place I’d seen. I didn’t even mind when he started bringing me out and leaving me. Thought he was teaching me something.”
Otis was nodding. He had his back to Maggie and Tully as he rowed. Jack sat at the bow of the boat with his body turned sideways so he could glance back at his prisoners but also up ahead so he could direct Otis.
“This where he left you out all night?” Otis asked, gently, like he was coaxing a child.
“A couple miles back. Tied me to a tree. Left me for the night. Middle of summer. Mosquitoes were a bitch. There was a thunderstorm, too. Magnificent display of Florida lightning. I told you about Florida being famous for its lightning, haven’t I?”
“Most lightning strikes per year than anyplace else.”
Maggie watched the two men. It was as though Otis had heard this story many times and his nods and questions were just another part of the telling.
“But you weren’t scared,” Otis said.
Jack stared off into the fog and continued, “My daddy told me it’d make a man of me. Staying out there like that. Finding my own way home. Guess he was right because two days later I slit his throat. Cut him into pieces in his own shed using his tools.”
Maggie could only see Otis’s head bob again. With his hunched back to her, she couldn’t see his face. Jack’s expression remained unchanged. He didn’t flinch, didn’t break his gaze. And her panic started to claw around inside her.
Tully stirred. Had he been listening? He sat slumped against her, eyes closed. He was conscious but his breathing was labored. Once in a while he winced when the boat bumped against something.
Maggie had found a roll of paper towels on the floor of the boat, partially damp and water-stained. Surprisingly, Jack let her have the roll to stop Tully’s wound from bleeding, though she had no intention of pressing the musty-smelling paper against him. Instead, she pretended she was cleaning, her hand still smeared with Tully’s blood. It nagged at her that she couldn’t rip open his jacket and see how bad the wound was. She did know that if a major artery had been severed there would be much more blood. That was good news. Bad news was the longer it went unattended the more likely it would get infected.
But there was another reason Maggie wanted the paper towels. She had been drenching them with as much blood as she could from her hand and from Tully’s windbreaker. She wiped Trooper Campos’s blood and brain matter from her face and out of her hair. Jack didn’t seem to mind that she was preoccupied with cleaning herself and so he didn’t even notice that every time she stained a paper towel, she wadded it tightly in her fist and then dropped it into the water behind them. She only hoped that Creed might have a way to track them if she left a bloody trail.
CHAPTER 61
QUANTICO, VIRGINIA
The others were already gathered in the conference room by the time Gwen came rushing in. She was breathless and her pulse had been racing since she got off the phone with Agent Alonzo.
“Aren’t you supposed to be—” But Julia Racine stopped herself, then continued, “Somewhere else?”
“What do we know?” Gwen asked, ignoring the question.
Racine was the only one who knew about the biopsy but that was by default. The entire hour drive out to Quantico, Gwen had been frantic. She had thrown her clothes on and rushed out of the surgical suite before any of the nurses had noticed. Now, as she sat down and rolled her chair to the table edge, she saw that she had not paid close enough attention while getting dressed. Under her suit jacket she could see from the cuff of her blouse that she had put it on inside out. She pulled her jacket lapels together and scooted closer to the table.
“We haven’t heard from anyone,” Kunze told her. “That might mean only that the cell phone reception is not sufficient.”
Gwen tried to make eye contact with the director but he looked away, and she knew instantly that he didn’t believe a word he had just told her. He was worried, too.
“Tully sent a text message about two hours ago saying they had entered someplace called Blackwater River State Forest,” Agent Alonzo told her.
“The forest must have an office. Has anyone called? They could send someone to check.”
“There is an office, but it’s after hours.”
“What about emergencies?” Was she the only one frantic? How could they all be so calm? Otis had lied to her. He knew Jack. Was still in touch wi
th him. Not only had Otis lied, he’d tricked her. He had tricked them all.
“I’ve called the Florida Highway Patrol. Two of their troopers are with Maggie and Tully,” Agent Alonzo said. But when he didn’t continue, Gwen knew why.
“And the Florida Highway Patrol hasn’t been able to get in touch with them either,” she said.
No one responded. Keith Ganza stared at a spot on the table. Kunze still wouldn’t look at her. Only Racine dared and there was a mixture of anger and sadness in her eyes, something Gwen did not want to see.
Alonzo’s phone rang and all of them startled. He checked the caller ID and immediately answered.
“Hello, Mr. Creed. This is Antonio Alonzo. You got my voice message.”
All of them leaned in, anxious but unable to hear the other side of the conversation. Gwen watched Alonzo’s face and watched his eyes dart then go wide. His jaw clamped tight. Kunze stood over him as Alonzo grabbed a notepad and started scribbling a list that Ryder Creed must have been dictating to him. Before the agent ended the call he said, “Give me a few minutes to arrange this and I’ll call you right back.”
He pushed his chair back and looked up at Kunze.
“Both troopers are dead at the scene,” Alonzo said.
Gwen heard a gasp and realized it had come from her.
“Demarcus is alive, with a bullet wound in his stomach. Maggie, Tully, and Otis—all three of them are gone. Mr. Creed gave me a list of things he needs. And he asked me to call the Coast Guard.”
“Does he know if Tully and Maggie are okay?” Racine asked the question when Gwen couldn’t find her voice.
Alonzo’s eyes dropped to the floor and she could see he was hoping no one would ask that question.
“Mr. Creed says it looks like at least one of them is bleeding.”
CHAPTER 62
When the rain came it did so in angry and relentless torrents. It pounded on the tin roof of the fishing cabin. Maggie could feel the vibration of the thunder through the floorboards and thin walls. The place smelled damp and moldy, but after being in the boat and watching the storm approach in flashes of lightning, the wooden structure felt solid against her back.
