Every Second

by Rick Mofina

  But Lori grew hopeful.

  Please, find us! Please!

  They came to a dense, terraced section. Lori spotted a patch of white on the forked-branched maple tree where she’d stripped a piece of bark.

  “This is it.”

  She bent down to the rock heap at the base of the tree, reached into it and pulled out the laptop. Vic took it from her, sat down and quickly browsed through its folders. Satisfied everything was intact, he slid it into his backpack, stood and pointed his gun at Lori.

  They started back.

  * * *

  Billy’s shoulders rose and fell as he cried, sitting on a rock, his hands bound behind his back.

  Cutty and Percy stood near him, their guns strapped over their shoulders.

  Lori’s heart quavered as she was escorted back along the cliff above the river. Over the water’s rush, fear throbbed in her ears.

  She knew what was coming.

  They’re going to behead us!

  At twenty yards out, panic prickled Lori’s scalp, and her knees nearly buckled. Video images flashed before her of the British aid worker on her knees, her captor clad in black, her exposed throat, the glint of the knife. The horror of Billy’s impending death consumed Lori like an inferno and suddenly she was on the street in Santa Ana covered with Tim’s blood. Then she saw Dan in his last moments, fighting back, saving them—I’ll be right behind you!—before they shot him.

  Ten yards away, every vein in Lori’s body felt ready to burst. Her eyes bulged as she scanned their captors. Vic sat down to work on the laptop while Jerricko searched his backpack, pulling out a bottle of water.

  Lori smiled at Billy as she approached him, her voice trembling.

  “It’ll be okay, sweetie.”

  Cutty positioned her next to her son. Percy, who stood guard, yawned and was not fully attentive as she surrendered her left hand behind her back. As Cutty began to bind her, Lori’s mind still blazed with... Tim’s blood... I’ll be right behind you...they’re going to kill us now...nothing left but to fight for our lives...and she exploded with lightning fury.

  She pivoted and with all her might drove her right fist into Cutty’s face. Before Percy could react, she plowed her fist hard into his groin. Then she grabbed Billy and rushed with him to the cliff side, jumping into the river twenty feet below.

  As they fell everything whirred in slow motion.

  Their captors cursed and let off a spurt of gunfire that missed while Lori prayed the water would be deep enough to survive.

  The river swallowed them with an icy splash. They plunged to a muddy spot at the bottom. Lori held Billy, kicking until her feet found traction, thrusting them downstream underwater with the current as bullet tracks bubbled around them.

  It took all of her strength to hold Billy, whose hands were still bound. She surfaced for air as bullets ricocheted on rocks. The killers were firing down on them while running atop the rugged treacherous terrain; its rocky walls reached some twenty feet up along the twisting river.

  Lori worked hard to keep above the surface, so Billy could breathe, at the same time she had to avoid being slammed into jagged formations.

  At first she thought Billy had banged his leg against a rock.

  But Lori soon realized from the blood wafting in the water around him that he’d been shot. His face was white but his eyes were open. He was breathing. His wound was on the right side of his stomach.

  They were floating too fast with the current for her to tend to him or pull them out. Electricity suddenly shot through her arm. She raised it and saw that a two-inch chunk of flesh, exposing bloodied tendons, was gone from the meaty part of her forearm.

  She’d been shot.

  Blood oozed from her wound.

  As the distance between them and the killers grew Lori looked downstream for a sanctuary. But her vision was blurring, her strength waning as she battled to keep Billy and herself alive.

  71

  Coyote Mountains, New York

  The small sneaker floated in the eddy among swirling foam tinged a pinkish red.

  “I told you I got them—both of them!”

  Percy held up Billy’s shoe for the others who were standing with him in a valley at the river’s edge. They looked at it, then looked downstream at the raging rapids, the rocks spearing the surface and spouts of white water.

  “They’re dead,” Percy said.

  “I say we go downriver and find the bodies to be sure,” Cutty said.

  “We don’t have time. Look at this!” Percy held up Billy’s shoe again. “I hit them. See the blood in the water? No way they survived.”

  “I agree. If they’re not dead they will be soon. Forget them. They’re done,” Jerricko said. “We don’t have time, we have to go!”

  Vic took advantage of their location along the river and consulted his GPS compass. “We’re not far from the meeting point.” He looked up and down the river. “Our brother should be there waiting by the time we get there. We continue with the operation.” He adjusted his backpack and pointed his gun. “That way.”

  72

  Coyote Mountains, New York

  A sickening sensation grew in the pit of Kate’s stomach as Strobic drove them deeper into God knew where. The forest rolled by, taking them farther from the media center. Looking into the woods, trying to penetrate the darkness, she thought of the Fultons again.

  Dan was in intensive care. Lori and Billy were missing with fugitives suspected of plotting a terrorist attack—if they were still alive. Kate’s heart went out to the family.

  Will my story make their situation worse?

  Kate hadn’t heard from Reeka or anyone at the desk but reception was bad, so that was a factor. She was struggling to control her rising anxiety when she caught a faint static-filled transmission spilling from one of Strobic’s scanners.

  “...hikers...reported...gunfire...sector...”

  “Did you hear that, Stan?”

  Nodding, he adjusted the scanner’s volume and frequency. A series of static pulsations and squeals filled the cab as Strobic continued tuning the scanner for better reception.

  “...hikers just came out of Fox Ridge near the...need air support...”

  “Air support? Where? Near where?” Stan shouted at the scanner.

  “...we’re sending people to Fox Ridge...at the northwest turn of the Bearfoot River...hikers...hearing steady automatic gunfire...”

  “Fox Ridge and the Bearfoot, I know it.”

  “Are we close?”

  “We’re close.” He pressed down on the accelerator. “The best way in is seven or eight miles from here.”

  Strobic pushed his truck flat out. Kate gripped the grab handle above her door as the narrow road twisted left then right, climbing and dipping through the woods. At one point they rolled by an immense swath of charred trees and gnarled stumps, the aftermath of a wildfire from years gone by. Gradually, stands of deadwood gave way to thick, healthy trees.

  Strobic and Kate listened hard to every dispatch as the road ascended and curled into forests so dense they obscured the light. They stayed on the fringes of the search perimeter to avoid any checkpoints.

  Sometime later, he pulled off the road, turned and crawled into the dirt mouth of a forgotten trail. His truck was invisible from the paved road, concealed by the dense brush.

  “This is the northwest entrance to Timber Point,” Strobic said as they got out and went around to the back of the truck. “It’s an old logging trail but it tapers off into some badass terrain.”

  Strobic lowered his tailgate, raised the door of the cap and began rooting through his gear.

  “You’ll need these.” He collected boots, heavy woolen socks, jeans and a ball cap. “They’re my wife’s, but you’
re about the same size, I think.”

  Kate nodded and took the gear from Strobic.

  “We’ll take the trail. We might have to hike in a long way.”

  “Remember, they heard gunshots.”

  “I know.”

  A helicopter thundered above the treetops as it passed.

  Kate stepped behind a tree with the clothes. After changing, she returned to Strobic, who waited with his camera bags and radios.

  All suited up and ready to move, he passed Kate a fluorescent orange vest with the word PRESS in reflective lettering across the back. It matched the one he had.

  “This is so we don’t get shot at,” he said. “You know the rules, Kate, same as in a war zone. Be watchful, be careful and be lucky.”

  Kate nodded. “Let’s go.”

  73

  Coyote Mountains, New York

  Lori hung on to Billy as they shot along the rushing river.

  They rolled and turned in the furious water as she struggled to keep Billy’s head above the churning surface.

  They slid over smooth stones, banged against jutting rocks. The river bounced them mercilessly from one boulder to another, faster and faster. At times they were on a collision course with massive rocks rising directly before them. It took every last bit of Lori’s dwindling strength to raise her feet and avert impact.

  Managing a glance at Billy, she saw that he was bleeding from the side of his head.

  Has he been shot, or has he banged his head on the rocks?

  She was hurting, her wounded arm nearly useless as the unrelenting river carried them still farther. Surely they were beyond the reach of the killers, she thought, growing dizzy, searching for calm water and a safe place. Above the roar she thought she’d heard a helicopter, but she couldn’t tell whether it was real or a hallucination, as the sound faded along with her hope.

  Most of the feeling in her body was ebbing. Her strength was all but gone, her eyes closing just as the river delivered them to a section of flat, slick rocks and tranquil, shallow water. Lori lay for a moment praying. Then she summoned the last of her strength. Struggling with her numb, wounded arm, she untied Billy’s bound hands and ripped off a section of her shredded shirt. Gritting through her pain, she tore it into strips and used them to wrap the wounds she found on Billy’s stomach and head, then took a moment to tend to her own.

  Cradling her son’s body, she could see that his lips had turned blue. Panic flared inside her again.

  “No! Stay with Mommy!”

  She bent over his still body, starting mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

  I can’t lose you, too!

  Breathing her last breaths into him, she collapsed while voices screamed in the back of her head.

  Don’t give up! You’ve got to hang on! I’ll be right behind you!

  74

  Coyote Mountains, New York

  Trooper Larry Mattise stood at the checkpoint near Fox Ridge, his patrol car blocking the road as he directed drivers to pull to the side. Traffic trickled at this extreme edge of the dragnet, the junction of Birch Creek Road and Red Hawk Way.

  A dog’s bark pulled Mattise’s attention to where a trooper, a Greene County deputy and a K-9 unit from Albany were searching the van of a family from Vermont. Next in line, an older man and woman in a Mercedes from New Jersey waited their turn. Behind them in a polished Lincoln was an arrogant, “Do you know who I am?” injury lawyer, who did TV commercials promising sky’s-the-limit settlements.

  Mattise’s job was to ensure all civilian and commercial traffic was checked by the roadside search teams at his point. He was also directing every newly arriving law enforcement vehicle to go down Birch Creek Road, where resources were needed most. They were still setting up and expanding the search boundaries miles in every direction, pulling in people from across the region.

  He studied images of the suspects on his phone. Most of the photos were crisp: Jerricko Blaine, from Dallas; Doug Gerard Kimmett, from Binghamton, New York; Jake Sebastian Spencer from Minneapolis; and a grainy head shot of Adam Chisolm Patterson of Chicago. As he reread the key facts and threat summary, an alert and photos from the FBI came through concerning a new, fifth suspect: Todd Dalir Ghorbani, of Springfield, Massachusetts, believed to be driving a 2014 red Chevrolet Malibu.

  This case was busting wide-open on all fronts, Mattise thought as a fixed wing plane flew overhead for the first time.

  Good, they needed more help in the air, since it was impossible to cover every road, back trail and private path in this corner of the state. If you took in the Coyotes, the Blackheads and the Catskills, you were looking at something like a million acres to search. Sure, the report of gunfire near this end of Fox Ridge gave the SWAT teams a focal point for convergence, but man, these guys could be anywhere.

  Who knew? They could be long gone from here.

  Mattise resumed studying their faces, lifting his head at the rumble of an oncoming vehicle. It was a marked New York State Police SUV. He didn’t recognize it right off. The brakes emitted a gentle squeak as it halted and Mattise approached the trooper behind the wheel.

  “Where you coming from, pal?”

  “Hudson,” the driver said. “What’ve you got going here?”

  “Roadside search. And way up there along the ridge—” he nodded to the mountains “—they’re trying to nail down a report of automatic weapons fire.”

  “That right?”

  “Yeah, it was on the radio. And they just updated the mugs and info on the suspects.”

  “What do we have now?”

  Mattise showed the driver the pictures on his phone. The new cop never removed his dark glasses. His jaw muscles bunched and he licked his lips a couple of times as he studied the five faces. He seemed to be sweating a bit. After a moment, Mattise pulled his phone back and asked: “You’re here to help, right?”

  The man nodded.

  “Then you keep going down Birch Creek a few miles,” Mattise said, pointing. “They’ll assign you down there.”

  “No, I have to go down Red Hawk.”

  “Orders are to send everybody to Birch Creek.”

  A sudden wind kicked up and blew through.

  “My staff sergeant will kick my ass if I don’t do as instructed,” the trooper said.

  “Well, my lieutenant’s orders are clear—I gotta send everyone down Birch Creek Road.”

  The dog searching the Vermont van barked and turned its head to Mattise and the trooper, who both glanced at it.

  “Whose pup is that?” the trooper asked.

  “Albany bomb squad. They haven’t detected anything here so far. Listen, buddy, I’ll call my lieutenant, get him to call your staff, sort this out.”

  The dog started barking again, as if he wanted to have a go at them.

  “Yo!” the dog’s handler called to them. “Everything okay over there?”

  “We’re fine!” Mattise called back, then to the new guy he repeated, “So, want me to call my lieutenant?”

  “Naw, I don’t have time for that,” the trooper said. “And my boss will kill me. I’ve got to take Red Hawk.”

  “You’re not hearing me. Nothing’s going on there. It’s outside the current perimeter. Nothing’s set up yet. We need people at Birch Creek. I don’t advise going down there.”

  “Well, that’s where I’m headed anyway. If you get any trouble from your boss, just blame me.”

  Mattise stared at him for a moment, then stepped back.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Hennesy. Carl Hennesy.”

  “Where’re you from, Hennesy?”

  “D troop, but for the last month I’ve been on assignment with K. Look, let’s keep it simple and say we never talked. I gotta go.”

 
“Fine. It’s your ass, Hennesy.”

  The trooper offered Mattise a casual parting salute and wheeled down Red Hawk Way. Mattise was frustrated as he searched in vain for the troop and zone prefix marking on the unit, but he managed to lock on to Hennesy’s license number.

  He shook his head as the dog continued barking. That’s right, every now and then you encounter a prick, he thought, staring hard at the SUV before it vanished down Red Hawk. At least the jerk’s out of my zone.

  But as Mattise walked back to his car, his disgust gave way to a feeling of unease that pinged in a far corner of his gut.

  75

  Coyote Mountains, New York

  Undergrowth and branches tore at the four men as they moved double time through the forest.

  The recurrent roar of helicopters told them with each pass that the search was intensifying, but Jerricko insisted that he had the operation under control.

  He’d accepted that they’d made mistakes, that they’d failed to make the execution video. But it didn’t matter now. Lori Fulton and her family of enemy combatants were as good as dead.

  Jerricko’s team had prevailed. They’d recovered the laptop. They had a quarter million dollars in cash. Their martyr videos were secure, along with the names of soldiers who’d join them on their path to glory. All they needed now was to meet up with the bomb maker and drive to their destiny.

  As they descended a steep slope through dense growth, Jerricko dreamed of paradise.

  Soon I’ll see you again and together we’ll bask in the brilliant light of God. Don’t worry, Malcolm. We’ll succeed. Our mother will be so proud. Our glorious leaders will capitalize on our triumphant act. The world will bear witness to our victory over the murdering nonbelievers—over immorality and filth.

  The death squad continued traveling at great speed, as if by instinct. Jerricko glimpsed at each member moving with determination and conviction.

  Each one yearns to breathe their last breath for the glory of God.

  Vic held up his hand, halting the group as he consulted his compass and calculations again, keeping his voice soft.