The Survivors

by Dinah McCall

  And it was that mouth she was watching. His lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear his voice. She didn’t know what he was saying, had somehow lost his thoughts, but he was bitterly angry, and she could feel that frustration.

  She didn’t see Mike come into the room with a plate of food, didn’t hear him cursing softly, didn’t feel him helping her to her feet. She was too focused on watching for a frontal view of the man’s face.

  Just a step more, a little to the right, just a fraction of a step more and—

  There! She saw him. Watched as he carefully traced the cuts and bruises on his face, then lightly ran a practiced finger down the crooked length of his nose. Then, to her surprise, she heard his voice, as plain as day.

  “Damn it, Wilson, if you don’t get rid of your witnesses, you will rot in hell.”

  Deborah gasped, and as she did, the vision disappeared and she suddenly realized that Mike was holding her and staring intently into her face.

  “What did you see?” he asked.

  Deborah swayed.

  Mike groaned, then took her in his arms.

  “This is crazy,” he muttered as he cupped the back of her head with his hand and pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “I can’t believe I’m even asking you this.”

  “The killer. I saw the killer,” she said as she pulled away from his embrace.

  “Where is he? What’s his name? Maybe we can get through to—”

  Deborah grabbed him, her fingers unintentionally digging into the muscles of his forearms.

  “He called himself Wilson, but whether it’s a first or last name, I don’t know. I don’t know where he is, either, but I know what he’s doing.”

  “What? Is he headed out of the country? Damn this storm. We can’t let him get away.”

  Deborah glanced nervously at the bed where Molly was lying, then lowered her voice.

  “He’s not going into hiding,” she whispered. “He’s looking for Molly and Johnny.”

  “You mean he’s actually trailing them?”

  She shivered, as if a cold wind had suddenly blown down her neck.

  “Yes, or trying to. He needs to make sure there are no witnesses to what he did.”

  Mike heard her words, but it was like listening to them from the other end of a long tunnel. It didn’t seem possible that this was happening, that the danger wasn’t over.

  “He’s coming to kill them?”

  She nodded.

  “And you saw this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’re one step ahead of him, because, thanks to you, we know what the devil looks like.”

  Deborah’s eyes widened as a sudden knot pulled at her stomach.

  “You believe me?”

  “Devoutly,” he said.

  He did believe her. She could see it in his face. A huge weight rolled off her shoulders. This was more than she’d ever hoped for.

  “What do we do first?” she asked.

  Mike pointed to her swiftly-cooling breakfast.

  “First you eat, then we make plans.”

  Deborah nodded as she picked up a fork.

  Darren Wilson got up. His head was throbbing and he was in a world of pain. Once he’d relieved himself by peeing in three separate spots, he sat back down on the fallen tree to assess his options.

  Thanks to Alphonso Riberra and the crash and his injuries, his plan to escape to the Bahamas was in ruins. If he managed to live through this hell, he wasn’t sure if he would ever have the guts to get on another plane, let alone dodge Riberra’s bad guys, who would be looking for him—and Riberra’s money.

  Breakfast had come and gone. Molly woke up to find Evan dozing in a chair by the side of her bed. Johnny was asleep, stretched out on the covers beside her. He was still wearing the old T-shirt he’d slept in last night, but with a little smear of grape jelly on the front. The wool socks he was wearing were pulled up past his knees. His bruises were a darkening purple, but she knew the pain in his ribs was easing with each passing day.

  She felt light-headed and a little bit sick to her stomach, but the pain in her back didn’t seem quite as bad.

  “Evan?”

  He rose with a jerk.

  “Molly? Are you in pain? What do you need?”

  Surprised by the depth of his concern, Molly wondered what she’d missed.

  “I don’t feel so good,” she admitted.

  “You had a fever,” Evan said as he laid the back of his hand against her cheek.

  “My back…”

  Evan cupped her face. “Why didn’t you tell us you had been injured?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Jesus, lady, you walked around with a piece of metal in your back for days and got an infection. Don’t tell me you couldn’t feel it.”

  Molly’s eyes widened in disbelief as she reached toward the pain in her back.

  “I felt pain, all right, but I hurt all over. It’s impossible to distinguish where pain starts and stops.”

  Evan grabbed her hand, gently stopping her from disturbing the bandage Deborah had put on the wound.

  “Deborah performed minor surgery on you a few hours ago. The metal is out. You have some stitches, so no touching, okay?”

  “Lord,” Molly muttered, then glanced down at Johnny and stroked his hair. “Is he all right?”

  “He’s okay,” Evan said. “Just worried about you. I hope you don’t mind, but after what you two went through, you’ve become his touchstone to sanity.”

  Molly’s eyes filled with tears. “Mind? Of course I don’t mind. He’s a pretty special little guy.”

  Evan sat down on the side of the bed, then realized Molly was staring intently at him. Instinctively, he turned the injured side of his face away from her.

  “I guess I must look pretty scary,” he said.

  “Not scary.” Then her eyelids fluttered, and she closed her eyes. “Never scary…just hurt,” she mumbled.

  Evan swallowed past the knot in his throat, then reached for the pills, shaking a painkiller as well as another antibiotic into his palm.

  “Molly…you need to take these pills before you go back to sleep…okay?”

  She struggled to open her eyes, but the only thing she managed to open was her mouth.

  Evan slipped the two capsules between her teeth, then reached for the water on the table.

  “Sip slowly, so you don’t choke,” he warned, then slipped a hand beneath her head and raised her up enough for her to drink and swallow.

  Once she’d finished, he eased her back down and straightened her covers. He was just about to go back to his chair when Molly’s fingers curled around his arm.

  “Stay,” she whispered.

  A small pain twisted itself through Evan’s belly. Stay? The more he was around her, the more appealing that idea became.

  “Yeah…sure,” he said softly, then made a place to lie down by scooting Johnny into the middle of the bed.

  Molly opened her eyes once to catch Evan staring intently at her. With the eye patch and the scars, he could have passed for a Hollywood version of a pirate, but she knew better. He wasn’t just a man who’d come home from a war. He was a father who’d kept a promise to his son.

  She smiled, then reached for his hand. Only after she’d threaded her fingers through his did she finally relax. The medicine was working its magic as her eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Finally, she slept.

  Evan watched her closely until her breathing slowed and her skin grew cool. When he was certain that her fever was abating, he closed his eyes. At once, he felt himself falling into another nightmare filled with blood and bombs and the never-ending sounds of dying soldiers. His body twitched uncontrollably as he struggled to get out of the way of an approaching tank. Just at the point where the tracks were about to crush him into the desert sand, he felt Molly’s fingers tighten their hold. It was exactly what he needed to come back to reality. He shuddered, then slowly relaxed and remembered that he was
safe in bed with his child—and this woman.

  12

  Deborah, Mike and James were huddled together near the fireplace. Purposefully, they kept their voices low so as not to wake the sleeping trio down the hall.

  James had been shocked by Deborah’s prediction that the killer was coming to make sure there were no living witnesses to what he’d done and had immediately tried to call the sheriff’s office down in Carlisle, but to no avail.

  The television was on, but no one was paying it much attention. They were so intent on trying to figure out what to do next that they didn’t hear the sound of little footsteps coming down the hall. They didn’t even know Johnny was anywhere around until they heard him moan.

  Deborah jumped and turned around as Mike flew out of his chair and ran to Johnny, who had his Elmo toy stuffed under his chin and his eyes squeezed shut. He was trembling so hard that when Mike picked him up, Mike thought he was ill.

  “Hey, little man…what’s wrong? Tell Daddy Mike. Are you sick?”

  The Elmo toy fell to the floor as Johnny threw his arms around Mike’s neck and hid his face in the curve of his grandfather’s neck.

  “What in hell?” James asked as he laid a hand on Johnny’s back.

  “I don’t know,” Mike said. “He doesn’t feel feverish.”

  Deborah laid her hand on the back of Johnny’s neck to check his body temperature and was immediately sucked into the panic he was feeling.

  “Oh, dear,” she said softly, and turned to Mike. “Something has frightened him.”

  Mike’s frown deepened. “Is that so, Johnny? Did something scare you?”

  Johnny nodded but wouldn’t look up.

  Mike hugged Johnny closer, thinking that he’d probably had a bad dream.

  “Was it a dream, son? Did you have a bad dream?”

  “No,” Johnny said.

  “Then what? You know you can tell me. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

  Johnny lifted his head, peering over Mike’s shoulder to the television in the corner of the room, then pointed.

  They all turned around, looking for something that might have frightened a child, but saw nothing out of place.

  “What are you pointing at?” Deborah asked.

  Johnny cupped his hands and then held them up to Mike’s ear and whispered so softly that Mike had to strain to hear.

  “Him,” Johnny said. “It’s him.”

  Mike’s frown deepened. “Him? What ‘him’ are you talking about, honey?”

  Johnny’s eyes welled. Moments later, tears spilled down his cheeks.

  “The man from the plane. The one who killed his friend.”

  Mike’s arms subconsciously tightened around his grandson as he stared at the television screen.

  “Are you talking about someone on the television?”

  Johnny nodded.

  “Who the hell is that?” Mike muttered as he sat down in front of the television, then cradled Johnny in his lap.

  Deborah ran to turn up the volume, then they watched in silence, listening to the interview in progress. The only person on camera at that point was Senator Patrick Finn’s wife. She was wearing black and obviously in mourning. The journalist talking to her was commiserating with her on the death of her husband in the Kentucky plane crash. They’d just asked her if she’d been in touch with Senator Darren Wilson’s family, since they all knew by now that Senator Wilson had been found, along with the missing woman and boy.

  “Of course we’re happy for Senator Wilson and his family,” Mrs. Finn said, stifling a fresh set of tears. “I’m sure they consider Darren’s rescue nothing short of a miracle, especially at Christmas.”

  As she spoke, the picture cut to a photo obviously taken on the steps of Congress in Washington, D.C. It was a picture of several senators standing around some foreign dignitary. The camera closed in on Patrick Finn, then on the man on the other side of the dignitary, identifying him as Senator Darren Wilson. As the interviewer continued to talk, a comment was made regarding the odds of two senators having been on the same flight.

  “Jesus H. Christ,” James muttered. “That’s Darren Wilson. He’s a senator from Texas.”

  Deborah stiffened at the name “Wilson,” then hurriedly shoved a blank tape into the VCR and hit record. She’d seen the killer’s face, but it looked nothing like the well-dressed cosmopolitan man in the photo.

  “Why are you doing that?” James asked.

  “For Molly,” Deborah said. “When she wakes up, I want to see what her reaction is.”

  “Good thinking,” Mike said.

  “Will he hurt me, Daddy Mike?”

  The fear in his grandson’s voice was palpable. It made Mike angry all over again.

  “No. Never.”

  “But he—”

  “Look at my face, Johnny.”

  The little boy shuddered, then fixed his gaze on his grandfather’s face.

  Mike’s eyes were cold and narrowed. The muscles in his jaw were tight and twitching, and there was a slight tic in the muscles near his left eye.

  “Have I ever lied to you?” Mike asked.

  Johnny took a deep breath, then exhaled on a long, shaky sigh.

  “No.”

  Mike hugged him close.

  “Okay, so remember that. When Daddy Mike tells you something, he means it. I’ve said I’ll keep you safe, and I will, won’t I?”

  Johnny nodded.

  “Good. Now, are you hungry, buddy?”

  Johnny shrugged.

  Mike pushed the issue, knowing that an ordinary task was what Johnny needed to change the focus of his thoughts.

  “I saw some cookies in Deborah’s cookie jar.”

  Johnny almost smiled.

  “They’re pretty good,” Deborah added. “Maybe you’d like some chocolate milk with them?”

  The little boy’s expression lightened a little bit more. “Maybe I could dunk my cookies in the milk?” he said hopefully.

  Deborah smiled.

  “Is there any other way to eat a cookie? Of course you can.”

  Mike could feel the tension in Johnny’s body easing with every breath.

  “Would you like to come with me?” Deborah asked. “Daddy Mike needs to put some more wood on the fire. When he’s done, he can come in the kitchen and have cookies, too. Okay?”

  “And chocolate milk?” Johnny added.

  “And chocolate milk,” Deborah promised, then took the little boy out of Mike’s arms.

  Mike mouthed a silent thank-you to her as she took the child out of the room, then he turned and looked at his dad.

  “What in the hell are we going to do about this?” he asked.

  James’s hands were curled into fists. His expression was stern, his chin jutting mutinously. He didn’t know that, at that moment, he and Mike looked almost exactly alike. He did know, however, that they were both capable of doing whatever it took to protect the ones they loved.

  “We’ve got to get hold of the authorities,” James said.

  “Let’s try the phones again,” Mike said.

  James reached for the phone, then hurried into the kitchen, Mike on his heels. “Deborah, what’s the number to the sheriff’s office?”

  Deborah rattled it off as she mixed a glass of chocolate milk and set it in front of Johnny.

  “Thanks,” James said, and punched in the numbers as he left the room.

  Mike winked at Johnny, took a cookie from the cookie jar, then followed his dad back into the living room. Unfortunately, their attempts to get through proved as useless as they had before.

  “Damn this weather,” James muttered as he laid the phone back in the cradle. He’d gotten nothing but static for his trouble.

  Mike swallowed his last bite of cookie, then dusted the sugar from his hands.

  “Let’s confirm this with Molly, then go from there,” Mike said.

  “What if she’s too sick? I hate to wake her,” Mike said.

  “She can always go back to
sleep. This is serious, Dad. Waiting is no longer an option.”

  James sighed, then nodded. “You’re right. So…who tells Evan?”

  “I will,” Mike said. “Be right back.”

  Mike could hear Johnny talking to Deborah about the merits of peanut butter cookies over chocolate chip and grimaced as he hurried down the hall. That a child should have been subjected to these horrors was disgusting. That it was his own grandson made it even worse. A child Johnny’s age shouldn’t have to be concerned with anything more serious than learning to tie his shoes, not worrying if he was going to be murdered in his sleep.

  When he got to the bedroom, he paused, hoping he would hear voices. It would be far preferable to interrupt than to wake them, but as he’d just told his dad, they were left with no other choices.

  He knocked once, then eased the door open.

  Evan had heard the knock and was already rolling over to the side of the bed when Mike walked in.

  “Hey, Dad…what’s up?” Evan asked, then realized Johnny wasn’t in the room. “Is Johnny with you guys?”

  “Yeah, he’s in the kitchen with Deborah,” Mike said. “He’s fine, but we need to talk. Something new has come up.”

  Evan glanced at Molly, then slipped out of bed.

  “Let’s talk out there,” he said, pointing toward the hall. “I don’t want to wake her.”

  “Sorry, but that’s why I’m here,” Mike said. “We have to wake her. There’s something she needs to see…something she needs to verify before we make any more decisions.”

  Evan frowned. “She’s still running a fever. I don’t want to—”

  “I’m awake. What’s wrong?” Molly asked, and tried to sit up, but when she raised her head, the room began to spin. “Yikes,” she muttered. “That wasn’t a good idea.” She lay back down.

  “Dad, can’t this wait?” Evan asked.

  “Johnny just said he saw the killer on television.”

  Evan flinched as if he’d just been punched. “What the hell?”

  “Are you serious?” Molly asked.

  “It really scared him,” Mike said.

  Now Molly was struggling to sit up again. “Is he still on the TV? Can I see? I need to see.”

  Evan grabbed her by the arm as she tried to get up, then steadied her as she sagged against him.