The Survivors

by Dinah McCall

  “Help,” Wilson mumbled.

  Mike was so angry he was shaking.

  “You tried to kill my grandson. You shot a woman who means everything to me. You want help? Yeah, sure…why not, you sorry bastard. I’ll help you, all right…all the way to hell.”

  He moved the barrel of the rifle to the point on Darren’s chest where the bullet had exited, then pushed.

  Darren Wilson would have sworn there was no air left in his lungs to say a prayer, let alone power the scream that broke the silence on the mountain.

  Mike pulled the trigger.

  Wilson’s body bucked, then went still.

  Mike looked up to find the owner of the truck staring at him in wide-eyed fear.

  “He’s dead,” Mike said. “He can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

  “Say…what do you reckon I should do?” Farley asked.

  “Call the sheriff if you want. I don’t care.”

  Then he turned around and started running back up the mountain, the way he’d come.

  The ride up the mountain was exhilarating. If it hadn’t been for the seriousness of the reason, Thorn would be loving this. A good portion of the population of the United States considered anyone over the age of eighty to be old as dirt and completely useless. He could have given them a lesson in capability.

  “Watch the bump!” James yelled.

  Thorn nodded as he swerved the snowmobile around the drift and then accelerated past it, leaving rooster tails of snow flying out behind him.

  James considered it genius on the part of the old man to have thought of these machines. Thorn had told him as they’d been packing to leave that he’d known about them only because he’d been left behind. Because he’d been too old to take the mountain on foot when they’d begun their search, he’d stayed behind at the motel and seen a group of teenage boys on snowmobiles playing chicken in a Kmart parking lot.

  It hadn’t taken long to find the boys. Money changed hands, and less than half an hour after the phone call, James and Thorn were on their way up the mountain.

  The ride was far easier than they’d imagined, even when they reached the elevation where the roads had turned icy. They were following tracks made by the sheriff and his deputies, flying along at a pretty stiff clip, when Thorn suddenly saw a truck and three county cruisers parked off the road and up in the trees.

  He pointed.

  James nodded to indicate that he’d seen them, too.

  They slowed and headed for the cars. James saw the sheriff first and brought his snowmobile to an immediate halt. Thorn quickly followed suit.

  “You boys on your way up to Deborah’s?” Wally Hacker asked.

  “Yes,” James answered. He could see a body on the far side of the truck.

  “According to Farley here, Mike got to Wilson before we did. When you see him, tell him to come down to my office. We need to talk.”

  “He’s not in trouble, is he?” Thorn asked.

  “Not if what we heard was true. I just need the info to close up the report.”

  “We’ll pass the word on,” James said. Then they got back on their snowmobiles and rode away.

  It was slower going up the mountain than it had been going down, and added to that were the cold and exhaustion Mike was now feeling. He had pushed himself past every threshold he’d had in him and was paying for it now. His muscles were cramping, and there was a burning pain in his side from the wild run that he’d made. Still, he wouldn’t let up. He needed to get to Deborah, and he had to make sure that Johnny was all right. He was moving as fast as his body would let him, and he used every survival skill he’d learned in the military to push physical discomfort from his conscious mind. And it was because he was so focused on ignoring the pain that he didn’t hear the snowmobiles until they were almost upon him.

  Mike was in the middle of a large curve in the road when he became aware of engines behind him. He turned abruptly, only to see two men on snowmobiles bearing down on him. His grip tightened on the rifle as he stepped backward to give the riders more road room and was all the way in the ditch when he realized who they were.

  Relief came so unexpectedly that he didn’t have time to hide his emotions. When James stopped, got off and started toward him, moving in long, anxious strides, Mike’s vision blurred.

  “Good to see you, son. Are you all right?” James asked as he thumped Mike roughly on the back.

  “Yeah,” Mike said.

  “We came across the sheriff and his deputies. They’d found a body. Sheriff said when you got a chance to stop by the office and fill him in so he can close the report.”

  “Yeah, all right.”

  “Was that Wilson?” James asked.

  “Yeah.”

  James’s frowned deepened. “We heard he shot Deborah. Is that so?”

  “I don’t know anything for sure except that he killed the dog and was aiming for Johnny when Deborah grabbed him.”

  “For God’s sake!”

  Mike grabbed his father by the sleeve of his coat. “You’ve obviously talked to Evan or you wouldn’t be here.”

  James nodded.

  Mike opened his mouth, then hesitated. He was almost afraid to ask for fear of the answer. Finally, he had to know.

  “Deborah…is she—”

  James quickly put a hand on his shoulder. “She’s alive…or at least she was when we talked to Evan. But she was losing a lot of blood and he’d requested an airlift.”

  “Jesus,” Mike said softly. “Can I ride on the back of one of those things?” he asked, pointing to the snowmobiles.

  “You sure can,” Thorn said. “Hop on. Mine’s bigger. It’ll pull double better.”

  James got back on his own machine.

  “Hold on!” Thorn yelled.

  Mike slid his arms around his grandfather’s belly and did as he’d been told, praying for Deborah’s well-being as they skimmed across the snow.

  Less than a half mile had passed when they saw a shadow on the snow, cast from something overhead. They looked up, only to see the silhouette of a chopper passing above them. At that point, Mike’s heart sank. That would be the airlift for Deborah, and he wasn’t there to go with her. He needed to see her, to touch her—to know that she was going to be all right.

  “Can you go any faster?” he yelled.

  Thorn shook his head.

  Mike had no other option but to let the incident play out and pray that the medics made it in time.

  Deborah came to in the middle of the kitchen floor. Evan was leaning over her, and Molly was sitting on the floor, her back against the cabinets, with Johnny cradled in her lap. Deborah had a vague memory of running in the snow and then a sharp, piercing pain. After that, nothing.

  “Evan…”

  Startled by the sound of her voice, Evan jerked, then rocked back on his heels.

  “Deborah? Thank God…How do you feel?”

  “Hurts,” she muttered, and reached toward the source of the pain.

  Evan grabbed her hand and pushed it back. “Don’t touch it, honey. You’ve been shot,” he said. “Lie still.”

  “Shot?” It was such a foreign thought that for a moment she couldn’t make her mind focus. Then she began to remember. The vision. She’d seen Johnny fall, seen the snow turn red from blood. The shooter must have missed Johnny and hit her.

  “Johnny?”

  “Thanks to you, he’s physically okay. I don’t know about the rest.”

  Tears spilled from the corners of Deborah’s eyes. “So sorry,” she whispered.

  “Jesus, honey, don’t apologize about a damn thing. Once again, I owe you for the life of my son. Now, hang in here with me. I don’t want to have to face Dad and tell him I let you die.”

  At that point Deborah realized Mike was nowhere in sight. “Mike…where…?”

  “He went after the shooter. It was Darren Wilson.”

  “Oh, God…”

  “No,” Evan said. “He’ll be fine.”

  “G
o help—”

  “I’m not going anywhere until your ride arrives.”

  “What—”

  “You’re being airlifted to a hospital, honey. Just lie still and relax until they get here.”

  Pain and an overpowering weakness were pulling her under. She didn’t know if this was how it felt to die, but if that was what was happening, she needed Mike to know something.

  She reached for Evan’s arm, her fingers curling around his wrist tighter than he would have believed possible.

  “What is it, honey?” he asked.

  “Mike…tell Mike I—”

  “You tell him yourself when you see him,” Evan said.

  Deborah shuddered as a wave of pain rolled through her body. “Mike…” she mumbled, then, blessedly, passed out.

  Evan’s heart skipped a beat as he quickly put a hand to her neck, checking for a pulse. To his relief, it was still there.

  “Damn, damn, damn,” he muttered, more to himself than to Molly. “Where is that chopper?”

  “It will come,” Molly said, and cuddled Johnny closer.

  Evan looked long and hard at his son, trying to imagine what was going through his mind. His father had come home from a war looking like he’d been put back together like a patchwork quilt. He’d seen his grandparents die, seen a man murdered, and now this.

  “Johnny?”

  Johnny heard his daddy, but he wouldn’t look up.

  “Hey, little man, Daddy loves you,” Evan said softly.

  There was a brief moment of silence, then a tiny voice. “I love you, too, Daddy.”

  “We’re gonna get through this…okay?”

  Another hesitation, then another brief answer. “Okay.”

  Evan’s gaze shifted from Johnny to the woman who held him. “Molly…”

  “I’m here,” she said.

  “I don’t know what I would have done without you,” Evan said.

  “Same here,” Molly said.

  A long silent look passed between them. A look filled with curiosity, passion and promises.

  “I’m not exactly Prince Charming,” he said.

  “Who ever said I was looking for a prince?” she replied.

  “Okay, then.”

  Before they could say anything else, the sound of an approaching helicopter cut through the conversation.

  “They’re here!” Molly cried.

  Evan jumped up. “I’ll be right back,” he said, then gave Deborah one last glance and hurried outside.

  19

  The EMTs had applied pressure bandages to Deborah’s wound and established an IV before strapping her to a stretcher. They were just about to carry her out to the waiting chopper when they all heard the sounds of approaching engines. Evan ran to the window and looked out.

  “Reinforcements have arrived,” he said, and ran out onto the porch. “In here! In here!” he yelled.

  James saw Evan on the front porch and steered toward him, coming to a stop at the bottom of the steps. Thorn and Mike were right behind.

  Evan was more than a little surprised to see his great-grandfather easily dismount from the snowmobile as if he’d been riding a horse.

  “Grandpop?”

  “We’re here, boy. How are you doing?” Thorn asked.

  “We’ve been better,” he said. “They’re just about to take Deborah.”

  Mike jumped off the snowmobile and bounded up the steps, then paused beside Evan.

  “Johnny?”

  Evan shook his head. “He’s pretty out of it, Dad. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  Mike felt sick. Such a little boy to have suffered in such a dramatic way.

  “Deborah?” he asked.

  “I think they’ve stabilized her. Hurry. She’s been asking for you. They’re in the kitchen.”

  Mike gave his son a pat on the shoulder, then hurried into the house. He could hear voices coming from the kitchen, and none of them were Deborah’s. He ran into the kitchen just as the EMTs were lifting the stretcher.

  “Wait!” he cried as he ran forward. Her clothing was bloody and in shreds from having been cut away to tend her wound. Her skin was pale—too pale—and there was blood on her lower lip. He couldn’t help remembering that sweet mouth on his body, and winced. “Deborah, sweetheart. It’s me. Mike. Can you hear me?”

  Deborah moaned.

  Mike could see her eyelids fluttering and knew she was trying to come to.

  “I’m here, baby. I’m here,” he said.

  She sighed, then relaxed.

  “Can I come with you?” Mike asked.

  “It’s policy to take only the—”

  “Please,” he said. “She doesn’t have anyone else.”

  “Yes, all right,” one of them said.

  “Dad!”

  Mike turned. Evan walked into the kitchen with his son in his arms.

  Mike ran to them, hugged them both, then whispered into Johnny’s ear.

  “Daddy Mike loves you, boy. I’m going to go with Deborah so she won’t have to go in the chopper by herself, okay?”

  “Puppy is dead,” Johnny said.

  “I’m so sorry,” Mike said.

  “Is Deborah going to die, too?”

  “No,” Mike said, but he could tell by the look on the little boy’s face that he didn’t believe him.

  The EMTs were halfway to the chopper with Deborah when Mike came running. He caught up with them, then helped them carry her the rest of the way.

  Within a few moments, they had her inside. Mike squeezed himself into a small space on the floor beside her, then reached out and took her hand as the chopper rose. While he watched her face for signs of distress, they took off across the sky like a dragonfly moving above the surface of a frozen pond.

  Alphonso Riberra learned of Wilson’s demise in the time-honored tradition of people everywhere: on the news.

  In his business, trust was a rare commodity and one he shared with few. Darren Wilson had not been among that number. He was nothing but a little man with a big ego who owed Riberra money. People in his business knew Wilson owed him. Ordinarily, he would have had to get rid of Wilson himself when the man didn’t pay or else lose the respect of his peers. But he’d lucked out. Wilson was dead, and Riberra’s hands were still clean. He was out the money, but it was only a drop in the bucket to what he made each week. As far as he was concerned, it was over.

  Farris owed a phone call to Burl Tackett. Once they’d ID’d Wilson’s body at the truck, he got out his cell phone.

  Tackett was at home, watching his kids opening their presents, when his phone rang. He glanced at caller ID, then frowned and went into the hall to answer.

  “This is Tackett.”

  “Agent Farris here.”

  Tackett leaned against the wall in the vestibule of his home.

  “Did you catch him?”

  “Mike O’Ryan caught him. He’s dead.”

  “Good enough,” Tackett said. “Thanks for calling.”

  “No problem,” Farris said, then added, “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

  James was sitting in the living room with Johnny on his lap. When he heard his cell phone ring, he motioned for Evan to come get the boy. The last thing he wanted Johnny to hear about was more trouble.

  “Mr. O’Ryan, this is Agent Tackett.”

  “Yeah…I can barely hear you,” James said.

  Tackett raised his voice. “I need to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “Yes?”

  “Have you heard from your son, Mike?”

  “Yes. We’re all together and back up at the Sanborn house, although Mike is with Deborah on their way to the hospital,” James said.

  “Good enough,” Burl Tackett said. “We’ll all be in touch later for statements. Until then, have a merry Christmas.”

  “Thanks,” James said. “You, too.”

  Deborah came to long enough to learn what was happening, but it was Mike’s voice a
nd seeing his face that calmed her fears.

  “Mike?”

  He leaned down until her lips were right against his ear so he was able to hear her over the noise of the rotors.

  “I was afraid,” she said.

  Mike rose up and nodded, so that she would know he’d understood, then he put a finger across her lips to indicate no talking.

  She shivered, then closed her eyes.

  Mike cupped her cheek, then ran the tip of his forefinger across the surface of her lower lip. She frowned, as if it hurt.

  He leaned over, then brushed her lips with the gentlest of kisses.

  She reached for his hand, and when their fingers connected, they curled together. Mike sat beside her, counting the minutes until they would reach the hospital and praying she wouldn’t die. As he watched, tears suddenly rolled out from under her eyelids and then down the sides of her face. The sight broke his heart.

  He leaned down until his lips were right against her ear, then he spoke.

  “Deborah…can you hear me?”

  She opened her eyes.

  He took it as a yes. “Don’t leave me.”

  Her fingers tightened around his. He could see her lips moving but couldn’t hear what she was saying over the noise. He leaned down again, then put his ear to her mouth.

  He thought he heard the word “love,” but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was just what he wanted to hear.

  Mike woke up around daylight. His first thought was of Deborah as he looked toward the hospital bed where she was sleeping. She’d come out of surgery with flying colors. Nothing permanently damaged, and once she’d been transfused with donor blood, her strength had begun to return.

  For Mike, it had been a small source of pride that they shared the same blood type, and that his blood had been part of what saved her. It seemed only fitting, considering what she’d given to him and to the entire O’Ryan family. Because of her, they had survived tragedy several times over.

  He glanced at the heart monitor, taking comfort from the continuous beeping, then got up from the chair and stretched. Morning was only a short time away as he moved to her bedside, watching her sleep.

  As he stood there, another tear rolled down her face. Knowing she was in pain cut him to the quick. Instinctively, he reached for her hand, taking care not to disturb the IV needle and wires to which she was connected.