“You haven’t heard what he suggested.”
“Okay…”
“I think he implied that Amanda is still alive.”
“And you think that is just wishful thinking on your part?”
“I know it is.”
“You know what they say about paranoia.”
“Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get me.”
“Exactly.”
“We need to get over to the hospital.”
~ ~ ~
The surgeon saved my cousin’s life. He’d lost a lot of blood, but somehow no internal organs had been permanently damaged. Jax and I waited in his room in the intensive care unit—waited for him to wake up and tell us what kind of monster had attacked him.
And, hopefully, why?
The doctor said he should wake up after the anesthesia wore off. He would be weak, and there was no guarantee his memory would not evade him, but it was likely we could at least speak with him.
It was several hours before Meyer woke up.
“I’m alive,” he said through a dry, chafed throat.
“You’ve got a penchant for overstating the obvious,” I told him.
“Welcome back,” said Jax.
Meyer waved me closer. I put a few ice chips from a cup at his bedside into his mouth and he crunched them hungrily.
“There is a problem,” he said. “I don’t think Rule wants the girls.”
“He doesn’t,” I said. “We found them.”
Meyer shook his head.
“He doesn’t want those girls,” he managed.
“What are you saying?”
Meyer ate more ice.
“Yours,” he said softly.
“What?”
“He wants your girls.”
“Mine?” Jax said, and moved in close.
Meyer again shook his head. He was weak. Each word was a chore for him. He pointed at me.
“YOUR…girls…Mac.”
“You’re still woozy. I have no daughters. Jax…you are talking about my brother.”
Jax did not attempt to hide his concern.
“Talk to us,” he said.
I motioned for him to take it easy.
“What exactly did you learn?”
He pointed to a pen and pad on the portable table. I handed both to him. Writing would be easier than trying to push out the words. He scribbled on the paper and then pushed the pad in my direction. The words he’d written caused my stomach to flip and my blood to stop flowing.
Not pre-teen.
Unborn.
-CHAPTER FOURTEEN-
JAX SECURED four mountain horses from a local outfitter, one for each of us plus two deputies. We decided the trip into the wilderness should be a small party. One, we would attract less attention. Large numbers would give us no advantage against the creatures we hunted. They cut through a hundred trained federal agents as if they were not even there.
The hope that Amanda was still alive had infused me with a new energy. I felt almost superhuman. Even if she was alive, the balance between her life and her death was no doubt delicate, but I had been given a chance to save her—I could not ask for more than that.
The translation Meyer found was more accurate than those he previously used. We’d been operating under the theory that Rule intended to sacrifice three pre-teen women; the reality was that he intended to kill three unborn MacAulays—three vessels that would one day produce more warriors in the sacred lineage. And their mother was to die with them. This was the prophecy foretold in the ancient Coeur d’Alene splinter rituals: that to destroy a lineage there must be a sacrifice to the fly god. And that sacrifice would happen that night—when the one moon rose to the middle of the sky, I would indeed lose the things most important to me.
“You mentioned that you felt you were going crazy,” Jax said to me as we readied the horses.
“Why? Are you inclined to agree with me now?”
“Not necessarily.”
“But…”
“It occurs to me that insanity might run in our family.”
“That would be an ugly legacy,” I said.
“The odds are terrible. We’re facing an impossible situation.”
“And yet we are still going forward.”
“Yes.”
“That is the crazy part, right?”
“No. Based on what you’ve seen—what I’ve seen, too—going forward isn’t a choice. It’s the only option available.”
“You want to ask me about the crucifix.”
“I can only assume you brought it with you for a reason.”
“I did. Not sure I could tell you what that reason is now.”
I knew the crucifix might be our only hope. I didn’t like admitting that. It didn’t make me feel any more rational now than it had back in Colorado, over a year ago, when my willingness to use it had saved all of us. I brought it because it might do the same for us now.
“How far to the pass?” I said.
“Nine miles,” Jax said. “Maybe ten. It will take us all day.”
“How far will we have to climb?”
“A few thousand feet. It’ll get steep, but there’s trail all the way to the top.”
“The horses will be okay?”
“Better than we would be alone.”
“How will we know which way to go?”
“I am hoping I can track them.”
“You don’t sound all that confident.”
“Best option we have right now,” he said.
“I have a feeling they won’t be hiding from us.”
“I figure the same thing.”
~ ~ ~
Spence Grant waited for his opportunity. It was too long since he’d received any direction—any word at all—so he knew it was time to take action himself. His little girl had been found and relinquished into the hands of the county. He couldn’t live with that. How could Annir have allowed such an aberration? That was not the plan.
Escape was relatively easy. The old deputy on the night shift—a road apple named Charlie Neil who was six months from the twilight of retirement—had become friendly with Spence. Well, Spence had lured him into a tactical friendship. The old man was lonely. When men get old, people stop listening to what they have to say. Spence simply filled a need. He talked to Charlie about the U of M Grizzlies. Fly fishing. Seasonal wildfires. Anything that mattered to the old fart.
And the time had come.
Spence lay down on the cold concrete floor and held his stomach.
“Charlie,” Spence groaned through the bars of the jail cell.
The old deputy walked down the empty row.
“What’s the problem, Spence?”
“What was in that food you brought me earlier?”
“Standard fare. Burger and fries from the diner, you know that.”
“Think that meat might’ve been bad. Feeling more than a little green.”
“Let me get a doc,” Charlie said.
“I think maybe some cold water first,” Spence told him. “To splash on my face. I’m so hot.”
“Sure, buddy. Let me see what I can do.”
“Some of that Pepto, too, if you have any.”
“Back in a minute,” Charlie said and shuffled away.
Earlier Spence had placed two unopened cans of soda inside a pillowcase; bounty he’d squirreled away after occasions when the elderly jailer had forgot to open them prior to food service.
Charlie came back with a small bowl of water, a wet rag, and a bottle of pink stuff. He opened Spence’s cell and walked in without a care. When he bent over to place the water bowl on the table, he turned his back on the prisoner. Spence stood quietly and swung the pillowcase in a long arc. The soda cans connected with Charlie at the base of his skull, killing him instantly. The deputy dropped to the floor in a lifeless heap.
Spence dragged the body deeper into the shadows of his cell, out of sight. He then disrobed the corpse and dressed himself
in the uniform, which fit him well, if a bit short in the legs. The shoes were several sizes too small so Spence had no choice but to wear the laceless sneakers. He didn’t plan on anyone seeing him up close, anyway—not until it was too late to squabble about his shoes.
He took the keys from Deputy Neil and stole a squad car. Charlie had let it slip a few nights earlier that Melissa was staying at a foster home on the east side of town. A family called Martinek. Spence Googled the address on the computer inside the police car. The drive took less than five minutes.
Spence knocked on the door at the Martinek house. If he could do things the easy way, he’d give it one shot. The porch light came on and a disheveled Tom Martinek answered.
“Officer,” he said, still shaking the cobwebs from his head. “What’s the trouble?”
“Melissa Grant’s father has escaped,” he told Martinek. “I need to check on the girl, make sure you all are okay.”
“Sure, sure. Come in.”
“Don’t wake your wife,” Spence said, keeping the flashlight in the man’s eyes. “Just show me to the girl’s room.”
“This way,” Martinek said.
Melissa was in deep sleep. Spence wanted to scoop her up into his arms.
“Officer?” Martinek said.
Spence turned around to see the man pointing at his jailhouse slip-on shoes.
“Ran out of the station without my boots,” Spence said, and clocked Martinek across the forehead with the butt end of the big flashlight. He reached down and found a pulse. Blood ran from the wound in the man’s head.
“Oh well,” Spence whispered aloud. “Shouldn’t have paid attention to the shoes.”
Spence gathered some of Melissa’s clothing from the dresser and closet—a pair of jeans, sweatshirt, tennis shoes, socks, and a stocking cap. Then he wrapped his daughter in the twin comforter and carried her out to the cop car. She never even woke up.
~ ~ ~
The first few hours of riding were uneventful. The trail wound monotonously through cold, shaded forest, sporadic fields where the sky opened and the sun warmed our bones again, and then back into the darkness. It seemed for every thousand feet of altitude we gained, the trail would wind down into another valley and we’d lose it. I tried to keep my senses keen, watching the peripheral, listening for anything to warn us of imminent attack.
It was coming. This I knew. When? How many? What we were to do? These were questions I couldn’t answer. But we were not alone. We hadn’t seen them yet, but I could sense their presence—hidden in the shadows, perhaps, but following us. Plotting. Anticipating. And all we could do was forge ahead.
Mice in a maze, Jax had called it.
My brother led the way. My horse was second and the two deputies, Severs and Unser, brought up the rear. The trail was narrow and soft from the rain earlier in the week. The air was damp and fecund. We saw no other wildlife at all and the only sound was the steady clomp of the horse’s hoofs on the dead earth.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Amanda. There had not been much time to consider the enormity of what was ahead. Rule’s words haunted me:
This is not your God’s world, or even your own. It is mine.
Meyer believed God was omniscient, all knowing. This implied a preordainment to what lay in wait for us somewhere in the wild distance. Could this be true? And if it was, why go forward? Why play out our predestined roles in this macabre drama?
It occurred to me then that we could just as easily be running through God’s personal maze.
After we entered a large clearing, Jax raised a hand and pulled his horse to a halt. The sun seeped through the outer layer of clothing and when it reached my chilled flesh, the warmth made hope seem less distant. Jax dismounted and told us to do the same.
“They’ve got a hell of a jump on us,” Jax said. “We’ll be lucky to reach the peak before sunset.”
“Then why are we stopping?” I said. He was making no sense.
Jax squatted, playing with loose sticks and pine needles on the ground. Without looking up, he motioned slightly toward the edge of the clearing, where the trail disappeared back into the dense forest. He spoke softly, without moving his lips.
“I saw movement up ahead.”
I looked to the trees with my eyes, keeping my face down. It was too dark to see anything in the trees. Jax began drawing in the dirt with a stick. I stood and removed my canteen from the saddle. I took a short pull of cool water. I then slipped the Crucifix of Ardincaple from a pouch in the saddlebag on my horse.
“How many?” I said, squatting down next to my brother.
“Couldn’t tell,” Jax said.
“We don’t have time to wait them out,” I whispered.
“If they catch us in the trees, time won’t matter.”
I knew he was right, but the truth was they could have us in the trees any time they wanted.
“They could have attacked us any number of times.”
“I think they want us here, in the open,” Jax said.
“Which means they have numbers.”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t understand,” said Severs.
“The density of the forest evens the odds. In the open, they can split us up.”
“Let’s make a fire,” Jax said. “Just cooking up some warm breakfast. Unser, I don’t need oatmeal…I need three sticks of that dynamite you brought for me.”
I looked at him with raised eyebrows.
“I didn’t want to argue with you,” Jax said. “You have your talisman, I have mine.”
Severs and I gathered some twigs and small, broken limbs, and then cleared a small patch of dirt. I used the matches and a clump of the driest grass I could find to start the small fire. Jax poured water into a pot and laid the three sticks close on the ground. He removed three blasting caps and three fuses from a watertight case and began inserting them, one by one. Unser set the pot down in the coals at the edge of the fire and put on a show, stirring the water slowly.
I placed the crucifix next to the explosives. The other three stared at the ancient talisman.
“It was said to be forged from steel smelted from the nails used to crucify Christ,” I said. “I can’t explain what happened. And I don’t have any idea how much of its history is truth and how much is legend. But I know what it did for us. It saved our lives.”
“Can you call on its power again?” Jax said.
“I’m not sure. I think the power found me.”
“Well, just in case…”
There was a CRASH at the far end of the clearing. The four of us rose to the sight of two-dozen dark, monstrous beasts bursting through the downfall at the edge of the far tree line. Their sizes and shapes differed, but they were each twisted with muscle and howling with hatred and rage.
Jax bent over and snatched one stick of dynamite. He quickly estimated the distance between the demons and where we stood. He needed to know where and when the dynamite would detonate. He clipped the fuse to an inch and a half. He put the end of the fuse in the fire and it ignited. We stood back as my brother heaved the projectile as far as he could. It landed ten yards in front of the mass of demons and detonated.
Earth, deadwood, and demon pieces blew skyward in an incredible fountain of destruction.
Severs had clipped another fuse and was already lighting a second stick as a dozen surviving creatures cleared the thick cloud of smoke and debris. They had fanned out in a wide line, no longer clustered stupidly.
The deputy threw the stick in a high arc—too high. It exploded a good ten feet in the air over the middle of the skirmish line of monsters. The concussion took out two of the beasts, putting them down hard, but ten more ran on. And they were too close to risk another detonation.
“Get behind me,” I said, and held forth the Crucifix of Ardincaple. I showed it to the beasts as they gained ground, holding it before me like a shield, waiting for the power to surge forth and allow me to consume my enemies.
Nothi
ng happened. The rusted dagger remained just that.
A useless artifact.
And the demons were nearly upon us.
“DRAW YOUR WEAPONS,” Jax shouted, and the three of them fanned out to my right and left.
I pulled my Beretta and leveled the sights at the tall monster that was leading the charge, putting the crosshair in the center of its bumpy, disfigured forehead. I squeezed off a round and the demon’s head burst into a splash of blood and bone. The creature fell and skidded in the wet earth; its brethren trampled the dead thing without regard.
Jax and his deputies fired as well, cutting down three more. I fired again, hitting a short, fat demon in the center of its chest. A thick, hunched, corded beast reached Deputy Severs and tackled him. The two rolled along the ground, Severs in a kind of bear hug, and when the beast stood, it tore one of the deputy’s outstretched arms from his body with a sickening crunch.
Severs screamed in agony. The demon threw him to the ground and dropped on top of his quaking body. The thing sank its long, gnashing teeth into his shoulder and neck—tearing, ripping, gorging.
I aimed carefully, not wanting to risk hitting Deputy Severs, but he wasn’t going to survive much longer if his attacker was not stopped. I pulled the trigger and caught the demon in the back of his skull, the force of the 9MM flipping the beast, head over tail.
Before I could try to reach our fallen man, a demon lunged for Jax. My brother ducked at the last moment and the beast missed him, tumbling to the ground behind. Jax spun, leveled himself, and we both fired.
Unser had killed one more; the four remaining demons ran for the nearest forest edge. Jax scooped up the last stick of dynamite, clipped half the fuse, lit it, and threw it past the scrambling beasts. It landed between them and the tree line and blew them to hell.
Deputy Severs could not be saved. He was dead when we returned to him, his body having given in to shock. Jax was visibly affected. Losing a brother or sister cop is never easy. That said, his sudden anger toward me was still surprising.
“What the fuck good is that thing?” he said, pointing to the crucifix.
“I don’t know. I really don’t…”
R.S. Guthrie - Detective Bobby Mac 02 - L O S T Page 10
