by D. V. Berkom
He lunged at me and I took a step back, pivoting to the side. He overshot his mark, almost plunging over the edge of the cliff into the raging torrent below. He regained his balance, straightened and turned around.
Before I could react, he came at me with a roundhouse kick and knocked the knife out of my hand.
My arm went numb and a solid wall of muscle barreled toward me. Unable to support his weight we both hit the ground. A sharp pain swept through my body on contact.
His hands gripped my throat like an iron band.
I clawed at his fingers.
He squeezed harder. Blackness enveloped me. I continued to fight.
And lost.
***
I woke to the sound of tires crunching on gravel. I shook my head, trying to dissipate the fog. As my vision cleared, an avocado hued Hotpoint stove and ancient, clanking refrigerator came into focus.
Rug covered pinewood floors, painted to match the stove supported overstuffed Mohair furniture and a 1950s era maple coffee table. A small fire blazed in a rock fireplace at one end of the small cabin. A hard rain assaulted the roof.
All very cozy except for the fact that I was duct taped to a chair and my attacker sat on the couch, flipping through a magazine. I couldn’t quite read the title, but figured it had something to do with how to kidnap someone in ten easy steps.
Why did he let me live? He had a knife and I'd been unconscious. But more importantly, how could I get out of here?
The door opened and Dave Sinclair walked in, carrying a paper grocery bag. A cigarette dangled from his lips.
"Dave, run!" I yelled, hoping to warn him before Psycho Boy tried anything.
He glanced at me, then at Psycho Boy. My happiness at seeing him dimmed when I realized his reaction didn’t jibe with my expectations.
“She’s awake.”
Psycho Boy grunted and rose from the couch, cracking his knuckles as he walked toward me. I straightened in the chair, completely focused on his large hands.
Keeping an eye on the scary guy, I turned to Dave.
“What am I doing here, Dave? Playtime’s over. Turn me loose and we’ll call it a day.”
Dave snorted as he pulled the cigarette from his mouth, using it to light another.
“Playtime. That’s a good one.” He took a deep draw from the cigarette and exhaled a plume of blue smoke. My eyes watered and I started to cough.
Psycho Boy’s knuckle cracking distracted me. He looked like he was getting ready to put the hurt on someone duct taped to a kitchen chair.
“Wait, Roland,” Dave said. He turned to me, his eyes glinting in the light of the lone bulb hanging from the ceiling. “Kate and I have business.”
“And what kind of business would that be, Dave?” I asked. I didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm from my voice. What kind of hell was I in to be this man's prisoner?
He dragged a chair over to sit across from me, wheezing as the exertion proved too much for his two-pack-a-day lungs.
“The business of seeing you die.” He nodded his head at Roland. “It’s hard to find good help these days.”
“What do you mean?” I stared at Dave as I tumbled to his meaning.
“Surely you remember the morning your brakes failed? It wasn’t that long ago.” He tapped his cigarette into the ashtray on the table next to him. “And then Roland completely screwed up when he tried to run you off the road the other night. Didn’t you, Roland?” Dave shook his head, making a tsking sound as he looked at Psycho Boy. "Repairs to the rental were an expense I hadn't anticipated."
Roland’s scowl spoke volumes. It occurred to me that he might get pissed off enough at Dave to kill him. I certainly wouldn’t get in his way.
“You did a good job with that biologist and the old couple, though, didn’t you?” Dave turned back to me, his face flushed. His eyes narrowed. “But not her. What the fuck is so hard about getting rid of her?”
My reaction spiraled beyond stunned. The guy responsible for the murders turns out to be Dave? Bankers weren’t supposed to go out and have people killed. That was for sociopaths.
And shadow governments.
"What are you doing, Dave? I know we've had our differences, but Roxanne and that sweet old couple? They couldn't possibly have done anything to hurt you."
"Oh, but they could." Dave turned to face me as he inhaled deeply from his cigarette. He coughed wetly as he exhaled. "The other morning on one of your tours you, Roxanne and that sweet old couple saw something that could destroy everything. I won't let that happen. The projected profits from Wild Horse Ridge will put Durm Fidelity & Trust on terra firma for years to come. Not to mention the other, uh, let’s call them revenue streams. Do you seriously think I'd let that stupid biologist submit her report?" He shook his head in disgust. "Another damned thorn in my side. She was principled." He practically spit the words. "My luck I get one that won't take a bribe, for fuck's sake."
Things started to click into place in my brain. "Is all this because of the bird? The Spreckled Pygmy Twatter, or whatever it's called?"
Dave nodded grimly. "Yeah. It's about the damned bird. Can you imagine? One little, insignificant bird and if anyone finds out, poof! The whole deal's dead in the water." He took another hit off the cigarette. If I was lucky, he’d keel over from a heart attack. "Not to mention my career. What the hell's the world coming to when a fucking bird can stop something as important as Wild Horse Ridge?"
I wasn't about to argue the merits of arbitration with crazy Dave. I was thinking more along the lines of getting out of the cabin, preferably with my life. Then the words he said registered. There were four other people on my tour that morning. The Harrisons. Had Rollie killed them, too? Is that why Cole hadn’t been able to contact them? Think, Kate. Dave didn’t mention that Rollie’d ‘done a good job’ with them. They might still be alive.
“You can’t be serious, Dave. Having that family killed puts you and Rollie in monster territory. There were children, for God’s sake.”
Rollie looked up sharply. “I never killed them kids.”
“Shut up!” Dave backhanded Rollie across the face. He winced and glared at Dave. I tensed for the bloodbath. It never came. Rollie must be waiting on his money.
Bankers.
A loud thump echoed from the far end of the cabin. Dave waved at Rollie.
“Check it out.”
Rollie headed for the source of the sound, rubbing his cheek. I turned to Dave.
“They’re in the back, aren’t they?”
Dave frowned and didn’t say anything as he stubbed out his cigarette.
He hadn't killed anyone yet. So far, Rollie’d done the dirty work. If I were a betting woman, I'd wager the banking mentality didn't generally predispose a person to violent acts, other than by proxy. That left Rollie as the main threat. I decided to wait and see if my odds for escape got any better.
Rollie walked back into the room. “It’s nothing.”
Dave lit his third cigarette and turned to me, squinting through the smoke. "This is going to hurt me more than it does you, Kate, believe me.” He threw the roll of duct tape to Rollie.
“Get her out to the truck and strap her in good and tight. I'll be right behind you. We're going to take her out the back way, by the creek."
A puzzled look crossed Rollie's face as he looked at Dave. "The road's washed out from the storm and it's started raining again. We'll never get through."
Dave smiled. "Perfect."
***
Rollie hadn't been gentle cutting me out of the chair or dragging me outside into the woods. I didn't make it easy for him, but he was so much stronger than me that my attempts at immobilizing him weren't very effective. It was still raining hard, and soon we were both soaked through to our skin.
Panic overwhelmed me, certain "taking me out the back way" was some kind of lunatic banker jargon for "take her out in the woods and shoot her." It turned out he was parked out back with a tarp and a bunch of dead branches on to
p of the vehicle. The truck was an older model Dodge, maybe late seventies. He removed the camouflage and stuffed me into the front passenger seat, using the duct tape like a seat belt by taping it first around my upper body and then to the back of the seat.
There was no glass in the passenger side window. It was going to be a cold, wet ride.
Behind us, the headlights from Dave's SUV illuminated the interior of the truck. Rollie got behind the wheel and started the engine. We drove through the woods, the driving rain obscuring the narrow gravel road we followed. I had no idea where we were. That didn't stop me from planning my escape.
"You know what Dave’s going to do?" I had to shout to be heard over the incessant drum of the rain and slap of the windshield wipers. Rollie stared straight ahead. He acted as if my voice didn't even register.
“What do you think Dave’s going to do when he’s through with you? Think he’s going to just hand you a wad of money and send you on your way?” My laugh echoed across the cab. “Not likely. He’ll probably kill you, too.”
Rollie stared at me with a look that sent chills crawling down my back. I could barely hear him as he said, "I don't give a shit what you say, bitch. You're dead."
I took a deep breath. Psycho Boy was my one chance. “You think he's gonna let you live, knowing what you know?" I leaned my head back. "Just thought I should give you a heads up, Rollie. We're both in the same boat here."
Rollie drove on in stony silence. I hoped he was thinking about what I'd said.
We bounced uncomfortably along as the storm intensified. Water splashed up the doors and in through the window every time the truck hit a hole. Flashes of lightening split the sky as the rain beat relentlessly on the windshield. He set the wipers on high, but they barely kept up. Dave's headlights helped illuminate the way forward with a jarring, strobe-like effect. The old truck's own headlights were covered in mud, making them practically useless.
A short time later, we slowed to a stop. Dave's SUV pulled in behind us. Rollie looked tense. I didn't know if he'd let me go or if he'd still kill me, but anything was worth a try at this point. We watched in our side mirrors as Dave opened his door and got out, wearing a dark, hooded raincoat.
Rollie stepped out of the truck and slammed the door behind him. I twisted around to watch, but it was raining too hard to see anything. I tried wiggling my hands free. They were going numb and my shoulders ached. I tried rocking my torso back and forth, hoping the duct tape would stretch. It gave a little, but Rollie had wrapped it too many times to make it easy.
At this point desperation kicked in. I looked around the cab for something to cut through the tape and remembered my utility knife. The familiar feel of it in my front pocket gave me a tiny amount of hope. Neither of them had thought to go through my jeans. All I had to do was get to it.
The driver's side door opened and Rollie sat down heavily, slumping a little, not entirely on the seat. His legs moved as if they were made of rags. He didn't look too good as he leaned against the steering wheel. Dave was alongside him, trying to stuff him into the driver's side. Dread flowed through me.
Dave smiled at me and gave me a thumbs up. What the hell did that mean? I didn't have a lot of experience interpreting psychotic-banker hand signals.
Dave shouted through the rain. "It's all part of the plan, Kate. Rollie's dead."
No kidding. There went my bankers only kill by proxy theory. Dave fished in his coat pocket and produced an empty syringe. "Potassium. Found it on the Internet," he shouted over the rain. I assumed I was next. I hoped it wasn't painful. Dave shut the driver's door. I tried to look through the side windows to see where he was headed, but visibility was nil. Craning my neck, I turned toward the open window next to me.
And screamed.
Dave leaned in, his face nearly touching mine. He bent over to check the tape, making sure it was secure. Little rivulets of rain water flowed down the creases in his raincoat onto my leg.
"You scared the crap out of me." I shouted.
"Yeah? Well, then the rest should be easy." Looking satisfied with how the tape was holding out, he yelled, "See over there, where it looks like a steep drop off?" I looked. I could barely make out what he was pointing at. "It used to be an arroyo. Thanks to Mother Nature, now it’s a river."
So that's why the headlights fell off in the distance. Usually, arroyos were dry. During rainstorms like this they became raging torrents. My throat tightened. I knew what he planned to do.
"I need to make it look like Rollie here was escaping with you in his truck and sadly you got stuck in the path of a flash flood. Both of you drowned, I'm sorry to report." He nodded over at Rollie. "When they find you, it'll look like he died of a heart attack. Since you were taped into the passenger seat you weren't able to escape."
Dave stepped away from the truck, but must have thought better of it and leaned in once more. "Any last words?" He grinned through the pouring rain.
"You can't be serious." Panic rose in my chest. His eyes had a disturbing luminosity to them, like someone else was in there along with Dave. I shuddered. Was he off his meds? Why did I care? He was going to kill me. I had to figure something out or I’d be coyote sushi.
"Goodbye, Kate." He put his hand underneath my chin and tilted my head back as if to kiss me. Oh dear God, please, no. His breath reeked of stale ashtray and bad gums. I turned my head away, gagging. I wasn't going to let my last human contact be a kiss from a jowly, delusional, out of shape banker with periodontal disease.
Dave let go of me and stepped back, evidently displeased. He went around to the driver's side, opened the door, reached across the steering wheel and Rollie's dead body, and shifted the truck into neutral. Leaning against the frame, he threw his body forward. The truck rolled a few inches, then returned to its original position. He tried again, and it rolled back again. The third try was the charm. We started to move. Dave leaned into it and we began to pick up speed. When he let go, the truck rolled over the drop off into the rushing water below.
I braced for the impact. Thanks to the tape, I didn't hit the windshield, although I couldn't say the same for Rollie. Good thing he was already dead. His body bounced sideways, his head close to my leg. The truck's back wheel slid along the gravel bed from the force of the water, then stopped.
You're going to die, Kate. The insistent voice in my head was annoying.
It wouldn't be long before we were either swept away or the truck was inundated with ice cold water. I didn't know if Dave was up on the bank watching or not and I didn't care. I worked my arms and upper body back and forth, straining at the tape until I was soaked with perspiration. It stretched, but not much.
I was not going to die in a freaking arroyo.
The water level rose high enough that it started seeping through the cracks in the door. I kept working the tape. It covered my shins before I finally started to see some progress. I wriggled my hands until they ached.
The truck slid sideways as the water pushed us further down the flooded gulch. I held my breath, praying it wouldn't flip onto its side. It shuddered to a stop as the truck hung up on something. I tried pulling my hands out of the tape. By this time, icy water streamed in through the open window and swirled around my waist. My teeth chattered and I could barely catch my breath. My legs were like blocks of ice. If I didn't drown, hypothermia was definitely next on the list. Rollie started to float and drift my way. I head butted him away once, but he kept coming back. I tried to ignore him and kept working.
Ignoring a floating dead body is harder than you’d think.
At last, I loosened the duct tape enough to tear one hand out. My upper arms and chest were still taped to the seat, but with my left hand free I was able to dig into the front pocket of my pants. Ignoring the pain, I pushed deeper into my pocket, searching for the knife. My fingers closed around it and I slid it out, inch by careful inch. I held my hand and the knife to my mouth and blew on them, trying to get some feeling back into my fingers. I managed to
pull out the largest blade with my teeth and I worked to saw through the tape around my sternum, my fingers clumsy from the cold.
After several tries, the tape gave way. I ripped the rest from my arms and cut through what was left on my ankles. Then I pulled myself out through the side window and onto the hood. Water churned past the truck. The rain pelted me with such force, it felt like I was drowning. A big, uprooted tree in the middle of the arroyo stopped the Dodge from sliding. I squinted at the bank to see if I could make out where the truck went in, but we'd covered a lot of ground in the slide and nothing looked familiar. I was relieved to see no sign of Dave.
Both banks were too far from the truck. I’d never be able to jump that far. There was one thing left to do.
I slid off the hood into the icy, rushing water.
The force of the flow pinned me to the front fender and made it tough to move. I inched my way along the side of the truck, fighting the suction and paused at the front end. The next step might be my last.
I inhaled and exhaled several times. Then I sucked in one last, deep breath before I stepped into the raging torrent.
EIGHT
The force of the water swept me under. The frigid shock sucked the breath from my lungs. Closing my eyes, I ducked my head into my arms for protection. I smacked against something hard with my hip, but scraped past it. It felt like my chest was going to explode. Raging, swirling suffocation. I surfaced for a second, gasped for air, went down again.
The water dragged me along, tossing me like a plaything, a Raggedy Ann doll. I tensed, expecting more rocks, and was surprised by sharp branches stabbing, ripping at my sides. I tried to curl into a fetal position, offer less acreage for the debris, but I rotated, couldn’t tell which way was up.
I reached out, hoping to snag a branch, something to pull me out of the spin cycle, and caught air. Flailing my arms, I bobbed to the surface and barely gulped another breath before being yanked down again.
I’d seen something ahead, some kind of shadow that looked like it might be part of the bank. With every last shred of strength, I kicked out and breast stroked toward it, hoping for luck.
