Endangered (9781101559017)

by Beason, Pamela

  “Can we go back?”

  She shook her head. “The drop from the Wreck Room will be impassable now.”

  Perez studied the waffled rock walls. “I don’t suppose we could go up.”

  Sam took note of how the water-slick walls slanted inward over their heads. Impossible.

  “Wilderness Westin could climb out of here, couldn’t she?” Perez asked. “I’ve heard she’s superhuman.”

  She gave him an exasperated look. How could the man even think of joking now? “Don’t believe everything you read.”

  Lightning flashed overhead, its brilliance mirrored for a second in the pool’s surface. Thunder rumbled loudly over the roar of the water.

  Perez had been right when he’d described the Curtain as a gigantic beast. It had swallowed them alive, and now it was going to digest them.

  23

  PEREZ placed a hand on her shoulder. “No worries. I swim like a fish.” He gave her a reassuring smile, then pressed his lips together as something crossed his mind. “Correction,” he amended. “I do need to breathe. I swim like a dolphin.”

  Then go for help, Flipper, she wanted to say. She swallowed, then told him, “The next chamber opens up like a cathedral. There’ll be plenty of air there.”

  He leaned out toward the water. “Let’s do it.”

  “Wait!” She grabbed his sleeve. Beneath the wet cloth she could feel him shivering. “Remember the waterfall down the side of the cliff? The one I told you about this morning?” It seemed so long ago. “Just below the ruins?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me that’s the exit from the next chamber?”

  “Bingo.” His eyes narrowed, making her wonder what was going on inside his head. “The waterfall comes out of a slit there, only a couple feet wide. We should be able to hang on to the rock there and climb out.” Please, God, make it so.

  “Sounds easy enough.” He faced the whirlpool again.

  Did he really grasp the danger? He’d never seen the next chamber, didn’t know what he was getting into. She clutched a larger handful of sleeve, pulled him toward her. “Once we’re through the Slide—the hole at the bottom of this whirlpool—get to your feet, Chase. Village Falls is a seventy-foot drop. You’ve got to hang on to something or you’ll go over it.”

  He gently detached her fingers from his jacket, bent down to bring his eyes level with hers. “Summer, I hear you,” he said earnestly, still holding her hand. “Believe me when I say that I’ll be doing my best. I trust you’ll be doing likewise. Ready?”

  “Mommmmyyyyy.”

  That ghostly cry—was it louder now? Sam squinted, peering through the mist, her eyes searching the pockmarked walls for the source of the sound. She clutched at Perez again, this time grabbing the front of his jacket.

  “Now what?”

  Raising a shaky finger, she pointed to a pocket in the chamber wall ahead. “Chase, tell me that’s a hallucination.”

  Through the mist, a pair of round blue eyes peered out at them.

  HIS hands gripped the wheel and his eyes searched the campgrounds, but Rafael Castillo’s mind was on his nine-year-old daughter beside him. With her ivory skin, curly black hair, and warm caramel eyes, Rosa was going to be a knockout, just like her mother. They grew up so fast.

  “Did Grandma’s friend, Mr. Wilson, ever . . . touch you or the other kids?” There. He’d finally gotten the words out.

  One of those strange plastic clamps gripped her hair at the crown. Didn’t little girls wear ribbons anymore?

  “He shook my hand once,” she told him. “He didn’t really pay much attention to me or to Christy. He wanted to play with Rique and Katie. He was always hugging and kissing on them.” She thrust her chin out. “But Christy and me . . . we don’t like him, anyway. His neck waggles like a turkey.”

  “Christy and I,” he corrected automatically. Damn that man! And damn his mother-in-law for dragging the miserable excuse for a human being into their house. Wilson’s camper and Wallace Russell had disappeared from the campground. He’d asked the local cops and Highway Patrol to keep an eye out for both vehicle and man.

  The rain drumming on the windshield was mesmerizing. Dios mío, he was exhausted. Good thing he hadn’t been sent up to the plateau: he could barely stand up. He prayed that Zack would still be found safe, but it didn’t sound good—if Fischer would use his little boy to get money, what else might he do to that child?

  Although all clues pointed to Fred Fischer, apparently Thompson was going to let the cougars be killed, anyway. Did his boss have any sense of justice whatsoever?

  He pulled his hat on, then wearily pushed open the door of the truck. “Stay here,” he told Rosa. “I’ve got to collect the camping fees. Then we’ll get you to your dentist appointment.”

  He’d only gone a few steps when Rosa called him back. “They’re calling you on the radio, Dad.” She held it out the window to him. So grown up, so Anglo now. She rarely called him Papi anymore like the other kids did.

  He pressed the Talk button. “Three-eight-six.”

  Leeson was at the other end. “Castillo, you lookin’ for a big beige Wanderer?” He rattled off the license number.

  Rafael’s pulse quickened. Wallace Russell/Orrin Wilson’s camper!

  “It’s stuck in the mud here on West Side Road. Driver says the tow truck’s on the way.”

  “Keep it there until I arrive. Don’t let the driver know I’m coming. I’ll be there in fifteen. Over.”

  Rafael jumped in the truck, tossed the radio onto the seat. “Buckle up, Rosa,” he told his daughter. It’d be rough, but he’d take the gravel-road shortcut just in case Russell got antsy.

  He fingered his holster, unsnapped the restraining strap over his pistol. As he neared the West Side Road, he imagined what it would feel like to rid the world of a worm like Wallace Russell.

  THE mist was thick in the Play Room. Sam could barely make out the apparition through the fog.

  “Mommyyyy!” the little boy screamed.

  Perez’s mouth fell open. “I’ll be goddamned—”

  Sam stumbled toward the child, pushing a wave of water in front of her like the bow of a boat. As she neared, she could see that he knelt on the floor of a large water-smoothed pocket in the chamber wall. There had to be a way to climb the few feet up to the toddler’s position. She put a foot up on a protrusion, lifted herself a foot, reached her hand up to him.

  He spread his stubby fingers out to meet hers. For a second she felt his touch—feather-light, warm, a butterfly kiss—and then she slipped back down with a splash. A live little boy. He stood up and put a thumb in his mouth, looking down on her with a puzzled expression.

  She forced warmth into her voice. “Zack?”

  His face crumpled. “Coug-kittyyyy,” he whimpered.

  “That’s right,” she told him. “Come to me, Zack, and we’ll go look for another picture of a kitty.”

  He remained a yard beyond her reach. “I want Mommy!”

  She tried again, finding inch-wide grips for her boots, clinging to the wall, stretching hard. The yellow-haired child wore the sodden Pooh Bear sweatshirt, the same torn red sweatpants he’d had on at the trailhead, one tiny red tennis shoe. Pushing her pack onto the ledge, she tried again to climb up, gaining a few inches. It still wasn’t enough.

  “Come here, Zack,” she coaxed, patting the lip of the pocket. “Sit down. Scoot out where I can reach you. I’ll take you to your mommy.”

  The child regarded her uncertainly for a second, then took a hesitant step toward her. Yes, Zack, yes! She impatiently patted the rough stone.

  A dark shape leapt from the shadows behind the child. A large hand clamped down over Zack’s chubby wrist and jerked the toddler back. Zack shrieked.

  The man was thin, his ribs prominent above the worn leather belt that held up his ragged jean shorts. His cheeks were darkened with stubble, not clean-shaven as she’d seen him before.

  “Charlie?” she gasped.
<
br />   His eyes darted in her direction, then quickly flitted away. As he dragged the boy backward, Zack screamed, his shrieks of terror pitched high above the low rumble of the water.

  “He’s not yours!” the man yelled.

  “Coyote Charlie?” Perez’s voice came from behind her.

  Charlie hesitated, his glistening eyes shifting quickly back and forth between Sam and the FBI agent. His expression was not tranquil now. He looked panicked, disoriented. He growled, an animal sound, and then hauled Zack up from the ground. Charlie clutched the struggling child to his chest, his pale eyes fixed on the FBI agent’s face.

  “Charlie!” Perez tried again. “Stop where you are!” Sam knew that the soft hiss she heard behind her was Perez’s elbow sliding down the side of the nylon pack. He’d be reaching for his pistol.

  “No, you’re not Charlie,” Sam said, remembering. “You’re Davinski.” Wolf Davinski, member of Earth Spirits; Karl Jacob Davinski, thirty-two, wanted in Oregon for destruction of construction equipment; BJB + KJD carved on the wall in the ruins. “Karl Davinski.”

  Davinski took a step closer. His eyes were wild, flitting first to her, then to Perez, back to her. He’d seemed so gentle that day on the trail. Was he schizophrenic?

  “How are you, Karl?” Perez said it as if he’d known the man all along. “Let Zachary go. Put him down. It’s not too late to make things right. Karl, put Zachary down.”

  “Karl, I want to thank you for the energy bar,” she said. “And the nuts.”

  “Cashews,” he spat. He pressed the squirming child against his chest, barely able to keep hold of him.

  “That’s right, cashews. And the grapes you gave me that day on the trail.” How could she keep his attention, distract him from Perez? She pulled her camera from her pack and framed Davinski in the viewfinder.

  Zack turned his head and bit the skin of the man’s bare chest. Davinski held the toddler out in front of him with both hands, shook the child up and down. “Stop that, David!”

  “He’s not David, Karl. He’s Zack.” She tried to keep her voice calm. “He wants to go home to his mommy, don’t you, Zack?”

  Zack’s arms and legs flew up and down violently. “David!” the man shrieked. “This is David!”

  “Mommyyyy!” the boy screeched.

  Sam snapped the photo. The flash startled Davinski; he staggered forward a step and nearly dropped Zack. The child’s feet swung only a short distance above Sam’s head. She slapped the camera down on the ledge, leapt forward, caught a handful of the red sweatpants above the boy’s ankle. Davinski pulled back, and the child’s pants slid down one side of his hips, revealing training pants beneath.

  Zack screamed again. “Mommmyyyy!”

  “He’s mine!” the man roared above the din. “You took Barbie, but you won’t get David! I saved him!”

  Sam hung on. Davinski clutched the waistband of the boy’s pants in his right hand; the fabric stretched tight between them.

  The man’s eyes widened, and Sam knew that Perez had drawn his gun.

  “Davinski, let go of Zachary. I’m from the FBI.”

  Karl Davinski remained frozen in place, his wild eyes fixed on Perez’s face.

  “Davinski, this is not David. This is Zachary Fischer. Put him down, or I will shoot. I will shoot you after a count of three. One.”

  “He’s mine!”

  “Two.”

  “I saved him from the blue demon. I saved him! I won’t let you have him!” He raised Zack up into the air, nearly jerking Sam off her feet.

  The little boy’s shrieks were deafening. She felt Perez step to the side to remove the child from the line of fire. In her peripheral vision, she saw the sleek semiautomatic pointed at Davinski’s head. She didn’t want Karl Davinski to die. There’d been too much blood spilled already.

  “Three.”

  Perez’s finger tightened on the trigger. Then lightning cracked in several blinding flashes. Davinski jerked Zack upward. The sweatpants slid from the chubby legs. He raised the boy above his head. Sam fell back, clutching a handful of limp fabric.

  “No!” Her voice was lost in the rumble of thunder. The click of Perez’s gun barely registered. Zack kicked wildly. The heel of his tiny foot caught Davinski squarely in the eye, and he dropped the child. Zack’s feet barely touched the ground before the little boy launched himself toward Sam.

  She grabbed for him. His sneaker hit her cheek. The bare foot slipped through her fingers as he sailed over her shoulder into the water.

  No! She plunged in after him. In the middle of the pool the water was chest deep, but she couldn’t stay on her feet. The spiraling current was fierce. Her knee banged against an underwater obstacle. Where was Zack? The water was murky; she was trying to see through mud. The current dragged her toward the center; toward the drop through the submerged hole to the next level.

  She struggled to raise her head above the water. A pale shiny object bobbed up next to her shoulder. She grabbed for it, came up clutching an aluminum pan. Her elbow cracked against an unseen rock. Where was Zack? He was drowning!

  Something smooth glanced off her rib cage. Her fingers slid across a cool slick surface. Then she felt only water. A punch landed squarely in the center of her abdomen. She reached out with both hands. Her fingertips were brushed by feathery strands. She knotted her fingers into them and pulled. A yellow and pink head emerged from the water. The lips parted and a gasp came out, followed by a wail.

  Thank God. Zack, still breathing. She clutched him to her chest and leaned back, trying to keep both of their heads above the torrent. Her braid caught in an underwater snag, snapping her head back with a jolt of pain. The swirling water pulled her legs under the surface. The Slide, the opening to the lower chamber! With an excruciating jerk, her hair came free. She felt for Zack’s mouth, covered it with her hand a fraction of a second before they were sucked under the surface.

  The rough sandstone scoured the skin from her backbone as she and Zack slid through the underwater hole. It was like being swallowed alive.

  Against her better judgment, she opened her eyes to gray water. Dark blobs of stone. As she surfaced, a flash of lightning blinded her. She removed her fingers from Zack’s mouth, pulled him higher on her chest. He coughed against her throat; she could feel the warmth of his breath. Good boy, Zachary.

  They were in the last chamber now. The water surged beneath her, carrying them effortlessly toward the final drop. She pedaled her legs furiously, trying to find a purchase against the stone floor. Anything. She flailed with her free arm. A rock bit into her fingers. She closed them over the pinnacle, but the water dragged her past the handhold. Another flash of lightning streaked across the sky above.

  Zack struggled on her chest. She’d been searching for him for days. Damn it, she wasn’t going to let him go without a fight! She spread her legs wide in the hopes of stopping their progress through the surging water. Something sharp pierced the skin of her calf. A scrape started at her thigh, dug a trench up her back and threatened to tear her ear off as she passed over it. Stick or rock, it didn’t matter. It hurt just the same.

  She tried desperately to pull herself up into a sitting position, but Zack’s weight was centered on her upper chest. He sobbed into her neck, his wailing distant compared to the roar of the stream surrounding them. They dipped and bobbed through the water. She kicked her legs again, trying to feel the rock floor that had to be only inches beneath her.

  With a bone-jarring thud, her right foot slammed up against rock, sending a shock wave of pain up her leg. A second later, her left foot thudded against a vertical wall of stone. Zack slid down her chest, coming to rest on her stomach. She clutched him tighter. They stopped. But the water didn’t. It surged over her cheeks and splashed into her mouth. Zack struggled against her. She fought to maintain her hold on the boy, praying she wasn’t holding his head underwater.

  She contracted her stomach muscles, inched her chin out of the water. Over the huge lump tha
t was Zack, she saw gray sky between her knees. And the tops of trees.

  They called this chamber the Observatory, because of the view. Her legs straddled the narrow opening in the rock wall. She was at the top of Village Falls.

  24

  WALLACE Russell was chatting with Ranger Leeson beside the bogged-down camper when he arrived. Rafael leapt out of the truck into the muddy road, barking “Stay in the car!” at his daughter before slamming the door behind him.

  Russell registered the murderous look on Rafael’s face. “Excuse me,” he said to Leeson, and took a step toward the camper. “I need—”

  Before Russell could retreat to the safety of the camper, Leeson caught him by the arm and held him in place as Rafael approached, one hand on his service pistol. “You’re under arrest, Wallace Russell—”

  Russell jerked away from Leeson, thrust both arms into the air. “I didn’t do anything to him! I never even had him, really.”

  With his free hand, Rafael pulled a plastic zip tie from his pocket. “Hands behind your back.”

  Wallace Russell kept his hands in the air. “I was going to take that kid back to his mother, honest. I didn’t hurt him. Look!” He ripped off his toupee and bent over so the law enforcement rangers could see the purple bruise on the crown of his head. “I’m the one who got hurt!”

  Leeson grabbed Russell’s arms, forced them behind the man’s back. Damn, he wasn’t going to need the gun, after all. Somewhat reluctantly, Rafael snapped his holster closed and handcuffed Russell with the zip tie.

  “Look,” Russell cajoled, “maybe I can save you guys some time here. He doesn’t need to tell about me and Zack, and I don’t sue him for battery, okay? So everyone gets to go home.”

  Dan Leeson shot a look at Rafael and jerked a thumb at Wallace Russell. “He had Zack Fischer?”

  “No!” Russell protested. “I never had him! I barely even touched him! He was running around in the dark all alone. I was helping him!”