Ghosts of Culloden Moor 08 - Duncan

by L. L. Muir

  “Please, God,” she prayed. “Save my baby.”

  She raced along the edge of the bank, tripping and falling, scrambling up to race again. The beam from her flashlight bounced and flashed across the water. The roiling waves were regurgitating brush and tree limbs at a frightful pace.

  How could her baby survive in that? She had to find her! She had to find her fast!

  Her lungs felt scorched and her legs, like dead weights, threatened to collapse beneath her. She kept going, fell, dragged herself up and ran again.

  She had no idea how far she’d come. As hard as she’d tried, she hadn’t been able to keep pace with the debris in the water. It shot past her at an alarming rate.

  How far ahead of her might Molly be? She fought to pick up her pace and still search the boiling water for any sign of her. What was she wearing? Purple. Yes. Watch for purple.

  She kept running, tripping over brush and rocks. Pushing her legs and lungs beyond their endurance. Finally, when there was nothing left inside her, when she didn’t think she could go any further or get up one more time, she pictured Molly’s face and held her in her heart. It was Molly’s strength that gave her what she needed to keep going. Even though she wasn’t willing to give up, she knew now she couldn’t save Molly by herself so she prayed desperately for the miracle Duncan would need to find her.

  If he was still alive.

  ~

  When Duncan dove into the water, above where Molly was trapped, he’d hoped to use the raging current to help drive him to her. He knew he’d need that distance to swim across the wash, in line with her and the sandbar.

  It had taken all his strength to keep from being sucked inside the hungry jaws of the current. He’d gone under countless times, fighting with everything he had, to continue swimming against the unimaginable forces working to pull him down.

  He’d been close enough to see the terror on Molly’s face when he was pulled under again. By the time he’d fought his way back to the top, the log had been washed away and he saw her sinking below the waves, her curls caught in the beam of her mother’s flashlight.

  For the tiniest moment, he froze, once more an eleven year-old boy who’d coaxed his sister to her death. But it was this Molly’s face he saw as he fought his way forward. He wouldn’t lose her. He couldn’t.

  He poured every ounce of strength he had into swimming faster in the direction he thought the current would have taken her. Debris swirled everywhere, on the surface and below the water, battering his body and sapping his strength.

  Again and again, he went under, feeling for her, grasping at anything he touched, panicked and enraged when it was another tree limb or cluster of sticks.

  He was almost spent, on the verge of submission to the relentless, hungry current. He cried Molly’s name in his head and heart. He’d failed her.

  Something hard bumped his thigh and was gone, instantly followed by a brush of softness. Molly? Please let it be Molly. He reached for it, touched something soft and pliable with the tips of his fingers but just as quickly lost it. He plunged after it, reaching and searching, blindly grasping for anything at all. His fingers closed over a small, somewhat firm object. He pulled, fighting against the current to bring it closer.

  Molly?

  With a final, desperate tug, her limp body smashed against his chest. Relief and horror swamped him all at once as her condition and the strength of the torrent overwhelmed him.

  Keeping her drooping head above water was battle enough without the ravenous pull of the current. He fought and failed and fought again, over and over, as the raging flood swept them downstream.

  Not far ahead of him, the log dipped and rolled with the tumbling waves. He swam for it with one arm, gripping Molly to his chest with the other, using the current as much as possible to drive them toward it. Then he saw the cutback in the wall of the wash. If he could somehow get there, they might have a chance.

  Everything seemed to slow to a standstill. Nothing existed in his world but Molly and the water and his need to get her to safety. He swam for the notch in the bank with the last bit of his strength, his muscles screaming for relief, his lungs on fire, praying he could get there before the torrent swept them past it.

  Closer. He just needed to get a little closer. They were moving too fast. He reached out with his free hand and made a frantic grab for a cluster of roots sticking out of the bank.

  He closed his hand around them in total desperation, feeling the skin peel from his hand as the current fought to take him. He pulled, tugging Molly and his own burdensome weight closer, knowing neither he nor the roots could last much longer.

  Inch by inch, he worked his way into the cutback, through piles of brush and debris trapped by the swirling eddies of this, and earlier floods. Out of the worst of the current, gasping for air, he worked his way up old, half buried logs and limbs that took them partially out of the water.

  With his back against the bank to support his sagging strength, he took Molly’s head in both hands and raised her face to his, searching, praying for some sign of life. His fingers brushed a large bump on the back of her head. “Ahhh, sweeting,” he cried, feeling a stabbing pain in his chest. Anger, hot and fast, exploded in screaming desperation. “Breathe, Molly! Ye must breathe! Please!”

  He searched her face. Everything was still. His heart twisted, wringing away his hope. Quickly, he draped her, face down, over his arm and pounded on her back, begging her to breathe, ordering her, until the intensity of his actions frightened him.

  A wee bit of water poured from her, but he couldn’t see if it was coming from her mouth, her hair, or even if he’d imagined it. He didna think she’d been in the water long, though it had felt like an eternity.

  He shook her slightly, begging and badgering her to breathe, to come back to him. He pounded her back again then flipped her over and kneaded her chest with as much force as he dared, determined to push the water from her. “Blast ye, Molly, breathe! Ye canna die. Ye must come back.”

  Finally, brokenly, when he couldna bear to pound on her further, he pulled her to him, tucking her face against his neck as he closed both arms around her. He hugged her hard, with all the grief and love and desperation inside him, and wept his grief into her wet, matted hair. “I love ye, Molly,” he sobbed. “I’ve loved ye from the first moment I set eyes on ye.”

  She was cold, his Molly. He hated that she felt so cold. He chafed the arm hanging limply at her side then brushed her hair back and pressed his cheek to hers.

  She jerked in his arms. Almost before he could register the movement, she jerked again and vomited. He quickly turned her over so she wouldn’t choke. Again, she vomited, then choked and coughed until he feared she’d rip the lungs from her wee chest.

  There’d be no boon, ever, nothing that the Muir witch could conjure that could compare to hearing Molly draw breath into her lungs, difficult as it was.

  Finally, when he turned her over, he noticed foamy pink spittle on her lips. She must be hurt inside. Her breaths, now, were rapid and frightful, as was the throbbing pulse in her neck.

  Desperate now to get her some help, Duncan studied the rim of the wash, not far above his head. If he climbed further up the debris pile, he could get within a couple of feet of it. Mayhap enough to get Molly to solid ground.

  Carefully balancing her weight, he searched for footholds in the soggy, unstable mass of trash. Several times, when he thought he was close enough to lift her over the rim of the wash, the structure beneath him gave way and he had to start again. Finally, wobbling precariously, he raised her in his hands like an offering, and half-rolled, half-shoved her over the rim of the bank.

  Working as fast as he could, he gathered more limbs and brush, anything he could pile up, and shoved the edges into each other, hoping to create a tangle tight enough to hold his weight.

  Sticks and branches tore at his flesh as he worked and shivered in a state of near panic. Every moment he wasted here robbed Molly of the care she
desperately needed.

  He stretched and climbed and clawed his way up the bank until he could pull himself over the rim. He rolled onto his back, allowing himself a couple of ragged breaths before he gathered Molly in his arms and started moving, his muscles twitching and cramping inside his bruised and battered body.

  “Lainey,” he screamed into the night, his voice harsh with strain. “Lainey!”

  There were no lights in the distance to act as a beacon. No sounds beyond the roar of the water. No stars to keep him from stumbling over rocks and bushes. He had no idea how far they’d traveled in the rushing water. The only thing he could do was keep the sound of the water on his left, continue to move, and pray Lainey found them very soon.

  ~

  Lainey pushed on, one ragged, uneven step in front of the other as she continued searching the water, her desperation building with each sweep of her flashlight.

  If Molly was still in the water, she was far ahead by now, but Lainey wouldn’t give up on the possibility that she could have been caught on something, or even that she and Duncan waited somewhere down there for help.

  The rain had finally stopped but the flood would surge for a long time yet. In all the years the runoff from these mountains had fed her catch-ponds through washes and gullies, she’d never she seen anything as devastating as this.

  Mark could have the place. If she couldn’t bring Molly home, she couldn’t stay.

  She imagined she heard Duncan’s voice, calling to her.

  “Duncan?” Adrenaline surged through her as she ran downstream, stumbling along the bank, over rocks and brush, praying to hear his voice again. Needing to hear it.

  When she didn’t, she finally stopped and listened, willing it to come again.

  There was no sound at all beyond the roar of the water.

  Everything seemed to drain out of her. She’d fought so hard to keep hoping. She still—

  “Lainey!” There it was again, this time full of desperation and urgency. Could he possibly have Molly with him?

  Please. Let him be bringing Molly home.

  “Here, Duncan. I’m over here!” She ran toward his voice, relieved and overjoyed to have him back and desperate to know about Molly.

  Finally she saw his mud crusted, naked, almost staggering body emerge from the shadows. His face was tight with exhaustion and desperation.

  “Oh!” She skidded to a stop as her heart stuttered and lodged like a boulder in her throat. Molly hung lifelessly in his arms. Lainey’s chest seized and cramped, unwilling to expand. “Molly,” she uttered, terrified to reach out and confirm with her hand, what her eyes were seeing.

  “Get the lorry!” Duncan ordered, his voice harsh with fear. “Hurry, Lainey. She’s barely breathing.”

  “But the battery…”

  “Theirs. In the trees. I saw the keys when I looked inside. Hurry!”

  “But…she’s…she’s alive? She sucked in a breath, filling her chest with so much hope it hurt.

  “Aye.

  Before the sound of his answer faded, she was running for the truck.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Lainey’s chest heaved, her breath coming in rapid, harsh gasps. She’d run as fast as she could across the uneven terrain to the truck. Trembling, she climbed inside and turned the key hanging from the ignition, sobbing her relief when the engine turned over

  Those men must have been pretty sure of themselves and she couldn’t be more grateful. She careened out of the trees and bumped across the raw, uneven ground headed to where she’d left Duncan and Molly.

  The glow of the bouncing headlights caught and lost eerie glimpses of Duncan and Molly until she skidded to a stop beside them.

  Duncan was all but staggering when Lainey jumped out and raced to help him. She took Molly from his arms, resisting the urge to stop and examine her. “Can you make it?” She asked.

  “Aye,” he nodded, sucking air into his lungs.

  At the truck, Duncan climbed inside and grabbed either Walt’s or Abe’s coat to wrap Molly in.

  Lainey handed her back to him and ran for the driver’s side, jerked the gearshift into drive and spun out in the mud.

  She careened toward the ranch, paralleling the wash as she, headed for the old homestead road.

  “How is she,” Lainey asked, anxiously gripping the steering wheel.

  “I doona know.” Anxiety dripped from in his voice as he held Molly tight in the bucking, bouncing truck. “Her heart is racing and she’s verra cold.”

  Lainey forced herself to concentrate on the rocky uneven ground in her headlights. “Somewhere along here I dropped your bundle of clothes. I’m not sure where.”

  They hadn’t gone far when she slammed on her breaks. “Hold on to Molly!” The truck spun in a half circle and stopped. Lainey was out and back in the space of a breath. She tossed the bundle onto the seat and fishtailed up the old road, not caring what might lie in her path.

  She raced past the root cellar, past the outbuildings, barn and house. “Those men?” she asked, gunning the gas as she barreled up the incline, sliding, recovering and sliding again on the slick road.

  Duncan tucked his plaid around Molly, wrapping her in a cocoon that didn’t seem to warm her. “They’re tied. Send someone back for them, or leave them to rot. ‘Tis no matter to me.”

  “Any changes in Molly?” She didn’t dare take her eyes off the road, even for a glance.

  “The same,” Duncan replied. “Breathin’ far too fast and she looks…blue.”

  Lainey was desperate to take Molly in her arms, help her, tend to her. Instead she barreled through deep puddles and slimy mud, fighting to keep the truck on the road. She could barely see through the endless splashes and sprays of mud and water that covered the windshield. She had to get Molly to the hospital. Her foot was a lead ball on the pedal. She took chances she never believed she’d take. They all belonged to Molly now - the chances - and Lainey intended to spend every one if that’s what it took to get her some help.

  Duncan had brought Molly back to her. She couldn’t lose her a second time.

  This was her fault. She’d put Molly in the cellar and left her there. She should have taken her and gone, like Duncan asked, and the devil take the ranch. She’d put Molly in danger, just as she had every day, living so far from town.

  Even now, if she’d been able to call 911 from the ranch instead of having to drive as far as Quail Hill to make the call, she could have had life-flight on their way instead of risking Molly further on this horrible back road. The turn off should be coming up soon.

  “Duncan. My phone is in my right jacket pocket. Can you reach it?”

  “Aye. Just a minute.” He readjusted Molly and reached across the seat with his left hand. “This one?” he asked, already digging in the small pocket of her jacket. “‘Tis here.”

  “Push the circle on the bottom that looks like a belly-button. When it lights up—”

  “‘Tis no’ light. I’ve pushed.”

  “The round button on the bottom of the screen?” He had to be doing it wrong.

  “Aye. The belly-button one.”

  “Push the little narrow one on the top, on the right side. Wait a few seconds and push it again.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Lainey. ‘Tis no’ working.”

  “It has to. Push it again! Hold it down a minute.” She screeched, trying to ignore the coil tightening in her belly.

  “Twill no’ work.” He said. “Ye’ll have to do it.”

  She growled and slowed the truck. She wanted to slam on the breaks. She wanted to slam everything. Tears of frustration trailed down her cheeks. When she finally came to a stop, she scooped the tears away, grabbed the phone and punched the button. Nothing. Maybe it was off. She turned it on. Nothing. She tried again. And again.

  She glanced at Molly, wanting to touch her, hold her. Instead she fought with her phone. Finally she had to admit to herself it was dead. She hadn’t charged it last night after she’
d left the kitchen. Taking the video must have used up all the battery.

  “It’s dead.”

  They’d have to drive all the way in!

  She didn’t look at him, as she jammed the phone back in her pocket and accelerated as fast as she dared. Leaning forward, she gripped the steering wheel like a lifeline. “I’m sorry. I should…I shouldn’t have yel…” Huge racking sobs burst out of her. She couldn’t stop them. All she could do was try to keep the truck in the middle of the road and keep going.

  ~

  “‘Tis okay, Lainey,” Duncan said softly. He wasn’t even sure she’d heard him.

  He hugged Molly to him, cradling her, desperate to warm her as Lainey raced down the road in a sliding, wheel-spinning, desperate race, her sobs cutting through his chest. His heart broke for her, for Molly. For him. He’d failed them both. A man was supposed to protect the ones he loved.

  Molly’s breath came in shallow, rapid bursts that hurt to listen to. He feared her racing heart would erupt from her chest, or worse stop altogether.

  She was so cold. As desperately as he tried, he couldna seem to warm her. She shivered, coughed and occasionally gasped, but wouldna open her eyes.

  He pictured her pretty eyes like emerald green lights, full of trust, or mischief, or sparking with laughter. He willed her, with all his strength, to open them but she would not.

  The size of the bump on the back of her head terrified him. Something must have hit her. A rock or limb. There’d been so much trash in the water, it could have been anything.

  “I need to know, Duncan.” Lainey’s voice was tense and strained. “What happened after you dove into the water?”

  It took him a few minutes to respond to her. He couldn’t seem to form the words. He couldn’t get the visions out of his head and into words that made any sense. They were just flashes of horror, playing over and over.

  “I will, lass.” He fussed with his plaid, tucking it tighter around Molly. “Ye’ve a right to know, I ken that, but I canna do so now. If ye’ll just give me a wee bit of time. Until we know Molly is safe.”