Dark Harvest (A Holt Foundation Story Book 2)

by Chris Patchell

  Marissa checked behind her, but there was nothing except the barn, the wreck of a house, and the woods.

  “I don’t know. He’s gone.”

  “He’ll be back.” Seth’s voice sounded thin. Exhausted.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Alvarez is on the other side of the woods with the police. Get them.”

  “No,” she said. “What if he comes back? I can find something in the barn.” A rope. A chain. “Lower it down.”

  “My leg is broken. I can’t . . .” he panted. He sounded like he was struggling for breath. “Can’t climb out.”

  Fear tasted like metal at the back of her throat. How was she going to get him out if he was hurt?

  “I’m not leaving.” She would figure something out. She had to. When things had looked hopeless, Seth had found a way to save her. “How far down are you?”

  “I won’t risk you and the baby. Go. Find Alvarez. Promise me.”

  Their baby. She wiped away her tears and placed her hand on the flat of her belly. She was risking more than her life by staying, but how could she leave him?

  “There has to be something.”

  “Dammit, Marissa, he’s insane. He’ll kill us both.”

  He’d killed the nurse. All those girls. What Seth said was true, but there was no way in hell she was leaving him here. She would find a way to get him out of there.

  “Hang on. I’ll be right back.”

  Panic raced through her mind as Marissa sprinted toward the barn, her fractured thoughts churning. She spied a rope connected to a set of rusty forks, the kind her father used to hoist bales of hay into the loft.

  That was it. The barn. She looked up to the roof peak and saw it. A hay hoist mounted above the loft. A rope dangled from the pulley.

  Marissa lurched toward the hay forks and grabbed the latch. Tried to detach it from the metal ring.

  Shit.

  The latch was rusted shut. She banged it against the forks but it still refused to open. Dropping it, she grabbed the rope and heaved, but it was no use. Every second she wasted was critical. Seth was down there. She needed to free the rope.

  Marissa bolted for the hay wagon. She found the shovel head buried in the long grass. Grabbing it, she ran back to the forks. Locking her hands around the top of the shovel head, she took aim, smashed it down onto the latch. Again. And again. And again. Until the rusted metal broke.

  A stab of exhilaration raced through her as she pulled the rope free. Above her, she heard a squeal as the rope stretched taut and arched out from the top of the pulley.

  Dropping to her knees, she formed a loop. Tied it as tight as she could.

  “Seth.”

  He didn’t answer. A plunging stab of despair sliced through her. Marissa’s voice broke.

  “Seth,” she screamed.

  “Here.”

  His voice was weak. Filled with pain. Marissa’s hands shook as she dropped the rope down into the well.

  “Loop this around your chest. I’m going to pull you up.”

  “You?”

  “Let me know when you have it.”

  She fed the rope down the well. Ten feet. Fifteen. More.

  “Got it,” Seth said.

  “Hang on. I’m going to pull you up.”

  “Love you, Marissa. If I don’t make it out . . .”

  Tears blurred her vision. There was a terrible finality to the words.

  She blinked them away.

  “Don’t you dare say goodbye. You’ve got to fight, Seth. You hear me?”

  “Yeah.”

  Rising to her feet, Marissa jogged back to the barn. The other end of the rope was latched to a rusted-out tractor. She wrapped her hands around the thick braided stands. The first part was easy as she pulled the slack from the rope. Then she felt it. His weight. She wrapped the thick strand around her arm.

  The rope pulled taut. Her shoulders strained against the load, arms feeling as though they might rip from their sockets. Marissa dug in her feet. Heaved with all her weight. The rusted metal pulley screeched.

  It was hard. She managed a foot. More. But it was like trying to deadlift an anvil. It was far beyond her strength.

  The rope slipped. The weight dropped. She grasped it, the rough fibers scraping the skin of her palms away. Tears leaked from Marissa’s eyes. She had to get Seth out of there. She had to . . .

  Marissa tightened her grip and pitched forward, throwing her whole weight against the load.

  The rope snapped.

  Chapter 57

  Marissa slammed into the earth. The impact knocked the breath out of her. Adrenaline was like a drug exploding through her body. She scrambled to her feet and raced toward the well.

  “Seth.”

  Her voice echoed down the long shaft. Seth did not answer.

  No. No. No.

  “Seth!”

  Panic crashed over her. Levelled her with the force of her pain.

  It was her fault. How much time had she wasted with that stupid fucking rope? She should have gone for Alvarez. She should have . . .

  A single thought cut through the tumult.

  The rope. If she tied it off, maybe she could climb down. It was a crazy thought. There were a million reasons why it wouldn’t work. The rope might break again. She might fall. But she had to do something. If she didn’t, he would die.

  Trembling from head to toe, Marissa stumbled back toward the barn. Tears streaked down her face. The buzzing in her head grew louder. High pitched. She covered her ears, trying to block it out, but it was no use.

  As the noise grew more distinct, a realization dawned on Marissa.

  Barking.

  She dropped her hands away from her ears and looked beyond the barn toward the woods. A line of dogs approached. In their wake, Marissa saw the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

  The police.

  Alvarez had arrived and he had brought everyone. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Marissa yelled. Waved her arms over her head.

  The police converged on the old farm, floppy-eared hounds leading the way.

  “Careful,” Alvarez called out. “Wilcox knows this place better than we do. He could be anywhere.”

  He was the first one to reach Marissa. She was exhausted. Beaten. Blood caked her thigh and forged a gory path down the side of her leg. She didn’t care.

  “Seth’s trapped.”

  Alvarez tensed. “Where?”

  She grabbed Alvarez’s arm and led him to the well. Bullet casings were collected as evidence as officers shone their flashlights inside.

  “Can you see him?” Alvarez snapped. “Crawford.”

  “We need a rope,” Sheriff Henderson said. “Get someone down to him.”

  “Over there.” Marissa pointed toward the barn.

  “Bishop,” Henderson called.

  “I’m on it.”

  Bishop was young, in his twenties. He had the long, rangy build of an outdoorsman.

  “He’s our best climber,” Henderson said, as if trying to assure her.

  Marissa nodded, but said nothing, a knot of fear coiled tight in her chest. If Seth had at least answered, she’d know that he was all right, but the silence . . .

  Alvarez unzipped his coat and slung it across her shoulders.

  “Maybe you should sit down,” Alvarez said.

  Marissa ignored him. Her whole being focused on Seth and the rescue effort.

  Bishop fashioned a makeshift harness from the rope. Seating himself at the edge of the well, his feet dangled over the side.

  “You sure you’re good?” Henderson asked.

  Bishop grinned. “I’ve climbed worse than this off I-90.”

  He gave a thumbs-up signal and shoved off the edge.

  Torturous seconds ticked by. Each one filled with Marissa’s self-recriminations about what she should have done. She pressed her hand against her belly. Thought about the baby. Their baby.

  “Got him,” Bishop yelled.

  Marissa’s kne
es gave way. Alvarez caught her elbows. Lowered her gently to the ground.

  The policemen grunted, pulling on the rope. Hands reached in, hauling Seth from the well. He was unconscious. Skin deathly pale. Blood streaked down the scarred side of his face.

  Marissa’s hands flew to her mouth. “Is he breathing? Is he . . .”

  Chapter 58

  Xander laid her down in the shadow of a pine tree. Her red hair streamed out across the forest floor. She stared up at him with a look on her face—part wonder, part terror, as if she had a glimpse into what had come after.

  After life. He’d never thought much about it, that mysterious afterworld that Christians claimed was a reward or a reckoning depending on which side of morality they judged you to be on. For him, it had always been about what came next, the reward of intellectual pursuit.

  But looking at her now, he wondered, what had she had seen in those last few fleeting moments of life. He knew that as the brain shut down, it captured images, like freeze frame shots from a polaroid camera emblazoned upon the mind.

  Had she glimpsed the beyond, or had there merely been one bright and terrible flash?

  Xander didn’t know. He supposed it didn’t matter.

  She had been right about one thing, though. It was over. Their quest had run its course.

  He had lost.

  In the distance, he heard dogs barking like an angry swell moving toward him. Soon the police would come streaming through the woods. His lab would be overrun with ignorant laymen without the slightest clue about his work. Oh, they’d have their theories about what he’d done and why he’d done it, but they wouldn’t look beyond the obvious, too tied up in the petty ethics to understand the brilliance of what he was trying to achieve.

  He looked down at Tory, sprawled at his feet. Still. Aphrodite carved in stone.

  She was free now, of everything—of pain and fear. Life. She would rest out here in the open, under the trees and the stars. She would not die in a jail cell like her mother had.

  He had made this one final sacrifice. For her.

  Xander cupped the detonator in his hand.

  The swell of barking drew nearer, sounding the alarm.

  Alarm.

  The alarm blared. The forest fell away and he was standing in a trauma room, an intern in a paper gown surrounded by an emergency medical team.

  “Doctor, her vitals,” a nurse shouted at him.

  Xander cut his gaze toward the heart monitor. The ECG strip had flatlined. Vitals crashing. The monitors wailed.

  “She’s not breathing. Starting compressions.”

  “How long . . . ?”

  The question came from a distance as he stared down at the patient, panic filling his chest. A woman in her late twenties in full cardiac arrest. The nurses peppered him with rapid-fire questions that he barely comprehended.

  “Get the attending,” he shouted.

  “There’s no time,” the redheaded nurse shouted back. “It’s all you. For Christ’s sake, shock her.”

  Xander clutched the defibrillation paddles. Sweat streamed down his forehead. His heart roared in his ears.

  The patient wasn’t breathing.

  She was going to die.

  The dogs broke through the line of trees. Their barking was drowned out by the sound of the shrieking monitors in his head.

  “She’s crashing, Doctor. Do something!”

  Xander clutched the detonator in his hand.

  Charged the paddles.

  Clear.

  Xander pressed the button and the bunker exploded.

  Chapter 59

  “Look who’s back in the land of the living,” Alvarez said.

  He and Evan were seated beside the bed. Evan turned his gaze away from the large patch of gray sky out the window toward Seth. The throbbing in Seth’s leg seemed far away as he grabbed the control for the hospital bed and pressed the button. The mechanism rattled and hummed as it raised him into a sitting position.

  “Tell me I don’t look as bad as you,” Seth said.

  “You always were the pretty one, Crawford.”

  Alvarez grinned. He ran his fingers across a two-inch gash on his forehead, closed by a neat array of stitches. Cuts and nicks pockmarked his face. Evan looked equally haggard, like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

  Seth’s laugh turned into a coughing spat. Sparks of pain burned through him and he grimaced. He rubbed the top of his broken leg, fingers grazing the plaster cast. The last clear memory he had was being trapped in the well.

  “What happened?” Seth asked.

  “Debris. The bunker was rigged. I got off light.”

  “And Wilcox?”

  Alvarez frowned and shook his head.

  “I don’t know what he had in there, but it spread to the woods surrounding the bunker. It took a long time to get it under control. They found Wilcox’s body along with the nurse. Both dead.”

  “Death was too good for him,” Evan said. He scratched the stubble on his chin. “He should have been prosecuted for his crimes. Locked up for life. Aunt Lizzie would have destroyed him in court for what he did to those girls.”

  “That’s for sure,” Marissa said.

  The three men turned toward the door as Brooke pushed Marissa’s wheelchair past Evan’s chair. Kelly followed close behind. Brooke parked her mother’s chair beside Seth’s bed and set the brakes while Kelly poured a glass of ice water. Marissa took it.

  “How did it go?” Seth asked.

  “I’m okay. Everything checks out,” Marissa said.

  Seth smiled. A rush of tears blurred his vision, and he reached for Marissa’s hand. All the words he wanted to say welled up inside him like a dam ready to burst. But they could wait. They had time.

  “How are you?” Brooke asked Seth.

  The concern in Brooke’s expression took him by surprise, and Seth smiled.

  “Not half bad considering I fell down a well, was shot at like carp in a barrel, and almost drowned in freezing cold water.”

  Laughter broke the tension. Kelly removed a plastic bag from the handle of the wheelchair. She placed a heavy cylindrical object on the table beside Seth.

  “We brought you something.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Flowers didn’t seem right,” Brooke said.

  “Contraband.” Kelly flashed a rueful smile.

  The moment he touched the bag, he knew what it was.

  “Christ, not another bomb,” he joked as he removed the pint of ice cream and placed it on the bedside table.

  Kelly pulled four plastic spoons from her pocket.

  Four. One for each of them, he noticed.

  “Just so you know, we expect you to share.”

  “Hell, no. This baby’s all mine.” He patted the top of the container.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he ate ice cream. It was never one of his favorites, but the gesture meant everything. For the first time, he wasn’t just their mother’s boyfriend. He was one of them.

  Evan read the label out loud. “Rocky road. Go figure.”

  “Seemed appropriate,” Brooke laughed.

  “No kidding. I’ve drafted a new policy. No more fieldtrips, for either of you,” Evan joked, doing his best to look stern.

  The reference to the foundation brought everything back for Seth.

  “How’s Henry?” he asked.

  Evan sobered. “I saw him this morning. His condition has stabilized. He hasn’t woken up yet. The doctors say they expect him to regain consciousness anytime now. His parents are with him.”

  “And his leg?”

  Evan shook his head. Experience told Seth that recovering from this type of debilitating injury was brutal. Not just physically, but emotionally.

  “Henry’s got an excellent team—doctors, rehab specialists, therapists. They’ve worked with veterans who’ve returned from overseas with grievous injuries. I’ll make sure he has whatever he needs to get through this.”

  “I tried to stop him.”<
br />
  It wasn’t enough. He should have done more to stop Henry.

  “It wasn’t your fault.” Marissa squeezed Seth’s hand.

  “If it wasn’t for your quick action, Henry would have died,” Evan said.

  Seth remembered what it was like for him after the fire—losing Holly on top of his own injuries. The pain. Loss. Anger. Grief. He would be there for Henry. They all would be.

  “Did you find Becky?” Seth asked Alvarez, thinking about the missing girl who had started all of this—and her baby.

  “She was buried in the field, along with a number of other victims we’re still trying to identify.”

  “We failed,” Marissa said, withdrawing her hand from Seth’s. “We were supposed to bring those girls home.”

  Brooke laid her hands on her mother’s shoulders. The silence that followed brimmed with sorrow. Seth was the first to speak.

  “The sad truth is, you can’t save everyone.” He met Alvarez’s gaze. The lieutenant nodded. “Some cases, the best you can hope for is to provide families with a sense of closure. We’ve done that. And no more girls will die because of Wilcox.”

  “That’s not all,” Alvarez said. “The DNA results have come back on the baby boy abandoned at Harborview. He is Suzie Norwood’s son, Michael. Social workers are reuniting him with Suzie’s family later today.”

  It was good news.

  “And Becky’s baby?” Marissa asked.

  A troubled look crossed Alvarez’s face.

  “Seth and Henry were right about the illegal adoption angle. We’re running DNA tests to confirm that Wilcox sold Becky’s son to Sara and Jared Binghurst. If the results come back the way we expect, Vicky Kincaid will be given custody.”

  “Becky’s mother?” Evan asked. Seth nodded.

  “This must be awful for the Binghursts too,” Marissa said. “They’re losing the baby they adopted.”

  “I wonder if there’s something we can do to help them. Let’s discuss it when you’re feeling up to it,” Evan suggested.

  Marissa nodded.

  “So we stopped Wilcox. The babies have been found and will be returned to the victim’s families. Becky and Suzie will be laid to rest. Mourned. But the cost . . .” Evan shook his head gravely. His gaze rested on Seth. “You, Marissa, and Henry almost died. If the foundation is going to survive, we need to make some serious changes.”