What Doesn't Kill Her

by Christina Dodd

  Kellen watched her, noticing how much like her cousin Rae looked, how she frowned as she put all her energy into coloring, that she seemed healthy after her brush with freezing death... “How are you?” she whispered.

  Rae turned to her, smiling as brightly as ever. “I’m fine, Mommy.” She kissed Kellen on the mouth. “How are you? I woke up before you and I put on my shoes and socks and got my crayons and my book. See?” She showed Kellen a new page of superhero drawings in purple, red and yellow. “I got my own breakfast. I picked huckleberries and ate them.”

  That explained the smears of red and purple on her face.

  “I came back to bed and colored until you woke up.” Rae beamed. “I saved you some berries.”

  If the child wasn’t okay, she was faking it well. Kellen looked at the squished blackish purple berries piled in the dirt, waiting for her.

  She ate them.

  Rae chatted. “What are we going to do today? Will there be bad men after us some more? Are we almost there? Will the park rangers take us for a pizza? I want pesto, cheese and chicken.”

  Absurd conversation. “No anchovies?”

  Rae shrugged. “They aren’t my favorite.”

  Another flash of maturity in a child obsessed with princesses and flashy sequins.

  Kellen rolled to look at her backpack. The contents were strewn from one end of the hedge to another. “You put your shoes and socks on, and got out of the sleeping bag, and got back in.”

  Rae nodded, uninterested.

  That explained the pine needles poking Kellen in the legs and the—

  “Were your shoes and socks dry?”

  “Yes. Lookee!” Rae showed Kellen the newest drawing. There was a stick figure, tall and dressed in red and black. Rae said that was ThunderFlash. There was a shorter stick figure, dressed in a cape of pink and yellow stars. That was LightningBug. And a hideous white head-like thing with too many eyes floated beside them. Solemnly, Rae said, “We have a talisman.”

  Where did this kid get her vocabulary? Kellen felt her shoes and socks. They were dry, thank heavens. “What talisman?”

  “The head! The Triple Goddess will guard us. Look at how she took out that man when you hit him! And that guy from the van!”

  “Actually—” Kellen couldn’t believe she was indignant about this “—I’m the one who aimed the head well enough to take him down.” She took a breath and tried to think how to explain this to a seven-year-old. “Faith in something unknown is a great thing, but you have to combine faith with action. So if you saw a bad guy sneaking up on us, would you pray to the Triple Goddess, or would you scream a warning?”

  Rae screamed. Kellen jumped and grabbed her, ready to put her hand over Rae’s mouth. Stopping herself, she listened as birds took flight in the trees above. With a sound so high-pitched, anyone within earshot would be looking up for a hawk or a cougar.

  She relaxed. “Nice. But let’s not scream again unless there’s trouble. Now—what if the bad guy grabs you first?”

  “Kick them?”

  “Where?”

  “Some place that hurts.”

  “Right. The best places to kick or hit are the head, the sternum and the groin.”

  Rae giggled. “Groin!”

  Kellen pretended like she didn’t hear. “It’s easy to remember. You punch right down the middle of the body. Face—” she pointed at Rae’s nose, mouth and throat “—sternum—” she pointed at Rae’s breastbone “—and groin.”

  When she pointed at Rae’s groin, Rae stopped laughing and her eyes got big. “I hit a tree one time on my bike and fell off the seat and landed on the bar. It hurt so bad.”

  “So you know what I’m talking about. It hurts men, too, worse than it hurts girls.” Kellen reflected for a minute. “Although maybe that’s not true, maybe men are more whiny about it.”

  “Groin...” Rae giggled again. “Groin. Groin. Groin.”

  The chanting was going to get old fast. Kellen dived to the bottom of the sleeping bag, retrieved her jacket and boots and socks and got dressed. She crawled out of the bag and started rolling, organizing and stuffing.

  Rae stopped chanting and cocked her head. “What’s that noise?”

  She whispered, and her quietness got Kellen’s attention. She froze and listened.

  Footsteps. Someone was walking toward the thicket where they hid. Heavy footsteps. A man.

  No, two men.

  In a panic, Kellen looked toward Rae. Would the child be quiet?

  Rae put her finger to her lips. She was shushing Kellen.

  Kellen nodded slowly, subduing her terror.

  “I would swear I heard someone scream,” one of the men said.

  “It was a bird.” The other guy lit a match and puffed on a cigarette so hard the cloud of smoke drifted across them in a wave.

  “Fine. It was a bird. Then where did they go?”

  “Who cares about them? Where did the head go? That’s where the value is.”

  Both men kept their voices low. Both men had Eastern European accents. In slow motion, Kellen slid down and looked at their shoes.

  Shiny black leather, unsuited for hiking. That confirmed her suspicions; this was Group 1, the Greedy Bastards.

  “We’re supposed to be chasing them toward the ranger station, toward the other team. But if we find them first, I say we handle the matter ourselves.”

  The first guy said, “The boss could be a difficulty.”

  Mr. Cigarette grunted an agreement.

  “And what about the kid? He didn’t tell us about a kid.”

  “So he doesn’t know everything.” The cigarette dropped to the ground. The guy stubbed it out with his shoe. “A little girl, they said. I like little girls.”

  They walked on.

  Kellen gestured to Rae to remain still and quiet.

  Rae’s eyes were big; she didn’t even blink. She had heard the words, and while maybe she hadn’t understood all his meaning, his tone revealed far too much of his sick pleasure at the idea of killing a woman and her child. And more.

  They sat very still for long chilling minutes.

  Finally, Rae stirred. She whispered, “Mommy, what are we going to do?”

  Kellen finished packing the bag. “Change of plans. We’re going to the Restorer as quickly as we can.”

  “Where’s he?”

  “Uphill.”

  “Okay!” Rae crawled under shrubs, reached out and nabbed the cigarette. She crawled back and handed it to her mother. “I don’t like this man. He’s gross. He litters. But I like the Restorer. Right?”

  “Yes. He’s one of the good guys.” She hoped. Nils Brooks didn’t necessarily associate with the good guys. She fieldstripped the cigarette, scattering the tobacco and shredding the paper. “Wait here.” She crawled out and scanned the area.

  The men’s footsteps led away and downhill, and as far as she could see, they hadn’t doubled back. “Come on, Rae, we’ve got to get going.”

  “Mommy, what are we having for breakfast?”

  16

  By the time Max had gathered his gear and hit the road in one of the tough old winery pickups, it was afternoon. The sun set about nine, he needed food and sleep, and he couldn’t find anything in the dark, so he stopped for the night in Centralia. As soon as he got into the motel room with a greasy bag filled with a hamburger and large order of fries, he locked the door behind him and called Nils Brooks.

  Brooks sounded rough, gravelly, as if Max had woken him from a sound sleep.

  “Ah, I’m sorry.” Max faked sympathy. “You’re on Eastern Time. I guess it’s late there, huh?” He took a large bite of the burger and chewed.

  Without preamble, Brooks asked, “Did you find the head?”

  Max stared at the mashed burger in his clenched fist. If he had Brooks
here now, he’d rearrange his smug face. “You mean, did I find Kellen and our daughter? No. I got a late start, what with not being told the truth by you. Any word on their whereabouts?”

  “No.”

  “Did you tell the Restorer? Is he going after them?”

  “All he’s got is a radio. I couldn’t get him to pick up.” Max heard a woman’s sleepy voice say something, then Brooks sounded more awake and as if he was moving. A door shut, and he said quietly, “Which doesn’t mean he wasn’t there listening, just that he wouldn’t reply.”

  A woman. Max was racing across Washington trying to find and save the only beings that gave his life value, and Brooks was screwing some woman. In disgust, Max dropped the burger back into the bag. “What do you mean?”

  “Look. The Restorer is not exactly a helpful guy. He’s a mystery and a hermit. He doesn’t like people. Maybe he heard me, maybe he’ll care enough about the head to search for Kellen and Rae, but I’m afraid—”

  “You go to hell.” Max hung up. What a prick. What an absolute prick. He could only hope Brooks was a limp prick who would leave that woman unsatisfied.

  At dawn, he got a message from Brooks.

  No word from the Restorer. No word from Kellen.

  Max called his mother.

  She hadn’t heard from Kellen and Rae, but she sounded strong and once again assured him Kellen would keep Rae safe.

  He headed into the Olympic Mountains to find his daughter and his...and the mother of his daughter.

  The map Nils Brooks had sent directed him to President Roosevelt Road, a narrow gravel lane that wound up and down and around the mountains.

  Kellen and Rae had been gone almost twenty-four hours, out of touch the whole time. Few people could face the challenges up here, making this isolated land one of the last true wildernesses on earth. If Kellen and Rae were on the run, how could he find them? Kellen’s military training would serve to keep them safe, but would also prevent him from locating them. Logically, Kellen would make a run for the ranger station. There she and Rae would be safe. They’d have a way to communicate and a way to get away. So that’s where he would go, too.

  A tow truck rounded a corner, coming straight at him on the narrow road. He pulled as far over to the side and waited while the truck squeaked past him. Then he saw it. The burned and blackened van, the one that had picked up Kellen.

  In a flash, he was honking the horn, yelling and getting the driver’s attention. He rolled down his window.

  The female driver rolled down her window. Dust boiled into both vehicles.

  “Yeah?” The female wore a name tag that said, Hi, my name is Dakota.

  “My girlfriend and daughter were in that vehicle.” Cold sweat. He’d broken a cold sweat. “What happened?”

  “It burned.”

  “No bodies inside?’

  “No! Not unless you want to count a couple of princess doll casualties.”

  Relief and residual fear made him dizzy. “Were they found? My girlfriend and my daughter. My girlfriend—” not his girlfriend, but a lie told in a good cause “—she’s about five foot six, shortish hair, kind of blond with dark ends, blue eyes. My daughter’s seven, blond hair, brown eyes. They look a lot alike. Did you see them?”

  “No, sorry.” Dakota looked sorry, too. “One of the park rangers found the van and called me to come up and tow it. He didn’t know what caused the fire or what happened to the driver or any passenger. We were both happy that whoever it was got out safely. We figured they’d been picked up by another hiker. I’m taking the van down to have the cops look it over and see if they can figure out who it belongs to.”

  “Can I look?”

  He must have looked pretty sick, because she said, “I shouldn’t, but yeah.” She opened her door. “Come on.”

  He got out, too, and followed her back to the van.

  Most women would have worried about being on a lonely mountain road with a man his size. Not her; she was six feet tall and if the sleeveless shirt was any indication, she lifted weights. Heavy weights. She saw him looking. “You have to stay in shape to do my job.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  Smoke had given the exterior paint a grayish patina. The fire’s heat had broken the windows and warped the side panel door open. Flames had blackened the interior, melted the upholstery, and yet...under the back seat, he could see a flashing sprinkle of warped sequins.

  His daughter had been there.

  He must have looked ill, because Dakota asked, “You okay?”

  “You’re sure there’s no bodies in there?”

  “I swear. The ranger looked it over, and I looked it over, too. You can hop in if you want.”

  “I trust you.” Time for the million-dollar question. “What caused the fire?”

  “Something went wrong under the hood. You suspect bad doin’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “What were they doing up here?”

  “My girlfriend had a job. My daughter tagged along. Not that she was supposed to.”

  “Sounds like a handful.”

  “She is so much trouble.”

  “And you love her to death.”

  “Yes.” He turned away. “I’d better go find them.” He stopped. “Where did this fire happen?”

  “About three miles up the road. You can’t miss it. The flames scorched the shit out of a couple of Douglas firs, could have started a forest fire, but a rainstorm in the afternoon put them out.” She saluted him. “Good luck.”

  Something about the way she saluted made him ask, “You former military?”

  “Army.”

  “So was my girlfriend. Captain Kellen Adams.”

  “I don’t know her, but when I talk to the park rangers, I’ll let them know your story, tell them about your family.”

  “Thank you.” He handed her his business card. “Not that cell phones work up here, but leave a message and maybe I’ll go high enough to catch a signal.”

  They headed to their vehicles and took off in opposite directions.

  Max drove, not paying a bit of attention to the gravel washboards or watching the sides of the road, because he knew what he was looking for. Wherever that van had burned, that was the place to start looking for his little girl and his big girl.

  He needed to remember—Kellen wasn’t his yet.

  But right now, when he was terrified, it was hard.

  The burned spot was, as Dakota said, three miles up the road. Max pulled up at the spot the van had been parked and started searching the ground. He found pink glitter and a melted princess doll that made him want to cry and a glittery trail that led toward the creek that flowed under the road and up into the forest. Kellen’s footsteps dug deep into the gravel, as if she’d been running, and joined smaller footsteps that pressed into the creek sides and then up toward a clearing surrounded by trees where—

  Max had his head down, following the tracks, intent on knowing where his daughter and his woman (not his, not yet) had been.

  When he looked up, he saw the man’s body, bound to the tree, slumped against the trunk, throat cut, blood spilling down his chest...

  With that one glance, Max identified him. This was the guy who had picked up Kellen in the white van and driven her and Rae away to an adventure that could very well be the death of them. And this guy, whatever his name was, was now dead in a brutal bloody murder.

  Max had to get to Kellen and Rae before it was too late.

  He backtracked to his truck and drove on to the parking area fast enough to make his jaw snap when he hit a bump. He parked and consulted his map. He had already made his decision. He would make no attempt to report the murder. The guy was already dead and if Max had contacted the authorities, he would have been there for hours, possibly detained as a suspect. Weighed against the threat to Kellen and Rae, th
e legalities were unimportant.

  Kellen had to know the danger she was in.

  Would she try to get Rae to the ranger station?

  Or would she head for the Restorer’s home base?

  If she headed for the ranger station, Max knew she and Rae would be safe with them.

  Max put the map away, shouldered his backpack and started the rough climb up to Horizon Ridge and the Restorer. If for some reason, Kellen headed that way, their chances of survival lessened considerably. Maybe he was headed the wrong direction, but they would need him there.

  17

  At about an hour, Rae had apparently forgotten all about the guys who had stood outside their huckleberry thicket and talked with apparent pleasure about killing them.

  Kellen wished she could forget. The way that man sounded—he wanted the head, and he wanted to hurt them even more.

  Oh, Max, I’m so sorry. By now he knew Rae had stowed away. By now he’d spoken to Nils. He must be worried to death.

  Rae was bored with hiking. She wanted to stop and play in the stream, build a dam, fall in again and get cold, wet and covered with dirt.

  Kellen wanted to keep moving, avoid being captured and stay alive. Trying to explain why made no impression on Rae, and Kellen knew it behooved her to keep her child entertained and walking. After all, Kellen was the adult, the mature human being, the parent. She knew without a doubt Max could do it. How hard could it be? All she needed to do was talk to Rae about something that interested Rae, preferably something that wasn’t loud enough to attract the attention of the headhunters or the Mercenaries. Even better, she wanted to talk about something that didn’t involve chanting, “Groin, groin, groin,” like a primitive song from an early Star Trek episode.

  Cheerfully, Kellen asked, “What do you think you could find out here and use for a weapon?”

  “A weapon?” Rae sat down on a log. “I don’t want to wear my boots anymore.”

  “Okay. Take off your boots.” Kellen already knew who was going to have to carry them. “If someone was hurting you, what could you grab real fast and use to hurt them back?”