by R. R. Banks
Creeping over to the couch, I kneel down on it and strain my ears to listen. It sounds like the muffled voice I'm hearing is one of the men on the phone.
She's not here, I hear him say.
There's a pause before he continues. I don't know where she is. Pause. No, her clothes and everything are still in the room. Her boots are still there too. Pause. Yeah, we'll keep looking. She can't be too far away.
Two men walk away from my room, heading down the corridor and in the direction of the office. Which means, they could very well figure out who I am and what room I'm staying in – which, of course, will lead them to Calee.
“Calee,” I call. “We need to go. Now.”
The door to the bathroom flies open and she rushes out, the light of panic in her eyes. I'm already getting dressed and gathering my things, stuffing them into my bag. It makes me glad that I never fully unpack in a hotel room. Not that I ever really imagined I'd need to make a fast getaway like this.
“Is it them?”
I nod. “We need to get your stuff and go,” I say. “It looks like they went down to the office, so it's probably not going to take them too long to figure out where you are.”
Finished packing, I grab the handle of the door and open it quietly. Sticking my head out, I look both ways and find the corridor clear.
“Okay, let's go,” I say.
She follows me out and I close the door as quietly as I can. We rush to the room next door and after dropping my bag, I take her key card from her. I open the room and step inside quickly, anticipating finding somebody there. The room is empty though.
“Get dressed and get your things,” I say. “We probably only have a few minutes.”
Desk clerks aren't supposed to give out names and room numbers for the safety of their guests. But I'm guessing that Calee's friends are persuasive. I have a feeling they're either offering money or threatening violence if they don't get the information they want. And given that people are usually either greedy or don't want to get themselves hurt, my name and room number will be in their possession pretty quickly.
“They took my money,” Calee says, her face stricken and her hand in her jacket pocket. “That's all the money I had in the world.”
“Don't worry about it,” I say. “I have plenty. Let's go.”
She rushes across the room and joins me in the hall. Down the corridor, we hear the rumbling of the elevator. It's coming up. And it's a pretty good bet it's carrying Raymond's men. I look around, feeling the tension in me rising. I see the sign for the staircase and grab Calee by the arm, ushering her toward it.
“We'll take the stairs,” I say.
I hear the chime of the elevator as I follow Calee through the door to the stairwell and can't help but take a peek back. I see two men in jeans, dark coats, and dark Stetson hats. They're big guys and look like they're straight out of central casting for cowboys – all they're missing is chaps and spurs. They have that hardened, farm-tough look about them. I like to think I'm plenty tough and decent in a scrap, but they're definitely not guys I'd be comfortable tangling with on my own.
One the guys happens to look over and I duck my head back into the stairwell, letting the door swing closed behind me. I don't know if he saw me or not, but I'm not going to take chances.
“Go,” I say. “Go, go, go.”
Calee is ahead of me, moving down the stairs quickly. It's only three flights to the bottom and we get there just as I hear one of the doors above us thrown open so hard it crashes into the wall, sending a clang echoing through the stairwell.
Throwing open the door, I lead Calee quickly through the parking lot to my rental car. I push the button on the remote that unlocks the doors and quickly open the passenger side door. I toss my bag in, grab her bag and toss that in as well. Calee jumps into the passenger seat, her eyes wide, her breathing ragged, her face a mask of fear.
“Hey, stop! Calee!”
I look up to see the two cowboys coming out of the stairwell and heading for us at a run. I run around the car and Calee had my door open for me. I jump behind the wheel, slam the key into the ignition and start the car. I look up and see the cowboys closing in on us. One of them is reaching under his jacket and in the bright lights of the parking lot, I see the shine of a weapon.
“Oh, God,” Calee cries out. “Oh, my God.”
She has her hands on the side of her head and her eyes are wide with terror. Just seeing that look of stark fear on her face does something to me. It puts a lump in my throat and a knot in my gut. And in that moment, I realize that I don't ever want to see that look on her face again.
Throwing the car in reverse, I stomp on the pedal and we shoot backward. Slamming the gear shift into drive, I hit the accelerator and the car squeals and rockets forward, leaving a trail of smoke and rubber in our wake. I take a quick look in the rear-view mirror and see the two cowboys standing there looking after us as we go.
I let out a peal of nervous laughter and Calee looks at me like I've lost my mind. I give her a smile and a shrug. She wouldn't understand it if I explained it to her. We'd escaped – just barely, but we'd escaped. The rush I feel is similar to the rushes I'd felt after a battle over in the Shit. After escaping with my life from some nasty firefight.
The rush of surviving a battle is something that's difficult to be replicated. But this came damn close. And I'm somewhat ashamed to admit that it's a rush I miss getting. While I'm not a hardcore adrenaline junkie, that kind of rush is something I enjoy. In a way, it's life-affirming.
“You okay?” I ask.
She looks over at me and nods, her face blanched. “Yeah,” she says. “You?”
I give her a smile I hope is more reassuring and less maniacal. “Yeah. I'm good.”
We drive into the night and I have no idea where we're going. I know we need to get out of Fort Collins, but I can't leave until I say goodbye to Steve. Until I can see him though, we need to find somewhere to lay low.
Chapter Twenty-One
Calee
It takes a good, long while for my heart to stop pounding and for my breathing to get back to normal. Yeah, I'd been expecting them to find me, but having them actually show up at our door still rattled me to my very core. Seeing Harold and Ennis coming toward us in that parking lot was like watching a scene from a horror movie.
But Eric got us out of there. He saved me.
Except, now they know who he is. They know he's protecting me. Which means that he's in danger. Because of me. It's a bitter pill for me to swallow, given what happened to Danny, but there's nothing I can do about it anymore. As much as I wish I could, there's absolutely nothing I can do. He's involved.
“Hey,” he says. “Stop beating yourself up. This isn't your fault.”
My smile is wry. “How do you know that's what I'm doing?”
“I've done it enough to know what it looks like,” he says. “I think I've gotten to be something of an expert, actually.”
“Oh? How so?”
He shrugs. “Just life.”
Eric doesn't seem to want to talk about it, so I don't push. But I know so little about him and I find myself intensely curious about him. Other than the fact that he's a surgeon and an Army veteran, I don't know much of anything else. And I want to know.
“We should probably find someplace to hide out for the night,” he says. “Or, what's left of it.”
I look at him and feel a rush of emotion wash over me. It's powerful and leaves me a little lightheaded – and I don't understand what it is I'm feeling. I clear my throat and sit back in my seat, doing my best to push everything out of my mind. I'm exhausted, confused, and terrified – not exactly the best recipe for clear thinking.
“I can't believe they found us,” I say, more just to dispel the silence in the car.
“Any idea how?”
“I don't know,” I say. “I took a bus out of Elk Plains under a different name. And I don't think the lady who sold me the ticket would have told them. The f
ake name was her idea.”
“Huh,” he says. “Is it possible she did though?”
I shrug. “I guess it's the only logical explanation,” I say as a wave of fear and guilt wash over me. “God, what did they do to her?”
“I know it's tough and you're feeling a lot of guilt right now, but you need to compartmentalize it,” he says. “We can't afford to deal in what if's or let ourselves get wrapped up in our feelings. We have a couple of bad guys with guns after us, which means we need to stay focused on that.”
“Is that what they taught you to do in the military? Compartmentalize?”
He nods. “One of the things, yeah,” he replies. “It's a useful tool.”
I look at him and can see the air of authority and command about him. Even while we were being chased by Harold and Ennis, he was unruffled. He'd somehow managed to stay cool and calm. To keep a clear head and focus on the immediate threat – unlike me. I was all over the place. I feel like I still am. It's not hard for me to picture him being one of the guys in charge.
“So, were you a general or some sort of commander or something?”
He laughs softly. “Captain, actually.”
“Oh, is that like better than a general?”
Shaking his head, he gives me a warm smile. “Far from it,” he says. “Do you really know nothing about military ranks?”
I cock my head and roll my eyes. “It's not like we had an extensive education about the military out on the Ark.”
“Point taken,” he says. “Well, a Captain is an officer, yes. But it's relatively low on the scale in the bigger picture. Captain, Major, Lieutenant Colonel, Full Bird Colonel, then you get to the generals –”
“Sounds confusing.”
He shrugs. “Not really. But probably not all that interesting to most people.”
“Did you like it?” I ask. “Being in the military?”
“It had its moments,” he says. “I met some good people. Made some good friends.”
That shadow crosses his face again and I can see those old ghosts in his mind rising from their graves, haunting him.
“Why do you sound so sad about it?” I ask.
“I lost some good people,” he says. “Lost some good friends.”
I nod although I don't understand. How could I? But I can empathize with the grief he's obviously feeling.
“On the plus side though,” he says, “I don't think I'd be the doctor I am today without the experience I had over there.”
“Silver linings.”
“I suppose so.”
He pulls into a rest stop just off the highway. I look at the clock and see that it's closing in on five in the morning. It won't be long before the sky begins to lighten and the sun starts to creep over the horizon, signaling a new day.
Once upon a time, not all that long ago, I used to enjoy getting up just before dawn. Used to like sitting and watching the first fingers of morning light crawl across the sky. I'd always greet the day with a sense of hope and optimism. A sense that it could be the day that I finally find the courage inside of me to do it – that I would finally escape from Raymond and Noah's Children.
Over time though, the optimism faded. So did the hope. And eventually, I stopped getting up with the sun at all. Life was nothing but a continual series of hardships and disappointments. Although that spark of hope never faded entirely, the overwhelming sense that I would be on the Ark for the rest of my days, having nothing to hope for or look forward to, drowning in despair, was all I could feel. Somehow, I'd resigned myself to the idea that I would forever be under Raymond's thumb.
But then things changed. I changed. I rest my hand on my stomach and imagine that I can feel the life blooming inside of me. Because of Danny and because of this baby, I was forced out of that pit of despair and resignation I'd allowed myself to exist in for far too long. And yeah, I'm on the run and living in a constant state of fear, but for the first time in a very long time, I feel that spark of hope inside of me again.
I look over at Eric and know that it's because of him, that hope is blossoming within me again. Without him, I would be alone and not have known what to do. He makes me feel safe. Makes me feel like we can outrun Raymond and his men. Like we can escape from them forever.
But I know it comes at a price. And that he is bearing the brunt of the cost. His life is being altered – and his life is in terrible danger – because he's helping me.
“I'm sorry,” I say, staring through the windshield.
From the corner of my eye, I see him turn to me, but I don't dare meet his eyes. Parking in a dark corner of the rest stop, he shuts the car off.
“What are you sorry about?”
For a long moment, I say nothing. But then, I turn to him and give him a faltering smile.
“I was just thinking about how I'm upending your life,” I say. “How I'm putting you in danger.”
“We've been through this already.”
“I know,” I say. “I just need you to know how sorry I am for everything. I don't blame you for wishing you'd never crossed paths with me.”
His laugh was soft. Reaching out, he put his fingers beneath my chin and raised my head so I was looking him in the eye.
“I don't regret crossing paths with you for a second,” he says. “In fact, I should be thanking you for it. And you have absolutely nothing to be sorry about. Nothing at all.”
“Thanking me? For what?” I ask. “I've brought you nothing but –”
“Stop,” he says. “Let's not do this. Just know that you have nothing to be sorry for. I knew what I was getting into when I signed up for this detail. It's all good. Now, you should get some rest. A pregnant woman needs rest.”
He gives me a smile and withdraws his hand from my chin – and surprisingly, I find myself sad about that. There's something reassuring and comforting about his touch.
“What about you?” I ask.
“I'll be fine,” he says. “I'm going to stand watch. Now, settle in and get some sleep.”
I nod as he gets out of the car and walks a short distance away. In the pre-dawn gloom, all I can see is the shape of him amidst the shadows. He looks like a spirit standing in the murky darkness.
Or a guardian angel. My guardian angel.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Eric
I sit on a bench beneath a tree a short way off and watch the car. More specifically, I'm watching the cars that come and go from the rest stop, looking for the cowboys. I honestly don't know what I'm going to do if they show up. I have no weapons and there are two of them against me – not exactly the best of odds.
All I can do is run.
I pull a pack of cigarettes out of my jacket pocket, shake one out, and light it. I inhale deeply and let the thick plume of smoke out slowly. I watch it rise into sky, disappearing on the slight breeze. I keep an eye on the entrance to the rest stop, tensing each time a car turns in. Not that many cars have turned in at this time of the morning, but there have been a few.
But the cowboys haven't turned up yet, which is a good thing. Of course, if they find us here, we've got a bigger problem on our hands. Which leads me back to the original question that's been floating through my head ever since they showed up at the hotel – how in the hell did they find us in the first place?
Sure, the easy answer is that the lady who sold Calee the bus ticket gave her up. It seems to be the most logical conclusion to draw. But something about it doesn't sit right with me. Something about that theory seems a little off. If the lady had gone to the trouble of selling her a ticket under a fake name and hiding her out until the bus got there like Calee said, why would she turn around and give her up?
Unless Raymond's men tortured her for the information. That was possible. And after seeing the goons at the hotel, I didn't have a whole lot of trouble believing them capable of doing just that. But would they risk the backlash from the townspeople and the local authorities?
From everything Calee told me, the peo
ple in town already hated Noah's Children. The cops were always trying to find something to bust them on. She'd told me they even brought the Feds in pretty regularly. But they'd never been able to find anything to bust them for.
Raymond was apparently very good at covering his tracks. Calee said that he'd been operating his cult for a long time, which means that for him to be able to cover things up – things like murder, rape, pedophilia – as well and efficiently as he does, he has to be very smart. Very detail oriented. And very good at keeping a low profile – and torturing an old woman is not keeping a low profile.
The theory of Occam's Razor suggests that the simplest answer is usually the right one. Which means that Raymond's thugs torturing an old woman for information is the most logical answer – and probably the right one.
Which suggests that Raymond came by his information by way of the bus ticket lady and from there, a drive around Fort Collins, which isn't an enormous place, until they found her. And once they found her, they followed her, intending to grab her in the middle of the night.
But then, that theory doesn't entirely hold up either. If they'd followed her, they would have known about me. And they would have known she was in my room when they showed up to grab her. Something is off and not everything is lining up.
I'm probably overthinking the whole thing. But that's what I tend to do sometimes. Obsess and overthink something to death. I think though, that's also part of what makes me a good doctor. I'm never satisfied with the first answer and will always keep digging for something better.
I take another drag of my smoke, watching the entrance to the rest stop.
“You're a doctor,” Calee says. “And you smoke? Isn't that like hypocritical or something?”
I look up as she sits down on the bench next to me and laugh softly. “Probably so,” I say. “Bad habit I picked up in the service. Don't smoke all that often, but sometimes it helps me clear my head and lets me think straight.”
