by R. G. Ryan
Eddie squatted down beside her.
“There’s so much of it and all of it right here around the door. I wonder what happened?”
“I don’t know. I want to sweep a little further in and see if more stains turn up.”
“You’ll never be able to see it until the sun rises or we find something in here we can make a fire with.”
Cassie looked around the small room hoping to find an old lantern or at the very least a candle.
“Of course, even if we do find something, we have no way to light it.”
“Would this help?” Eddie asked, digging a lighter out of her pocket.
“Uh, yeah. How did you get that?”
She smiled.
“I found it in Paul’s backpack and thought it could be useful.”
Cassie hobbled over to the primitive sink and began feeling around while Eddie flicked on the lighter and opened one of the two cupboards against the wall.
“Yes!” Eddie exclaimed triumphantly while holding up an old coal oil miner’s lamp.
“Don’t get too excited,” Cassie cautioned. “We have to find something to fuel it.”
With the lighter held out in front of her, Eddie dug around a little more in the cupboard and came away with a can that still had something inside of it.
“Maybe this is what we need.”
They moved to the table, cleared away some debris and set the lamp in place.
With great difficulty, due to the lid being rusted in place, Cassie was finally able to open the can of oil.
“All right, let’s see if this works,” she said while pouring a bit of the precious liquid into the receptacle on the lamp, filling it nearly to the brim.
“How do these things even work?” Eddie asked in confusion.
“Beats me.” Cassie found a crude knob on the side and turned it. “I guess you just turn this thing and hold the lighter close and—“
With a sudden “Whomp!” flame jetted from the lamp’s center, burning brightly.
“Too much?” Cassie asked.
Eddie giggled.
“Umm…just a little. Maybe dial it down some.”
Once they had gotten the flame under control, Cassie picked the lamp up and bent down once again to examine the floor.
Besides the one large stain by the front door, there were also stains on either side of the table.
“If these stains are really blood stains,” Cassie said. “Then I don’t see how anyone could have bled this much and lived. I mean, it looks like there were maybe two people seated here at the table, eating a meal and…I don’t know…maybe someone came in the door over there and shot them.” She stood and walked to the door. “And maybe one of them got a shot off at the intruder and either killed or wounded him.”
“Poor guys!” Eddie said as she surveyed the grisly scene.
“Yeah, they obviously never had a chance.”
“Hard to believe something like that could have happened right here where we’re standing.” Eddie looked around at the tiny room. “I mean, here they were just living their lives and someone suddenly takes it all away. How can that be?”
“It’s what some people do. It’s as if life in and of itself isn’t enough. They start feeling like they need more life and for a person like that, the only way to get more is to take control of someone else’s life. So, they enslave, intimidate, dominate and ultimately when that isn’t enough, they kill. People have been doing that to each other throughout recorded history.”
Eddie sat down on one of the benches.
“Kind of like what Paul Morgan did to us.”
“Exactly!”
Eddie mused, “I wonder what these guys gave their lives for?”
“Probably had something to do with mining,” Cassie replied, sitting on the opposite side of the table. “Like, maybe they had a hot claim and someone decided to take it from them.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a “pop, pop, pop” and then a louder blast somewhere in the distance. The sound brought them to their feet and over to the door to investigate. Hesitant to step out into the moonlight for fear of being seen, they settled for standing in the doorway and scanning the area immediately in front of the cabin. The desert floor had a natural slope running upward toward where the cabin was situated thus providing them with a bit of high ground. The slope gradually turned into craggy bluffs roughly five hundred yards behind their position culminating in a short range of hills and peaks.
“Was that more gunfire?” Eddie whispered.
“Yeah. Sounded like a handgun and a shotgun to me,” Cassie replied, fear constricting her throat.
“I don’t see anything moving. Should we check the back?”
“No, I’m pretty sure the sound came from down there,” Cassie pointed generally in the direction of the lower ground. “If it is Jake and Paul shooting at each other, my money’s still on Uncle Jake.”
“Cassie, I’m scared,” Eddie’s eyes were large as saucers.
“I’m with you. My legs are shaking so badly that I don’t know if I’d be standing if it wasn’t for this cane.”
“What do we do now?”
Two more shots in rapid succession split the silence followed by a final shot.
“Well, I think it’s safe to assume that we shouldn’t go that way,” Cassie replied, pointing toward the direction in which the shots seemed to originate.
Eddie had turned around and was focused on the large brown stain under their feet.
“I wonder if more than one person died on this spot. I mean what if this cabin is cursed and everyone who comes in here somehow winds up being killed and they fall right here and bleed all over the floor and then someone else comes along and finds what we found and then they die and—“
“Stop it!” Cassie had reached out grabbed Eddie by the arm and gave her a sharp shake for emphasis.
“Sorry, Cass. Sometimes my mind kind of runs off and my mouth tries to keep up with it.”
“That’s all right, but let’s try to stay focused here.”
“Right. You’re right. But, let me ask you this: what if Jake didn’t win that, well, shootout. What if it’s Paul? And what if he’s coming this way only now he’s got a gun?”
It wasn’t a scenario Cassie even wanted to consider, but she had to.
“As much as I hate to believe it, Eddie, I think you’re right. We’ve got to be moving along. Those shots were probably a mile or two away from here, but unless the van is damaged, Paul could make it quite a ways before the landscape became impassable. And if we were able to find this place, so can he.”
Eddie nodded her head in agreement. So, gathering up their meager belongings and with a final look toward the lowland they started the long and torturous climb toward the bluffs.
Chapter Thirty
As I lay on my back, staring up at the Milky Way in all its grandeur, pain threatened to overwhelm me. From my previous encounters with head wounds—and there had been several—I knew that the intensity would eventually subside. In the meantime, I just had to deal with it. Even with a high tolerance for pain, or at least higher than most, everyone has a limit and I knew that I was approaching mine.
However, pain wasn’t the only challenge. Movement of any kind—even twitching a facial muscle—sent involuntary spasms of nausea raging through my body. Then there was the vertigo. Merely shifting my eyes sent the landscape rolling and bucking like the ocean in a severe storm.
In short, I was in rough shape.
Besides all of that, I had no way of knowing whether my last shot had struck Morgan or whether he had merely been diving for cover. Complicating the issue was a growing doubt as to whether I could even swing the shotgun up and around to defend myself, let alone turn and face the direction where I had last seen him. I was, therefore, completely vulnerable should Morgan attempt to finish me off.
I couldn’t recall a time when I had felt so helpless.
A sharp stab of pain drove the reality of my situation deeper. More painful than the physical challenges was the inescapable reality that had I not foolishly underestimated the man, I wouldn’t be laying there on my damn back awaiting my fate like a gut-shot sheep!
Although movement was seriously limited and my eyesight diminished, my hearing was just fine. Fortunately, the wind had died down and was now uncharacteristically still, which gave me the advantage of being able to hear everything that moved within about a fifty-foot radius of my position. And what I had just heard sent a chill of alarm through my consciousness. It was the sound of a body moving across the landscape. So, he could walk. I couldn’t see anything but I could easily track his position audibly, and he seemed to be moving directly away from me. That didn’t make any sense.
With tremendous effort, I rolled over onto my belly and tried to spot him. The blinding bolt of pain and resulting nausea caused my stomach to empty itself of whatever was left after the last episode. I still couldn’t see anything, so I sat up slowly—very slowly—leaning my back against the sturdy tree, which produced more vomiting, or in this instance, dry heaves as I had nothing left in my stomach.
Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of the little bastard about fifty yards southeast of my position. From his off-balance, stumbling gait, it was obvious that he too was suffering from some form of trauma. Which meant that he was also in pain, bleeding, and doubtless dealing with the same disorientation that afflicted me. I began to craft a scenario in which he would eventually fall down and die.
For now, however, there was absolutely nothing more I could do other than basically sit still. Sitting and doing nothing, even with so much at stake, was a discipline I had learned long ago. I just had to make sure I stayed awake until Redfern’s guys came.
Something else I’d learned was that once a mistake had been made, it did absolutely no good to beat yourself up over it. Aaron—and others who had served their country in the US Marine Corps—had taught me the concept of improvise, adapt and overcome. If ever I had needed that strategy, it was now. Mistakes happened and as long as it didn’t cost you your life, you’re far better off to forget the past and focus your thinking on the future. And since thinking was virtually the only thing left for me to do, I decided to apply what minimal reserves of strength remained toward coming up with a solution to the mystery that was Paul Morgan.
There was something deeply troubling about the man. Something that just wasn’t right. From the beginning, he had seemed divided. There was the intelligent Paul—conversant, articulate—who could carry on a cogent conversation about nearly anything. A highly paid free-lance photographer; a man you’d enjoy being around; a man you could even grow to like.
Then there was another Paul—sadistic, vulgar, and obsessive—who seemed to have dedicated his life to the degradation of women. A man who routinely and habitually caused unbelievable pain in others for no other reason than the pure pleasure it afforded him. My undergraduate degree had included a minor in psychology, and while I’m no expert, Paul Morgan manifested all the earmarks of being a classic, narcissistic, sociopathic sadist with dissociative personality tendencies. And as far as his obsession with Cassie, it was a story as old as time: she jilted him, and he was seeking payback.
With every minute that passed, my ability to stay awake diminished. My training said to use whatever was available in any situation, and since I had pain in abundance, I used that pain to stay awake. Actually, it was a toss-up as to which was more of a problem—pain or thirst. After carefully weighing the merits of each, I decided that thirst was the greater problem, because pain—no matter how severe—would eventually go away. But, thirst, untended, would stick around until you died. So, I pulled the energy drink from my tactical bag and downed the rest of it in one uninterrupted swallow.
I immediately leaned over and threw up the entirety of it.
It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t heard anything from Gerry.
“Gerry, you copy?”
Nothing.
I tried again, “Gerry, do you read me? What’s your agents’ twenty?”
Still nothing.
“As if things couldn’t get any worse!” I complained out loud.
I had no idea what was wrong with the in-ear comm system, but for one reason or another, it was inoperable. I picked up the SatPhone and saw that it was just as worthless as the comm. What the hell was going on?
With Morgan now completely out of sight, I reminded myself that my foe was wounded, not disabled. And a wounded foe is almost always more dangerous, because their resolve is fueled by desperation. Even with all of my training in survival skills, my own desperation now presented a formidable threat to my ability to function logically within the context of a given situation. As I thought about it, I could feel it hovering over my spirit like some disembodied wraith seeking residence.
I decided that it was time to try standing. Leaning slowly to the right I put my hands on the ground and rolled over, bringing my knees up until I was on all fours. The lowest limb on the Joshua tree looked like it would hold my weight, so I grabbed it with both hands and drug my right foot forward until it was in a position where I could put some weight on it. The effort it took for me to arrive at that position had been so taxing, and the throbbing in my head so violent that I almost gave up. But, I’m no quitter, and I determined that I would stand even if it killed me, which, at present, seemed like a possibility.
I was sweating profusely from the exertion—fighting pain and nausea—but by pushing with my good leg, and simultaneously pulling with my arms, I somehow arrived in a position where both feet were under me. Discretion being the better part of valor and all that, I decided that I should just rest there until I was able to attempt the next step.
After a minute or two, I transferred both hands to the next highest limb and was able to pull myself up until I was standing. Sudden dizziness caused me to sway violently, but I managed to maintain my grip and avoid a fall.
Having fought my way into a standing position, I realized that during the entire process I had been an open target. But the mere fact that I had attracted no incoming fire seemed a pretty clear indication that Morgan had either left the area, or had been wounded severely enough that he was similarly incapacitated.
As I leaned against the tree and pondered that fact, I came to the realization that this was not a good thing. If Morgan was mobile, the possibility existed that he was once again on Cassie’s trail.
I was sickeningly certain that should Morgan find her, he would kill her.
The desperation that I had successfully fought off suddenly closed in on me like a suffocating cloud of dust. The illusion seemed so real that I found myself choking.
In the midst of a violent coughing spasm, I thought I heard someone calling my name.
Chapter Thirty-one
“I’m sorry but I’ve got to stop,” Cassie said, as each step was now progressively more painful than the previous.
Lack of sufficient food and water, combined with fighting constant pain had pressed her beyond the ability to overcome. That she had made it this far was directly attributable to the makeshift cane, but even its assistance was now insufficient. Sitting down carefully, she leaned back against a large boulder.
“Well, we need to rest anyway. I’m sure you’ll be good to go in a few minutes, huh?” Eddie asked hopefully, noting the look of haunted despair in Cassie’s eyes—a look she knew all too well.
As Eddie scouted the moonlit valley that seemed to stretch endlessly below them, she said, “I thought I saw something.”
Cassie’s head snapped up.
“Where?”
Eddie pointed.
“Out there.”
Cassie got to her feet with difficulty, squinting in the general direction Eddie had indicated.
“I don’t see anything. How far away was it?”
“I don’t know. I’m not good with distances anyway and wi
th only the moonlight to go on…”
“It could have been anything. Maybe a coyote, or something,” Cassie suggested as she sat back down, leaned against the boulder and closed her eyes seeking some form of refuge from the debilitating pain. Dehydrated, hungry and nearly spent physically, it didn’t require much insight to realize she was in trouble. Added to that was the reality of their situation—miles from anywhere and the only people who supposedly knew where they were hadn’t come.
So tired.
So damn tired.
The sudden scream torn raggedly from Eddie’s throat snatched Cassie violently back from the edge of sleep. The apparition appearing in front of her eyes was at first nearly too much to comprehend. For there before her—head and face covered with blood—stood Paul Morgan, a gun held weakly in his hand wavering between her and Eddie.
When he finally spoke, it was in a hoarse caricature of his voice.
“Found you! I found you! I always find my women.”
He was swaying as if inebriated but based on his head wound, Cassie figured it was more from loss of blood. Even from where she sat twenty feet away, it was clear that a bullet had creased his head from the right eyebrow to his right ear—an ear that had been partially blown off by the bullet’s passage. Blood oozed from the mess that remained and bone was visible along the path of the bullet. A millimeter to the right and the path would have taken out his eye killing him instantly.
Eddie had backed over to where Cassie sat against the boulder, her knees trembling visibly.
“How did you find us?” she managed, her voice quivering in time to the rest of her body.
Morgan looked at them a long time before replying as if confused by the question.
“How did I find you? What, were you trying to cover your trail or something?” He laughed loudly. “You two amateurs left a trail a girl-scout could follow!” Suddenly, his legs gave way without warning and he sat down hard but somehow managed to hang on to the pistol. He roared, “Ahhhhhh! Oh, God! My head.”
