Jeb’s throat constricted as he thought of Quinn. Of Rachel being hurt.
Holding his gun, he ran along the line of cabins, looking in each one. Thunder boomed overhead and wind whistled through architecture. Smoke was blowing in through the gaping hole at the end of the dock.
“Quinn! Rachel!”
From the corner of his eye he caught a sudden movement up in the glassed-in control room. He stilled, watching. Had someone just ducked down up there? As he stared up at the control room, he heard a sound. A soft thudding.
He waited, listening under the whistle of the wind. Jeb heard it again. It was coming from one of the gondola cabins closer to the opening at the end of the docking station. Jeb raced to the cabin. As he neared, he saw the dark curls of his daughter in a cabin three from the end. The doors were wide open. “Quinn!”
He entered the cabin. His daughter was tied to the railing with zip ties, her legs bound with climbing rope, her mouth duct-taped shut, her eyes wild. Rachel was also tied to the railing with straps, but she hung from her wrists, the rest of her body slumped on the floor, unmoving. She was covered in blood, ash, her face turned away from him.
His heart kicked into a fast jackhammer. Triage. Focus.
“Quinn, are you okay?”
She nodded, trembling like a leaf. She was in shock. He dropped to his knees beside Rachel, felt for a pulse at her bound wrists. Alive. Relief burned into his eyes. He set his weapon down, turned her head to the side. Her face was encrusted with blood. But she was breathing.
“Rachel?” He slapped her face lightly. No response. He needed to know what had happened to her.
Jeb lurched over to Quinn and began to peel the duct tape from her mouth. She squirmed in pain, tears streaming from her eyes. As he pulled the tape away, it tore off skin, fine hairs from her face, leaving her raw and bleeding. Adrenaline pounded through him.
“What happened to Rachel? How did she get hurt?”
“I . . . I’m sorry, Jeb. I was running away. I . . . wanted to go h-h-home, to my mommy and daddy. It . . . it’s my fault. B-Brandy got me on the r-road. R-Rachel was looking for me in . . . in the rain.”
“Quinn. It’s all right. Focus. What happened to Rachel?”
“B-Brandy jabbed her with a needle.”
She’d been drugged.
“Did she jab you too?”
“Yes, but I woke up. Rachel did too. Then when she started fighting with Brandy, Brandy wanted to make her shut up and jabbed her again.”
This meant it might wear off again, it might not be fatal.
“Where is Brandy now?”
“She’s gone. I don’t know.”
Jeb shot a glance over his shoulder. He needed a knife, something sharp to cut through the zip ties tying them both to the railing. There was a reason cops used these as emergency handcuffs—they were impossible to remove without a blade of some sort. He dropped to his haunches and fumbled to untie the ropes that bound Quinn’s legs.
As he worked, he felt the gondola cabin move. His heart jumped and he looked up. They were sliding along the docking platform, the doors slowly beginning to close.
Christ. That was what Brandy was doing—she wanted to send them in an enclosed coffin into the fire on the other side. Even if they made it out of that burning terminal, they’d never get down that mountain alive. Jeb’s mind raced. He wouldn’t be able to free them both of these zip ties before this cabin launched out of the dock. Then they’d all be trapped, heading inexorably into an inferno.
He had to stop this thing. Even if the cabin launched, if he could stop the system, there had to be a way to winch them back, or get to them via the towers and cables.
Jeb dived out of the cabin, raced along the platform. He could see Brandy’s red hair and blue jacket now, up in the control tower behind the glass.
“Brandy!” he screamed. “Stop the damn gondola!”
She turned to face him. Her face was white, streaked with ash. She looked inhuman. Jeb put the rifle stock to his shoulder, aimed up at her. “I’ll shoot if you don’t stop it,” he yelled.
The line of cabins kept moving.
He fired a warning shot. She dived down. Fissures raced across the glass, then the whole pane shattered down to the platform. The line was still moving, Quinn and Rachel’s cabin nearing the gaping smoke-filled maw. He sprinted toward the metal stairs that led up to the control tower, started clattering up them.
Brandy yanked open the door at the top of the stairs and threw an industrial-sized fire extinguisher at him. It bounded and clunked down the stairs. He ducked, then fired.
She screamed. “You won’t be able to stop it—I’ve overridden the controls. I’ve broken them, jammed them.”
Jeb could smell electrical smoke coming from the control room. Indecision flared through him.
“Jeb Cullen!” a male voice called from behind him.
He spun round in shock. Adam.
He had a gun. He was running at him.
Jeb raised his rifle. “Stay the hell back or I swear I will kill you.”
“Go!” Adam yelled. “Go help them. I’ll stop this thing. I can talk to her.”
Confusion rushed through Jeb.
“Adam!” Brandy yelled from the top. “Oh God, Adam. What are you doing here?”
“Go, Jeb,” Adam screamed. “Goddammit, go save them.”
Jeb clattered down the stairs and sprinted for the cabin that contained Quinn and Rachel. It was nearing the very end of the dock.
“I’m doing it for you, Adam,” Brandy shrieked behind him. “So we can be together.”
Jeb reached the cabin as it began to tilt over the edge. The doors had already closed. He could see Quinn’s panic-stricken face in the lighted window. He leaped for the ski rack attached to the back of the cabin just as it swayed into the air. His legs swung down into the blackness, his gun spinning into the void below. Wind blasted them instantly. His mouth was dry, his heart galloping. He craned his neck up, saw Quinn’s face. She was screaming. And they were moving insidiously toward the raging inferno on the other side.
“Listen to me.” Adam gripped Brandy’s shoulders. “You will go down for murder. And then what? You still have your whole life ahead of you.”
“You . . . you weren’t going to leave Lily, were you? It was all a lie, wasn’t it?”
“Brandy, you are young, you are beautiful. You are smart and engaging. You will find someone. Now show me how to stop this thing. We can go back down together, okay?”
“And then?” Her voice was shrill. “Then, what—you go back to her? You go down for being a crooked cop all those years ago? For sending Jeb Cullen to prison? No, no. This has to be finished. I can’t get out of this now.” She backed up against the controls. The minutes were ticking. The cabin was going to reach the blaze on the other side. Adam could no longer live with the guilt that he’d helped send an innocent man to prison. And if there was one thing more he could do with the time he had left, it was to save that man’s life now, along with the lives of an innocent woman and a child. He could not let his mother’s legacy come to this. It had to end.
He aimed his weapon at Brandy. She went white under the ash streaking her face.
“Stop it. Now,” he said.
She glared at him, eyes wild as she reached for an extinguisher on the wall. She unclipped it, released the safety. “Back off, Adam.” She aimed the extinguisher at him.
She’d gone mad. Stark raving mad. Why were all the women in his life mad?
“Where is the stop switch?” he demanded.
“You can’t stop it. I jammed it.”
He moved to the controls.
“No!” She squeezed the extinguisher trigger. A powerful jet stream struck Adam square in the face, forcing a burning powdery chemical into his mouth, nose, eyes. Blinded, pain searing, he stagg
ered back, hands going to his face. She sprayed again. Screaming. “Just back off!”
Blindly, he lunged at her. She swung the canister. He raised his arm to deflect it. But she kicked at his leg, dropping him. And the heavy extinguisher smashed into his skull as he was going down. He was flung sideways, his head crashing against the console. Adam felt his skull crack. He hit the ground, couldn’t move. Blood, thick, filled his mouth. He felt his world going gray.
“Oh, God, Adam, no, please, no. I’m so sorry.” She dropped down to his side, gathered him up in her arms, crying, rocking him, kissing him. She seemed so distant. He was slipping away. And as he felt his life go, he saw his father. Standing large and proud against the mist in red serge with his Stetson and high boots. Or was it Sam Steele, up at the top of Chilkoot Pass, in the swirling snow, stopping the rabble-rousing whiskey traders and the prospectors unprepared for the harshness from crossing into Canada? He could have been a good cop. He would have been a good Mountie. But then those two women had gone missing . . . on a cold, fateful fall night . . . and everything had changed . . . all those years ago . . .
The things we do for love . . .
His world went dark.
Jeb’s muscles burned. His eyes watered and his throat was raw from smoke. The cabin was moving slowly into the middle of the chasm, high above the forest canopy. High enough at midpoint, he’d read, to fit the whole Eiffel Tower underneath. Falling would bring certain death. Another gust of wind and rain slammed into the cabin. It swayed on the cable. His legs swung below him. He craned his neck to look up again. He had to try and pull himself up, reach for the bottom rung of the emergency ladder that ran up the side of the cabin to the roof. He doubted the windows could open much, if at all. It would be too dangerous to design windows that people could climb or fall out of. But there had to be a way into the cabin from the top for evacuation purposes. Quinn was looking down at him, her eyes terrified. It galvanized him. He could not let his daughter watch him fall to his death. He could not fail her. Or Rachel.
Jeb strained to pull himself up higher. He released his right hand, grasping for the bottom rung of the ladder. But the rung was slick with rain. His hand slipped. He almost lost his grip with his left hand, too, almost went down to his death. His heart stalled. He took a breath, gathering focus. He tried again. He caught the rung, held fast.
Jeb refocused again, taking another deep breath, then he let go with his left hand as he pulled himself up with his right. He clamped his left hand on the rung, his legs swaying below him. His muscles were shaking. He took another breath, pulled up, and slapped his right hand on the next rung. Then his left. He repeated the process for the next three rungs. Once he was higher, he managed to draw his legs up, and he found footing on the ladder. He paused, trying to gather his strength. But he was spent. He could not move another muscle. His whole body was shaking. His lungs were raw and his eyes burned from smoke.
Quinn was watching him intently from the window.
Jeb met her eyes. His flesh and blood. The future. He could see Rachel’s limp shape on the floor behind Quinn. They were getting closer to the fire. He had to do this. He could not fail. And with every ounce of energy he had left, Jeb summoned the strength to pull himself up one more time, and he edged his body up onto the slick roof. The wind was blowing hard. He spread-eagled himself on the roof, inching slowly forward on his stomach as he felt along the wet surface for a door. His heart sank. He couldn’t locate an opening. Then suddenly his fingers touched a ridge. He found a handle. Pressing himself flat against the wind, muscles juddering from strain, he managed to open the escape hatch.
He dropped down into the cabin with a hard thud.
“Jeb,” Quinn cried. “You made it!”
Panting from exertion, he dug in his pocket, finding the truck keys. It was all he could think off. Using the jagged end of the keys, he struggled to saw at the zip ties. “Hang on, Quinn, I’ll be with you next.” Desperation swelled in him. They’d reach the fire before he could free them at this rate.
Quinn was staring, eyes still wide with shock. Suddenly, she said, “Rachel—she has a pocketknife on her key chain.”
Quickly, he felt in her pockets, found her keys. Thank the almighty heavens—Quinn was right. He threw her a huge grin. “You rock, kiddo, you know that?”
He sliced easily through the straps on Rachel’s wrists with the small pocketknife attached to her fob. Lowering her gently onto the floor, Jeb cradled her head. Smoke was beginning to fill the cabin. Quinn coughed.
“Rachel, can you hear me?” He lightly slapped her face.
Her eyes fluttered open. She moaned softly. Relief gushed through Jeb. But smoke was getting thicker inside. They were almost at the terminal. He could feel heat inside the cabin now. He could hear the fire.
“I’m going to free Quinn,” he said, quickly untying the rope around her legs. He moved to Quinn, sliced her wrists free. She flung her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face into his wet clothes. He couldn’t breathe. His heart hurt at the thought he might die right here, with the aching joy of having his child’s arms wrapped around him like this. He held her back.
“Let me help Rachel, ’kay?” The roar of the approaching fire was growing louder.
Jeb glanced round the cabin in desperation. There was no way to stop this thing. No brakes. They were moving slowly, inexorably, into the inferno. They were doomed to dock.
He caught sight of a slim fire extinguisher mounted on the cabin wall in the corner between the windows. He unclipped the extinguisher.
Quinn was watching him. He forced a smile. “We’re going to get out of this, kiddo, don’t worry. But you need to listen to me and act fast. Do everything I say, okay?”
She nodded quickly. Her hands were fisted at her sides. His heart cracked.
“You better take off that fleece jacket,” he said. Fleece was highly flammable. He shrugged out his leather jacket. “Put this on, zip it up. It’ll help protect you. When we go out there, you try and keep some of the jacket over your head, okay?”
She swallowed, took the jacket from him.
He dropped down beside Rachel again and lifted her head and shoulders up. “Rachel—you need to wake up, try.”
She blinked. “Jeb?”
His heart punched.
“Can you sit?” He helped her into a sitting position, wiped some of the blood from under her nose and around her mouth away with his damp sleeve.
“Can you stand? Walk?”
“Quinn?” she said, suddenly looking panicked.
“I’m here, Aunt Rachel. I’m okay. You’re going to be okay.”
“Listen, we’re in the gondola. We’re going to dock. There’s fire. We need to go through it. You have to try to stand.” He pulled her up onto her feet. She looked dazed but she managed to reach out and hold on to the railing, wobbling on her feet. Almost instantly, she sank back down.
The heat was growing inside. He heard an explosion. They were almost there. She tried to stand again, but her knees gave out and she slumped back to the floor.
“I . . . I can’t. Not yet . . . I . . .”
“I’ll carry you. Don’t worry.”
Jeb got Rachel up onto the bench in a sitting position. He turned around, crouched down, and taking her arms around his neck, he maneuvered her onto his back in a piggyback position. But her legs hung limp. “Just try to hang on.”
Jeb used the rope that had bound her legs to tie her wrists together under his neck. He strapped the rope from Quinn’s legs around both himself and Rachel, securing her body to his as best he could. If she lost all ability to hold on, she’d be hooked on to him. He hoped she wouldn’t choke him if that happened, but it was his only option. He gathered Quinn to his side and got the extinguisher ready.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, he said, “You hold on to my belt, okay? Whatever happens, do not let go.
I won’t find you in the smoke if you do. Got it?”
She nodded, eyes like saucers.
“Jacket over your head.”
She shrugged into the oversize leather jacket so that it covered her hair.
Smoke grew thicker. It felt even hotter. They were all coughing now, eyes watering as they came in to dock. The lights in the car fizzled, then went out.
They were in blackness.
The gondola car bumped against its moorings. The doors started to open as it slid into the dock. Smoke flooded in. Jeb was disoriented. He wasn’t familiar with the terminal. Sprinklers were spraying water everywhere, fire alarm blaring.
“To the right,” Rachel said in his ear. She coughed. “Go . . . to the right.”
They moved quickly through the thick smoke and blackness.
He shoved through the fire doors. Heat was intense. Once through the doors he could see a bit more because of the flames behind the windows. Everything inside was blackened, smoking. His eyes streamed. Quinn was choking inside the jacket, her hand gripping his like a little vise.
It looked as though the fire had raged quickly through this area, which was mostly concrete and glass.
“Straight!” Rachel coughed into his ear. “Go . . . straight.”
As he negotiated a path, a beam crashed down. Quinn screamed and Jeb flung himself sideways, landing on Rachel. His extinguisher rolled across the floor. Quinn was screaming. She was on the other side of the beam, which was crackling with flames.
Jeb groped over the hot floor, hands burning, until he found the extinguisher. He managed to get onto his knees, then his feet, hauling Rachel up with him. His body was wet with perspiration. He was covered in soot.
He sprayed the extinguisher in bursts as he made his way to Quinn. “Give me your hand!”
Another beam crashed down near the exit.
She reached for him. He sprayed at another burst of flames, then yanked her over the beam fast. Quinn was shaking like a leaf, choking on the smoke. No time to waste. Had to get out of here before more of the roof came down.
The Slow Burn of Silence (A Snowy Creek Novel) Page 37
