by Lowe, Shelia
Through the rearview mirror, she saw him lift the nearly empty tequila bottle to his lips and take a hearty swig. Liquid dribbled down his chin into his beard. He swiped at it with the back of his hand.
The next time she glanced in the mirror, Bert’s eyes drooped at half-mast. He leaned his head back against the seat with a gusty exhale and closed them.
“What now?” she asked, backing her foot off the accelerator. There was no response from the backseat. She waited for ten breaths, then, softer, “Where to, Bert?”
Nothing. Annabelle was curled up in the passenger seat, crying softly. Now she sat up, her eyes wide, and she and Claudia exchanged a glance.
They drove at a crawl for about another half mile before Claudia checked the mirror again. Bert’s mouth had dropped open and saliva dribbled from his lip. The day’s consumption of alcohol had caught up with him in time to give them hope.
She gradually applied the brakes and then they were motionless. Tapping a finger to her lips, warning Annabelle not to say anything, she gently moved the gear lever into the park position. Without the keyless remote, she wouldn’t be able to switch off the engine, but Bert’s stupor was less likely to be disturbed that way.
He was snoring now in noisy gusts. Claudia released her seat belt and turned to look at him. Definitely out cold. But for how long? His fingers were curled loosely around the butt of the gun, which lay across his crotch. If only she could get it away from him . . . but she didn’t dare. If he awoke with a start, one of them was certain to get shot.
The SUV’s headlamps leaked through the blizzard of sand, the only illumination on the narrow ribbon of road in front of them. She switched off the lights and leaned over to Annabelle, beckoning her close. “Stay put until I come around to your door,” she whispered in her ear. Hardly daring to breathe, she opened the driver door.
Instantly, the wind whipped the door away from her. She heard Bert stir and do a double snore. She jumped from the vehicle, not looking back. If he roused, it would take him a moment to figure out what was going on.
A light flashed on the ground about a half mile farther down the road. Bert’s intended destination: the airstrip where Annabelle and the children were to be whisked away to face another kind of nightmare, and Claudia would disappear forever.
Cold air sliced through her blazer, and the wind slammed sand and dirt in her face, blinding her. Struggling to keep her footing, she ran around the front end of the SUV and dragged open the passenger door to help Annabelle out.
Lowering their heads against the pummeling wind, they ran behind the Escalade and started back along what Claudia hoped was the road. Without the beam of the headlights to guide them, and sand in her eyes, the sand-blown trail was invisible. Only the resistance of the hardened dirt under her feet told her that they were on the right track.
Sand swiftly filled their shoes and stung their eyes, their mouths, their noses, making it impossible to speak. Annabelle was shivering violently in her light T-shirt. Claudia pulled off her blazer and wrapped it around the girl, covering the lower part of her face. She pulled the neck of her own T-shirt up over her nose and mouth.
They started off again on the road. The girl’s icy fingers grasped Claudia’s with the jaw strength of a Komodo dragon. Her small hands were vibrating with cold and fear and, Claudia guessed, the adrenaline rush of escaping from Bert Falkenberg for a second time.
The unwelcome thought crawled into her head that Bert would eventually wake and find them gone. He definitely had the advantage with the Escalade. She would have to ensure that they were far enough away to get help when that happened.
If only she could be certain they were moving in the right direction, back to the highway. The darkness and whirling clouds of dust—and the concussion, too—left her feeling disoriented, as if flying an aircraft that had lost the horizon.
She estimated that before she and Annabelle had left the SUV they had traveled approximately a mile from the highway. In normal weather it would take twenty minutes to cover that distance on foot. Tonight, in these conditions, it could take an hour or more.
Please God, make the wind stop.
Astoundingly, as the thought entered her head, the wind died down and a sudden, uncanny silence fell as the airborne grains of sand drifted to the ground. A crescent moon emerged from the clouds and stars appeared, incandescent in the inky sky after the haze.
Claudia pulled her T-shirt off her face and spat onto the ground. Her mouth tasted like the sole of an old army boot, and a gallon of water wouldn’t have been enough to wash the grit out of her throat.
“Fresh air never tasted so good,” she said, filling her lungs from the cold night. Too cold, now that they had stopped running. They needed to get someplace warmer or Bert wouldn’t need to kill her—she just might succumb to hypothermia.
Wrapped in Claudia’s too-large jacket, Annabelle tugged at her with an urgency borne of near panic. “Come on, let’s go! We have to get farther away.”
Glancing over her shoulder, Claudia could still see the Escalade. It looked like a toy from their vantage point, but they hadn’t come nearly far enough to elude Bert if he awoke. And from the side of the conversation she had overheard, Lainie was apt to appear on this road at any moment.
“You’re right, kiddo,” she said, picking up the pace. “Let’s move it; the highway’s not all that far.” In fact, she could now see it in the distance, maybe a quarter mile off—a long dark gash in the desert landscape, the occasional headlight sweeping the road, coming from the north lanes. The sight of it renewed her spirit.
The sound of an engine above them was something she somehow felt, even before she heard it with her ears. Looking up, she saw no lights in the sky, but from behind them on the ground, quick flashes of alternating white and green showed the aircraft where to land. Seconds later, the roar of a twin-engine plane became audible, growing louder as it closed the distance to the ground.
Annabelle heard it, too. She dragged Claudia’s hand, her face a pale mask of pure terror in the darkness. “They’re going to come after us. They’re going to kill us!”
And then, another engine, even more unnerving because it was on the ground. The Escalade was on the road and moving toward them, fast.
“Run, Annabelle!” Claudia urged her. “Get off the road. Cross the highway and flag down a car.”
“But what about you?”
“If we split up, he can’t chase both of us. Go! Now!”
“Be careful, Claudia,” Annabelle pleaded over her shoulder and started running diagonal to their original direction. In her dark clothing and hair, she disappeared into the shadows as completely as if her presence had been a figment of Claudia’s imagination.
On the road, the intensifying growl of the Escalade’s engine was a growing menace in the otherwise silent night—a concrete jungle cat, preparing to pounce on its prey.
Bert’s steering was erratic as the Escalade closed the distance between them. Still under the influence, he must have been running strictly on adrenaline. God knew, Claudia was. She felt a piercing pain in her right side and her ribs felt squeezed in an iron grip. Her breath started to come in shallow gasps as the pain expanded. The Escalade bore down on her and she knew she couldn’t run much farther.
Bert had her pinned like a bug in the headlights. He slowed his speed, toying with her now. Was he going to run her down or just shoot her? There was no hurry for him; she had nowhere to go.
This is it, she thought, gasping. The end. Maybe Annabelle at least would have a chance to get away.
It came to her that Jovanic would never know what had happened to her. The thought of never seeing him again stabbed her heart and cleared her mind. In that instant, she made the decision that she would not go out like a scared little wimp.
“You goddamn worthless piece of shit,” Claudia screamed with what little breath she had left. She dug deep for a final burst of speed. With the front bumper just inches from her heels, every cell in her
body straining to keep going, she plunged off the narrow road, following the direction Annabelle had taken.
Tires spun in the sand as Bert drove the SUV off the road after her.
Without the density of the packed dirt track under her feet her calves were soon aching as much as her lungs were. The highway was only about one hundred yards away. Claudia knew she had to keep pushing forward, but she was winded, had no choice. She pulled up short, panting and coughing up grit that had made its way down her throat.
Thank God it’s too cold and dark for snakes and scorpions, she thought, sucking in some air.
Then she noticed that the night had become silent. Hands on her knees, still breathing hard, she looked back. The Escalade’s headlights were pointing downward. The SUV was tipped, ass end up at a slight angle.
It seemed that when he drove off the road in pursuit of her, Bert had become stuck in a shallow gully in the sand. Now she could hear him gunning the engine, could hear the back tires spinning as he tried to use the all-wheel drive to pull out. She could picture the plume of sand flying behind the SUV as he dug himself farther in, and almost laughed with relief. Then she saw the driver’s door jerk open, and it was no longer funny. He still had the gun.
Taking a last big gulp of air, she poised to sprint to the finish line. She couldn’t outrun a bullet, but maybe his aim would be off in the dark, or maybe . . .
A howl of pain and rage reverberated across the desert floor. Claudia swung around and saw a small form separate itself from the shadows in front of the Escalade.
Bert was on the ground, holding his leg and sobbing a string of curses.
“You asshole! I hope you die!” Annabelle’s young voice carried across the expanse, ringing with triumph. It looked like she had taken advantage of the opportunity to slam the door on Bert as he attempted to exit the SUV.
Claudia made a wild guess and concluded that instead of following instructions, the girl had stayed close by and watched Bert drive off the road after her.
Claudia ran back toward the Escalade and was in time to witness Annabelle aim a vicious kick at the injured leg. Bert gave a great howl again and grabbed at her. He made it to his feet, but the weight on his leg made him cry out and he collapsed back into the dirt, writhing like the snake he had turned out to be.
“Annabelle, come on!” Claudia shouted, frantic with the awareness that Lainie was likely to come upon them at any moment. “Let’s go, before someone comes looking for him.” Or before he recovers enough to remember the gun.
Chapter 32
Their savior arrived in an 18-wheeler.
After dashing across the empty lanes of the highway, Claudia and Annabelle started walking south, trudging in the dirt, following the macadam at the edge of the road. How long it would take to get to the nearest lights and people Claudia had no idea, but one thing she did know—every step was taking them farther away from danger.
About a mile into their trek, the high glare of headlights picked them out of the shadows and the double blast of an air horn ruptured the silence. As the big truck rumbled to a stop alongside them, Claudia suffered a momentary pang of alarm—was it possible that Bert could have flagged down a trucker and—No, she told herself. It’s not possible.
Annabelle glanced nervously at her as the passenger door swung open. Her face relaxed when the driver leaned across the seats. “You gals need a ride?”
She was a chunky blonde in her fifties with a Claymation face currently arranged in a grin. She looked downright pleased with herself for being a Good Samaritan, and was probably glad of some company, too.
Not waiting for a second invitation, Annabelle hopped up into the cab and Claudia climbed up after her, silently congratulating herself on the turn of their luck. When the trucker said she was driving to L.A., she nearly shrieked with joy.
In a smoky voice that came as a surprise, the driver said her name was Roberta. Not just booze and cigarettes, it had a sultry Southern flavor that was seriously at odds with her looks.
Maybe she has a sideline talking dirty on dial-a-porn, thought Claudia.
Dwarfed behind the wheel, Roberta commanded the semi from a purple swivel chair fit for a top-of-the-line motor home. She couldn’t have been more than five three at a stretch, but her sneakered feet looked at home on the pedals, and the tough set to her shoulders said she had more miles on her than a dozen coast-to-coast rigs.
“Didja have car trouble?” she asked. “I was that surprised when I saw you, ’cause I didn’t see any car back there on the road. You gals been walkin’ long?” She talked fast and her eyes were the kind of bright that comes from chemical assistance.
“This asshole’s trying to kill us,” Annabelle blurted before Claudia could stop her. “But I slammed his leg in the car and we left him in the desert.” Then, in typical teenage fashion, “Do you have anything to eat?”
Roberta said there was food in the sleeper cabin behind the seat. After the door had closed behind the girl, she guided the massive beast back onto the highway, silent for maybe ten seconds. Then she said, “I don’t wanna know anything about it. I’ll take you t’ L.A., but I don’t want any part of whatever trouble you’re in.”
That was fine with Claudia, but before she could enjoy her relief, she spotted a white sedan that flew past them going north. Something told her that Lainie was driving it. Even in the darkness she could make out that it was a Saturn like the one in Henry’s driveway. The crumpled front fender sealed it. Her chest tightened with dread.
“So does that mean I can’t ask to make a 911 call?” she asked.
“You sure as shit better not,” Roberta said. Whatever neighborly urge had persuaded her to pull over for two stranded females seemed to have evaporated. “I c’n just as easy leave you off at the next truck stop.”
Claudia’s head was spinning. Bert and Lainie would get away. The two young children in their hands would end up in the hell that Annabelle had barely managed to escape. She would never be able to face herself in the mirror if she did nothing to try and stop them. She sucked in a breath and plunged ahead. “Listen, Roberta, if I don’t call the cops right now, two little kids are going to suffer in the worst possible way.”
The trucker made a sound in her throat like grinding gears. “I said I don’t wanna know.”
“All right. All right. I got it. The next truck stop will be fine. I’ll use a pay phone. We won’t trouble you any further.”
“Listen, doll, don’t try to twang my conscience. This point in life, ain’t got one.”
The sleeper door opened and Annabelle stuck her head out, the corners of her mouth dusted with powdered sugar. Krispy Kremes might not top the list of nutritious foods, but they were in no position to be choosy and the doughnuts would boost her energy for a while.
“Are the cops coming?” Annabelle asked, wriggling her way into the front seat and squeezing in next to Claudia. She began working to open the plastic wrapping on a Beef ’n Cheese Slim Jim.
There was a brief hush while she nibbled. “Roberta’s taking us to a truck stop,” Claudia said. “We’ll call the cops from there.”
Annabelle bit off a chunk of Slim Jim and stared at her in amazement. “But they’ll get away! You can’t let them get away. Why didn’t you call them?”
“Cool it, Annabelle.”
“These people are trying to sell some little kids for sex slaves,” Annabelle persisted, addressing Roberta. “I think they were gonna sell me, too, but the fucktard got drunk and passed out—that’s when I slammed the door on his leg and we got away before the plane came.”
The trucker’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline.
“Annabelle, shut up!” Claudia said, putting steel into her tone.
“But what about . . .” The girl’s words trailed into silence as headlights from behind the truck flashed on and off, reflecting in the side-view mirrors. A car horn blared: beep, beeeeeeep, beep beep beep.
Roberta growled, “What the hell?”
&nbs
p; Claudia saw her glance in the side-view mirror, knew she had surmised that the driver of the white car trying to get her to pull over was in pursuit of her and Annabelle.
“Please . . . please don’t stop.”
“Goddamn it . . .” Roberta said, pulling the truck over to the side of the road. “I need this like I need a third tit.” The truck shuddered to a halt.
“Don’t give us away,” Claudia begged. She twisted around and pushed Annabelle back through the sleeper door, going in after her. She closed the door and locked it before the girl could say anything. “It’s Lainie,” she whispered into the semidarkness. “Shhhh.”
Annabelle’s fingers gripped Claudia’s arm painfully. She gulped rapid breaths, well on her way to hyperventilating. Claudia took one icy hand in her own and squeezed it with as much reassurance as she could manage, but she was trembling, too.
They sat on the edge of the bunk, clutching each other. The pungent tang of the Slim Jim still clenched in the girl’s fist filled Claudia’s nostrils and made her want to puke.
The sound of voices reached them, too indistinct to make out the words. They waited in silence for the exchange to be over and Roberta to slam the door, for the truck to start moving. Waited an eternity, but the voices continued.
Claudia’s eyes had adjusted to the semidarkness and she glanced up, looking for a window. An air vent was above them, the lever in the closed position. She got to her feet, reached up to raise it, hoping it wouldn’t make any noise.
The women’s voices outside became audible and erased any lingering doubt Claudia might have harbored that it was Lainie.
“. . . worth your while,” she was saying in her raspy voice.
Oh shit; she’s offering her money.
Considering what the trucker had said about her lack of conscience, Claudia was none too optimistic about their chances.
“I don’t make a habit of picking up hitchers.” That was Roberta. Maybe there was hope after all.
Lainie said, “I know they were walking on this road; they couldn’t have got all that far. They were involved in a hit-and-run. My husband’s injured.”
