Hawk Moon

by Rob MacGregor

  But Corey was already out the back door, running as fast as she could through the growing darkness, passing the outhouse, and dashing for the forest.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Will's vision was blurred, his head pounded. It was dark and stuffy. There were fuzzy figures moving around and voices he couldn't quite understand. He was lying on a cool, damp floor. A rope was tied around his feet and his wrists; his arms were behind his back. The drug lab, he thought, as he recalled everything that had happened before he'd been knocked out.

  In the center of the room, a light glowed on the lab counter where Burke and the two DEA agents were busy at work. His father was lying to Will's left next to Detective Olsen. Their wrists were cuffed in front of them and their feet were tied with rope. His grandfather lay on his right, bound the same way.

  Corey had gotten away, he thought. The sheriff and Claude were probably hunting for her. They couldn't let her escape. He realized that Burke and the others couldn't allow any of them to survive and tell their story.

  He felt heavy, as if he'd been drugged. He fought off the dizzying sensation that was trying to pull him back into a deep sleep.

  He moved his hands, testing the rope, stretching it. He had to get loose, but his vision was blurring. He was drifting, losing consciousness again. His eyes closed, and he heard a voice in his head.

  You can dream your way out. Dream.

  Flickering firelight. He was with the initiates in the kiva again. It was happening all over. Near the fire pit, a robed man was talking to them and pointing up through the ladder hole. He was speaking Hopi, and again Will could understand him.

  Suddenly, the old priest covered the fire pit with a flat rock so that only a faint glow filtered into the kiva. The men in robes descended the ladder. On each of their foreheads was a large four-pointed white star.

  Among them was Masau, his head bald and painted gray.

  He moved to one side of the other men who were humming and hissing. A white-robed figure emerged and said, "I am the beginning; I am the end."

  It was all the same as before, but Will was only vaguely aware that the scene was familiar. The sounds grew louder, and the men were stomping one way, then the other. Suddenly, the flat rock was pushed over the entire fire pit and darkness swallowed the kiva. Amid the shouts and chaos, Will saw Masau standing directly in front of him and motioning to the ladder hole overhead.

  Then it was Myra, not Masau. She was smiling at him and, like Masau, pointing to the hole overhead. That's the way out, Will. That's the way. Hurry.

  Will's body jerked and he blinked open his eyes. He tried to sit up. His head throbbed from the blow; he was confused by what he'd just experienced. The kiva had seemed just as real as the mine.

  "Will, are you okay?" his grandfather asked in a raspy voice.

  He looked over at him and Olsen, and nodded. Burke and the two others were gone. How long had he slept?

  "They left a bomb," his father said from his other side. "Burke said we've got half an hour. Now it's about twenty-five minutes."

  "Special effects," Connors said. "Burke's a bomb expert. That's what his daddy taught him."

  "Can you get your hands loose?" Olsen asked Will.

  "What good will it do?" Connors said. "You heard what Burke said. "The door's rigged. If we open the door, the bomb goes off."

  "Maybe we can disarm it," Lansa said.

  Will recalled his dream. That's the way out, Myra had said. He looked up at the paneled ceiling. Maybe there was another way out, an escape hatch they'd built in the event of trouble.

  He jerked his arms apart, stretching, then twisting the rope. He wriggled his hands, moved them back and forth, and tried to slip the rope over his wrists. But it wasn't quite loose enough.

  "I've got a knife on my key chain," Connors said. "It's in my jacket pocket. See if you can get it out."

  Will rolled over and worked himself next to his grandfather, then stretched his hand into Connors's pocket. He felt the key chain, but couldn't reach it. He edged closer, tried again, but Connors moved. On the third try, his index finger hooked over the chain.

  "I got it!"

  He worked open the blade with his fingers, then passed it to his grandfather who began slicing away at the rope binding Will's wrists. After a couple of minutes, Lansa took over, then Olsen. The detective had taken about a dozen slices when Will jerked his wrists and the rope snapped. Once his hands were free, he quickly untied the rope from his ankles. Then he went to work on the rope tied around his grandfather's legs.

  When he finally got the knot undone, he handed the knife to his grandfather. "See if you can get their legs free."

  "What are you going to do?" his father asked.

  "I think there might be another way out of here, Dad."

  He moved over to the counter and saw a box on the floor in front of the lab counter. Inside it was a red metal one-gallon gasoline can, a tangle of wires, and a timer that showed nineteen minutes were left. He glanced over at the door and saw a small plastic box attached to it. Probably a remote detonator.

  He climbed up onto the counter and picked up the battery-powered lamp that had been left behind. With his other hand, he reached up to the ceiling and lifted one of the plastic panels. The lamp's glow revealed an eighteen-inch crawl space separating the ceiling from the rock roof. He raised the lamp higher. To his left, a rectangular piece of wood was imbedded in the ceiling. A cord hung down from it.

  "What do you see?" Connors asked.

  "A trap door, I think." He lowered the panel, then tiptoed through the hodgepodge of glassware and burners on the counter.

  Will was about to remove another panel, when his foot knocked over a beaker. It rolled toward the edge of the counter. He reached down and caught it before it fell. Directly below was the bomb. No telling what would've happened if the beaker had fallen on it.

  He lifted the panel, pushed it aside, and pulled on the cord. The rectangle of plywood creaked down on its hinges. Attached to the inside of it was a ladder, which he unfolded. The bottom of it reached the top of the counter.

  "Does it lead outside, Will?" his father called to him.

  "I can't tell." He held up the light, stepped onto the ladder. He could see a tunnel that was slightly wider than his shoulders. It rose at a steep angle. The dream, he thought. It was like the ladder hole in the top of the kiva. He knew he'd find a way out. But he didn't think the others would be able to maneuver through the tunnel with their hands bound.

  "If you get out, run as fast as you can," Lansa called to him. "We're stuck here, but you can make it. You hear me."

  Connors was busy sawing at the rope on Olsen's ankles.

  "I don't want to leave you," Will said. "We've still got time."

  Before his father started to argue, Will climbed up the ladder and into the tunnel. He followed handholds and footholds up for about ten feet and came to another piece of plywood. He pushed on it, pushed again. It didn't budge. He closed his eyes. His head pounded.

  He wedged his back against the wall and tried again, this time pushing with his feet. The plywood gave way, and the crisp smell of cool, fresh air filled his nostrils. He pushed the plywood aside with his feet and climbed out into the deepening dusk.

  He had to get the others out. He couldn't just leave them. A rope. He'd seen one in the mining cart.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The police car had been parked outside the cabin for at least ten minutes, maybe fifteen, and Corey was getting anxious. What could they be talking about? She was crouched in the trees at the edge of the forest, hugging herself against the cold. The light jacket she wore wasn't designed for spending a night in the mountains.

  She stood up, rubbing her arms. She couldn't wait much longer. She had to get to the road before Will's mother got here. But she was reluctant to cross the field. The moon had risen, and she would be easily spotted.

  Then she saw a flashlight beam at the back of the cabin. Two men. Both tall. The
sheriff and his son. She was less than fifty yards away from them, and the flashlight beam was moving away from the cabin. She took several steps back into the forest. Maybe they had forced Irene to talk. Or maybe they were looking for her tracks. She was glad now that she'd run along the well-trodden path toward the outhouse before she'd dashed to the trees.

  Then the light disappeared. The trees blocked her view. Were they rushing toward her? Did they know she was here?

  Panicking, she turned and ran further into the forest until she was gasping for air. She stopped, listened. After a few moments, she heard a car engine start up. They were leaving.

  She raced to the edge of the field. The police car was nowhere in sight. She waited another thirty seconds, wondering if it was a trap. Then she bolted for the cabin and tapped on the back door.

  "It's okay. They're gone," Irene said. "The sheriff said you were a runaway and had been seen near here. They kept questioning me, telling me that it was a crime to harbor a runaway, that your parents were worried and wanted you back home."

  "My parents are out of town. I'm not a runaway."

  Irene nodded. "Don't worry. I didn't believe him. He was too intense to be just chasing a runaway. I told him I hadn't seen anyone out here."

  "So he believed you?"

  "He backed off after I told him I used to be a police dispatcher in Colorado Springs and would never hide a runaway."

  "Thanks. I better get out to the road."

  Irene opened a drawer and handed Corey a flashlight. "Take this with you. You can signal her."

  The minutes stretched on endlessly as Corey waited at the roadside. It seemed she'd been standing here for hours when she finally saw headlights moving her way. She clicked on the flashlight. What if it was the sheriff coming back? She hesitated as the vehicle appeared over a rise. She decided to take a chance. She waved the flashlight and a Grand Cherokee skidded to a stop next to her.

  The window went down and a woman with light brown hair, who didn't look much like Will, leaned out. "Are you Corey?"

  "That's right." She climbed inside. She could see that Will's mother was surprised she was black and probably wondered why Will had never mentioned her. But there was no time to get acquainted.

  "I'm Marion Connors. 'Where's Will?"

  Corey saw a gun in a holster resting on her lap. "About two miles down the road. Maybe less."

  Corey tried to remember where the two vehicles had been blocking the road, but it was too dark now to pick out the spot. Then the car's high beams fell on the Land Rover they'd ridden in from town and a Ford Explorer, the vehicle Burke had driven.

  Marion pulled off the road. She turned off the engine and unsnapped the holster on her gun.

  As soon as Corey got out, she saw the glow of a cigarette and smelled burning tobacco. Burke ambled over to them. "Marion. What are you doing here?" His voice was low and threatening.

  She raised her gun and aimed it at his head. "Where's Will? Tell me right now."

  "C'mon, babe. Put that thing down. That's dangerous."

  Marion cocked the gun. "Where is he, Tom? I'm not kidding."

  "Okay, okay. He's in the mine. But it's going to blow up in about ten minutes. That's the truth, too."

  For a moment, Corey thought Marion was going to shoot him. Then she turned to Corey. "Where—where is it?"

  "This way." Corey flicked on the flashlight and ran along the darkened trail. Will's mother raced after her. If Burke was following, he was nowhere in sight.

  It seemed longer this time, and she was beginning to worry that she'd missed the mine when the flashlight beam fell on the entrance to the tunnel. She hurried into it, Marion right behind her.

  She moved past the mining cart and stopped at the door. She was surprised to see that the lock was still on the ground. Why hadn't Burke locked the door? Was it a trap?

  "Hurry! Open it," Marion said. "Will, are you in there?" Corey put her hands on the door and was about to push when she heard voices yelling inside. She thought they were calling for help, but something made her hesitate. Something about the door.

  "Go ahead. Open it!" Marion urged.

  "No! Don't!" Will shouted from behind them. "Don't touch that door."

  "Will!" Marion turned and ran to him.

  "The door triggers a bomb!" Will yelled. "Get away from it."

  Corey backed away, her heart pounding in her ears. Burke had wanted them to rush here and open the door. That was why he had been so quick to tell them where to find Will.

  "How did you get out?" Marion asked, hugging Will.

  "There's another way. We've got to help Dad and Grandpa and Detective Olsen." He pulled away from her, leaned over the mining cart, and snatched a rope. "We don't have much time."

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Will dashed out of the tunnel, then scrambled up the steep hill. He slipped once, grabbed on to the trunk of an aspen sapling, and pulled himself to his feet.

  Marion worked out at a gym and it showed. She was agile and kept within a few feet of him, and Corey was right behind her. The landscape leveled and Will was on his feet and running. He reached the hole he'd escaped from and dropped into it. He grabbed the lantern he'd left on the ground and threw the end of the rope to his mother. "Let it all out."

  He found the footholds, clambered down to the ladder, and dropped onto the lab counter.

  "Will, what are you doing?" Connors yelled. "This place is going to blow." He was now working on the thick rope binding Lansa's ankles. Olsen's feet were free, and she was leaning over the bomb looking at the timer.

  "Listen to your grandfather," Olsen said. "There's nothing you can do for us."

  "We can pull you out." He reached up for the rope to tie a loop for a harness, but realized it was too short.

  Even if they were able to climb onto the counter, the rope wouldn't reach.

  "It won't work," he said softly.

  "Will, get out now!" Lansa shouted.

  His head throbbed, his heart pounded. He held out the lantern and lowered himself to his hands and knees as he stared at the timer on the bomb. Two minutes left.

  Will looked up at his father—to say good-bye to him, to apologize for failing him—but his view was blocked by a man in a long leather shirt, leggings, and boots. He wore two feathers in his long black hair. "Masau," Will whispered, recognizing the figure from his dreams.

  The moment he said the name, the image shifted and Will was looking at Burke, who smiled and dropped down to one knee in front of the bomb. He reached down and put his fingers on a blue wire.

  "Cut this one and it won't go off."

  Will wasn't sure whether the voice was spoken aloud or was inside his head. He climbed down from the counter and looked at Connors. "Grandpa, give me your knife."

  "Will!" Connors shouted. "Get out of here!"

  "You don't have to die with us," Olsen said.

  "Give it to him," Lansa said in an even voice. "He knows what he's doing."

  His father knew. Somehow he knew what was going on. Connors tossed the pocketknife. Will picked it up, then dropped down on one knee in front of the bomb. He heard his mother calling him from above. His fingers were shaking. He looked at the clock. Fifty seconds left.

  He reached for the wire. But now he saw there were two blue ones, one looping to the left, the other to the right. Which one was it?

  He stared at the wires, sweat dripping from his brow, blurring his vision. He took the blue wire on the left between his finger tips. He hesitated, then pressed the knife to the wire. It sliced easily through the insulation, but the blade was dulled from cutting the rope. He sawed back and forth, puffing the wire over the blade.

  C'mon. Cut.

  He glanced at the timer. Fifteen seconds left. Ten. Nine. Eight.

  The blade slit the wire.

  He fell back and watched the seconds tick away. Four. . . three. . . two. . . one.

  Nothing happened.

  Just then he heard a muffled voice at the door. "
Will, are you in there?"

  The voice was familiar, but he couldn't place it. He saw the wire leading to the door. "Don't open that . . .”

  The door creaked open. Will tensed, still expecting an explosion. Again, nothing happened.

  Then the bomb emitted a buzzing sound. His hands froze in the air; his breath caught in his throat. The sound stopped.

  No one spoke. Will slowly stood up. His mother called his name again. "I think . . . I think we're safe," he replied.

  "How did you do it?" Connors asked. "How did you know which wire to cut?"

  "I had some help."

  Coach Boorman and Aaron Thomas stood in the doorway, scanning the room. "My God," Boorman said. "Your mother called me from her car just as Aaron was telling me he thought you were set up."

  Marion climbed down the ladder to the counter and turned to Boorman. "Did you call the state troopers?"

  "You bet I did. They're on their way. Are you sure the sheriff is involved?"

  "I'm more than sure," Olsen said from the other side of the room.

  Will touched the back pocket of his jeans and was relieved to find that Burke's notebook was still there. "I've got proof, too."

  "Oh, no!" Marion said in a low voice.

  Will followed her gaze past Boorman. Burke was standing behind Boorman, his snub-nosed .38 in his hand. He was staring at the bomb. His eyes looked glazed.

  No one moved.

  But Burke simply turned and walked away without saying a word. A moment later, a single shot rang out, echoing through the lab.

  Epilogue

  The wind swept through the ghost town of Ashcroft warning of the approach of winter. Will and Corey were both bundled in parkas as they walked down the main street of the deserted, crumbling town. Will peered into the open doorways of the sagging buildings as if he expected to see Myra's ghost.

  "You miss her, don't you?" Corey asked.

  Will nodded. "I needed to come here one more time. It's the last place we were together," he said as if she didn't already know.