“We can’t get to the Jeep before dark. He’s invited us to stay here tonight, and then he’ll go with us in the morning to show us where it is.”
C.Z. turned to the silent man and thanked him warmly as he continued to stare unabashedly at her. She doubted that the invitation had been extended without some judicious arm-twisting on Zach’s part.
“I look more like my mother than my father,” she told him when he continued to stare at her.
“He was a good man,” the recluse said in a rusty, slow voice.
“Yes, he was,” she agreed, more touched than she would have expected by this strange man’s simple statement. She turned to Zach.
“Did you tell him that we think Dad was murdered?”
Zach nodded. “That’s why he wants to help us.”
“HOW FAR is it to the Jeep?” she asked, standing at the window with Zach as they watched the snow fall in the last of the day’s light. It wasn’t falling heavily, but she didn’t relish a long trek over slippery ground even if she was wearing good, sturdy boots.
“About six or seven miles. If the snow gets too bad, you can stay here and we’ll go. He has a couple of pairs of snowshoes. There’s an old road only about a mile from here, so we can come back for you that way.”
“You mean the road those men were on?”
“No, another one. But it’s probably the road they used to get out on foot. It connects with a highway not far from here. That’s the only risk we’ll face if we have to go that way, but if the snow’s deep enough, it’ll keep the traffic down.”
“And what about the truck?”
“It’s a good twenty miles from here, but not too far off one of the better dirt roads. He says we can get to it from here without going to the main roads, though I don’t see that on my maps. But I discovered long ago that not all the roads are on the maps.”
He drew her against him. “With any luck, it’ll all be over tomorrow.”
Chapter Eleven
C.Z. shifted on the lumpy bed as though by doing so she could magically smooth it out. Across the cabin’s one large room, Zach and their host were no more than dark lumps in the flickering firelight. She smiled, thinking that Davy Crockett’s gentlemanly gesture was misplaced. He’d offered her his bed when the thick bearskins on the floor were almost certainly more comfortable.
Her surprise at the construction of the cabin extended itself to the interior. The furnishings were sparse and old, but the place was immaculate. He had running water after a fashion—a pipe from the little creek that provided a thin stream of icy cold water. Unfortunately, the amenities did not extend to any other indoor plumbing, but the outhouse was better than the woods, which she’d been using since they’d fled Scott’s cabin.
But her biggest surprise had been the one that had apparently endeared her to the recluse. She’d noticed several very good cameras and had asked him about them. After a long hesitation and without uttering a word, he’d hauled three well-filled cardboard boxes onto the table, boxes filled with thousands of photographs.
C.Z. had been utterly amazed and then entranced by the pictures of wildlife—deer, bears, foxes, squirrels, bobcats, even rattlesnakes, though she could certainly have done without them. The quality was truly astonishing. She’d never seen anything better. She’d told him so, and had been rewarded with a smile, though it was nearly buried within his bushy beard.
She shifted more, wishing she could take the thick quilt and make of it a more comfortable bed on the floor. But she dared not insult their host and risk destroying the fragile bond between them. She had already decided that when this was over, he was going to become her private special project. If she couldn’t persuade him to give up his solitary existence, at least she could visit him regularly and perhaps convince him to allow his wonderful pictures to be exhibited.
When this was over…C.Z. smiled. With any luck at all, this might be their last night as fugitives. She hadn’t yet asked Zach how they would arrange the end of this misery, but she assumed that he and Sam could work out something. It was enough for now to know that it was nearly over.
HER EYES SNAPPED OPEN and she was surprised to discover she must have fallen asleep. But what had awakened her? She was facing the wall, and she started to roll over to see if one of the men had gotten up. A hand clamped itself over her mouth, and before she could draw a terrified breath, Zach was bending over her.
“I heard something outside,” he whispered. “It’s probably only an animal, but I’m going out to have a look.”
She nodded and he took his hand from her mouth. She saw that he had his gun in his other hand. “The snow,” she whispered. “How—”
“The snow stopped,” he whispered. “Mostly, anyway. Don’t follow me!”
She nodded. It was an easy promise to make. She had no intention of going out there to confront a bear. Some of the ones she’d seen in the photographs were huge—far larger than she’d imagined bears in these woods could be.
Zach slipped away, then eased the heavy door open almost soundlessly. For one brief moment, C.Z. feared they had human visitors, but she quickly pushed the thought away. Those men hadn’t found this cabin when Zach stopped them, and after he’d disabled their vehicle, their only interest would have been in getting out.
The moments dragged past. At one point, she thought she heard a brief cry, but that could have come from their host, who had been making noises in his sleep earlier. She continued to expect Zach to return any moment as she watched the door.
Then something heavy struck the door, rattling it on its hinges. Before she could do more than gasp with fear, something came crashing through the window on the other side of the room.
The smell of gasoline nearly choked her as she stumbled from the bed, but before she could get her feet properly under her, she’d forgotten about the odor. Flames lit the darkness—and they seemed to be everywhere!
Propelled by terror, C.Z. ran for the door only to see flames outlining it. The noise was almost as horrifying as the sight of so much fire, cracklings and spittings and roaring. Panicked, she turned toward the back of the cabin only to remember that there wasn’t another door! And then, in a rush of shame, she remembered Davy Crockett. In her terror and her urgency to flee the fire, she’d forgotten all about him.
Although the fire seemed to be everywhere, it hadn’t yet reached the hearth, and in the hellish light she could see him, still sleeping soundly while his cabin burned. He’d been drinking earlier, and though he hadn’t seemed drunk, no doubt that contributed to his stupor.
The smoke was thick, and she was having trouble breathing. She grabbed a rag from beside the sink, soaked it and held it over her nose and mouth as she zigzagged through the flames to the sleeping recluse.
He was beginning to stir by the time she reached him, and then he was struggling to his feet, coughing and staring wildly around. She grabbed his arm, shouting to make herself heard above the terrible noises of the fire.
“Come on! We’ll have to go out a window!”
She ran toward the single rear window, then fumbled with the lock as she continued to hold the rag over her mouth and nose. When she got the window open, cold air rushed in, and she turned, hearing the roar of the flames become louder and knowing that the fresh supply of air must be feeding the flames.
Where was he? She’d thought he would be right behind her, but he wasn’t. Her eyes darted wildly around the fiery cabin—and then she saw him. He was trying to make his way through the flames to get to the boxes of photographs he’d returned to a corner. Even in this moment of sheer terror, C.Z. could feel sympathy for him, but she started after him, shouting.
“No! There isn’t time!”
He had picked up one box, and she saw that flames had begun to lick at its edges. Then, in a fresh wave of horror, she saw that the fire was causing a heavy wood beam in the ceiling to crack.
For one brief instant, she thought about grabbing another box, but then her instinct for surviva
l took over and she tugged and pushed the reluctant man toward the window.
The cold air felt like ice against her heated skin as she took the smoldering box from him and heaved it out the window, then began to push him through, as well. Just as she swung her legs over the sill, there was a loud crash behind her, and she knew the roof had begun to collapse.
Davy Crockett was on his feet, flapping his arms wildly as sparks and flames leaped from his clothes. C.Z. landed in several inches of snow, then ran to him and tackled him, sending them both thumping to the ground.
The flames on him spread to her, and she rolled them both over and over in the snow until the fire was extinguished. Then she disentangled herself from him and sat up, coughing and struggling to breathe. Barely fifty feet away, the cabin was completely outlined in brilliant fire, and sparks shot into the dark heavens.
For one brief moment, she knew the pure joy of having survived—and then she remembered Zach. How could she have forgotten about him?
“No!” she cried, but the certainty would not go away. The only reason he wouldn’t have come to their rescue was that he was dead.
She staggered to her feet, still saying no to herself over and over. It could not end this way! Leaving the silent, dazed man whose life she’d saved, C.Z. ran around the cabin, only to come to a stumbling halt as a large, dark shadow hurled itself out the side window, trailing flames!
Before she could reach him, he had rolled himself in the snow and was getting to his feet. He was still in a crouch when he saw her, and for one long moment, as the cabin collapsed completely behind them, they stared at each other, not moving. Then he straightened and spoke her name in a wondering tone that she could just barely hear above the hellish din.
“I thought…”
“Me, too,” she said as they held tightly to each other, coughing and wheezing.
“Davy?” he gasped.
“He’s back there. I got him out. He was trying to save his pictures.”
Holding tightly to each other, they returned to their erstwhile host to find him sitting dazedly beside the box of pictures. And it was only then, when she saw this harmless, pitiful man staring from the box to the flaming ruins of his cabin, that C.Z. began to feel anger. When she turned to Zach, she saw the rage in his eyes, as well, as they reflected the fire.
They sat beside him and watched the fire begin to die, helped by the mixture of snow, sleet and rain that was falling. Zach told her that he’d gone outside and found two men with cans and bottles of gasoline approaching the cabin. But before he could confront them, a third man had ambushed him. He could remember a blow to the back of his head, then had vague recollections of being picked up and tossed through a window into the cabin.
“I wasn’t really knocked out completely,” he said, gingerly touching the back of his head. “But I might have faded away for a couple of minutes. When I came to, the cabin was on fire and I couldn’t see either of you. So I tried to find you, then realized that you must have gone out the back window. I couldn’t get to it, so I dove out the one they’d broken when they threw me in.”
“I heard a window break while I was trying to get us out,” C.Z. recalled. “But I thought it was from the fire.”
“They were trying to make it look as though we’d all died in the fire,” Zach said. “But they must have panicked, since they didn’t stay around to be sure.”
“How do you know they didn’t?” she asked nervously, staring into the darkness beyond the glow of the dying flames.
“I heard one of them yelling to the others to get moving. Big mistake on his part, because I recognized his voice. I never got a good look at them.”
“Harvey Summers?” she asked, her rage burning as brightly inside her as the fire.
“No, his name’s Isaac Neil. They call him Zeke. I know him because I arrested him for a bar brawl. He works for Summers.”
“I’M ALL RIGHT.”
“No, you’re not, but I appreciate the effort.” Zach gave her a brief smile as he polished off the rest of a granola bar.
“Well, I’m all right enough, then.”
“Your old English teacher, Mrs. Jackson, would frown on such grammar.”
She paused with her coffee mug halfway to her mouth. “How do you know she was my teacher?”
“She told me while she was feeding me chocolate chip cookies after I rescued one of her cats from a tree. We were talking about your father, and she mentioned you, as well.”
“I don’t believe this! You rescued her cat? I thought that only happened in old stories.”
“I suppose it does, mostly, but Mrs. Jackson thought otherwise. I was on my way home and the desk sergeant called me to see if we were in the feline rescue business. So I made it my first act of community service.” He frowned at the wrapper from the granola bar. “She makes really good chocolate chip cookies—and oatmeal raisin, as well. She brought a batch of them to the station later.”
“Could we please talk about something other than food?” she implored him. If she never saw another bag of trail mix or a granola bar or a stick of beef jerky, it would be too soon.
“I’m worried about him,” she said, gesturing in the direction of the Jeep, where they’d left Davy Crockett with some food and a mug of coffee. The tent wasn’t big enough for all three of them.
“He’ll be all right. I told him he can stay at my place until we can get another cabin built. Or maybe we’ll put him at Scott’s place.” He scratched his beard. “The problem is that the cabin was illegal to begin with. It’s on state land. But I’ll work something out.”
She listened to the steady drumbeat of sleet and rain against the walls and roof of the tent. When they’d gotten back to the Jeep, they’d melted snow and heated it on the little stove, then tried as best they could to wash away the stench of smoke. But it clung to their clothes and was overpowering inside the Jeep and the tent.
“We’d better get going,” Zach said. “What worries me most at this point is that Summers might have found the truck and destroyed it.”
“But if he did that, why would he still have tried to kill Davy?”
“Insurance,” Zach said grimly. “I doubt if he’s thinking too clearly by now.”
“Do you think he believes we’re all dead?” she asked, shuddering.
“Probably. But that’s all for the better at this point. I doubt if anyone saw the flames, and the chopper won’t be up in this weather, so no one’s likely to come to investigate. When the weather improves, he’ll find some excuse for someone to go out there and discover it. If they found our bodies, they’d just say that we’d been staying there with him and the place caught fire on its own.”
“But you think he’ll still try to find the truck?”
Zach nodded. “Yeah. He probably hopes to torch it, too. But this isn’t a very good day for that, so that buys us some time.”
C.Z. HAD NEVER been so utterly miserable in her life. She rather wished she possessed Zach’s talent for colorful swearing, which he’d been employing virtually nonstop since the Jeep had overturned.
The rain was coming down in torrents, then freezing on nearly every surface. Mixed with it were fat snowflakes and sleet, as though the weather gods had decided to pour everything in their bag of tricks at them. It was enough to make her believe in the old, capricious gods of the Greeks and Romans.
She shivered inside her oversize poncho, peering from beneath its billed cap as the two men grunted and struggled to right the Jeep, all the while slipping in the semifrozen mud that had caused the accident. Zach was barely recognizable as the rain plastered his dark hair and gray beard to his head.
His nonstop cursing was directed at himself, though C.Z. thought he’d done an admirable job of coaxing the old Jeep over slick, rutted trails and down several treacherous hillsides before reaching the one that had been their undoing.
This was supposed to be their day of triumph, the day they could finally prove what they’d known to be the truth all
along. Instead, here they were, miles from their goal in the worst weather imaginable and without a means of getting there.
In truth, she didn’t know how far they were from the place where Davy Crockett claimed to have seen the truck. Perhaps it wasn’t that far away. It seemed they’d been traveling through the dark and gloomy woods forever.
And in her present frame of mind, C.Z. could easily envision them reaching the truck only to discover that it wasn’t the truck they were seeking. For reasons she would never understand, some local men seemed to prefer dumping their used-up vehicles in the woods rather than taking them to a junkyard. In their travels, she’d seen several cars and an old school bus, its roof caved in by a fallen tree.
“Okay, forget it!” Zach told Davy after one last attempt to nudge the Jeep upright. “We’ll have to walk.”
He made his way cautiously to the top of the bank where she stood, trailed by the silent, stoical recluse. Both of them were covered with mud, which was being washed off by the pounding rain.
“How far is it?” she asked, trying—but probably not succeeding—to keep her misery out of her voice.
“Two or three miles, maybe,” Davy Crockett responded, studying her as though trying to determine if she was up to it.
“Then let’s go,” she said, her determination renewed by his scrutiny. She had to prove she was her father’s daughter, even though what she really wanted to do was to sit down and cry.
Zach pulled up the hood of his poncho, then studied her, as well. “Imagine the two of us back in that hospital room. Would you still say yes to me?”
He asked the question in such a serious tone that she found herself smiling. “Yes, I would.”
He reached out with a gloved finger to touch her nose briefly. It was an oddly endearing gesture, and one that temporarily drove away the chills that had taken up residence in her bones.
They set off through the woods, slipping and sliding, stumbling and falling and picking themselves up again. Davy was leading the way, and Zach seemed to have complete faith in his ability to take them to the truck. They had stayed on the old roads and trails most of the way, but this part of their journey required them to leave the trails behind.
Runaway Heart Page 21
