"I don't get it," she said. "Why are you living down here?"
Mauve Ashley stepped forward. "It's our home."
"But you can't live here. It's unhealthy. You have to leave."
"We can't leave," Yellow Adam said. "He won't let us."
"Who, your dad?"
Yellow Adam pulled her toward the desk. He pointed to a drawing tacked on the wall beside the computer. When her eyes fastened on it, her world tipped and spun out of control.
Her drawing.
The Fog.
The murkiness of her mind lifted—like the sun burning off a morning mist—and she was left with a horrific revelation.
She had found The Fog. And the children he had abducted.
She set the flashlight on the desk and stared at the newspaper clippings that surrounded her drawing. Faded photos of the children stared back at her, each circled in red marker. Their names were all there, in the headlines, next to the anguished faces of their parents.
"Oh, Jesus," she moaned. "We have to get out of here."
As she turned away, her eyes latched onto another familiar face. Sam's. His photo, next to an article covering his death, had also been circled.
"My beautiful boy."
It was too late for Sam. But not for the others.
She faced Pink Ashley. "Your name is Marina Fisher."
She turned to the Ashleys wearing aqua and mauve. "And you're Brittany Atherton and Kimber Levine."
The girls gave her a blank stare.
"Holland Dawes, Jordan Jaremko and Scotty McIntyre," Sadie added, indicating the boys in navy blue, yellow and gray. She shook her head, stunned. "Why didn't you just tell me?"
Pink Ashley—Marina—stepped forward. "We couldn't. Father made us swear. He said he'd kill us if we ever said our real names out loud."
"Or if we ever tried to leave him," Holland added. "He said he'd hunt us down and cut us up like the other boy."
Scowling, Kimber folded her arms across her chest. "Father wouldn't hurt us. He loves us."
At first the defensive remark seemed strange, especially coming from a girl who had been kept hostage for three years, until Sadie recalled that it wasn't uncommon for a hostage to bond with his or her captor. There was a name for it. Stockholm syndrome. Like Patty Hearst and Elizabeth Smart.
More pieces of the puzzle slid into place and she kicked herself for not putting it together sooner. The real Adam and Ashley had died in a fire, one that had left their father grotesquely scarred—not pockmarked.
"This man," she said, tapping the drawing, "took you from your homes. From your parents." Her eyes were drawn back to the newspaper clippings.
Eight-year-old Kimber and six-year-old Jordan were the first two children abducted by The Fog, back in April 2003. Brittany and Scotty were taken the following April. Last year, Marina and Holland. And this year, Sam and…
"Wait!" she said, grabbing Marina's arm. "Where's Cortnie?"
"We don't know," the girl said. "She snuck out."
"When?"
"A couple nights ago. She took Adam with her."
Sadie shook her head. "What?"
"The other Adam," Brittany said. "She took him and ran."
Sadie was completely confused. "What other Adam?"
Holland tapped a photo on the wall. "Him."
Sadie fainted.
The shadows around her shifted, becoming more distinct. She groaned. When her vision cleared, six worried faces stared down at her.
"What happened?" she asked in a groggy voice.
"You passed out," Kimber said. "When you saw the picture."
Sadie grabbed Holland's hand. "What did you say? Before I fainted." She moved to the photo of Sam. "You said he was—"
"Cortnie took him away," Marina cut in.
"The boy in this picture," Sadie said carefully.
"Yes, that boy. The one who doesn't talk."
Sadie's heart skipped a beat. "And that was a few days ago?"
"Yeah."
Sam's dead, her mind argued. She had seen the car explode.
But you never truly believed he was gone.
"Where's Sarge now, Marina?"
"He's gone looking for them again."
Sadie released Holland's hand. "We have to go back to my cabin and call the police."
And I have to find Sam.
"Before he does," Jordan whispered.
Without warning, heavy footsteps echoed down unseen stairs behind the far door. The sound grew more menacing with each step.
"He's coming!" Holland lisped.
"Come on then," she urged. "Back up the stairs."
"We're right behind you," Marina said.
Sadie took the steps two at a time, ignoring the drizzle that dripped in from the open trap door.
"Careful!" she warned. "The steps are slippery."
Halfway up, she realized that she'd forgotten the flashlight. She almost turned back, but the children's safety edged her onward, toward the fading light.
"We're almost there."
Climbing onto the slippery grass, she rolled over, arms outstretched for the first child. "Hurry up!"
The pit was still, silent.
"Marina! Holland! Where are you guys?"
No reply.
She began to shake.
Had The Fog—Sarge—caught them trying to escape? Had she left them behind with a killer?
Her stomach coiled and rumbled. "Think, Sadie!"
If he had them, there was no way she could force him to let them go. She had to leave them behind, get to her cabin and call the police.
"Who's up there?"
At the sound of a man's booming voice, Sadie ran for her life. She scurried through the woods, feeling her way, trying to remember the path she had taken with the children. But it all looked the same in the dark.
"You gotta get to the river," she panted.
She darted around trees and bushes, pausing to listen for the sound of running water. But she couldn't hear anything over her ragged breath and thumping heart.
"Help me," she cried softly. "I have to save them."
A gleam of light drew her out of the trees. When she broke from the woods and skidded onto the rain-drenched rocks of the riverside, she heaved a sigh of relief, then threw a nervous glance over her shoulder, half-expecting Sarge to jump out from the trees. Facing the river, she found on the rock bridge a few yards to her right. But there was one major problem. Kimree River was rising fast. Many of the slabs were submerged and the water that rushed between them moved swiftly.
"Oh God," she moaned.
Knowing she had no choice, she climbed onto the slick surface of the first slab. With one foot, she prodded the water for the next and cried out when her ankle high winter boot filled with icy water. She found the rock and stepped forward. Feeling for the third slab, she wobbled precariously. "Steady, Sadie." She hopped to the next slab, arms stretched out for balance.
Four more…somewhere.
She surveyed the water's surface. "Where are you?"
Her boot hit something solid and she eased forward, the water now up to her calves.
"Two more."
But she didn't make it. She miscalculated and her foot slid between two slabs. She plunged into the frigid water. Swept downstream, she flailed her arms to keep her head above the surface. The river pulled at her from all directions and tossed her about, as if she were nothing but a piece of deadwood
Then her head went under.
Panicking, she swallowed a mouthful of grit. She clawed at the water, coughing and spitting, until she finally surfaced and sucked in a lungful of air. Her hair stuck to her face and she swatted it away. Then she began to inch diagonally toward the shore, while allowing the current to take her downriver.
Up ahead, something glistened in the moonlight.
The roof of Infinity Cabin.
30
As the river swept her around the bend, Sadie was drawn toward the shore. She snatched at tufts of dry brush t
hat overhung the bank. Fumbling, she cursed, then tried again. She gripped a wiry root and pulled her aching body onto dry ground.
She lay in the grass, panting. When her breathing slowed, she dragged herself to her feet and a shooting pain flared through her left ankle. She examined it in the faint light. It was bruised and swollen, maybe broken and definitely sprained. Gritting her teeth, she moved away from the shore and studied the churning water.
In some areas, the river had already flooded its banks.
"The bridge!"
Recalling Irma's warning, she knew she had to hurry. She suddenly had a horrible vision of Sarge herding the children into his pickup and whisking them away. And what about Sam and Cortnie?
She took a reinforcing breath, then jogged toward the cabin, ignoring the jolting pang in her ankle. She ran inside, slammed the door and lit the lamp with shaking hands.
"Okay, call the police."
Her purse was lying on the coffee table. She checked it, but no cell phone. She opened kitchen drawers and rummaged through them. "Okay, where'd you put your cell?"
Fear crept into her mind, but she pushed it away. "Focus!"
When had she used it last? A few days ago, a week? She couldn't remember.
In her panic, she tripped over the laptop case.
"A-ha! There you are."
She flung it on the kitchen table and unzipped it. Relief rushed through her. The cell phone was right where she had put it earlier, in the inside pocket. She flipped the phone open and let out a groan. No power, no signal…nothing.
"Come on!" She stabbed at the power button. It flashed, then died. "You left it on, you idiot!"
She dropped the useless phone on the table, knowing she would have to drive into town and bring the police back. Spurred into motion, she changed jackets. At least the heavy winter one was warm and dry. She tugged her purse strap over one shoulder, then fumbled in the jacket pockets and pulled out a set of keys.
"Thank God something's going right."
Ducking her head against the howling wind and another deluge of rain, she stepped outside, the small flashlight in one hand, car keys in the other. She limped down the path and within minutes, she was at Irma's cabin. She almost pounded on the door before she recalled that Ed had taken his sister to Edmonton.
Philip's Mercedes sat dejectedly off to the side of the road. Fat raindrops battered it, then rolled off the hood. She unlocked the door, tossed the flashlight and her purse on the passenger seat and climbed in. Muttering a quick prayer, she shoved the key into the ignition and turned it. A faint raspy sound greeted her. Then, like the cell phone, it too was out of commission.
"For crying out loud!" she cried. "Give me a fucking break!"
Furious, she tried again.
This time the engine was dead silent.
For a moment, she just sat there. Then she slumped over the steering wheel and tears poured from her, unbidden and unrestrained. A crack of thunder made her body jerk. She bolted upright, terrified, and gripped the wheel until her knuckles turned white. The windows were starting to fog over and she wiped the side one with her sleeve. When lightning streaked across the sky, she saw a black hulk off to her left. Another jagged flash lit up the surrounding area, spotlighting a sedan of indistinguishable color. It was parked next to the other cabin, the one near the road.
She shoved the door open, gathered her belongings and bolted from the car. Fighting the storm, she ran toward the cabin. She practically jumped out of her skin when a rectangle of light appeared.
A bulky shadow moved in the open doorway. "Someone out there?"
"Hey!" She waved the flashlight in the air. "Over here!"
By the time she reached the cabin, she was out of breath and fighting back tears. "Help me…please…we have to help them."
She looked up at the sign over the door. Hope.
Sadie was ushered inside by a burly, red-bearded man in a dingy, stained t-shirt and faded jeans, the latter held up by a leather belt that was half-hidden by his drooping belly. He had maybe a decade on her and had kind, pale green eyes.
"What's wrong with you, lass?" he asked in a thick Scottish accent. "You look like you seen a ghost."
"I need to use your phone," she panted.
She tried not to look at the deer and moose heads that were mounted on the walls of the log cabin or the empty beer cans that littered the floor.
"That'll be a problem, then. Don't got one."
"But we have to call the police!"
The man frowned. "Now why would we do that?"
She took a deep breath. "Sarge kidnapped some children. He's holding them in an underground bunker."
"Sarge has a bunker? In the ground, you say?"
Sadie groaned with frustration. "He's The Fog!"
"'Tis a wee bit foggy out there," the man said, distracted. "Why don't you rest up a bit, lass? Your ankle's swelling. You should raise it, put it up on the other chair. I'll be right back."
He disappeared outside, returning a minute later with a bag of ice. He led her to a chair. "Put the ice on your ankle."
She sat down and watched him move toward the kitchen.
"We have to do some—" Her breath caught in her throat.
Bulging eyes stared back at her. Eight fish in various stages of cleaning were belly up on the counter. Some were still alive, their mouths opening and closing, gasping for breath. Eventually, they gave up trying.
The man picked up a fishing knife, its curved blade glinting dangerously. When he saw her watching him, he smiled. "Once I finish this, I'll make us some warm apple cider. Unless you'd prefer ale."
Sadie was mesmerized by the knife. "I don't want anything."
"Cider'll warm you up. Name's Fergus, by the way."
"Sadie."
"Aye, I know all about you." Fergus sliced through the belly of a small fish and scraped the guts onto a blackened metal cookie tray that rested across the top of the sink. "Irma said you had man trouble and was hiding out here."
"I'm not hiding."
"What do you call it then?"
She opened her mouth, floundering for words. But like the half-dead fish, she quickly gave up.
After a minute, she said, "We have to help the children."
"Sarge's wee ones are dead. Don't know why you'd think otherwise."
"I don't mean them. I'm talking about my son and the others that he took. They came to me for help. I have to do something."
"Best wait 'til the morning, lass. 'Til this squall is over."
"I can't wait. My son is out there somewhere. We need the police now."
A gust of wind rattled the door. Sadie jumped.
Fergus frowned. "You planning to take that Mercedes into town in this weather?"
"The battery's dead. I need to borrow your car."
The man rinsed off the knife and wiped his hands on a dishtowel. "Perhaps 'tis the booze talking."
"I am not drunk. I'm perfectly sober."
He cocked his head. "Aye, you don't look drunk."
"Please. Help me, Fergus."
"Tell you what…I'll take my car into town and call the cops for you."
She gave him a thankful smile.
Fergus reached for a jacket hanging beside the door. "You rest here and keep that ice on your ankle."
He was out the door before she could blink.
A car engine rumbled to life and headlights swept past the window at the back of the house. Then all was still.
She shot out of the chair. "There's no way in hell I'm going to sit around and do nothing."
Especially when she had a weapon.
The gun.
She headed for the door, but paused when her eyes landed on the fishing knife. She slipped it into her jacket pocket.
"Better to be safe than sorry."
31
Infinity Cabin was in danger of being swept away. At least the veranda was. The river had climbed almost four feet up the supports. Another six inches and the water would be over
the bank, turning the grass into a swamp.
Once inside, Sadie locked the back door, tossed her purse and flashlight on the table, aiming the latter into the center of the room. The cabin was freezing and dark, lit only by flashes of lightning from outside. The hearth had long turned to ash, but there was no time to build a fire, even though she was soaked to the bone.
She was about to go into the bedroom when a sound made her glance over her shoulder. A tall shadow shifted past the draped kitchen window. A shadow wearing a cowboy hat.
Sarge.
Pulling the knife from her pocket, she pressed herself against the wall and held her breath.
The doorknob rattled. A muffled curse was followed by something solid slamming up against the door.
Her eyes flared with fear. Please don't let him get in.
Then the footsteps plodded away.
Sadie released a slow breath, until she heard Sarge moving alongside the cabin. Horrified, she gazed across the room to the sliding door. The door she had left unlocked. There was no time to secure it now, not without being heard. She had to hide. But where?
Desperate eyes latched onto the rug in the middle of the floor.
The root cellar!
She flicked the flashlight off, praying he hadn't seen the light. Then, crossing the room, she bent over and flipped the corner of the rug. Someone had used double-sided carpet tape to keep it in place. With a trembling hand, she tugged on the metal ring and let out a soft sob of gratefulness when the trapdoor opened. She moved down a few stairs, grabbed the door and pulled it over her head.
She was thrown into a dark abyss.
Oh God….
The cellar was worse than the bunker. For one thing it was pitch black and smelled musty, and she felt cramped even though she couldn't see the size of it. She felt as though she had just been buried alive, which couldn't possibly be that much different from being trapped in an ice-cold cellar, with a murderous kidnapper above hunting for her.
Footsteps clumped overhead.
Closer…
Her pulse quickened and the knife shook in her hand.
Above her, something clattered to the floor. An angry grunt followed. Then there was a soft thud near the trapdoor.
Children of the Fog Page 21
