The Terror (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 18)

by Jonas Saul

  What was he waiting for? Thirio probably assumed he had shot her, or she was held up by the men upstairs in the guesthouse. If Thirio thought for a second that she was still in pursuit, he would have hightailed it out of there.

  But why wait so close to the winery?

  Sarah crawled down the embankment. In a wide arc, staying to the outer rim of the streetlights, she came around the back of the truck. Crouched low, not ten feet from the rear of Thirio’s vehicle, she picked up a large rock, cradled it in the crook of her arm, and advanced the last few feet.

  A large explosion rattled the night. Someone had ignited the anti-personnel landmine in the chair. It had to be Mason or Calder.

  Thirio’s truck turned on. The brake lights lit up as he put the vehicle in gear. He’d been waiting for the explosion and now he was leaving. He thought Sarah was dead along with the men who had been upstairs.

  Sarah lurched forward, took three large steps, planted both her feet and hopped sideways, rolling her body over the side of the truck’s bed as the truck shot forward. She landed inside on her sore shoulder, rolled into the wheel well on the other side and came to a stop, the handcuff clanging against the truck’s side.

  She grabbed the cuff with her free hand and held it tight. Through the rectangular back window, she watched Thirio’s head. He didn’t look back at her. He likely dismissed the thudding sounds as road bumps. The truck dipped into two more potholes before hitting the paved section of the road. The pickup turned to the right and shot down the street, escaping the carnage behind them.

  The rock had bounced to the back tailgate where it was wedged in the corner.

  Thirio took another turn, then another, each one going too fast. With gravity being what it was in the back of the truck, she couldn’t get to the rock, let alone get to her feet and attack him in any way.

  A red light. She would have to wait for him to stop. With precious little time at a red light, she would want the rock in her hand already. Twisting sideways, the vest cutting in to her hips, she tried to slide along the bed to the rock. Thirio turned another corner too fast, the tires squealing as they fought for purchase. Sarah slid sideways and banged her head on the other side of the bed. A wooden pole rubbed against her bad shoulder. Thirio revved the engine, the wind in Sarah’s ears as loud as the din of a concert hall. She grabbed the wooden pole and pulled it toward herself.

  The pitchfork.

  The rock forgotten, Sarah turned her body so that her feet were planted against the rear of the cab. She lay on her back looking toward the cab’s rectangular window, the pitchfork in her hands, the offending tines aimed at Thirio’s head. At this speed, hitting him now would spell disaster for her as well. She had to wait until he slowed enough that when they crashed she could still walk away from it.

  The streets were mostly empty at this late hour, or early hour depending on perspective. Thirio drifted in and out of lanes, ran yellow lights and kept moving at a good clip. She had no idea why he was driving so fast when no one was on his tail. Streetlight after streetlight whizzed by. An apartment building with little light on the upper floors passed by on her right. Staring up at the now cloudless sky at this hour under any other circumstances could be deemed romantic, but this was anything but.

  The engine revs slowed. The brakes were applied. Her weight pushed toward the cab, putting pressure on the soles of her feet. She allowed her knees to bend as the truck slowed even more. Then Thirio stopped completely. Sarah sat up, pulled the pitchfork back and shoved it forward with every ounce of strength she could muster.

  The tines rebounded off the glass. The garden tool vibrated, dangerously close to bouncing out of her hand.

  Thirio jerked around and gawked at her, his eyes wide, mouth agape.

  Sarah slammed the pitchfork into the glass again.

  Nothing.

  She rolled backwards, hit the tailgate, and stopped. Thirio slammed the accelerator to the floor. The work truck squealed away from the intersection. Immediately, he started to swerve back and forth, tossing Sarah from side to side. She hit the wheel well, bounced away, hit the other side and bounced off again.

  In a final lunge, she dove for the large rock, clasped it and yanked it with her as she careened off the side again. In Thirio’s wild antics to make her feel like she was in a washing machine, he almost lost control of the truck. It bounded up onto a curb, sideswiped a parked car in a driveway, veered to the left and hit the rear of a large SUV.

  Sarah jerked around, raised the rock and cast it forward, aiming for the spot the tines had struck.

  The glass shattered inward, showering Thirio’s shoulders. He grunted something, tried to put the truck in reverse, and smashed the gas pedal down, but the pickup remained where it was.

  Sarah retrieved the pitchfork, stood up in the bed, and was thrown into the back of the cab as Thirio succeeded in ungluing the truck from the SUV. The wind knocked from her lungs, Sarah gasped for air like a landed fish as she slipped to the floor of the truck bed.

  Survival taught her many things over the years. One was to never let go of the weapon that may save her life, even if she was taking debilitating blows. And another was never stop fighting until your heart stopped. Ignore the pain, ignore the injuries. Those were things she could deal with later as long as she made sure there was a later.

  Her breath came through in fits and starts, squeaking in and out. Sarah brought the pitchfork around and shoved it through the broken window.

  One of the tines pierced his right shoulder, shoving him forward onto the steering wheel. Thirio shouted louder than the wind in her ears as the truck shot left, tilted sideways and almost tipped over before it hit a parked moving van head on and stopped dead.

  The lights went out for Sarah when her head smacked the roof of the cab.

  The night got suddenly darker.

  Chapter 50

  Parkman got off the ground and gave his body a once over to make sure he wasn’t injured in the blast. The building, over fifty yards from the huge blue spruce tree Parkman and Lee took shelter behind, had been mostly destroyed. There was an initial blast in the basement, the lower windows in the house registering a short burst of light. Then a larger blast shot out part of the side wall and the house collapsed in on itself. Chunks of wood and crumbled pieces of brick flew dozens of feet in the air with several pieces of the building landing within yards of their hiding place.

  “You good?” Parkman asked.

  “Yeah,” Lee said as he patted himself down. “Remind me to thank Sarah. We would have never been this far from the house without her telling us to do so.”

  “She’s got a way about her, that girl.”

  Lee started toward the main house where the ambulance’s flashing lights lit up the circular fountain. Parkman hurried to catch up.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “We go find Sarah and locate the perp she’s after.”

  That was what he wanted to hear. Parkman quietly followed Lee to the front of the house where his phone vibrated in his pocket. Thinking it would be Sarah, he answered it before it vibrated a second time.

  “Hello?”

  “Parkman, it’s Aaron.”

  “Oh man, am I glad to hear your voice.” Parkman moved away from the front of the house, headed toward Lee’s cruiser. Lee had run up the porch steps and disappeared inside the house. “How are things back in Toronto?”

  “When are you guys finished there?” Aaron asked, ignoring Parkman’s question.

  “I can’t imagine we’ll be too much longer. After tonight, I think everything will be wrapped—”

  “Parkman, listen to me.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “We’ve got a problem,” Aaron whispered.

  Parkman wasn’t sure he heard him right. “A what? A problem?”

  “Can you put Sarah on?”

  “She’s not here.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “Well.” He rubbed the back of his hea
d. “That’s a little tricky. She’s kinda tied up at the moment.”

  “I have to go,” Aaron whispered again. “I’ll call back later today. Try to have Sarah with you.”

  The call disconnected.

  Parkman held the phone out and looked at it as if it offended him.

  “What was that all about?” he said to himself.

  Toronto was three hours ahead of Kelowna. The sun would be rising where Aaron was. What could be wrong? Parkman wasn’t sure Sarah would be interested in racing back to Toronto to deal with more issues. The girl needed a break.

  Lee strode out the front door of the Campbell house, jumped off the porch, and jogged across the lawn toward Parkman.

  “What’s the hurry?” Parkman asked.

  “Reports of a pickup truck driving erratically through the city. It smashed into another vehicle down on Gordon Drive.” Lee made it to the car and dropped into the front seat. Parkman hopped in the back and slammed the door.

  “You think it’s our guy?”

  “Yeah,” Lee said. He started the car and made a U-turn. “Work truck matches the description given to us from the neighbor of that Durowitz fellow who was killed in Vernon.” Lee flicked on the siren and lights. Parkman held the door handle as his friend drove erratically.

  They had seen someone run from the house before they took cover behind the tree. They had thought it was Sarah. It made sense that she would keep fighting, keep moving forward until the perp was apprehended or dead.

  “It’s gotta be him,” Lee said. “Maybe he was fighting with Sarah and he crashed.”

  “You’re probably right.” Parkman slapped his knee and wished Lee would drive faster. He couldn’t help but feel the need to be there for Sarah. “You’re probably right.”

  Chapter 51

  She blinked awake, gasped, and got up too quick. Her head spun for a moment. Thirio was still pinned behind the wheel. The front of his truck hissed and steam rose skyward where it met the side of the moving truck.

  She had to have been unconscious for less than a minute.

  “Gonna have to have my head examined when this is over,” she muttered to herself.

  Adrenaline retreating, she rolled over the side of the pickup and landed on the ground with a grunt. Everything seemed sore. Her shoulders, her legs, her abdomen. In her back, where the bullet had hit told her that pain killers were in her future—her near future.

  She tried to open Thirio’s door but it wouldn’t budge. The frame had bent enough in the accident that it was stuck. She walked around the back of the truck, grabbed the passenger door handle, and yanked on it. The door opened on the first try.

  Exhaustion overwhelmed her. She needed a sixteen-hour sleep when this was over. That and a bottle of whiskey.

  She crawled inside the cab, clutched the pitchfork and yanked it out of Thirio’s shoulder. He jerked his head up and screeched like a fifteen-year-old girl. Sarah balled up her fist and drove it into the side of his head.

  “Just shut up,” she yelled. “Fucking baby. It’s only a pitchfork.”

  She grabbed his shirt and starting hauling him out of the cab. At the door, she climbed out and pulled him the rest of the way. Thirio slipped off the seat and hit the cement with a thud and a grunt. Before he could move, Sarah lunged back inside the cab, seized handle of the garden tool, and pulled it loose from the truck.

  Thirio rolled onto his back, holding his wounded shoulder where blood already covered his hand. Sarah stood over his head, the pitchfork in hand, then brought it down before Thirio could move out of the way.

  Two of the tines penetrated his shoulder wound in almost the exact same holes and made a loud metallic sound when the tines struck concrete.

  Thirio screamed. Sarah dropped to her knees and held a hand over his mouth.

  “You don’t get the pleasure of screaming,” she rasped in his face. “All the people you killed or tried to kill. The innocent lives you stole because you lost your mind. Couldn’t you lose your mind and wander off in the forest somewhere? Why do people lose their minds and have to murder others?”

  She released his mouth. Thirio sucked air like he was trying to eat it.

  Sirens approached. Her job was done. It was over. Kelowna’s homegrown terrorist had been neutralized. She placed a foot on his chest and held the pitchfork handle as if she held a sword and had beaten her enemy in battle.

  When the headlights of the first unmarked cruiser arrived and covered them with high-beams, Sarah turned to look down at her captive.

  Thirio had blacked out. She watched his chest rise, then fall, and wondered why she hadn’t killed him when she had the chance. Was she getting soft? Did she care too much? This guy wouldn’t rehabilitate and if he was ever released one day, who could be sure he wouldn’t reoffend? The recidivism rate was too high to have not considered ending his life.

  Wiping the slate clean wasn’t always the right answer, though. Accountability was. Making Thirio accountable in the eyes of the law, allowing the families and the people he hurt to watch his court process and see him sentenced for his crimes may offer closure for them. Maybe for some, solace.

  Death wasn’t always the answer even though it was her preferred ideology.

  She would watch Thirio’s progress. She would monitor what happened to him going forward. And if he ever became a free man one day, she would come for him. As long as he was locked up—pinned down—she would know the public was safe.

  Some people should die. She knew that. But others should live so they could suffer like the rest of humanity. Isn’t that what life was, an endurance of suffering? Some weakened under the pressure, others thrived. When the suffering ended, you died. When there was nothing left to learn on this plane, you went home. That was how it worked. The world according to Vivian.

  Car doors opened and closed. Police officers ran toward them. The musical tone of a friend’s voice warmed her.

  “Sarah?” Parkman said. He wrapped his arms around her and she fell into him, thoroughly spent. “It’s so good to see you.”

  He led her away from Thirio, an arm around her shoulders, as officers attended to the unconscious man with the pitchfork in his shoulder.

  “What happened?” Parkman asked.

  “It’s a long story,” she said. “But first, I need a shot of something strong. Do that, and I’ll fill in all the blanks.”

  “You’re on.” He squeezed her shoulder.

  She pulled away from the squeeze, pain flaring in that shoulder, and let a small whimper ease from her mouth.

  “Oh, sorry,” Parkman said, releasing her.

  “It’s okay. You couldn’t have known how sore that shoulder is.”

  They walked to Lee’s cruiser in silence.

  Neither one touched the other.

  Chapter 52

  Lee’s office hadn’t changed since she visited last, except a lamp in the corner lay shattered on the floor. Sarah lounged on the small couch against the wall with a coffee in her hands and watched Lee manage call after call while Parkman ate a turkey sandwich. The three of them had discussed the case after Sarah gave her statement to Lee’s handpicked RCMP officers.

  Now was the time for goodbyes. Their job done, Sarah and Parkman were to board a direct flight out of Kelowna headed for Toronto in a few hours. Lee had requested they come to his office to meet several people before leaving the city, a city Sarah had little desire to return to.

  Officers Tom Mason and Jeff Calder were both confirmed dead in the landmine explosion in the basement of the Campbell Family Winery guesthouse. The father of the family, James Campbell, had had a minor heart attack and was resting in hospital. He was due to make a full recovery.

  Leonard Martin—AKA Thirio—had been arraigned on multiple charges of first degree murder—premeditated—including the murders of two peace officers, Mason and Calder. He was still under police guard at the hospital where pitchfork wounds to his shoulder were being tended.

  The glassy-winged sharpshoo
ters had become a non-threat. All the bugs Thirio had brought to the Campbell Winery had died within the first week with virtually no damage to the vines.

  Lee set the phone down and turned to Sarah. “Julie informs me we have an unexpected visitor.”

  “Who?” she asked.

  “That Realtor you met, Trever Florko.”

  “Do you know what he wants?”

  The office door opened.

  “Ask him yourself,” Lee said as he stood from behind his desk.