His heart pounding, Rayden scrambled to the door to lean a shoulder against it.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Get out. It’s my turn to use the room.”
“I’ve rented the room for fourteen hours.” Rayden switched on the light and checked the time on the clock that stood on the nightstand. It was two o’clock. “I have the room rented for another four hours.”
“They just rented me this room,” said a voice from the other side.
“Did you get a key?” Rayden asked.
“Yeah, but it doesn't work. I’m going back to get another one.”
He heard a girl giggle and then silence. Just someone drunk and confused? But what if it wasn't? What if Die Auserwählten had found him?
He sat on the edge of the bed, pulled on his shoes and tied them quickly. He rolled up his sleeping bag, whistled softly for Prometheus, and hoisted the backpack on his shoulders. He cautiously opened the door and looked down the hallway. A blond man and a dark-haired woman were locked in an embrace in front of a door on the other end.
Rayden studied them. The man had the same build and the same color hair as the man who had beaten Josh. Could it be the same guy? Rayden had to fight the impulse to confront him. If he was part of Die Auserwählten, there were probably more around. He needed to stay clear, keep alert, so he could find Gisa. That was all that mattered.
The man did not appear to notice Rayden. If he were part of Die Auserwählten, wouldn't he be watching more closely? Perhaps, though, the girl had him too distracted. Hopefully, luck was on his side. Clinging to the stained walls, he ducked around a corner and quietly walked to the back of the motel, Prometheus padding beside him. They slipped out, into the coolness of the night. They jogged to the chain-link fence, and jumped over into a length of grass. He sped to a jog to cross a large parking lot, and Prometheus easily kept pace beside him.
As he approached the main road, he slowed down. Very few cars were out this early in the morning. They crossed over, and they slipped down a slope.
At the bottom, shadowy figures dotted the ground. He cast a glance around, feeling uneasy, as a form took shape and moved toward him. He forced his muscles to relax, shaking out his hands, waiting as the man approached.
Prometheus growled, and the man stopped.
"Rayden Brooks? I need you to come with me for questioning."
Rayden stepped closer to the man. The moon was shrouded in clouds, not giving enough light to see. This area of town had mostly broken street lights. Only a few shown dimly and none close to where they stood. Even so, he could see that the guy was blond, tall, and muscular—perhaps the same guy from the hallway, perhaps the one who had beaten Josh.
"I believe you are mistaking me for someone else," Rayden said, using his professional doctor's voice.
Teeth flashed white from the man in the dimness. Rayden motioned Prometheus down as the man came closer.
"No, I don't believe so, Dr. Brooks."
"Who are you? Police?" Rayden asked.
The man laughed and shook his head. "No." He tilted his head at Rayden. "I don't mind telling you who I am. I'm David Jackson, Gisa's husband."
Rayden inhaled sharply, and he knew. David was part of Die Auserwählten, the one who had beaten Josh, the man who had set Gisa up.
"So, are you coming with me?" David asked.
Rayden grinned at him. "Sorry. No time today."
David ground his fist into the palm of his hand. "Backpfeifengesicht."
"Excuse me?"
"You have a face badly in need of a fist. You are fortunate that my services are available."
* * *
Gisa
Perhaps she was still in the United States, it felt like it, but she couldn't be sure until she had more evidence. If it were the United States, it had to be a southern state, based on the terrain and the warmth of the sun. The dirt road ran in both directions by the drive. If she was indeed in the United States, she needed to travel north. She oriented herself and then headed out.
The road twisted and turned through the woods, but she was not brave enough to walk on it. She did keep it in sight as she scrambled from tree to tree. She saw no one. Saw no indication of anyone.
She walked for thirty minutes without any indication of civilization. As the adrenalin drained away, she felt the pain in her back, the throbbing of her forehead, and the stinging of her hands. The ground was littered with acorns, small sticks, and a few leaves that left small cuts in her feet to add to her misery.
She sat down, leaned against a tree, pulled out a bottle of water, and drank thirstily. By the position of the sun, she judged it to be late in the afternoon.
She had to keep going, could not afford to stay in one place for long. She pushed herself up wearily. The road wound endlessly before her. There were no cars and no houses in sight. It would be easier to walk on the road instead of across the bumpy ground. Should she chance it? She edged closer and looked as far as she could see.
She put one foot on the road and stood poised like a deer in the headlights for a moment before she began walking north, almost at a jog, although her knees ached with each step. She ignored the pounding of her head and the other pains that shot through her body.
The sun was setting when the dirt road turned to blacktop, and the trees thinned out. Gisa hesitated. It would soon be dark. She needed to find a place to spend the night. Or should she continue walking through the dark for as long as her strength held out? Exhaustion swept over her. She needed to rest, find a place to spend the night.
She moved off the blacktop. The trees were sparse along the road but grew thicker as she moved farther away from it. She tried to keep moving north, but fallen trees and briars forced her to change directions several times. She had no idea where she was. As the last of the sun’s rays faded she found a depression in the grass that was bordered on one side by a large rock and on two sides by bushes.
Why hadn't she thought to pull a cover, even a sheet, from the bed? The extra weight would have slowed her down. As it was, she had already considered throwing away the case with the bow and arrows. If it were not for her constant fear of being attacked and having no means to defend herself, she would have. She pulled out the extra clothes and lined the depression with them. Then she lay down, counting the stars and wondering if she would ever see Rayden again.
The sun shone brightly when Gisa awoke the next morning, every muscle aching. She slowly rose to her feet, spending a moment with her hands on her knees, and then stretched. The baby kicked, and Gisa smiled before she caught herself. This was not an ordinary baby, not a child who could give her comfort. This was a monster. If it were Hitler, as every fiber in her being told her, she was dealing with evil. She shuddered and tried to block the thought from her mind.
After grabbing a protein bar and water, she found her way back to the road, staying hidden behind the trees. Emerald light filtered through the pine needles. The leaves of the hardwoods were browning but still held on to their greenness and clung to the trees. She passed a dirt road on the other side of the blacktop. Feeling exposed, she scrambled across. She scanned as she walked down the dirt road. She came to a mailbox and a dirt drive leading to a wood frame house.
Gisa read the mailbox. Holland, 45762 Willow Lane, Vernon, Florida. She breathed a sigh of relief. At least they had not taken her out of the country. But the relief was followed by dismay. She was in Florida, so far from Kentucky. How would she ever get from here to there? At least she could be thankful she was so close to the Alabama border. She had heard of Vernon, Florida, had seen the documentary. Of course, technically she was not in Vernon but outside of it, still in the country. She glanced around, wondering who lived here.
A barn in need of painting stood behind the house, a blue tractor parked beneath it. Gisa had to fill her water bottles, if nothing else. And shoes would be nice. Perhaps whoever lived here might help her. Heart pounding, she walked up to the door and knocked. She waited a long two minutes, clutching and
unclutching her bags and shifting the backpack. She knocked again. She heard a thin, reedy voice but couldn’t make out the words. The door opened, and a frail old woman pushing a walker looked up at her. She took one look at Gisa's cuts and bruises and her swollen belly before she stepped back to let her in.
RAYDEN LET THE backpack slide from his shoulders to the ground as he bounced on the balls of his feet. David outweighed him by a good fifty pounds and was a couple of inches taller, but Rayden was ready. David swung, and Rayden ducked and danced back. Prometheus growled but did not attack.
David ignored the dog and narrowed his eyes. "I don't take kindly to guys sleeping with my wife."
Rayden laughed. "Dead guys usually don't mind."
David charged, and Rayden sidestepped enough that he didn't receive the full impact. Still, the glancing blow was enough to make him stagger back. David saw his advantage and swung, catching Rayden under the chin. Rayden's eyes watered, but he retaliated with a sharp jab to David's ribs.
Prometheus's hackles rose, and one side of his lip pulled back to reveal his fangs. David swung again, and Rayden dodged the blow. As much as he wanted to fight this guy, he didn't have time. Other members of Die Auserwählten could be on their way or perhaps lurked in the shadows even now.
Rayden nodded at Prometheus. "Sic 'em, boy."
Prometheus leapt in the air, catching David's arm. At the same time, as David turned toward the dog, Rayden slammed his fists into his back with all the force he could muster. David stumbled but didn't fall. He shook his arm, trying to loosen Prometheus's grip. The dog clung tighter, shaking the arm as if it were prey. When David groped beneath his coat with his free hand, pulling out a gun and pointing it at Prometheus, Rayden grabbed the arm and twisted it without thinking. The gun fell to the ground, and Rayden grabbed it, pointing it at David.
* * *
Gisa
Mrs. Holland puttered around the kitchen, pushing the walker along, and made tea for the two of them. Gisa sighed. Mrs. Holland's tiny feet meant tiny shoes.
“So you’ve run away, eh? And on foot?”
For a heart-stopping moment Gisa thought the old lady was part of the organization. “Pardon?” she said.
“You've run away from your husband. Or was it a boyfriend?”
Gisa touched her forehead where the woman stared. Did Mrs. Holland think she was a victim of abuse? She smiled in her relief. “Last night was the first time. Please don’t tell anyone about me. I’m afraid he’ll find me.”
“Well, we have to get you some help. I’ll call a shelter... or my preacher. He’ll be able to point you in the right direction.”
Gisa shook her head vehemently. “Please don’t.”
“How can I help you then? I’m just a widow woman, but I’ll do what I can.”
Well, it wouldn't hurt to ask. "Mrs. Holland, I really need a pair of shoes. Do you know where I can find a pair?"
The old lady pressed the side of her hand to her face, tapping her temple with her finger. "I'm sure I kept some shoes belonging to my dear Aaron. Would you mind wearing men's shoes, sweetie?"
"No, ma'am. That would be fine." Now wasn't the time to be squeamish about wearing a dead man's shoes.
She followed Mrs. Holland into the bedroom that had rose-covered wallpaper with matching curtains. The bedspread was chintz, with dolls propped on the pillows.
"I packed away all of Aaron's clothes and shoes in here." She indicated a cedar chest that sat at the foot of the bed.
Mrs. Holland's eyes closed briefly, her forehead furrowing before it smoothed. She gestured at the chest again. "You look, honey. I have a hard time getting down."
Gisa knelt and opened the lid, allowing the spicy, woodsy smell of cedar to drift out. The clothes were folded and stacked neatly. As Gisa pulled items from the chest, Mrs. Holland had a story to tell about each.
"He was wearing that shirt the day he died. I miss him so. We never were blessed with children." Here she sighed deeply. "But I do have my church family."
Gisa nodded absently as the woman continued talking. She had to lift out several more pairs of pants, some dress slacks, work pants, and flannel shirts before she uncovered the shoes. There were four pair—Sunday shoes, work boots, house shoes, and a pair of tennis shoes, holey, but the soles were still in good shape. A few more rummages, and she managed to find a couple of pairs of socks.
They fit fairly well. Mr. Holland must have been small like his wife.
Mrs. Holland clapped her hands like a school girl. "Oh, I am so glad that they fit. What else do you need, dear?"
"Nothing, Mrs. Holland. Thank you so much for the shoes." Gisa carefully replaced the clothes, making sure they stayed folded the way they had been.
"Are you sure? You can have anything you need."
Gisa hesitated and then looked through them again. She found a windbreaker and pulled it out and held it against her. "Do you mind if I take this?"
"No, child. You help yourself, like I said."
Gisa smiled up at her. "I appreciate this so much."
"Tweren't nothing. Those things aren't doing a body any good in that cedar chest. I need to take them to Goodwill one day."
Gisa climbed to her feet. She still felt uneasy—afraid the men might show up any minute at the door. She did not want to put the old woman in danger. "I need to get going now. Thank you again."
"No, no. Stay. I'll cook us some dinner." Her shrunken eyes brightened at the prospect.
Her stomach growled. The temptation of a home-cooked meal was difficult to resist. "I don't want to put you to any trouble..."
"I love to cook. Hadn't had anybody to cook for in a coon's age. Why don't you go lie down and rest?" She placed a hand on Gisa's arm. "It'd do you a world of good."
"Won't you need help?" Her gaze lingered on the walker and then landed on Mrs. Holland's face.
"Pshaw. I've been getting around in the kitchen for over sixty years. I reckon I still can."
Gisa eyed her uncertainly and tried to fight the temptation of a long nap. But her aching body won out. What could it hurt? She had not seen any sign of danger so far. It seemed as if Die Auserwählten had given up looking for her in this vicinity. And Mrs. Holland had a determined look in her eyes.
Gisa stretched and yawned. "If you're sure you don't mind?"
"Go, dear." She made shooing motions. "Just use this bedroom. The bathroom is right next door."
Gisa smiled her thanks and went into the bathroom to wash up. She brought her bags and placed them by the bed, within reach, just in case, before she lay down. She marveled that there still existed people in the world who were so nice. Of course, Mrs. Holland thought she had an abusive boyfriend who had struck her when she was pregnant. The plight of a pregnant woman brought out protective instincts in others. Luckily for her.
* * *
Rayden
Rayden sprinted to an intersection with Prometheus on his heels. The gun, stuck in the back of his jeans, was cold against the small of his back.
He had made David turn his coat backwards and had tied the arms as tightly as he could. He didn't know how much time that would give him before David worked his way out.
Rayden spied a taxicab parked by the curb. He approached the driver. "Do you allow dogs?"
The man studied Prometheus for a second. "Well, I'm not sure..."
Rayden pulled two one-hundred-dollar bills out and waved them in his face.
The driver smiled. "No problem."
"Just drive as far as this will take me and my dog."
"Sure, buddy. Any particular direction?"
"North. Drive north."
WHEN THE TAXI had come to a stop, they had traveled out of the city, about twenty miles north of town into the country.
After the cab had dropped them off, Rayden and Prometheus had put in another three or four miles, at least. The morning had started out cool but quickly warmed up as the sun rose. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and Rayden stuffed his jacket into the
backpack. He had to put as much distance between himself and David as possible and so kept up a fast pace.
They came to a railroad track with open fields on each side. The fields were bordered by stands of trees, the leaves in the process of turning golden, red, and brown. Rayden and Prometheus walked at a fast clip and saw no one. The only signs of life were twittering birds and chattering squirrels among the brightly colored leaves.
Around noon, Rayden sat down near the tracks and ate a lunch consisting of peanut butter and crackers. He had a feeling he would be sick of peanut butter before too long. He chided himself. At least he had food to eat and water to drink.
He took out the canteen Josh had given him and took a long pull and wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. He was as bad as the children of Israel who complained about the manna. God would supply his needs—it may not be what he wanted but God was protecting him—even when he felt abandoned. Your rod and staff comfort me. At least he had made it this far and should be thankful instead of railing against God.
Rayden drank the last of his water late in the afternoon. He had left the railroad track and had found a back road that seemed to travel north. By sticking to the back roads, maybe he'd keep a step ahead of Die Auserwählten. Was he getting closer to a town? Farmhouses were becoming more numerous.
Perhaps he could get his canteen filled. He'd stop at the next one, he promised himself.
The house sat back in a field. It had red shutters, and a porch ran across the entire front. Rocking chairs and a swing with colorful cushions sat on the porch. A car was parked in the driveway, letting him know someone should be home.
He walked up the steps to the porch and knocked on the screen door. He waited patiently until the door was opened a crack by a young woman with her hair pulled into an untidy bun on top of her head.
She eyed him suspiciously through the crack. "Hope you're not selling anything."
“No, ma'am. I’m sorry to disturb you. I've been walking quite a ways and was wondering if you could refill my canteen?” He held it up.
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