Survive the Night

by Katie Ruggle

  It never came.

  Releasing the branch, she ran toward the edge, praying that he hadn’t slipped from his harness. He’s gone. The horrible thought sent a spear of pain through her, and her lungs seized with despair. He had to have fallen. Nothing else made sense. As she reached the brink, Justice popped his head up over the edge, eyeing her curiously, as if wondering why they’d stopped. Kit glanced over what she’d been sure was a drop that would’ve hurdled them to their deaths and saw a ledge only a few feet down.

  Her knees went watery with relief, and she allowed herself a second of thankfulness before pulling herself together. Resisting the urge to hug Justice, she gave him some slack and jumped off the tiny cliff. The man already had a lead on them, and she couldn’t delay them any more than she already had. She mentally cursed herself for the time-wasting error, but told herself that there was no way she could’ve known about the ledge, not unless she’d been familiar with this particular spot. “Sorry, Justice. Find!”

  He eagerly leapt forward again, and she followed, trying to ignore the shaky weakness in her legs. She couldn’t see movement ahead of them anymore, but she knew that Justice wouldn’t lose the trail, so she concentrated on not getting smacked in the face by a tree branch or slipping on any hidden ice.

  Twisted trees grew in unlikely directions, forming around the scattered boulders. There was less snow, but the path was just as treacherous, since the rocky trail was as slick as the icy ground had been. Her footsteps echoed eerily off the rock faces, making it sound as if they were being pursued my multiple people. She switched between watching her footing and craning her neck to spot anyone approaching.

  Justice led her through a narrow space between two huge rocks and into an unexpected clearing. Peripherally, Kit noticed a couple of trailer homes at the far side of the open area, but most of her attention was on the five people spread out in a rough half-circle.

  They were pointing shotguns at her.

  She skidded to a stop, hauling back on the lead, and towed Justice toward her. Her hand moved toward the small of her back, where her gun sat in its holster beneath her coat, but one of the people surrounding her racked his gun. Kit held her hands up at shoulder level instead, her right fingers still fisted around the leash. The radio in her pocket seemed impossibly far away. Even if she could reach it before being shot, it would be a long time before any backup could arrive.

  “Justice, heel.” Somehow, her voice came out evenly, although her breath was ragged from exertion and fear. The hound sat at her side, close enough so that he was leaning against her leg. “I’m a police officer.”

  In answer, another person racked her gun, and Kit fought the urge to take a step back. Her brain flipped through options, but none of them were good. She’d run far enough out of the trees that she couldn’t sprint back to cover quickly enough. They’d have plenty of time to shoot her in the back. They were a good fifteen feet away, so she couldn’t try to disarm one of them. If the person she ran toward didn’t shoot her, the other four would.

  Her eyes scanned over the encircling crowd. They ranged in age from early twenties—the guy she’d been chasing—to a woman in her late sixties. There were three men and two women, and all of them appeared to be fully willing to shoot her, judging by their determinedly unfriendly expressions. Hugh’s warning about suspicious local gun owners popped into her head.

  “I’m not here to harass anyone,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm, even as she spoke loud enough for all of them to hear her.

  “Yeah, right. Why you chasing Bart, then?” one of the men demanded, his tone hostile enough to make Kit’s heart rate kick up another notch. His light eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he spit tobacco juice to the side without taking the gun or his gaze off of her. “With a dog, too.”

  “We were following a trail of blood through the woods. I was concerned that someone was hurt.” Or that someone had been hurting others. Another quick glance around the half-circle showed that no one was obviously bleeding. The guy who’d run from her still had dark streaks of blood on his coveralls and hands, but he didn’t appear to be injured.

  The man—the group’s spokesperson, apparently—barked a laugh that didn’t sound amused. Kit noticed his few remaining teeth were an unhealthy shade of brown. “Rabbit blood. Gonna arrest him for bunny murder?”

  “No one’s getting arrested.” The thought that there were traps set in the woods she and Justice had just plowed through made her stomach lurch. Even though the more vicious varieties, like the leg-hold trap, were illegal, she had a feeling that the people currently aiming guns at a cop probably weren’t the most law-abiding folk. “That’s good to know. I’ll just take my dog back to my truck now and let dispatch know it was a false alarm.” How she wished she’d called this into dispatch before she started following the blood trail. The guns didn’t waiver at her bluff. “I’m glad no one’s hurt.”

  The guy she’d chased—Bart—snorted a humorless laugh. “Not yet.”

  Her stomach cramped as panic tried to hammer its way into her brain. Kit firmly blocked it out. If she lost the ability to think, then she was going to do something instinctual and stupid—like pull her gun—that would get her and Justice killed. The dog whined, obviously sensing her distress, and leaned more heavily against her. Kit braced against his weight, barely keeping herself from stumbling to the side while her brain raced in circles, trying to figure out a plan. She had nothing except continuing to talk.

  “Let’s keep it that way,” she said, proud that none of her raging anxiety could be heard in her voice. “Right now, we just have a misunderstanding. I thought someone was hurt and needed help, but you let me know that everyone here is fine. As it sits, there’s no problem. I’ll go back to my truck, tell dispatch all is well, and you’ll return to your lives. If something happens to me, on the other hand, that will be bad. I’m a cop. That means that, if I’m hurt, you’ll have every law enforcement officer in the area descending on you, making your lives miserable.”

  Except no one knows where I am.

  She paused, looking around the group. None of their expressions showed any sign that she was getting through to them. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, quickly turning cold. “All you have to do is lower your guns, and I’ll walk away. It’s an easy solution for all of us.”

  The first man who’d spoken laughed again. It sounded slightly more authentic this time. “Don’t matter. We shoot you or don’t shoot you. Either way, the cops’ll be on us. Typical. The government’ll take any excuse to stick their nose in.”

  “You have my word that no one will bother you if you let me go unharmed.” Kit’s voice shook slightly, and she dug her fingernails into her palm. The quick bite of pain steadied her. “You won’t even be in my report. I won’t mention you to anyone.”

  There was a pause that went on long enough to give Kit a spark of hope before he spoke again. “Liar.”

  He tilted his head, aiming the gun, and Kit started to panic. Her hand twitched, ready to go for her pistol, but there was no way she could draw and shoot five people before at least one of them managed to kill her. Justice whined, reminding her that she wasn’t going to be the only one dying today. The idea of her dog getting hurt firmed her resolve, and she tensed, ready to grab her gun.

  “What the hell are you all doing, Rufus?”

  The unexpected voice behind her made her jerk, and she whipped her head around to look over her shoulder. A large, bearded man strode out of the trees toward her, and Kit recognized him as the dorky Sasquatch who’d helped her park her trailer that morning. She blinked, wondering for a half second if she was imagining him. When he placed himself between her and her firing squad, however, she knew he was real. She could smell him—woodsmoke and pine needles—and she was pretty certain that even the most welcome of hallucinations didn’t smell.

  The sight of his broad back snapped her out
of her shock, and she stepped to the side. There was no way she was using a Good Samaritan as a human shield. Justice followed her, tucking his gangly body behind her and leaning against the back of her legs. Her dog didn’t have any qualms about using her for protection, obviously.

  “What’s going on?” her rescuer asked, and the five people who’d been all too ready to shoot her exchanged looks before lowering their guns.

  “Just a misunderstanding,” Kit said quickly. Her legs had gone soft with relief as the weapons pointed toward the ground, and she stiffened them. She was so close to getting out of this situation. Now was not the time to collapse on the snowy ground, as much as her wavering limbs wanted to. “I saw some blood in the snow and thought someone was hurt, but it was just a rabbit. No one’s injured, and we were all going to go our separate ways in peace.”

  Her nerdy Bigfoot gave her a quick look, arching one eyebrow in a way that showed he knew exactly what had been about to happen and what she was now trying to do. “Well, that sounds like a good solution. That’s your truck on my road?”

  She nodded, watching him but keeping the other five in her peripheral. Her fingers itched with the need to draw her weapon, but she knew that would just cause the tension to escalate again. Even with her newly arrived ally, it’d only take a second for one of the jumpy, suspicious mountain people to raise their shotgun and blow off someone’s head. No one was safe, not yet.

  “Were you coming to see me?”

  “You’re the fire lookout?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then yes.”

  He smiled at her, and she tried to return it, but her lips were shaking from residual adrenaline. “I’ll see you at the tower, then. I’m just going to talk to Rufus first.”

  “You’ll be okay?” she asked. He didn’t seem to be worried about being alone with them, but she hated to leave the guy who’d just helped her alone with that trigger-happy bunch.

  He looked pleased. “Yes. I’ll be fine.”

  When she didn’t see any hesitation or concern on his part, she dipped her chin and started toward the trees. As she left, she kept her head turned and her gaze on the people watching her go, wanting to get out of the clearing before the backwoods five changed their minds. Her sweating fingers felt clammy inside her gloves as she tightened her fist around Justice’s lead. She wanted to run, but she kept her steps even and at a careful walk. The dog kept close to her side, his tail tucked and his head low, still reading her fear. Her attention stayed focused on the group in the clearing, and she tried to hide the relief that flooded her as she reached the tree line.

  Once there were several trees between Kit and the shotguns, she sucked in a rough breath and started to jog, following their previous tracks. Her bearded ally’s voice filtered in after her.

  “You can’t go pointing shotguns at people willy-nilly, Rufus…”

  His words quickly faded as they moved farther away from the clearing. Justice soon perked up and took the lead, happy as could be with their second run. Kit carefully kept them in the tracks they’d made as they’d chased Bart, figuring that was the safest way to avoid getting caught in any of his traps. Ignoring the way her legs wanted to fold underneath her, Kit pushed herself faster, not slowing until they reached the truck.

  Once she and Justice were both safely in the locked cab, she allowed herself to press her forehead against the steering wheel and take a deep breath. When it came out sounding more like a sob than an exhale, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to steady her breathing. It didn’t work. Her body shook as the scene in the clearing replayed itself in her mind. In her eight years of policing, she’d never been so close to death. The worst part of it had been that, except for Justice, she’d been completely alone. Even when things had been at their worst in her previous job, the other officers would’ve backed her up in a crisis. Here in Monroe, it felt like she was on her own, and that was almost scarier than having shotguns aimed at her head.

  A wet tongue licked her cheek, jolting her out of her terrifying thoughts. Turning her head, she looked at Justice and caught another slobbery dog kiss across her nose. With a shaky laugh that was too close to a sob, she hugged her dog, burying her face into his silky shoulder.

  He didn’t give her long to wallow before he tried to climb onto her lap, his huge feet pressing painfully into her thigh.

  “Oof, Justice,” she grunted with another watery laugh as she pushed him back to his own seat. “You’re too heavy to be a lap dog.”

  Unoffended, he leaned over to give her face one last lick before giving himself a full-body shake. Following his example, Kit gave herself a mental one. She might not have a team watching her back, but she was still a cop, and she had a job to do. Having a breakdown was a waste of time. There was a witness waiting to talk to her.

  Straightening in her seat, she shifted the truck into Drive.

  Enough dwelling. She had to interview an intriguing lumberjack look-alike who was apparently good at both math and mountain-folk whispering.

  Chapter 8

  Kit’s hands were still shaking a few minutes later as she bumped over a rough stretch and the lookout tower came into view. It was actually quite pretty, with its stone base and windowed top, with an observation deck circling the south side. The tower looked strangely out of place, like a lighthouse had been plucked from some ocean shore and deposited in the middle of the mountains. A small cabin sat next to it, making the tower look even taller in comparison.

  As she pulled up next to the tower, Kit looked around the clearing. Despite the isolation, it was a beautiful spot that would’ve felt peaceful if she hadn’t just been terrorized by some mountain people. She would’ve loved to see the area in the summer, with blooming wildflowers and all kinds of animals roaming the area.

  Getting out of the truck, she walked toward the heavy door set in the base of the tower. She stayed alert, still jumpy from her encounter with the armed mountain folk. The thick wall of trees surrounding the site should have seemed so serene, but they held an air of menace. The silence was heavy—too heavy. By the time she reached the door, she was full-on jumpy, although she refused to turn back.

  Instead, she knocked firmly on the thick door and waited, doubting that the lookout had made it back before her. Only two seconds went by, however, before there was a soft beep, and the door swung in.

  “Are you kidding me?” she muttered, peering into the dark entry. It didn’t look like anyone was there. She grimaced. Her nerves were already shot to hell, and the spooky, self-opening door wasn’t helping. As bright as it was outside, with the sun reflecting off the snow, the thick stone walls blocked the light inside the tower, leaving it murky and dim. Chiding herself for acting like a nervous Nellie, she stepped into the tower.

  Just after she cleared the entrance, the door closed behind her with a firm click. That sound, as soft as it was, made her jump. As much as she didn’t want to be walking into this creepy tower by herself, she was glad for a moment that no one was with her. If one of her new partners had seen her startled hop, they would’ve teased her forever. Even though she’d just met them, she knew this with absolute certainty to be true.

  “It’s just an automatic door, dummy,” she said quietly under her breath as she stood still, allowing her eyes to become accustomed to the dimness. Motion-sensing light fixtures had flickered to life as she’d entered, so it wasn’t as dark as it had first appeared. Thanks to the eerie, self-opening door, she’d expected the interior of the tower to be creepy and strewn with cobwebs, but it was actually clean and even rather charming, with the curved stone wall and a spiral staircase in the center.

  Cautiously, she started up the stairs, gripping the railing. Her footsteps sounded too loud on the metal, but she reminded herself that she wasn’t trying to sneak up on the fire lookout. He was simply a complainant who’d first noticed the fire, so she was going to do a standard witne
ss interview—the same type of thing she’d done hundreds, if not thousands, of times. Her frightening encounter, as well as the strangeness of her surroundings—not just the tower, but the whole isolated, bombed-out, deserted town—was making her twitchy, seeing danger where none existed.

  Just as she talked herself into relaxing slightly, a clicking sound made her freeze, her gaze locked on the top of the stairs. She waited as the sound got louder, a regular tap-tap-tap that made her tense up and reach toward her gun, although it wasn’t enough yet to make her actually draw her weapon. There was a whir and a small metal face, set in a robot-looking thing the size of a cat, peered over the top step at her. The single “eye” looked like a camera lens, and Kit raised an eyebrow at it. It was almost cute in a strange kind of way.

  “I’m Kit Jernigan with the Monroe Police Department,” she said to the metal cat creature, assuming that the fire-spotter was using it as a sort of mobile peephole to see who’d arrived at his door.

  The mini-robot raised a…leg? arm? to give her a wave, and Kit had to smile. It was hard to stay on guard when a one-eyed pet/appliance hybrid was waving at her, especially when she already knew that its owner was an endearing dork who’d just saved her life. Spinning around, the fake cat clicked its way away from the top of the stairs, and Kit continued to climb. Although she was more relaxed than she had been before, it was still an odd situation. She wasn’t sure what she would find in the lookout room, and she’d had enough unpleasant surprises for the day.

  As she reached the top, she took in the circular room, half of which was wall-to-wall windows. There was a couch and several tables, one covered in a topographic map, while the other two looked more like workstations, with a professional-looking camera and laptops and tools and bits and pieces that—now that she’d seen the metal cat thing—could only be robot guts. A woodstove sat in the middle of the space, and a compact kitchen was tucked against the wall on the opposite side of the windows. A partially open door appeared to lead to a bathroom.