Revenge (A Travis Mays Novel)

by Mark Young

  Feeble light from the candle struggled to push back the darkness. Jessie caught Travis’ gaze for a moment, his look giving her hope. She tried to read his mind, to decipher his plan.

  Then an overpowering wave of panic struck her like an emotional tsunami, destroying any ray of hope. The truth of the situation crushed down upon her. This crazy killer would soon end their lives like the match he just extinguished. And there was nothing they could do to save themselves. She could not move. Travis’ hands were tied behind him, and his face telegraphed his exhaustion from the river. Even if he broke free, he might not be able to put up much of a fight.

  Scarsbourgh seemed to have planned everything in his favor.

  She studied Travis’ face once more in the candle’s flickering light, to memorize the face she’d grown fond of in such a short time. Was this love?

  Jessie desired to paint that face into her very soul. It might be her last work of art.

  Chapter 64

  John Steele scanned campsites at Three Rivers and saw Frank White Eagle’s car parked near the lodge. Night descended, but light from the resort illuminated the parking lot nearest the camp store. He parked near the chief’s car and killed his engine. One of the camp’s employees strolled across the parking lot near the parked cars. He recognized the man.

  Steele motioned him over. “Harry, you seen Frank White Eagle around? I see he left his car here.” He motioned toward the unmarked.

  “You bet, John. Saw him on horseback several hours ago. A friend of his came by with a horse trailer and dropped off his ride.”

  “Where did he go?”

  Harry scratched his head, thinking. “I recollect he went that way,” and pointed toward the west where the rivers merged. “I think he rode down the Clearwater.”

  “Which side?”

  “Now that I can’t tell you. All I know — he headed downriver.”

  Steele thanked him and got back in his car. He left the campground, pulled along the river off Highway 12 and parked. He flicked on a flashlight and scrambled down the bank to the river’s edge, working his way upstream.

  Fifteen minutes later, Steele found signs of fresh prints in the mud. He kneeled down to get a closer look. A horse had been ridden to this point and then the hoof prints veered toward the water.

  Steele studied the swiftly-flowing blackness of the Clearwater. Frank must have forded the river here to reach the south side of the river. Steele glanced downstream and smiled. He knew where Frank might be headed. Travis’ cabin was on the other side a mile or so downstream. Frank had quite a ride ahead of him if that was his destination.

  Steele began walking back to his car. Why didn’t Frank tell him what he planned to do? He should have known there was no way Frank would stand by while a killer held his daughter. But what was he up to? And where was Travis?

  He’d start doing a little reconnaissance of his own.

  Frank reached the mountaintop towering above Travis’s cabin. Darkness hid details of the canyon floor below, though moonlight combed the mountain peaks with cold streaks of silver. He would take the horse halfway down the slope, and then go on foot the rest of the way. Everything would depend on stealth.

  Sliding off the horse, Frank pulled out his binoculars and scanned below. He knew the cabin was hidden by the forest, but he’d hoped to see some activity near the roadway.

  Total darkness.

  Frank searched with the glasses a few more minutes before tucking them away, his stomach tightening from the stress. He couldn’t help but think he’d misjudged this killer. So sure where his daughter might wind up. But the darkness below only made him begin to question his confidence.

  He might be wrong.

  God, help me. I can’t lose another child.

  He climbed back on the horse and began working his way down the steep rock-strewn slope. The horse stumbled several times, catching itself before moving on. Frank leaned back in the saddle over the animal’s withers, letting the reins loose in his right hand, trusting the horse to find its way safely.

  Thoughts of Jessie forced him to think about his son. Losing Tommy had hit him hard. So many unanswered questions. Why must Tommy die so young? Why’d the killer snatch Jessie? These thoughts — fears — rattled in his brain as he tried to hold fast to his faith.

  Frank reined in the horse. He tied the horse to a branch, slipping his rifle from its sheath. He’d go the rest of the way on foot. Patting the horse on the rump, he shouldered the rifle and began to silently tread down the mountain slope.

  He left his bitterness and anger on the mountaintop. It was time to focus on saving his remaining child.

  Time to focus on the living. Later, he’d mourn the dead.

  Travis felt the flex cuffs slicing his wrists. Each movement tightened them more. The cuffs started cutting off circulation.

  He shot Jessie a look of encouragement before facing Scarsbourgh. The killer stood near the doorway after lighting the candle, the flickering flame threatening to extinguish at any moment as a slight breeze came through the open door.

  Travis wondered why Scarsbourgh left the door and the screen propped open. The light might not be strong enough for anyone to see them from the highway. But who knows? Maybe they’d get lucky and a passing deputy might get suspicious. Steele must be wondering why he and Frank slipped off his radar. He might have deputies watch this place.

  If only they would come in time.

  He turned his attention back to their captor.

  Scarsbourgh leered. “Think someone’s gonna rescue you at the last minute?” He laughed, bitterness searing his words. “Maybe like Michelle thought you’d come and save her just before they ended her life?” Hate gleamed in the man’s eyes.

  Travis heard a horse whinny. A second horse answered. He glanced toward their abductor, wondering if the man heard the same sounds.

  A sneer crossed the man’s face. “Don’t get your hopes up. Those are my horses. You think the two of us hiked here?”

  Scarsbourgh edged closer. Travis heard a click. A knife blade flashed in the candlelight.

  The killer held a switchblade in his hand. “Now, let’s get down to business.”

  Frank froze when he heard the horse call out below. A moment later his own horse answered further up the mountainside. A sick feeling curled his stomach.

  Someone is down below. And they know I’m coming.

  He carefully made his way down the slope, moving quickly and quietly. Time was running out.

  In the moonlight, he saw Travis’ cabin less than a hundred feet ahead. Two horses tied up in back.

  Where was Travis?

  At least he was right about one thing. He’d correctly read the mind of this madman. Now he knew Jessie was close. He prayed he might get there in time.

  Chapter 65

  “Stand up, lover boy, and face your girlfriend. Keep your back to me.” Scarsbourgh barked his command. “One wrong move and I’ll end it right here.”

  Travis wondered if Scarsbourgh intended to bury the knife in his back.

  The man seemed to be reading Travis’ mind. “I want your hands free so that you can write something for me. Your confession. Now, stand up.”

  Travis faced Jessie a few feet away. He saw panic in her eyes. He heard Scarsbourgh move closer.

  “And just in case you think of using any of the kung fu stuff, I’ve got a gun to your head.” Scarsbourgh gave a low, rasping laugh. “A bullet beats a karate chop any day of the week.”

  Travis felt the knife blade cut through the plastic cuffs with a powerful tug. He felt his wrists were free and brought his hands around in front. He fought the urge to swing around and slam his fist into the man’s skull. He could not make a mistake here.

  The horses whinnied again, and then he heard another answer further away. He wondered if Scarsbourgh also heard it.

  Slowly, Travis turned and saw the barrel of a 9mm Beretta semi-automatic pistol leveled at him.

  The gunman waved it toward t
he ground. “Now, sit down and do what I tell you.”

  Scarsbourgh stepped back and pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He gestured toward a pad of paper on the table, tossing the rumpled paper from his pocket and a pen on top of the pad.

  “I want you to write your confession, Travis. How you killed my sister and tried to hide from your sins. I’ve taken the time to write it out for you. Copy it word for word. Then sign and date it.”

  Travis glanced at the paper and back at Scarsbourgh.

  “You know I didn’t kill her.”

  “You were responsible. Now, sit down and start writing.” The killer swung the gun barrel toward Jessie. “Do you want me to give you an incentive?” He cocked the hammer, glaring at Travis.

  Travis quickly sat down. “Okay, okay.”

  Scarsbourgh gave him a mirthless smile. “Get started, slick. Before you lose another girlfriend.” Glancing at Jessie, the gunman said, “Hey. You could do better than this guy. He only thinks of himself. Look what he did to my sister. Got her dead so he could make a name for himself. Some hero, huh?”

  Travis gripped the pen hard. “That’s not what happened.”

  The gun barrel swung back toward Travis. “Oh, so you didn’t send her back in to get what you wanted? To make your case?”

  “Okay. I sent her in, but I thought she’d be safe. We needed —”

  “— you thought she’d be safe? Then how did she wind up dead?”

  Travis bowed his head. “Look. I’ve regretted that decision ever since. I wish I could take it back.”

  A sharp pain exploded in Travis’ head and he fell forward.

  Jessie screamed.

  Dizzily, Travis tried sitting up. He realized Scarsbourgh had struck him with the butt of the gun.

  “You regret getting her killed?” The killer cut loose with a string of epithets that made Travis cringe. “I ought to put a bullet in your head right now. Shut up and write.”

  The blow made Travis woozy. He struggled to stay upright.

  “Do as I say or I end this right now,” Scarsbourgh screamed, trembling with rage.

  As Travis leaned over to write, he heard a faint clicking noise in the silence that followed Scarsbourgh’s outburst. He gave a quick glance toward the door and saw Sam in the doorway, crouched and coiled, moving like a mountain lion ready to spring.

  “Did you hear me? Start …. writing … now!” Scarsbourgh’s screams filled the cabin, drowning the sounds of Sam’s approach.

  Travis glanced toward Jessie. She stared at the door and then back at him. He shook his head and bent over to appear as if he began writing. He waited to see what the dog might do.

  “Okay, man. I’ll start writing. Just chill —”

  Sam sprang toward Scarsbourgh, sinking his teeth deep into the man’s right calf. The killer howled and whirled to fire at the dog.

  Travis leaped from the sofa and grabbed Phillip’s gun hand. The two men struggled for control until he felt a sharp pain in his side. He’d forgotten about the knife. The blade sliced into his side. He felt Scarsbourgh yank upward on the knife as it filleted his skin. His entire side burned like someone tossed searing coals onto his skin. He clung to the gun with one hand, trying to stave off another blow with the knife.

  They collapsed on the ground. He tried raising himself, but felt his strength ebbing on one side where the knife must have hit muscle

  In a daze, he felt Scarsbourgh wrench the gun free and saw the gunman strike Sam on the head with the butt of the gun. The animal went limp.

  Scarsbourgh turn and struck Travis across his temple, slamming his head against the wooden floor. Dazed, Travis watched the killer heave himself to a standing position. Breathing heavy, Scarsbourgh limped back a few feet, still pointing the gun in Travis’ direction.

  Spent, Travis lay on his back looking up. He knew what was coming.

  Scarsbourgh slowly raised the gun. “Forget the confession. It’s time you paid for your sins. I’ve waited a long time for this.”

  Travis cringed as a gun fired. He heard Jessie scream.

  Scarsbourgh fell on top of him.

  Chapter 66

  Scarsbourgh’s body pinned him to the floor. Travis felt a sharp pain in his side as he pushed the dead body off. Struggling to raise himself, he heard Jessie gasp and glanced toward the doorway.

  He heard someone walking across the porch. At first, darkness outside hid the person’s face, body silhouetted in moonlight. Then, as the footsteps drew closer, the face became illuminated by faint candlelight.

  Frank stepped from the shadows.

  “Dad.” Jessie tried to stand, one arm still shackled to the wall.

  Frank looked from his daughter to Travis. He grasped a rifle in his right hand and started walking toward Jessie. “Jessie. Thank God. Let me find a —”

  Frank lurched forward, a surprised look on his face. Travis heard the report of a rifle echo in the distance.

  Another shooter.

  Jessie screamed.

  Travis hurled himself toward the candle, sweeping it to the floor. Darkness drowned the room, bathing them in its protection. Outside, the moon cast its sheen of light across the river. The darkened trees stood like a silent army washed in a silver glow.

  He crawled to the doorway, peering out. Jessie sobbed in the darkness, calling out to her father, “Daddy, Daddy …” Frank lay still. Travis scanned outside, trying to pick up any movement. Everything seemed deathly quiet. Nothing moved.

  He slowly moved across the floor toward Frank. The shooter — after the blast that struck Frank — must have lost his night vision for at least a few moments. Just enough time to check on Frank.

  Travis groped in the darkness until he felt Frank’s face. He lowered his hand until he could feel the chief’s carotid artery. Great. A strong pulse. Frank’s alive. He tugged at Frank’s belt until he pulled the man from the doorway and behind the wall for protection.

  “Jessie. Stay where you are. Don’t move.”

  “Is Dad …”

  “He’s alive. I just moved him out of the way of the shooter. Stay put until I can get you free. Okay?”

  Travis heard her acknowledgement. He crept over the floor toward Scarsbourgh’s body. He heard Sam stirring. “Sam, lay down.” He heard the dog sink back to the ground, his tail thumping on the wooden floor.

  Scarsbourgh’s body still felt warm as Travis began searching through the killer’s pockets until he found cuff keys. Glancing through the doorway, he slowly began crawling toward Jessie. A bullet might be coming his way any moment if the sniper used a night vision scope. He made an excellent target with the moonlight streaming through the doorway after extinguishing the candle. He could not wait. Frank needed help and Jessie lay in an exposed position.

  He heard Sam whimper.

  “Sam. Lay down, boy. Stay.”

  The dog obeyed.

  He crawled forward, fighting a wave of nausea from the pain in his side. He continued crawling until he felt Jessie. She reached out and touched his face with her free hand. They clung to each other for a moment.

  He reached toward her shackled arm, felt the cuffs and worked the key into the lock. He felt the key slip in and the cuffs loosen. He opened them up to free her. She circled him with her arms.

  He grimaced as she accidentally pressed against his wound. “Jessie. Stay real still. Don’t move. I don’t think the shooter is in a position to see this part of the cabin. I’m going to try to get help.”

  “How’s Dad?”

  “He’s still alive. I don’t know where he’s hit or how bad. But we can’t risk turning on a light right now. Okay?

  “Yeah.”

  He turned and began crawling toward the front door when he froze. Footsteps on the pathway, crunching on the gravel.

  Sam growled.

  “Sam. Quiet.” Silence inside the cabin.

  “Travis” Jessie hissed his name.

  “Shhh.” He frantically started feeling around the floor whe
re Scarsbourgh lay, looking for the killer’s gun.

  Heavy boots crunched on rocks only yards away.

  He raised himself and began clawing at the dead body, desperately feeling around for the feel of cold metal. Where was that gun?

  He heard steps on the porch. Heavy boots.

  Travis gave up on the gun and tried to stand. If he could only make it to the door he might be able to attack before the killer got inside.

  He tried to stand, but lightheadedness forced him to his knees.

  A flashlight flicked on and illuminated the room, drowning him in light. He froze, waiting for the sound of the gun.

  Instead, he heard a man’s voice.

  “Travis. It’s me …John Steele.”

  As Steele entered the room, Travis heard sirens wailing in the distance. The wails drew closer.

  “I’ve got units coming. But I think the second shooter’s gone.” Steele knelt and cuffed Scarsbourgh. “How are the two of you doing?”

  Travis felt his side. “I’m going to need some help. Scarsbourgh nicked me with a knife. Not life-threatening. Need to get help for Frank first.”

  Steele nodded and rose to his feet. He began spitting out commands over the portable radio. “Requesting an air medevac. Location Code-4. Suspect 10-55. Two victims need medical attention. One in serious condition. Code-3 run.”

  Staccato commands. Travis welcomed the man’s command presence.

  Sirens kept coming.

  After finishing the broadcast, Steele flashed the light around the room and switched on the lights. He glanced at Travis. “Hey partner, you’re going to need some help yourself.”

  Travis glanced at his side and saw redness drenching his torn shirt. A fold of skin lay loose like a partially-filleted salmon. Blood oozed, turning everything into a river of dark scarlet.

  Jessie clamored over to Frank the moment Steele turned on the lights. He saw her gently raise her father’s head. A bullet creased his scalp. Travis had seen wounds like this before. The velocity must have slammed Frank to the ground, knocking him out.