She led the way and got them settled at a table before disappearing into the kitchen. Frank rubbed a hand over his stubbled face and wondered how to begin.
“You know the killer the media is calling the Puget Sound Slasher? We believe our little ‘island paradise’ is harboring the bastard.”
Deputy Steadman’s craggy face remained steady, but the eyebrows shot up on his partner’s forehead. As Frank explained the events since the eruption, the junior sheriff beat out an excited tattoo on the table each time the story upped a notch until the chief deputy placed a large palm over his fingers, stilling them. Millie brought in some breakfast and the deputies chewed and swallowed, Skillet’s superb cooking disappearing down their throats without the appreciation it deserved, mere backdrop to the unfolding story.
As Frank wrapped up with telling how Riley had set off on her own, with two of his best men going after her, Mrs. Dawson swept into the room and stared at the group at the table, her eyes huge and black against the pallor of her face.
“Myrna’s awake,” she said. “And you’re going to want to hear what she has to say.”
CHAPTER 79
RILEY WALKED TO THE RHYTHM of her breath as it rose and fell against the dust mask. She wore goggles, too, but the ashfall continued to thicken, coming now in shifting clouds that cut her visibility, disorienting her so that she lost contact with the narrow dirt path. She wandered through forest, using the slope of the land to direct her toward the top of the ridge.
She struggled to keep her breathing steady, fighting the flower of panic that bloomed inside her chest. The uneven ground under her feet was strewn with obstacles, crumbling with loose stones and slippery pine needles. She crept with care. Reaching a sea of underbrush that stretched the length of her sight, she waded into it, knee-deep, wishing she’d kept to the railroad tracks.
She strained her eyes, peering into the deepening gloom, moving forward with slow steps. She lifted a foot and froze, startled by the flurry of wings as a group of soot-colored birds flew past. They melted into the darkness like chocolate shavings on a griddle and Riley looked down into the jagged metal jaws of a bear trap. One more step, and she’d have been in it, broken, bloodied, snared. She knew such traps were outlawed, but so was cooking meth, and there was plenty of that going on up in these hills. She found a stout branch and pushed it into the gaping mouth of the trap, wincing at the resounding snap of the metal teeth, the crunch of broken wood. Shivering, she picked her way out of the underbrush, pausing to lean against a tree and catch her breath.
The air felt strange, flattened under a blanket, deadening the noises of the forest. With her vision and hearing impaired, Riley carried a burden of vulnerability that threatened to shred the dregs of her determination. She pressed her lips together and soldiered on, working uphill, each step slow and deliberate.
One sound made its steady way around her, she realized, a summertime hum. She was surrounded by cricket song. Remembering Teren’s tale about the last-of-summer crickets, their desperate and hopeful mating calls and their early warning system, she was comforted, though their chirping sounded hollow in the ash-laden sky. The only other noises she detected were generated by her own feet in their interaction with twigs, stones, and pine needles.
She began to feel she could do this, that she could make it up and over the ridge. She pictured the sprawl of houses along the Hood Canal. She’d knock doors until she got someone who would help. She saw herself being brought in and coddled, warmed and fed by the good lady of the house, while her man gathered a party for the return trip. She was so caught up in the vision that she nearly missed the alarm.
The crickets had gone silent.
She froze, straining her ears and eyes for some clue to the danger. Her skin felt electric, charged with high-frequency tension. The ash fog shrouded the trees, thicker than night, and she couldn’t see more than a yard or two in any direction. Listening intently, she heard the faint crackling of footsteps, down and to the left, and she dropped into a crouch, holding her breath.
Seconds of silence ticked by. The smell of wet earth and crumpled pine needles rose to envelop her, tickling her nasal passages, sending tiny shock waves to the back of her head. She gritted her teeth and pressed a hand against her nose, which only sharpened the sensation, and her eyes streamed as she screwed them shut, fighting the histamine surge.
The sound of someone approaching grew closer and more definite. As suddenly as it had begun, the urge to sneeze faded and Riley sent up a prayer of thanks. She schooled her breath, keeping it shallow and soundless, ignoring the moisture stinging her cheeks. She stilled her muscles and waited.
“Riley?” The voice was stealthy, so soft it was almost swallowed by the ash-padded air. “Riley, are you there?” It was Nate.
A finger of ice traced down her spine. Why didn’t he just call out? Why did he speak in that eerie furtive way, like he was stalking her? He whispered her name again and she didn’t dare move, except to hunker lower in the clump of ferns. The clouds of ash hid her, but they shifted and swirled, opening and closing holes in the vista, like a maniacal game of whack-a-mole.
She waited, hardly daring to breath, her ears aching with the effort to hear his location. A twig snapped further to the left, and her head swiveled in that direction. As she watched, the ash thinned, leaving a window for her to peer through, and there he was, only fifteen yards distant. If he turned his head, they’d be face to face.
She stared, agonized, her muscles taut and frozen, fearing the intensity of her eyes would draw him, like a magnet. His face looked rapt, his gaze focused forward, up the slope, and he took another step up-ridge, moving with stealth. She caught the tiny movement as his head began to rotate in her direction, and bit down on a scream. Another sound tore through the soupy air, sending a streak of lightning down the back of her neck. It was the snarl of a wildcat, and as Nate’s head jerked that direction, away from her, she broke from her frozen pose, and ran.
CHAPTER 80
THE CRY OF THE COUGAR sent an electric zing through Nate’s body, raising the hairs on the back of his neck and cranking up his heart rate. As he turned to face the noise, he heard the sound of footsteps behind him, rushing away, down the hill, and this scared him more than the mountain lion’s snarl had. He prayed the big cat wouldn’t take off in pursuit. If that was Riley running, the cougar would consider her prey. It could overtake and bring her down in seconds.
He shouted to draw the wildcat’s attention. He stood his ground and unzipped his jacket, grabbing the corners and raising his arms over his head, waving them slowly, trying to look as big and scary as possible. Through the mist of ash, the cougar slunk into sight, its golden coat gliding in sinuous waves over its well-muscled shoulders. They made eye contact and Nate intensified his gaze. He’d won staring contests with cats before, but this was the one that counted.
“I’m the alpha here. Face it and go home. No lunch for kitty.”
He spoke in a loud, growling voice, meant to establish his dominance. He wished he’d thought to grab some throwing stones before the cat spotted him. He didn’t dare stoop for them now. He bellowed out a series of shouts and grunts, waving his arms with the jacket stretched between them, and the mountain lion took a step back. Nate began his own gradual retreat, working to increase the distance between them.
“I’m not worth it, buddy. All gristle and bone. Go on home, now. SCAT, CAT!
The cougar replied with a resentful snarl, but turned and disappeared up-ridge, into a wall of ash and fog. Nate sighed in relief. He waited two or three minutes in his dominating stance, in case the cat should return, then started off in the opposite direction, working diagonally down the hill, following where he thought those running footsteps had gone.
He had to find Riley. What had possessed her to take off alone like this? And what if Teren found her first? He thought Teren might be in love with Riley, but he’d also begun to suspect that Teren was not mentally sound. He had no solid evidence
, but Nate believed Teren was the killer and that he operated under a code, the nature of which was a mystery, full of rules a sane person could never understand. Teren was on this mountain, searching for Riley. What would he do with her when he found her?
He picked up his pace. Riley respected and trusted Teren. She would be slow to suspect her friend and she would be at his mercy. He fought the gorge that rose in his throat at the thought. In the ashen gloom, the labyrinthine forest where pine needles slicked over tracks and traces, it would be difficult to find Riley, but that applied to Teren, as well.
“Riley,” he called, pitching his voice low so that it only carried into the immediate vicinity. He wanted to find Riley without alerting Teren to her location. “Riley, please. If you can hear me, let me help you. Please don’t do this alone.”
He stood, listening, hoping, but heard only silence. If those running footsteps had been Riley’s, she’d disappeared, her passage shrouded in ash.
CHAPTER 81
RILEY RAN DOWNHILL BECAUSE IT was easier. She hated to lose the progress she’d made toward the top of the ridge, but her first thought was to put distance between herself and her pursuer, be it Nate or a mountain lion. She kept to a roughly diagonal path, planning to work her way upward again once she was sure she’d lost her tail.
She slipped and scrambled between the trees, her breath coming in harsh gasps that were almost sobs, scraping her palms against the rough bark of pines as she used them to steady herself along the course. The curtain of ash veiled the way before her so that she had no way of knowing what lay ahead, and she tried to slow her headlong pace. Her legs felt out of control, flailing beneath her in a desperate attempt to keep her upright. Her foot hit a patch of crumbling soil, sheeted over with pine needles, and she slid down a jagged chute, landing with a hard thump on her backside, knocking the wind out of her.
She lay still, in a crumpled heap, sucking air, and deafened by the wheeze of her own panicked breath. She struggled to get it under control, and when her respirations fell into an even rhythm and she could hear beyond herself, she tested body parts to ensure they still worked. With the panic held at bay, a flood of other considerations surged through her and she was surprised to realize that, chief among them, was regret, cutting at her with sharp, raw strokes. Oh, Nate.
Though she’d given in to Jess’s reasoned argument and the circumstantial evidence which corroborated it, Riley had not really believed it could be Nate. She wanted, instead, to believe the feelings of comfort and companionship, the reawakening of hope, that stirred within her when they were together. If her instinct to trust him was wrong, how could she rely on any of her feelings? If her inner compass was that skewed, she could do nothing but founder.
The thought pressed her down, weighing her to the ground, eroding her determination to cross the ridge and bring help. Clouds of ash and mist swirled over her head, but as she lay, staring up, she caught glimpses of branches above her, intertwining, needles interspersing with needles, learning to lean on one another. Would she never learn the things she was so adept at teaching others?
She pushed herself up, brushing dirt and leaves from her backside, and stood like a deer in hunting season, sensors alive to danger. She worked her way laterally along the ridge until she reached a clump of spruce and fir trees too thick to push through. She turned right and followed them uphill until the mass thinned enough for her to break through.
Vines and low-hanging branches sprang into her path and she brushed them away, pushing through the growth to the clearing ahead. As she stepped into the open area amid the trees, the clouds of ash shifted and she saw the dark form of a man turning to meet her.
It was Teren.
CHAPTER 82
TOPPER CRINGED AT THE SCREECH his spoon made across the tin plate of his mess kit, but he needed every drop of nourishment from the can of beef stew he’d heated. Isolated in the abandoned hut, he had no way of knowing how bad conditions had gotten, or how long they’d last. His watch told him it was nearing noon, but the sky spoke of dusk, laden with clouds of ash which darkened the little cabin, throwing deep shadows into its corners.
He sensed death in the air, and thought about Jack’s mythical figure, so diligent in keeping appointments no matter how far his clients ranged. Candace’s face shimmered and solidified in his mind’s eye, and he wondered how she fared. He knew he was finished there, thrown his Hail Mary and run the other way. He’d started a wave that got people moving, but if they were marked for death, death would find them.
Had he done all he could? Would he be remembered like David was, as a hero? Or would his name be lost in obscurity, buried under the mass of trauma caused by the eruption? No, not that. Whether people deemed him angel or demon, he would be remembered as someone who had done something in the face of disaster.
But had he done enough? He had friends in Mountain Vista who might need his help. He’d had this respite alone, to contemplate and recharge. Perhaps it was time to get back to business.
He found a box of stale toaster pastries and ate a packet without benefit of toaster. The ‘real fruit’ filling had dried to a paste, sticking to his teeth, cloying and overly sweet. After dessert, he used a paper towel and hand sanitizer to wipe out the mess kit, and reassembled it, tightening the wingnut that held it together.
He checked the rest of his gear, making sure he had it all together, then settled onto the cot. He stared at the cobwebbed ceiling and began planning his next move.
CHAPTER 83
TEREN’S FACE TWISTED, APPEARING HALF relieved, half exasperated. He held out his arms and she ran into their embrace, a rush of affection washing over her, weakening her knees. His warmth enveloped her and she realized how cold and isolated she’d felt until this moment. Why had she thought she must do this alone? Teren had proven his friendship, offering her unfailing support over the two years since the deaths of Jim and Tanner.
“What were you thinking, Riley? There’s no shortage of danger out here. If you had to leave, why didn’t you take me with you?”
His voice was full of reproach and she avoided his eyes, knowing the pain she’d see there.
“I’m sorry, Teren. I’ve been so frightened and confused. Jess woke me this morning and told me a group of them have started investigating Nate.”
“I know. I was in that group.” He took her hand and led her to a collection of large rocks. “Let’s sit and rest, let you catch your breath. Then we can decide where to go from here.”
Teren brushed the dried needles from a bench-like stone and Riley sat. Teren remained standing. She watched his eyes sweeping the tree line, on the alert, and when they came around to rest on her, they were hard as the stone she sat on. Deadly serious, with a stirring of anger.
“You could have been killed out here, Riley. What possessed you to do something so stupid?”
She felt a sting of resentment. “I was scared. I checked the Explorer and saw the driver ID that’s not Nate, and the pamphlets, and the—”
“The blood on the door handle? Yeah, I saw it, too. What we should have done was overpower the guy in his sleep and lock him in the storeroom. I just wasn’t sure.”
“Exactly. I wasn’t sure about anything. I was too close to it all to see things clearly, so I went for outside help. I figured I could clear this ridge and find someone on the other side who had no connection to this business. Once the idea entered my head, I couldn’t stop. I went into flight mode and here I am.”
“Well, you scared the hell out of me. You should have stopped to think about the conclusions people would jump to when they found you missing. Do you have any idea the worry you caused?”
“I told Dr. Deb.”
Teren gave a dismissive grunt and they fell into silence. Riley watched the little glints of light that poked down from the ashy sky like tiny miracles.
“I saw him,” she said. “He’s out there, looking for me.”
“Nate?”
“Yeah.”
A weight like a heavy stone sank and settled in her chest. Why did she feel like a traitor? She’d known Nate for less than a week, hardly enough time to establish a solid foundation of trust. She owed him nothing. She stared down into her lap, and past it, to her hiking boots. At least she’d taken time to put on some decent footwear. She noticed Teren had taken off to find her, inappropriately shod in a pair of loafers. Tasseled loafers. A sharp needle of ice gave one quick thrust through her heart and was gone.
The notion was ridiculous, but her gaze focused on his right foot, planted there beside her own booted feet, tassel and all. His left leg was bent at the knee with the foot resting on a low rock, hidden from her view by a mass of ferns. How could she even entertain the thought that the shoe might be missing a tassel? It was silly, but she couldn’t stop herself from staring at the clump of ferns as if she could burn through them with the intensity of her scrutiny.
“What’s wrong, Riley? You look horrified.”
“Any reason I shouldn’t be? After everything that’s happened?”
“I’m so sorry, kid.” He drew her head against him, cradling it, stroking her hair.
She willed herself to relax, not wanting him to feel the bowstring tension in her neck. “We’d better get going if we’re going to make it over the ridge before dark.”
“True enough,” he said, releasing her head.
Dread crept over her. Now she would see, and part of her didn’t want to know. He pushed back from the rock, bringing his left foot down, next to his right, and Riley felt giddy with relief. Of course both shoes were tasseled. She stared down at the brown loafers with a foolish grin.
“You sure you’re up to this?” Teren asked. “You seem a bit dazed.”
“No, I’m fine. I feel much better now. Really.”
He led the way and once more, Riley was pointed uphill. There was no discernible trail and they picked a path through the trees and underbrush, pulling themselves up crumbling channels where the earth had eroded under runnels formed by the frequent rains. The swirling ash continued to limit their field of vision, and Riley labored along behind Teren, watching his mud-encrusted loafers, placing her feet in the places he’d established before her.
Nocturne In Ashes: A Riley Forte Suspense Thriller, Book One Page 22
