“Okay.” Chuck, bless him, didn’t argue. He gave me a leg up and I appreciated it. Climbing in wet denim was harder than you can imagine. We made it to the first branches relatively free of briars and then started across the gorge. Chuck usually has a thing about heights but he seemed fine, perhaps because he couldn’t see how far down the ground really was. I spent my time praying that the limbs hadn’t rotted. I didn’t know how deep the gorge was either, but I bet it had rocks in it.
Our arboreal tightrope act wasn’t ready for the big top, but we managed not to fall or cut ourselves, so I was happy right until we reached the end of the main branch. We were only a few vertiginous feet from the other side of the gorge, an easy jump if you are upright, on solid ground, and in dry clothes. But we weren’t upright or dry, and the limb beneath us was a long way from sturdy. I began looking around for another tree that might get us closer. There wasn’t one.
“Damn.”
The tree began to shake. I looked down but saw nothing but thorny vines and an unwelcome sparkle that was closer than it should be.
“What is that?” Chuck asked.
There was a pressure drop in my brain as I recognized the distant roaring filling up the gorge. One of the deadfalls must have given way and the natural dam had broken.
“Damn,” I said again. The dead tree branches were definitely too thin to take us all the way to the other side of the gorge. They would get us halfway up the steeply sloped embankment but no more.
“Jump for the bank and then climb!” I said.
“Climb that?” Chuck blinked his eyes but the sight remained the same, crumbling cliff sheeted with running water. There weren’t a lot of obvious ledges or toeholds. “Shouldn’t we look for something safer?”
“It’s a flash flood. If we climb down we’re dead. If we stay here, the trees may uproot and then we’re dead.” And if we went back we were dead too. I could hear voices behind us.
Deciding to lead by example, I hurled myself at the side of the gorge. By some miracle I found purchase on the cliff face, though my sodden clothes felt like they weighed more than I did and threatened to pull me down. A moment later Chuck landed beside me. He also stuck to the cliff, but a large chunk of rock broke away beneath his feet and we both had a bad moment wondering if he would fall too.
“That was close.” His voice was calm. I didn’t try to speak since my voice wouldn’t be as level and he didn’t need to know how frightened I was. We had done well so far because Chuck had faith that I knew what I was doing. This wasn’t the moment to admit to feet of clay.
There was another crack and more rock gave way. A small piece hit my cheek. It wasn’t bad but there would be a bruise.
Then there was a lot of grinding and snapping. Gravity met with desperation, and panic defeated physics. Up the crumbling slope we went with the stream rising behind us. I looked back once and saw that our tree was gone.
If our followers hadn’t heeded the warning in time to find a friendly stretch of embankment, they were probably drowning. That was fine by me. Anything was fine as long as they didn’t follow us. I had just used my last reserves of energy. I had only fumes to get us to Seven Forks and Anatoli.
* * *
The cowbell over the door rang as Agent Desoto stepped into the town’s general store. His two associates followed close behind. They let down their umbrellas, one of which was a struggle since it had turned inside out, and tried in vain to shake the rain from their pants and long coats. The two men taking up the rear were shivering, Desoto was not. Only the fact that his lips were blue gave away Desoto’s true condition. The group looked like a pride of half-drowned cats. By the time Desoto stepped up to the counter, Amy “the Braids” McIntyre was there to deal with him.
“Hello,” Desoto said, trying to sound friendly. Unfortunately, Desoto didn’t do friendly particularly well. “I was looking for Butterscotch Jones.”
“She left town,” Amy replied curtly.
“Yes, I know that. I was wondering when she might be back.”
“Ain’t comin’ back. Took all her things with her. Decided to leave town. Couldn’t stand that solitude, I hear.”
“I see,” Desoto said with a sneer to show he knew that she was lying.
Desoto turned and looked around the place, chiefly looking for anyplace that someone might hide. He noticed there was a back room. But his eyes were drawn to the cold weather clothes hanging on a rack in the back of the store.
“Say, you wouldn’t happen to have something a bit warmer that we could wear, do you?” he asked. “It turned out to be a great deal colder and wetter up here than we’d expected.”
“Nope, can’t help you there.”
“Well, what about these parkas and snow pants hanging there in the back?”
“Those are emergency supplies for the locals.”
“Come now, you’re telling me you don’t have anything for us to wear?”
“There might be a thing or two in the back,” Amy conceded grudgingly.
“I’ll wait,” Desoto said, cracking a smile that looked more like a grimace.
Amy walked into the back room, casting one last suspicious glance back at them before she completely disappeared from sight.
“Friendly town they have here,” Dawson commented when Amy was gone.
Desoto waited impatiently at the counter for Amy to return. When she did, she was carrying an armload of winter wear. Desoto released a shiver, but felt himself perk up at the sight. Then he got a closer look at the clothing. The ski pants were bright pink and the parkas bright orange. The sweaters looked like they’d been worn by a herd of goats.
“Come now, ma’am. You can’t be serious,” Desoto said as Amy laid the clothes on the counter.
“That’s what I’ve got. Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it, boss,” Reese said from behind, shivering in his damp clothes.
“Me too, boss,” Dawson concurred.
Desoto distributed the ski pants and parkas. But when it came to the sweaters, he found that he didn’t even want to touch them.
“These sweaters look and smell like they’ve been worn by a herd of goats,” he commented.
“They have,” Amy replied. “I just took them off the goats out back.”
“Well, I think I’ll pass on the sweater, thank you,” Desoto said.
“Do as you please,” Amy replied coldly.
“I’ll take one,” Reese interjected.
“Me too,” Dawson added.
The smug expression melted from Desoto’s face as he realized he would be smelling goat whether he wore a sweater or not.
“Do you have any boots?” Desoto asked. His feet were very wet and it felt like the leather of his shoes was shrinking.
“No boots. Goats don’t wear boots.”
“I suppose that would rule out hats as well?”
“Now you’re gettin’ the hang of it.”
“How about a place to change?”
“Over there behind those shelves looks private.”
With Amy watching, the three men huddled behind the shelves in the corner of the store and disrobed. Reese and Dawson slipped into their smelly sweaters before they all donned their brightly colored outerwear. Desoto thought they looked like a traveling troop of fools.
“Do you mind if we leave our clothes here while we’re in town?” Desoto called.
“Should nobody bother them while you’re gone.”
“How much do we owe you?” Desoto asked in annoyance, stepping back up to the counter.
“A thousand dollars,” Amy replied without even cracking a smile.
“For these clothes?” Desoto replied in dismay.
“Take it or leave it.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll take a check?”
“What do you think?”
“Boss, will this go on our expense account?” Reese asked.
“No.” Desoto fished his money out of his wallet and counted. Ultimately, the three a
gents had to pool their resources to pay their tab. When Desoto had gathered the required funds he tossed them on the counter in disgust. Then he turned and walked from the store without another word. Stepping out into the pouring rain, Desoto almost had his leg bitten off by a crazed wolf on a leash.
“Whoa, Max,” Wendell Thunder exclaimed, pulling hard on Max’s leash to hold him back.
Max continued to snarl and bark as he pulled hard trying to get at Desoto. Desoto had almost pulled his firearm, only having been prevented by the fact that it was difficult to get to under his bright orange parka.
“You should keep better control of that beast,” Desoto barked, though he suspected that the man was in fact very much in control of the animal.
“Yeah? You should watch where you’re walking,” Wendell replied as Max snarled on cue. “And keep your trap shut. The wolf doesn’t like strange voices.”
Desoto strove for dignity. He raised his umbrella and walked around Wendell and Max, giving them both a wide birth. His fellow agents wisely followed suit. Wendell pretended to lose his grip on the leash and laughed as the agents trotted away down the street.
Their next stop was a place called the Lonesome Moose. As they stepped through the front door of the establishment, all conversation ceased. It was replaced by snickers and outright laughter as everyone in the place got a good look at the newcomers. Comments in Gaelic followed the men as Desoto and his agents stepped up to the bar.
The Flowers walked up to serve them with a smile on her face. The smile disappeared when she got a whiff of Reese and Dawson. Desoto’s own eyes were watering from having to stand next to his two agents.
“Slan leat. De tha a thu ‘g iarraidh ri ol?” the Flowers asked.
“Coffee—or tea,” Dawson said, guessing what she had asked. “Anything hot.”
Then he ducked his head, realizing he had usurped his boss.
“We’re looking for Butterscotch Jones,” Desoto announced as the Flowers turned away.
“She left town,” the Flowers replied, sneezing and then pinching her nose closed with her fingers.
“Let me guess, she won’t be returning.”
“How’d you guess?”
“Three coffees please,” Desoto finally ordered, taking a seat on a stool.
The Flowers hurried toward the kitchen as if she couldn’t get away from the men fast enough.
“I hate this place,” Reese moaned.
“What do we do now, boss?” Dawson asked.
“We wait,” Desoto replied.
“We wait, sir?” Dawson did his best to not sound appalled, but his best wasn’t good enough.
“We wait,” Desoto repeated, breathing through his mouth.
* * *
By the time Jimmy Nine Toes made it to the river crossing, there were only three of his task force remaining. The rest had either been too badly injured and needed to turn back or had slunk away into the woods in the hopes of rediscovering civilization on their own. The notable exception who still stood by his side was Tony, his right-hand man. The others who remained looked as if they were ready to break and run at the least provocation.
Jimmy stood before a thorny thicket surrounding a deep gorge. He could hear a torrent rushing through the gorge caused by the same intense rainfall that was currently pummeling his head and shoulders. Shielding his eyes from the deluge, he looked up to the far side of the gorge and saw two figures climbing over the lip to safety. He almost had them.
“What now, Mr. James?” Tony asked.
“We climb,” Jimmy replied, walking over to the nearest sturdy-looking tree that appeared to have branches reaching the far side of the gorge.
“I don’t think that’s wise, boss,” one of his henchmen pointed out.
“Then stay behind, you coward,” Jimmy challenged.
Jimmy began to scale the tree with Tony right behind him. He had no idea what happened to the other two, but by the time he took a break to look back, they were gone. As he continued to climb, the roar of the water rushing through the gorge far below became deafening. Still he scrambled onward. He climbed until he arrived at a branch that looked to span the gorge and just brush the earthen embankment on the far side.
Jimmy started to shimmy out onto the branch. That’s when he felt the tree begin to shake violently beneath his cold, wet ass.
“The tree is giving way, Mr. James,” Tony called. “We have to go back before it falls into the gorge.”
Jimmy ignored him and frantically shimmied farther out onto the branch. The tree started to lean over the gorge, bringing the far bank closer. All at once the tree roots gave way and his perch began to shift severely. Jimmy was slammed into the far side of the gorge. Thrown from the tree branch, he clawed desperately at the earthen wall before him and miraculously found purchase. Tony wasn’t so lucky.
Only having made it halfway across the branch, Tony was left dangling from the tree when it crashed into the far bank. He tried to pull himself back up, but he was too late. The tree soon broke in half, falling into the gorge to be washed away by the raging waters. To Jimmy’s horror and dismay, Tony was washed away with it.
Jimmy held on to the rock and earth wall, burying his face in the mud to protect himself from the branches of the tree as it broke away. Once the tree was gone, he was left only a few yards from the lip of the gorge.
He easily pulled himself to safety, and after pausing to regain both his breath and his nerves he rose to once more begin tracking his quarry. He had passed beyond a killing rage and entered into a state he thought of as Divine retribution.
Chapter 12
No light had ever been as beautiful as the one shining from Anatoli’s cabin.
“Chuck, we’re here,” I said softly, rousing him from his torpor as we entered the clearing. If I was exhausted, Chuck had to be whatever it was that came after exhaustion. A walking coma, maybe. But the sight of the shelter and golden light made Chuck smile and pick up his weary feet so that we traveled at a moderate shuffle instead of a stagger.
I took his hand and managed a smile.
It was over. We were safe.
* * *
Jimmy Nine Toes crawled out from a large grove of poison ivy in which he’d been lying in wait. His clothes were torn and filthy, his left boot was missing, his face and hands were battered and bruised, he was waterlogged and freezing, and his grasp on sanity was tenuous. Though he was physically spent and at his wits’ end, he forced himself to trudge toward the couple walking up the trail from out of the woods. He wore a crazed smile on his cracked and bleeding lips and carried a 9mm automatic pistol in his fist.
When the couple recognized him, rather than turn and run, the woman dropped down to a sitting position in the middle of the road in exhaustion while the man bent to place his hands on his knees, he was so winded. Jimmy stopped a few yards away and raised his pistol in his shaky hand.
“Alright, enough of this,” the man said, straightening. Jimmy realized that he must be the Mountie though he’d never before seen the man up close. “We know what you want and we’re ready to hand it over.”
Recognizing that he could just as easily wrench what he wanted from the man’s cold dead hand, Jimmy shot him. The Mountie looked surprised when the bullet hit him in the arm. Jimmy was surprised too. He never missed.
The Mountie positioned his hand to cover the wound, but blood poured out around his fingers. He fell to his knees as the red-haired woman, realizing what happened, jumped to her feet and charged at him. Her face was insane, snarling like an animal, and for a moment Jimmy was shaken.
Jimmy raised his pistol and was taking aim through the stinging sweat and rain running into his eyes. Then his nostrils flared at the scent of something familiar and horrible. It smelled like wet dog, only ten times worse. Then he heard the guttural roar that almost blew him off his feet.
“Oh crap,” Jimmy exclaimed, turning to face his nemesis.
* * *
I have never, ever wanted to witnes
s a bear attack, especially not on someone ten feet away from me. That day I changed my mind. There was joy in my heart as I heard the roar of the grizzly and saw the thug’s muddy face freeze with fear as the bear broke out of the cover of the woods.
Since my usual catlike reflexes had disappeared several hours ago, I stopped my useless charge by having my feet slip out from under me and going splat in slimy mud. The bear could have turned on me, but the weasel-faced jerk screeched and tried to shoot the beast, and she knocked the pistol out of his hand. Actually, it was more like knocking his hand off.
He screamed and went running for the trees, but I didn’t follow to see what happened. The noise was graphic enough.
As soon as the bear gave chase, I crawled back to Chuck. Anatoli was already there. With a shotgun and—more importantly—with a first aid kit.
“How bad?” I gasped, seeing the ground around Chuck was far too red. Water was diluting the blood, of course, but there was still too much of it. “Did he hit bone?”
“I put pressure on it. You hold his head out of water. Alexei!” Anatoli shouted. “Go to bar. Fetch Doctor Jones!”
“The Bones is here?” I asked, feeling tears of relief begin to leak from my eyes as I scrambled around to Chuck’s head and slid my hands under it, lifting him out of the mud where he had fallen.
The Bones isn’t the best doctor when it comes to diagnosis of subtle illness, but he knew how to treat gunshot wounds.
“Chuck,” I said softly, not really wanting to wake him since he would be in terrible pain, but needing to talk to him anyway. “You hang on now. You just hang on. Doc Jones is here and he’ll fix you right up.”
Cold, bloody water soaked into my pants, but I didn’t care. My clothes were past praying for and cold didn’t matter so long as Chuck lived. And then, since I didn’t need to be brave for Chuck any more, I went ahead and allowed myself to cry.
Gone South (A Butterscotch Jones Mystery Book 3) Page 8
