by Chris Eboch
“Take your money and go home to your fancy apartment and say goodbye to it, because you’ll never live there again. The best thing you can do is run. You should have listened to Danesh.” My voice broke on his name and my voice wavered as I choked out, “And if you hurt him, I’ll kill you myself!”
He gazed up at me and actually smiled. “You wouldn’t. You’re not the type.”
“You don’t know anything about my type.”
His free hand moved back to the chain. “I know there’s something between us. Don’t you see, I was trying to protect you by keeping you away tonight. Because I care. I’m sure we can work something out—think of all the things we could do with this money.”
Leave it to a man to think one kiss meant you were his slave forever. He slid his hand up the chain.
“Forget it,” I said. “And if your fingers touch this cliff again, I’ll smash them even harder.”
His smile faded and his hand retreated. “You don’t want me, fine. But the money—”
“It’s not all about money.” I noticed his hand moving down toward his pocket.
The hand came out with a gun.
My body jerked but I resisted the instinct to jump back. He raised the gun. I threw the rock at his hand.
It hit him in the chin. He didn’t utter a sound, but I heard the thunk of the rock hitting him. I watch him slide down the cliff, hit the slope twenty feet below, and topple backward. A bush crackled as he rolled through it. His body tumbled and slid down into the canyon. The moon must have come out, because I could see all the way down to the river that rushed past fifty feet below. Sean splashed into the water and sank. He popped up fifteen feet farther downstream and then disappeared.
I huddled back against the wall, shaking with sobs. “I had to do it!” I gasped. “I had to!”
I closed my eyes, but I kept seeing him falling, the way he had seemed to bounce and roll before splashing into the river. Could he have survived that? I had been thinking only of stopping him, not killing him.
My own words echoed back to me. “I’ll kill you myself.” I hadn’t meant it literally. It was a figure of speech. Now Danesh might be dead, Jerry, too, because I had led criminals to them, and maybe I had killed Sean....
I don’t know how long I huddled there, but finally the shaking slowed to faint tremors. I knew I had no choice, that he would have killed me otherwise, but that didn’t stop the cold that spread through my chest. I turned my head and pressed my cheek against the block wall of the ruins. I had come to study ancient people, gone for centuries, to learn something about their lives and, in a sense, keep them alive in the modern world. Now I had most likely killed a man. It didn’t make sense.
I wanted to crawl back inside the Castle and hide, willing reality to fade away. But as I tried to push the memory of Sean’s falling body out of my mind, other thoughts rushed in to fill the space. Two dangerous men were still out there, waiting for Sean to return. Danesh and Jerry might still be alive. If they were, for how long?
I had to do something. But what?
I pressed my hands to my face. One step at a time. Before I could help anyone else, I had to get out of the ruin. My safe haven, which had seemed such a great place to get to when I was on the run, was not so great to get from. I’d have to go back down the way I’d come up.
I shuddered at the thought and closed my eyes to block out the yawning depths of the canyon. I couldn’t do it. Not after what I’d seen. I’d wait where I was. Surely the other men would leave soon if Sean didn’t come back. They weren’t local, and I didn’t even know their names—they didn’t have as much to lose by leaving witnesses. The police would come—they must be nearly here. It seemed like hours had passed since Jerry had called them.
Something nagged at me, something I needed to remember, to understand. I pressed my hands over my closed eyes. I had to think back over the night. I didn’t want to remember, but I was sure I had missed some important clue with everything happening so fast.
I had overheard the men and hidden. I had made it to the visitors center. Jerry had called the police, but just a few minutes later those men had shown up. Why had they come back?
And then I knew. Jerry had not called the police. He must have called Sean. How else had Sean known to come to the visitors center? And the men had walked in like they knew the situation, with no questions.
It was impossible. Jerry, one of them? No way. And yet nothing else made sense. Sean hadn’t gone far, and Jerry had called him back. Why, I couldn’t fathom. But it had to be true.
My thoughts grudgingly took the next step. What about Danesh? Was he involved?
I ignored my first instinctive protest and forced myself to consider the question seriously. Danesh had been with me while Jerry called. But then he’d been out of my sight for a few minutes, getting me clothing. Had they discussed what to do about me?
I shook my head. If they were both involved, why call Sean at all? They could have gotten rid of me in so many other ways, ways that looked more like an accident. Or even just delayed, pretended the phone was out, bought some time for the men to escape. And why start the fight so I could run? If that was part of a plan for dealing with me, it was too elaborate to make sense. Besides, if Danesh had known something was happening that night, he could have easily kept me away or insisted on taking me to my campsite.
I remembered Jerry pushing away from the wall with a cry, reaching out. I’d assumed he was joining the fight. Had he really been trying to stop Danesh from doing anything? Or had he finally realized how far in he’d gotten himself and started to have regrets? I couldn’t know, and it was safer to assume the worst.
I sighed. I wasn’t certain I understood anything. I believed Danesh was on my side, which helped make up for the pain of Jerry’s betrayal. And Danesh’s interest in me was honest, unlike Sean’s.
But what if Danesh was already dead? My chest felt tight, and I hugged myself, struggling against tears. He couldn’t be dead. I couldn’t bear that.
I tipped my head back and looked up at the night sky, drawing in raspy breaths. The moon, a day or two past full, shone down on me among wispy clouds. A few bright stars pricked through the haze of the sky. I felt the breeze on my face and smelled the earthy, spicy scent of wet desert. I was here, now. That was all I had to work with.
It felt like hours had passed since I’d fled the visitors center, but it was probably only a matter of minutes. I might still have time to do some good. Danesh might still be alive, and if so, he needed me. He didn’t have anyone else right now.
I had to think logically. The drug runners had expected Sean to take care of us. Sean had run out after me, but at some point he had gotten one of the guns. Had he already killed Danesh—and possibly Jerry, for knowing too much? Maybe the other men would have waited for Sean to find me before they did anything else. If Sean couldn’t find me, it would be better to run from drug charges than run from murder charges. And maybe Danesh had escaped during the fight anyway. Maybe he had already gone for help.
My heart leapt at the thought—not only because it would mean Danesh was still alive, but because then I could wait for rescue. I immediately felt guilty for the thought, but I’d never asked to be a hero. I’d never waited for a strong man to rescue me—and had certainly never had that experience before—but I’d take it now.
I shook my head. I couldn’t count on rescue. If Danesh was still in trouble, I needed to do something right away. I couldn’t predict what the other men would do if Sean didn’t come back. I couldn’t take chances.
Could I possibly work my way around the Castle instead of going back down the cliff? Maybe it wasn’t as hard as it looked. No, the ledge was only a few inches wide, with a rounded, unstable edge and nothing to grip on the block walls. The cliff down was the only way out.
I leaned forward to look over the edge. The image of Sean falling filled my mind, and I pulled back, sick and dizzy.
That was the past. I had to focus on now
. I took a deep breath and turned around. I held on to the top of the chain and started to lower my feet over the edge. I would not look down again. I wouldn’t think about falling or worry about what I could do after I got down. I would just focus on my hands on the chain, my feet on the rock, moving one step at a time.
My feet were so numb that I could hardly feel the rock. At least the cold numbed the pain in my ankle, too. I watched my hands on the chain, feeling almost as if they were someone else’s hands. They responded to my commands, but they didn’t quite seem connected to me. Was this hypothermia or shock or my mind trying to retreat from reality?
It didn’t matter. I had to keep moving. Left hand down. Right hand down. Left foot down. Right foot down.
My foot hit solid ground so suddenly that it threw me off balance. I wobbled, clutching the chain with both hands until my mind finally registered that I could let go now. I paused to find my balance and then hobbled along the path that led up to the rim.
By the time I made it to the rim trail, my body seemed to be working better, warmed slightly by the exertion. I peered over the edge cautiously, half expecting to see a gun pointing at me. Nothing. I took the last few steps to the rim trail and stood on wobbly legs.
A dark shape swooped overhead. I gasped and cringed, but it was just an owl, hunting on silent wings.
I still hadn’t consciously decided on the next step, but I found myself moving toward the visitors center. The glow of its window flickered through the trees, calling me. Was anyone still inside? Was anyone alive?
When I turned at the parking lot, I saw Sean’s SUV and a battered Land Rover I didn’t recognize, which the other men had probably come in. It would be a good way to get through the desert from a secret landing site.
I stared at the visitors center. What could I do? Two men—three if Jerry was still on their side—and at least one gun. If Danesh was still alive, he was probably tied up or hurt. I couldn’t count on any help from him. Whatever I did, I had to assume I’d be doing it alone.
Everything was up to me. And I was aching, exhausted, and out of ideas.
Chapter 25
I kept to the edge of the parking lot as I moved toward the building. When I reached Danesh’s truck, I paused with my hand on it. My eyes stung as I remembered a drive that now seemed long ago. Then a thought worked its way into my foggy mind. My backpack!
I moved to the driver’s side door, keeping the truck between me and the building. I grabbed the door handle and had barely enough sense to pause. I didn’t want to attract attention with noise. Or light. Did his interior light come on automatically when the door opened? I closed my eyes and thought back. Yes, I was pretty sure it did.
I rested my forehead on the cool window. Why couldn’t anything be simple? I peeked at the visitors center. The window glowed on the side wall, but that wouldn’t have a view of the front parking lot. They could only see me if they opened the door. I decided it was worth the chance.
I took a deep breath, staring through the truck’s windows at the visitors center door.
The door opened.
The dark-haired man stood silhouetted in the open doorway. “No sign of him. What the hell is he doing?”
I froze, praying that the man wouldn’t be able to see me in the dark. The truck blocked his view of me, unless he happened to look at the passenger side window and could see all the way through the cab to my face on the other side. I told myself moving would only attract attention. I told myself the light spilling out the doorway would glint off the passenger window and help hide me.
I willed the man to go back inside.
He turned his head and called over his shoulder. “He’s not coming back! He’s run off.”
The other man’s voice barely reached me. “We’ve got his money. He’ll be back.”
The younger thug stepped outside and stared into the darkness. I held my breath.
He shook his head and turned back. “We should finish this ourselves and get out of here.” The door closed behind him.
My legs went weak, and I sagged against the truck door. Close. Too close. But I was fine. He hadn’t seen me, I was okay.
His last comment suggested they hadn’t yet killed anyone, but I didn’t have much time. I needed to get to my phone and pray that I could reach someone.
I grabbed the door handle, held my breath, and pulled open the door. It sounded loud to me, but surely they wouldn’t notice from inside. I slipped into the cab and snapped off the overhead light. I left the door partly open, to avoid the sound of its closing.
I leaned across the seat and fumbled in my backpack on the floor. I found my phone. It had power! And reception! Just barely, but one bar flickered on and off. I dialed a number that was starting to be too familiar.
The explanation seemed to take forever. We could barely hear each other and I didn’t dare raise my voice. Finally I got across the bare facts, and they said the police would come. But it would take twenty or thirty minutes. They wanted me to stay on the line, but when the connection failed I didn’t bother trying to call back.
I lay across the seat, cold and exhausted. But I couldn’t rest. I didn’t know if we could afford to wait twenty or thirty minutes. The men inside sounded impatient. Where could I go for help?
I could try the campground, but I’d have to hike the half-mile on my bad ankle, wake people, and explain. Robert might still be out with Lily, and the other tourists from two nights before had probably moved on, so I’d have to convince strangers to believe me and take action. And then we’d have to get back here. That would take as long as waiting for the police and just put other people in danger. Our little community had done a great job with one unarmed man, but two armed criminals? I couldn’t drag more innocent people into this.
A single shiver shook me. I wasn’t shivering nearly enough. I dug into my backpack again and changed into dry socks and tennis shoes. At least it gave me something to do. I shrugged out of the oversized jacket, put on the thin sweater I’d brought in case the evening got cool—ha, ha—and put the jacket back on for an extra layer.
That done, I had to face the question of what to do next. If I didn’t do anything, they might yet decide to kill Danesh and Jerry. If I did the wrong thing, I could make matters worse. I was relatively safe now, and that was something. I wouldn’t help anyone by giving the gunmen another hostage or another victim. But I couldn’t just wait and do nothing while they murdered my friends.
I stared at the visitors center. I had to come up with a plan! I needed a weapon—my pepper spray! It shot almost ten feet. I could knock on the door—they’d think it was Sean—and then squirt the man who answered. It would only take care of one of them, temporarily.... I’d have to watch which way his gun was aiming.... It was the start of a plan.
I dug into the outside pocket of my backpack. My wallet was there, but no pepper spray. I checked the other outside pocket and then the main bag, just in case. Nothing. Had Sean somehow taken it? When?
I checked every pocket again, just in case. Nope. It was gone.
I squeezed my eyes tightly closed and pressed my lips together. I didn’t have the pepper spray. I had to let go of the idea. Move on.
I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. Okay, so no pepper spray.
Maybe I could find some kind of weapon or tool in one of the vehicles. A tire iron, something like that. I found a first aid kit and some bungee cords behind the seat, and then noticed the large, built-in box in the truck bed. That must be where Danesh kept his tools. I stepped outside to look at it—padlocked, of course.
I looked at Jerry’s car, Sean’s SUV, and the Land Rover. The thought of creeping around the parking lot, in full view if anyone opened the door again, was enough to have me drawing back into the shadows. And I’d have to deal with door noises and interior lights, assuming the vehicles were even unlocked.
I glanced at the building. Then I noticed the small shed along the side, by the garden, and remembered Danesh’s comment,
“We keep the good weapons in the shed.” They’d have tools in there! Rakes and hoes and shovels. I could use a good shovel. And I’d be away from the front door while I searched.
I ran for the side of the building, ducking under the window to pass it. I reached the shed and grabbed the door handle. Then I noticed the padlock.
I stared for half a minute, not wanting to believe. I pulled on it just in case. I leaned my weight on the door. No good.
I obviously was not cut out for rescue work. I did better digging in the dirt and pondering ancient dead people. I should forget the whole thing and wait for the police.
But what about Danesh? How much longer would the men wait before deciding to take care of the remaining prisoners themselves and make their escape? So far I hadn’t heard a gunshot. One might come at any moment, and then I’d know I had wasted too much time. I shivered. Even if the police arrived quickly, the drug runners would surely hear the vehicles, and then we’d have a hostage situation. I had to do something. But what? What?
I wanted to scream and pound on the shed door. I wanted to kick at the walls. I wanted to throw something.
An idea popped into my head.
I turned and surveyed the garden, remembering the line of display squash topping the fence poles.
My shoes squished and slipped in the mud as I fumbled in the dark until I found the squash. I pulled a few off the poles. They were dried out and barely had any weight. I huffed in annoyance but refused to give up my idea now.
I chose a squash about the size of a softball and felt for the hole in the bottom, where the post had poked into it. I crouched and scooped mud into the hole, keeping one eye on the building. I filled two more, one as backup. Okay. One step down. I paused to think through my idea. I knew my tired brain was working slowly, so I needed to think more carefully. I couldn’t let the need to hurry cause me to make mistakes.
