Joy-Lynn stared back at her for a long moment, scanning her face with the same intensity. Without breaking eye contact, Marlene reached for the orange baseball cap that hung on the hook near the door. She pulled it on, feeding her own dark hair through the opening in the back of the hat, and tugged down the brim. Then she raised her arm to display the colorful braided bracelet she never removed and leaned down to kiss Joy-Lynn on the cheek. Joy-Lynn flung her arms around Marlene’s neck.
“Be careful, mama.”
“I will, baby.”
She opened the wooden chest anchored to the wall inside the door and removed a hunting knife secured in a leather sheath. She belted the sheath around her waist, and the weight of the knife settled against her thigh. She unlocked the door with a click, pressed down on the door handle, and turned for another look at her daughter.
“You lock this behind me. You hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She stepped outside. She inhaled, filling her lungs with cold air, and listened for the sound of Joy-Lynn snicking the lock into place on the other side of the door.
She sprinted due east, in the direction of the sounds, and melted into the forest.
She darted from one towering birch tree to the next, slipping between them like a wood nymph. When she reached the mouth of the rocky, overgrown path that led from the cabin to the creek she stepped out of the trees and crouched beside a gnarled trunk. She ran her hand along the rough bumpy surface of the tree until she felt the knotted end of the fine, taut fishing wire that stretched across the trail. The tripwire was secure, and the beer cans she’d scavenged from the recycling bin to string back near the cabin hadn’t sounded. Whoever—or whatever—was crashing through the forest hadn’t come this way. Yet.
It probably really was a deer or a raccoon. Please, just don’t let it be a bear—or a man.
Her stomach turned over, and she gripped her fist around the aged leather of the sheath the way Joy-Lynn used to squeeze Mopsy, her stuffed rabbit, by the arm as she dragged the bedraggled yellow thing around the house.
Joy-Lynn. She’s counting on you to keep her safe.
She leaned against the rough trunk and took great, gulping breaths of the cold air until the wave of nausea passed. Then she wiped her mouth on her sleeve and listened hard.
She could hear the waters in the creek rushing over the rocks and the rodents and small mammals scrabbling through the underbrush. But nothing else, nothing sinister. She didn’t think so, anyway. She barked out a harsh laugh. What did she know? Her latest job as a home-based data entry clerk for a fancy subscription box company that shipped luxury beauty and skincare products to rich ladies hadn’t exactly prepared her for a life off the grid, or on the lam.
The wind gusted and lifted the ball cap right off her head. She grabbed for the hat as her hair whipped around her face like a curtain. Behind her and to her left, a deafening splintering sounded. She jumped and wheeled toward the sound in time to watch a high, thin branch split in two and separate from a tall tree. As it somersaulted to the ground, she took a juddering breath.
It’s just the wind.
Boyd stood, frozen, and stared at the bear.
Run. His reptilian brain sent the ancient, primal message to his muscles. His legs twitched and he bent his knees.
Then, just in time—almost a beat too late—his logic and reasoning capacities came back on line, like a computer booting up.
Do not run, he ordered himself sternly.
He’d grown up in these hills. Despite the bear’s autumn bulk, he knew it could, if properly motivated, outrun a racehorse. He backed away, veering off the path onto an overgrown fork that curved into the woods, never taking his eyes off the bear.
He shuffled backward, forcing his feet to move deliberately.
The bear ignored him. Its attention was fixed on a heavy cluster of hickory nuts swinging from a branch in a tree to his right. The animal hugged the trunk and scaled it with ease. Its hind claws scored deep lines in the tree’s ridged bark.
A little more than a third of the way from the top, the bear stopped, level with the branch that had caught its eye. It grabbed the nut-laden limb with a massive paw and shook it from side to side. A shower of nuts cascaded to the ground, bounced, and rolled to a stop. The bear gave another shake to free the last few nuts; then it shimmied down the tree.
He held his breath as four paws hit the earth with a mighty thud that jolted the ground under his boots. The bear continued to pay him no mind, now focused on harvesting its treasure. It began to scoop up the pile of light brown nuts, and the man saw his opening.
He sprinted, speed trumping stealth as he thrashed through branches and brambles. The sound of his blood rushing in his ears was deafening. His foot got tangled up in some detritus in the path and he stumbled. He righted himself and risked a backward glance to confirm the bear hadn’t abandoned its nutmeat in favor of fresh human meat.
The trail was empty, but he picked up his pace anyway. He pumped his arms and legs as he hauled ass back to his car and hurled himself into the driver’s seat. He turned the key in the ignition with shaking hands and gunned the engine. He needed to get to Marlene and Joy-Lynn before the authorities found them, true, but not at the risk of being mauled by a five-hundred-pound black bear.
He knew where they were, though, and that was all he needed, he promised himself as he rattled down the hard-packed dirt road.
4
Joy-Lynn sat on the narrow bed with her back scrunched up against the rough plank wall and her knees drawn up to her chest. She kept her eyes glued on the pages of the paperback propped up on her thighs but none of the words were making it into her brain.
She’d been reading the same paragraph, over and over, since Mom left the cabin. But she couldn’t focus on the adventures of Essa, the girl detective. Not while Mom was … out there. She tossed the mystery to the floor and reached under the bed to pull out her sketchbook and her charcoals. She called up an image in her mind of what she wanted to draw.
The creek. She’d only glimpsed it through a gap in the trees for a few seconds the day they’d arrived. She checked the tick marks on the inside cover of the sketchpad. Eight days ago.
Mom had hustled her into the cabin before she could explore, with a promise that once they were settled and safe, Joy-Lynn would be able to go outside, alone, like a normal eleven-year old. Ha. As if.
Forget Mom. Picture the scene.
She closed her eyes.
Tall, dense trees, the leaves turning colors, lined both sides of the creek. Gray, jutting rocks, scattered at random angles throughout the water and along the banks. The sun breaking through the trees and hitting the creek, spreading out in a thousand shimmering points of light on the surface of the clear, rushing water.
She breathed out slowly, opened her eyes, and waited. Then, what always happened, happened. Her right hand took over. With no input from her, her hand began to draw. Confident, bold strokes of charcoal appeared on the page in a pattern her brain must be controlling, but she couldn’t see. Her hand moved without pausing or hesitating, faster and faster, until it was a blur against the paper.
And, all on its own, the movement stopped. The charcoal slipped through her fingers and came to rest on the bedspread.
She looked down at the black strokes on the page and felt her mouth break into a grin. The creek. Just as she’d pictured it. She bounced a little on the firm mattress. Wait until Mom saw it. No, she wouldn’t show Mom. Not yet. She could dig out her pastels later and give it some color. Just enough to highlight the beams of sunlight on the water and the shadows in the trees.
She slid off the bed, holding the sketchbook outstretched in front her, and walked over to the small window to admire her work in the natural light. The fear and worry that had gripped her heart like a fist eased away.
Drawing was like breathing for Joy-Lynn. Automatic and painless and something she needed to do to live. Mr. Pine said her landscapes, still lifes, and ab
stract pieces were a gift because looking at them made people feel joy and hope and the bigness of beauty.
Her smile gave way to a tiny frown. But not her portraits.
She couldn’t draw people. Not the same way she drew everything else. You could look at them and tell what they were—a boy, a woman, a bride and groom dancing. But they didn’t come alive. They looked … blank. Just like real people.
Mr. Pine told her to be patient, to keep trying and a breakthrough would happen. And she did. She worked so hard at it. But she was starting to think he might be wrong. She twisted her lips and narrowed her eyes, suddenly less thrilled with the picture of the creek.
Then she heard the clanging and banging. Loud and rowdy. Like noisemakers on New Year’s Eve or a little kid banging a pot with a wooden spoon. But this noise wasn’t a party noise. This was an alarm. A warning.
Her stomach lurched. She threw the sketchbook on her bed and ran into the kitchen, her arms and legs windmilling crazily as she slid across the floor in her socks. She skidded to a stop in front of the sink and pawed through the utensil drawer with shaking hands until she found the kitchen shears.
She crept to the door, forcing her legs to move. Then she pressed herself against the wall, clutched the sheers in her hand like a dagger, and waited. In the distance, out in the woods behind the bedroom, the sound of the cans rattling against each other faded. Now the noise came from inside Joy-Lynn. Her hammering heart, her pounding pulse and rushing blood, and her loud, fast breathing filled her ears.
She squeezed her eyes shut and mouthed a single word over and over in a small, almost silent, whisper. “Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom.”
Marlene had just about convinced herself that the noises truly were nothing more than gusting winds and foraging critters when the tripwire sounded.
The cans clanged wildly against one another, and her mouth went dry.
Someone or something was messing around behind the cabin. In her heart, she knew no animal had tripped the alarm. There was someone else in the woods. Someone looking for her—and for Joy-Lynn.
The thought of Joy-Lynn alone in the cabin set off fireworks of hot panic in Marlene’s chest. She had to get back to her daughter. Now.
She jammed the hat back onto her head and took off running, no longer concerned about staying quiet or out of sight. She crashed through the underbrush as she bolted toward the small wood structure, still out of sight, sitting behind a curve in the path. The trees on either side of her blurred together in her peripheral vision as she sprinted.
Over the sound of her wild drumbeat heart, she heard a noise that turned her blood to ice. Here, in the woods, it was more frightening than any animal’s roar. The loud growl of an engine rumbling to life, out of sight but very close, resonated in her bones. She sniffed the air and smelled hot gasoline. There was someone else here. Not the wind. Not a deer.
What if they’d found the cabin? Found Joy-Lynn alone in there?
The idea of someone taking her daughter …
She stumbled, fell to her knees, and dug her fingernails into the hard, dry earth.
No. No. The wind carried her wail away before she’d finished the sound.
Pull it together.
She pushed down the fear and bile and forced herself to her feet. She resumed running, her unsteady legs rubbery and her heart tight in her chest. She flung herself at the door and pounded both fists against the rough wood.
“Joy-Lynn, it’s me. It’s mama. Open up!” She tried to blunt the edge of hysteria creeping into her voice.
She held her breath and prayed. Please be there, please. Please still be there, baby.
The silence stretched on forever. She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the hot tears that threatened to spill out onto her cheeks as sick dread settled in her stomach.
She lifted her hand to hammer against the door once more. She heard a soft rustling on the other side.
“M … mom?” Joy-Lynn’s high voice cracked.
Thank you, thank you, thank you. She wasn’t sure to whom or what she addressed her gratitude, but she felt it in her soul.
“Yes, baby, it’s me. Open the door, okay?”
“The cans …”
This time, Marlene bore down on her panic and flattened her voice into a smooth, calm tone. “I know, honey. Someone tripped the wire. It’s okay; they’re gone. But I need you to let me in so we can get packed up. It’s not safe to stay here anymore.”
After a heartbeat, she heard the metal lock slide back along the grooved channel and click into place. The door opened inward, slowly, to reveal a tear-stained face. The girl looked back at her, shaking, small and vulnerable. She clutched a pair of kitchen shears in her right hand.
Marlene’s eyes drifted to the pigtails. Pink ribbon tied around the left; purple ribbon around the right. She returned her eyes to Joy-Lynn’s face and fixed her gaze on the beauty mark. She exhaled shakily.
Joy-Lynn was studying her with equal care, her eyes trained on the safety-orange ball cap. She panted out a breath and lowered the scissors to her side.
“Mama, I was so scared.”
Marlene felt as though she hadn’t moved. But she must’ve crossed the threshold, because she was standing inside the small cabin now, clutching her terrified daughter to her chest. She ran her hand over the crown of Joy-Lynn’s head and murmured wordless soothing sounds until the girl’s racing heartbeat and her own slowed.
Then she swallowed and pulled Joy-Lynn back, holding her at arm’s length to search her face once more. “You did great. It was smart thinking to get the shears.” She gently eased the scissors out of the girl’s grip and placed them on the counter. “Now, we need to pack up—quickly—and move on.”
Joy-Lynn narrowed her eyes. “But where are we going?”
Marlene had no idea. The truth was, they were running out of places to go. She pushed back the thought and smiled a reassurance. “I’ll tell you while we’re gathering up our things. Come on, now. We have to hurry.”
Joy-Lynn bobbed her head in assent, but Marlene could tell her daughter knew she was bluffing.
It didn’t matter, though. They had no choice but to get out of there. If they stayed, they’d be dead in a matter of hours.
It was time to run again. She’d worry about the rest later.
5
Aroostine bounced along the winding county road in the pickup truck she’d inherited from Joe. Rufus slept curled up on the bench seat beside her, raising his head only to give her an accusatory look when they hit a particularly jarring bump.
“Don’t blame me,” she told him. “I wouldn’t have chosen a humongous, hulking truck for my first car.”
A little VW bug or an electric-powered Prius would’ve been more her speed. But no, she was barreling around in a gas-guzzling behemoth, towing a pop-up trailer, no less. Armed with a fake driver’s license, a false license plate, and a forged registration. What could go wrong?
Rufus, oblivious as only a dog could be to the catalog of laws she was breaking, tilted his head as if to say ‘Who are you kidding? If Joe hadn’t died, you never would’ve learned how to drive at all.’
It was a fair point.
She glanced in her rearview mirror to confirm the trailer remained securely attached. Although this was her second road trip, it was the first time she’d towed the pop-up. With Rufus along, it made sense to bring her own sleeping accommodations rather than to rely on finding pet-friendly motels wherever she ended up.
It would’ve been easier to leave Rufus behind. She knew Joe’s parents would be happy to keep him at their place. But the truth was, she’d missed him the last time. And if this whole ‘tracking people down for Carole’ thing was going to become a habit, she’d rather have him with her.
She reduced her speed and peered over the dashboard, determined not to miss the turn off to the roadside stand where Ellis had suggested they meet.
“Don’t worry, boy. She said there are picnic tables outside where we can sit. I w
on’t leave you in the truck.”
Rufus rested his head on his front paws and sighed contentedly.
She spotted a simple white sign coming up on the left. Neat black hand lettering promised that her destination was near. At the ‘Pattie’s Pies 0.1 miles’ sign, she made a wide left turn and immediately spied the pie shack down the road on the right. She pulled off the road and parked next to a small blue coupe, careful to leave herself ample room to pull out without reversing. Going in reverse while towing stretched the limits of her abilities as a novice driver, so she tried to avoid it when possible.
Rufus lifted his head as she killed the engine. She clipped his leash to his collar, went around to the passenger side of the truck, and opened the door for him to jump down. He landed with a graceless thud and thumped his tail against her leg, excited about all the new smells.
She stretched her back and glanced around, searching for the driver of the coupe. Nobody was sitting at any of the tables, nobody waited at the counter for an order. She frowned and checked the burner cell phone she’d picked up at a gas station outside Harrisonburg, Virginia, about two and a half hours into the trip. No missed calls, no messages.
So where the heck was Ellis Brown? Aroostine blew out a frustrated breath, ruffling her long bangs, and wrapped her thigh-length cardigan around her chest to ward off the late afternoon chill.
Her attention turned to the pie stand. As if the shack were a magnet, the promise of pies pulled her across the rutted ground. She may not have a witness to interview, but that didn’t mean the stop had to be a wasted effort.
Crossfire Creek Page 3
