by L C Hayden
Even if Carol managed to overpower L’ee, she still had to figure a way to unchain herself. Then, once outside, which way would she go? She assumed she’d be following the tire tracks, but what if Balthasar pursued her? She’d have to use the woods to hide. If so, she might get lost. She had never taken a survival course and she had no idea what to do. She felt the nerves in her stomach tighten into a knot.
Stop that! Harry would be so ashamed of me. He’d tell me to calm down and think logically. Carol drew in a long breath and slowly let it out. She silently counted to ten.
The anxiety attack vanished, or at least it went into hiding.
Get that branch.
Carol began to pace, not toward the fireplace, but away from it.
L’ee turned around. “What are you doing?”
“I have a cramp in my leg. I’m just working it out.” She continued to walk at a slow pace.
L’ee shrugged and turned her attention back to the window. “That’s too bad,” she said.
Carol increased her pacing area until it gradually included the fireplace. Without looking at the branch, she walked past the fireplace. As she did, she bent her knees, kept her back straight, and reached for it. Once she had it firmly in hand, she hid it between her arm and body and headed toward the bed.
She continuously watched L’ee who had her back turned and seemed not to pay any attention to her. Still, Carol chose to use caution.
Without changing the tempo of her pacing, she reached the bed. She sat down, quickly raised the bedspread, and placed the branch under it. She moved the pillow so that it concealed the bulge.
Her ears picked up the familiar sound of an approaching car. The last time she had heard the same noise, the sound level diminished instead of increasing. From that, Carol concluded that the vehicle traveled away from them. That gave Carol a bit of hope. Somewhere out there, nearby, a road existed and Carol promised herself to find it.
L’ee sat up straighter. “He’s here.”
Carol didn’t know if the news brought her relief or tension. She sat at the edge of the bed, her attention focused on the doorway.
L’ee gasped.
As soon as Balthasar stepped in, Carol understood why L’ee had gasped. Balthasar stood in the doorframe, his right hand holding a gun.
Blind panic fueled Carol. She thought of the branch—what good would it do? Images flashed before her in fast succession. Harry’s gentle face. The kids. The grandkids. Home. The camper. Would she ever see any of them again? She felt as if someone had reached into her insides and pulled them out. She closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable.
She barely heard L’ee give the command, “Balthasar, put that gun away. What do you think you’re doing?”
Carol took in a deep breath. She wasn’t going to die. She opened her eyes and saw Balthasar respond by raising the gun. A grin, filled with venom and defiance, covered his face.
He pulled the trigger.
Chapter Forty-seven
Bronson stood listening to his pulse beat loudly in his head. He stared at the hand enclosed in a plastic bag. He should have been more professional. He should never have dropped it—but this—this was Carol’s hand. He blinked and stared some more. No, it wasn’t. This wasn’t Carol’s hand—or anyone else’s hand for that matter.
Bronson squatted and examined the item. The index finger rested on top of the middle finger, the universal symbol for hope. Was L’ee telling him there was hope for Carol? He examined the hand a bit closer. Its creator knew what he was doing. Very good wax imitation. Dammit, L’ee, what game are you playing?
Inside the bag, Bronson saw a note. He unfolded it and read it:
Congratulations.
You’ve found all four geocaches, but did you find Carol in time? I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that time runs out at 6:06. I wonder what time it is now.
In spite of Bronson’s strong will to ignore the time, his watch magnetized his eyes. He had less than thirty minutes. He felt the anxiety choke him. He continued to read:
Hope you kept all of the information from the other geocaches. For there, you will find the answer that will lead you to your precious Carol—alive or dead, depending on what time you arrive.
Bronson frantically retrieved all four notes and re-read them. In his pocket notebook, he jotted down the names of the places where the geocaches had been hidden: Safford City Park, Fort Grant, Patterson Mesa Rd., and Turkey Flat. He rearranged the words in different orders. He alphabetized them to see if the first letter of each word formed a new word. Nothing jumped out.
He checked his cell phone. No service.
He reached for the hand-held radio. “Bronson to Quaid.”
“Quaid, go.”
“Marie O’Day is looking at cabin locations around this area. I need to know if she’s found one that contains any of the following words: Safford, city, park, fort, Grant, Patterson, Mesa, road, turkey, and/or flat. Did you get all of that?”
“Got it. What’s going on?”
“Found the fourth geocache. Note says I now have all of the information I need to find Carol.”
“But?”
“I don’t know what information that is.”
“Hang on while I talk to my deputies.” A slight pause followed. When he finished he once again spoke to Bronson. “Did you, huh, find. . . . L’ee said she’d, huh. . . .”
“I found a wax hand in the geocache. Scared the hell out of me when I first saw it.”
“So she was bluffing.”
“Yeah, I guess. All I know is that I have less than half-an-hour to find Carol alive—and I think L’ee isn’t bluffing on this one.”
“Then let’s find her. I’ve got Marie O’Day on the line. I’ve already had one of my men explain to her what you need. I’ll put her through.”
No sooner had Quaid finished talking than Marie O’Day blurted out, “Sorry, Bronson, none of those words rings a bell. I looked at the street names, names of establishments, and even owners with that name or nickname. Can you think of anything I may be overlooking?”
He couldn’t. He thanked her and she promised she’d continue looking. Quaid disconnected them.
“Now what?” Quaid asked.
“The answer is here, in front of my face. You’ve got the same information I do. Maybe one of us. . . .”
“I’ll do what I can over here. If I find something, I’ll call. You do the same.”
“Of course.” Bronson moved his finger away from the mike and put the radio away. He opened his notebook to a clean page and drew four dots that represented the geocaches’ approximate locations. If he connected the dots, they formed a trapezoid. He stepped back and looked at the figure. It didn’t mean a thing to him.
What else? Think. Think. Time is runnin’ out. If he connected dots one and two and dots three and four in the order of the geocaches, it formed a giant X.
He focused and images flashed in rapid succession before his eyes. He had found the first geocache in the middle of the bridge. A plastic cactus between two bushes held the second geocache. The third geocache consisted of a miniature Stonehenge. At its center, he had found the information. He had found the last geocache among a cluster of pines. The middle one had the fake limb.
All geocaches had been hidden in the middle—no, the center.
The fingers on the wax hand had been crossed, not telling him there was hope as he had originally thought. The fingers formed an X.
X marks the spot.
At the center where the lines met—that revealed the cabin’s location. He felt it. He knew it. He buzzed Quaid and explained his theory. Quaid put him on hold while he had his men do a quick calculation. A minute later, Quaid’s voice came over the radio, “That places the cabin at the top of the mountain. The bad news is that area is heavily wooded and there’s no place for a helicopter to land. This is strictly a car road. Good news is that the road leading to the top begins at Turkey Flat, and you’re already there.”
&n
bsp; “How long of a drive before I get to the cabin?”
“Depending on the cabin’s exact location, it’s maybe a thirty or forty mile drive.”
“Damn! Even if I do sixty. . . .”
“Don’t count on it. It’s a narrow, winding road.”
All hope of finding Carol alive evaporated. The fear and anxiety that grabbed him choked him and left him feeling helpless. “We don’t even know which cabin it is.”
“I’ve got my men working with Marie. You’ll soon have some coordinates.”
“The car. Where’s the car?”
“Should be there any second now. One of my men—”
“I see it.” Bronson bolted toward it. He wanted to yank the driver out but instead waited until he brought the car to a stop. Bronson recognized him. He was the same deputy who had been assigned to make sure Bronson didn’t leave Quaid’s office. “You’re familiar with these roads?”
“Yes, sir.”
Bronson climbed into the passenger’s side. “Good. Then drive like hell. I’ll let you know when it’s time to stop.”
Bronson briefly looked around. Under normal circumstances, the beauty of the forest would have enthralled him. Instead, the deep shadows cast by the gigantic pines deepened his sense of dread.
“It’s a real pleasure to meet you, sir. Your reputation follows you all the way to Safford. I know we sort of met before, but not officially. I’m Jonathan Welk.”
“Nice to meet you, Welk, and nice of you to come.”
“It’s part of my job, sir. But even if it wasn’t, I would have come anyway.”
“I appreciate that.” He keyed the mike. “Bronson to Quaid.”
“Quaid, go.”
“We’re rollin’.”
“I thought so. While I was waiting for you to check in, I got the coordinates. Do you have something to jot them down with or are you driving?”
“Welk’s drivin’. Let me have ’em.”
Quaid gave them to him and Bronson repeated them. “By the way,” Quaid added, “I gave Marie the coordinates and she found a cabin located just on the spot. Belongs to an elderly local man. I’ve sent some deputies to go talk to him. Soon as I have anything, I’ll call you. In the meantime, be careful out there. No need to kill yourself or my deputy. You probably noticed by now, the road is rather steep.”
Bronson watched as Welk maneuvered another hair-pin curve. “So I’ve noticed.”
“Me and some deputies are heading your way. We’re maybe fifteen, twenty minutes behind you.”
“Fine.”
“If nothing else, we can meet at the cabin.”
If it is the right cabin. God, what if I’m wrong?
There were no guarantees—even one that said he’d find Carol alive.
The thought pulled at Bronson’s heart.
Chapter Forty-eight
Apprehension gnawed at Bronson’s nerves, eating slowly away at his resolution. They had been on the road now for fifteen minutes and they were nowhere near where the GPS told him he should be.
Time both froze and sped up. The dash board clock told him he had nine minutes left. “Can’t this car go any faster?”
Welk pressed down on the accelerator and Bronson prayed they wouldn’t encounter another car on the next curve. Outside, the birds shrieked and the shadowy stretch of the woods cast eerie shapes.
Bronson shook himself. No more self-doubts. He’d never be able to help Carol under those circumstances. He would reach her in time. He had to.
He checked the GPS. He had reached the first coordinate. “We’re here. Pull over.”
Welk did and they got out. Bronson’s gaze scoped the hill, but he couldn’t see any cabins. Quaid and Marie had assured him one would be up there. He believed them. “I’ll cover this side of the mountain.” Bronson made a sweeping motion with his arm to the right side of the mountain. “You cover that side. One of us finds something, we’ll call one another.”
Welk nodded and began his ascent.
Keeping low and using the trees as cover, Bronson also began to climb the hill. As he headed upwards, he reached for his gun, reassuring himself that he had easy access to it. He pushed on. The deathly silence of the forest caused his heart to pound extra hard. He felt sure it would give him away.
Not wanting to but unable to stop himself, he stole a glance at his watch. Three minutes left. The anguish he felt pushed him harder up the hill. The cool shadows, mixed with his fear, caused him to shiver.
Between the trees the faint outline of a cabin took shape. Bronson paused long enough to assess the situation. It looked deserted. Still, he scoped the surrounding woods. He looked for the glint of a reflected light from a gun or a rifle. He observed the shapes, looking for a possible place for a sniper to hide.
Failing to see either, he crouched lower and radioed Welk the information.
“I’ll be there as soon as possible,” Welk said. “Over and out.” Bronson imagined Welk moving toward the cabin even as he spoke.
Rationally, Bronson knew he should wait for Welk. Every policeman needed a backup, a partner. But that would require time, and time was not a luxury Bronson had. As he advanced, he looked at his watch. The time read 6:07.
Bronson’s heart did a flip-flop. He had missed the deadline. His mouth felt as dry as if it had been stuffed with cotton. Carol would be all right. He had to believe that. He was going to reach her in time, but he wouldn’t get there unless he was careful. He reconsidered his options.
Chances were that L’ee, Balthasar, and anybody L’ee might have hired would be expecting him to approach from the front of the cabin. Their guns, their focus would be directed toward that area. He needed the element of surprise. He changed direction and headed in an arc-shape and approached the cabin from the side. He moved quickly and efficiently, like a lion on a hunt.
His mind, his soul, his every essence focused on the cabin and getting Carol out alive. He expected to find Balthasar and perhaps some others crouching behind the pine trees, rifles ready, waiting for Bronson to make his appearance.
Instead, he found no snipers. With cat-like movements and keeping as low as possible, he reached the edge of the cabin. Still, he saw no one. The hairs behind his neck stood up. Behind me. They must be watchin’ me creep along. Why haven’t they shot me? He executed a one-hundred-and- eighty-degree turn, whipped out his gun, raised it, and aimed it at. . .nothing.
The stillness of the forest filled him with dread. Where was Balthasar? What was he planning? Bronson plastered his body against the cabin wall and worked his way toward a window. As unobtrusively as possible, he peeked in. He saw a one-room cabin consisting of a kitchen area, a sleeping area, and a living area. The place looked deserted. Yet the GPS told him this was the correct location. Had he been wrong and misread the clues?
Bronson scooted under the window and worked his way toward the door. It stood open. Not a good sign, he thought. He braced himself, squatted, and stuck his head in just far enough to see.
He gasped.
Chapter Forty-nine
“Spread out. Spread out,” Quaid ordered his men. They had reached Turkey Flat in what Quaid considered record time. “I want every inch of the mountain covered. Anybody going up or down won’t be able to get past us. We’ll make sure of that. Is that understood?”
Some men mumbled a yes while others nodded.
Quaid looked at the men. “Be careful out there and good luck. Do any of you have any questions?”
No one had any. “All right, then go, and don’t forget to keep in constant touch. I don’t want any surprises.” Quaid watched the deputies ascend the hill. On his way to Turkey Flat, he had decided it would be best if he stayed at the bottom and coordinated the effort from there. As he watched the men disappear up the hill, his heart filled with doubts.
He could just as easily make decisions from the top as well as the bottom. Besides, if he started now, he’d be closer to the action.
* * * * *
Bronson
entered the cabin, swinging his gun in a wide arc, while scanning the room for Balthasar or any other dangers.
“You look . . . ridiculous . . . Put the gun . . . away. It’s just you . . . and me,” L’ee said. “No one else.”
Bronson stood up and headed toward L’ee. She had been shot in the chest two times, and the wounds bled profusely. L’ee had placed her hands over the primary wound in a futile effort to slow the bleeding.
Bronson bent down and examined the wounds. One was superficial and was close to the shoulder. The other one, a sucking chest wound. He retrieved the radio.
“Put that away,” L’ee ordered.
“I’m going to call an ambulance for you.”
“If you want to know . . . where Carol is . . . put that away.”
Bronson returned the radio to his pocket. “Go on.”
“Sit down . . . It may take a while.”
Just tell me where Carol is. He sat on the floor next to L’ee. “Is she all right?”
L’ee stared at him intently and remained quiet. “I’ll begin at the beginning.”
Just tell me where Carol is. From the corner of his eye, he saw someone approach. He put his index finger to his lip, telling L’ee to remain quiet. He lay flat on the floor, his gun pointed at the door.
Welk stepped in, half-crouching, gun pointing.
Both Bronson and Welk simultaneously let out sighs of relief. Bronson turned to L’ee, “You were sayin’?”
“I’m dying of cancer.”
Bronson knew he should say something, but nothing appropriate came to mind.
L’ee continued, “I know I look. . .healthy, but in a couple of months. . .I’ll be. . .dead. So I chose this instead.”
