Chapter Nineteen #2
I’m working through all of this as we get closer to Haven’s Rock.
Normally, by this point we’d hear the town.
We don’t, which means they are doing an excellent job of locking down.
It’s still midday, and work is progressing, but all loud work has ceased, and all conversation is taking place indoors.
“They really do deserve a reward when all this is over,” I whisper to Dalton, after we’ve commented on the quiet. “Maybe—”
I stop. My voice is so low that when a twig crackles to our left, I hear it. We all stop and listen. Storm sniffs the air. We’re downwind, and the scent she catches has her whining. I look over, and she whines again. It’s a good whine—excitement, not fear or concern.
Someone she knows.
I smile at Dalton. “Must be the patrol.”
He nods. There’s another path just north of us, and it’s used for militia patrols.
When I peer into the trees, I catch a glimpse of green clothing.
Yes, it’s not easy to see green clothing in a forest, but this particular shade is familiar.
It’s the emerald of Anders’s windbreaker, which I may have bought him after a tipsy female resident waxed eloquent on a green shirt he’d been wearing, how it brought out the green in his eyes.
His eyes are brown. Just brown. So I bought the jacket and never fail to tell him it brings out the green in his eyes.
He’d stop wearing it if it wasn’t actually a very nice coat, just the right weight for this weather.
Seeing it, I grin at Dalton and mouth Will. He nods, and when I motion that I’m going to sneak up on him, he only rolls his eyes and leans against a tree. I gesture for Storm to lie down, and she does not appreciate that, but she does so, with an accusatory huff.
Before I leave, Dalton touches my arm and murmurs, “Make sure.”
I nod. Obviously, I plan to be sure it’s Anders. I’m not taking the chance of play-pouncing on a dangerous stranger because he’s wearing the same color as Anders’s jacket.
I creep into the forest. For a moment, I don’t see Anders, but then he rounds a corner and I can make out his back. I continue on, walking as quietly as I can. He’s going in the opposite direction. He isn’t alone, and I think the other person is Kendra, but again, I want to be sure.
I step out onto the path. They’re about a hundred feet ahead of me and about to round another corner, but it’s definitely them. I take one long stride, prepared to break into a jog. Then something rustles behind me.
I spin just as a figure darts into the forest.
For a moment, I stand there, as if hitting Pause and Replay on the mental footage. What exactly did I just see? A person, yes. Definitely a human, not an animal. They’d been on the path behind me, and when I turned, they were already ducking into the woods.
A human figure.
Not noticeably short or tall. Wearing dark trousers and a dark coat with the hood pulled up.
I take out my gun and glance over my shoulder. Anders and Kendra have vanished around that corner. I could call them back, but if I do, I’ll alert whoever I just saw, and I have a feeling that the person I just saw was …
I let the thought trail off as I creep to where the person disappeared into the forest. I don’t see anyone there, which either means they’re long gone or they’re right on the other side of that wide tree ten feet away.
I adjust the hold on my gun. Then, slowly, I make a show as if putting it away, but only lower it, hidden by my side.
Then I take a chance. “Gretchen?” I say softly. “It’s me. We met the other day.”
Silence.
“I know something happened to Blake. I know you must be scared. I want to help you.”
Of course I’m at least fifty percent sure that what happened to Blake was at Gretchen’s hands.
And I’m also only fifty percent sure that this is actually Gretchen.
But if she killed Blake, I want her to think that I’m the sort of person who could never imagine such a thing.
A man murdered in the forest? His wife on the run?
Clearly she’s fleeing from whoever killed him, and so I’m coming to her rescue.
“Gretchen,” I say again.
Silence.
I start forward. The only place she could hide is behind that tree. As I walk, I keep softly talking to her, as if she’s a timid woodland creature.
Everything is okay. It’s safe to come out. I won’t hurt you. If you saw me with a gun, that’s just because I didn’t know it was you.
I reach that big tree and stop on my side. When I listen, I don’t hear anything.
“Gretchen?” I say. “I’m right here. If you would like me to go away, I can do that. Just tell me what you want.”
Lies. I’m sure as hell not walking away. But I’ll say whatever it takes to convince her.
“We can talk from here if that helps,” I say. “I won’t come any closer.”
Silence.
I try for a laugh. “Or maybe I’m talking to myself and you’re not right there. Okay, I’m going to come around the tree. I need to know you’re okay. Then I’ll do whatever you want.”
I lift my right hand to tuck the gun under my coat as I circle the tree from the left, that empty hand raised. “If you don’t want me coming closer, say something.”
I get around the tree to find … Yep. I’m talking to myself.
I exhale and raise my voice. “Okay, Gretchen. If you can hear me, I really want to be sure you’re okay. Just—”
The softest crunch behind me. I wheel just in time to see Gretchen swinging a tree limb at my head. I dodge, but it catches my shoulder and spins me off balance. My hand is still under my jacket with the gun, and the moment it takes me to debate pulling it out is a moment too long.
She swings the branch at my legs, and it hits hard. If she’d struck my good one, I’d have been fine. But she hits my bad leg right where old muscle damage has weakened it. I start to fall, and I could still stop myself, but I decide against it, instead dropping onto my butt, gun raised.
“Don’t move,” I say, my voice going hard, every trace of helpful Casey evaporating.
She tenses her muscles, ready to run, and I shift my finger onto the trigger. Outrage floods her face, and then undiluted rage.
“Going to help me, huh?” she says. “Did you really think I’d fall for that?”
“I meant it,” I say. “Right up to the point where you attacked me.”
“I attacked you because you murdered my husband.”
“What?”
She rocks forward, as if she wants to stomp me. “Don’t play dumb. You said you know he’s dead. You killed him. You and that guy you were with.”
“If you mean my husband—”
“I don’t give a shit who he is. He murdered my husband.
” Tears glisten in her eyes. “Blake wanted to leave that day. He didn’t trust you.
A couple with a baby out here? A seemingly normal couple?
That doesn’t happen. He said if you were really living out here, there was something wrong with your so-called husband.
That he’s one of those crazy mountain men, and you’re his mail-order bride. ”
I could comment on the racism of that remark, but I only say, “A mail-order bride with a Canadian accent? You met my husband. Did he seem like a crazy mountain man to you?”
She ignores that. “Blake wanted to go. I insisted he rest, but he was up before dawn, and I agreed to leave early as long as he soaked his ankle first.” The tears well, her voice rising. “That’s where you killed him. While he was soaking his foot.”
“No, we didn’t,” I say. “We found Blake’s body, and we’ve been looking for you ever since.”
“You’ve been hunting me,” she spits. “That man of yours. Hunting me and—”
“Step away from her.” Dalton’s voice comes from the trees to our right.
She spins, and while I can’t see Dalton, she must, because her eyes go wide with terror. Rage flashes, and she feints his way. Then she turns and runs.