Chapter 26 Where’s the Raid? #2
“Shut the fuck up!” Benny whirled, stalked over to Dalton, and raised his gun hand. He brought it down, butt-first, stopping within an inch of Dalton’s cheek. Unflinching, Dalton quit his revolting display and cackled.
“Shut. Up,” Benny repeated, his voice lower. “Stupid fuck,” he muttered as he retreated to the door. Dalton chortled at his back.
Micky, meanwhile, stood frozen, his eyes as wide as coffee-cup saucers. They darted to Amy, and he mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
Emotions swirled inside her. Hate for them all, especially Micky. An oddly-placed sliver of pity for him too. Fear so acute she could taste its sour tang at the back of her throat.
The hope she’d carried since she’d first been abducted had been frail, but she’d clung to it. Now it shattered entirely. Despair closed over her like a shroud.
If Fate held one arrow of mercy in its quiver, she’d be dead before Dalton could put his filthy paws on her.
“Pull over here,” Gunderson directed. They were angled upward on a track barely wide enough for Shane’s truck chassis, and they’d been climbing the side of a mountain for nearly an hour. The spot Gunderson pointed at was a flat, narrow outcropping.
Shane followed his instructions, barely pulling off the trail when he killed the engine.
They’d been rolling without lights, without a radio, talking in whispers.
Noise carried upward, especially in the mountains, and they didn’t want to alert anyone they were on the hunt.
At the same time, they ran with their windows down, listening for anything that would tip them to the location of the targets they pursued—if, in fact, the two SUVs had come this way. Shane had his doubts.
Shane’s hope zipped along a spectrum, back and forth.
At one end, he was sure they’d find them, and Amy would be unharmed.
At the other end, he was convinced they were on a wild goose chase, and Amy was elsewhere being abused …
or worse. Mixed in with the back and forth was the seed of doubt that Amy was involved with Micky and his co-conspirators.
That she’d come with them willingly. That she’d aided them in carrying out their crimes.
That Shane would have to arrest her when this was all over.
The possibility made bile rise from his queasy stomach.
He didn’t want to believe it, but he couldn’t put a stopper on who he was and what he’d been sworn to do.
Focus, you idiot. Find her first. There’ll be time to sort it out later.
They readied their weapons, Shane unsnapping his holster and retrieving his AR-10 from its drawer beneath the back seat. Now he stepped from his truck, careful not to make any noise as he latched the door.
“Do you have a bead on the cabin?” he whispered. They hadn’t seen a light of any kind—not from a headlight, or a lantern, or a cigarette glowing. Then again, they were in dark timber, where light, along with sound, seemed to get swallowed up by the deep woods.
Gunderson was out of the truck now too, and he pointed up a steep slope engulfed in massive evergreens and midnight. “Can’t see it from here, but if it’s still standing, it should be above our position at about ten o’clock.”
Shane listened, straining to pick up anything unnatural, but he heard nothing. His heart sank. What if the bad guys had kept going on 352 and came out on a main road? What if he had guessed wrong?
Benny straightened. “I think I hear something. Kill the lantern,” he hissed.
“You think it’s Duke?” Dalton rose to his feet, wiping dirt from the back of his pants with one hand and clutching the knife in the other.
A ghoulish grin split his face. “’Bout damn time.
” He turned the knob on the old-fashioned kerosene lantern, and the flame winked out.
He sauntered toward Benny standing in the doorframe and joined him.
While they peered into the darkness, Micky silently picked his way toward Amy.
Her teeth clacked together. “Could be a pissed-off bear you heard. Or wolves,” she said darkly.
“They like to hunt in packs. Ever seen what’s left of a calf after they tear into it?
” she babbled. Maybe she could stir up some fear in them and throw them off their game, if even for an instant—not that it would buy her much.
Despite the dark, she could see motion as their heads whipped toward her. Good!
“Make her shut up,” Benny growled at Micky. “Or I’ll have Dalton do it.”
Micky closed the distance in a heartbeat and knelt beside her.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. He pulled a bandanna from his back pocket—one she’d washed hundreds of times.
She choked back a sudden rise of tears. Micky tied it around her mouth and knotted it behind her head, careful not to pinch her hair.
When he rose, he remained within an arm’s length of her, which neither Benny nor Dalton seemed to notice. If they did, they didn’t care.
Seconds stretched into minutes that lumbered on like hours, and no one moved or made a sound. Dalton finally broke the spell with a loud whisper. “Fuck me, I hope it’s Duke. I need some of what he’s got.” He stomped the threshold with his boot.
Benny whacked him in the side of the shoulder with his elbow and hissed, “Quiet!”
“What if she’s right? What if it’s a bear or a mountain lion?” Dalton’s voice was low, but Amy picked up the panic threading through it.
“I said quiet!” Benny snarled. “I can’t hear a damn thing with you whining in my ear.”
Micky tiptoed away, fumbled with something, and slid back into position beside Amy.
Meanwhile, Dalton grew more restless, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
As Amy’s eyes sharpened in the dark, she tracked him tossing the knife and catching it repeatedly by its hilt.
He began pacing, his steps oddly quiet on the ancient floorboards.
That pacing brought him toward her. “I got the perfect way to keep myself quiet and blow off some of this steam at the same time.” Menace dripped from his tone.
Amy’s heart rate spiked.
Dalton pulled up short, as if he’d just noticed Micky. “Thought you’d get a piece of her first, Allen?” His voice was a low growl. “You thought wrong. I get her first. Now get the fuck out of my way.”
Two things happened in the blink of an eye.
Micky crashed something against the side of Dalton’s head, and Dalton spun with a howl.
The lantern! Micky dropped to a knee, and with Dalton’s blade, he sliced through the zip tie around Amy’s ankles.
The knife cut through the binding as though it was warmed butter.
While Dalton flailed in rage, Benny left his post to check on him. Micky wrenched Amy to her feet, shoved the hilt of the knife into her bound hands, and hurled her through the front door.
“Run!” he roared.
She landed on the hard ground on her hip, off balance.
A crunching noise sounded as pain shot down her leg.
Unable to steady herself with her hands tied behind her, she lost her awkward grip on the knife.
Her heart pounded in her ears, and her breaths came in staccato bursts of panic.
Loud scuffles and grunts came from inside the cabin, the sound of things and men breaking.
Scrambling to her knees, she climbed to her feet, but they were numb, and she stumbled.
She turned to crawl away, and suddenly there he was: Dalton, looming over her, yelling a string of curses, spittle flying.
The knife glinted as he snatched it up from where she’d dropped it.
She kicked out, and her heel struck bone.
He barked in fury. “You little bitch!”
Then she was scooting, scrabbling, trying to roll away from his monstrous frame as he lurched and righted himself.
“Oh no, you don’t,” he snarled. He grabbed her foot and yanked her back, scraping her leg across rocks. She felt every jagged point as it poked and tore her clothes. He grabbed her hair and yanked her to her knees. A primal yell tore from his lungs, and he raised the knife.
She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for impact. Her mind flipped through the faces of everyone she loved.
Shane’s was the first one she saw … and the last.
A shot boomed, reverberating off the mountainside before it was swallowed up by the trees. The knife clattered. Amy’s eyes flew open.
Dalton stood frozen, mid-stroke, clutching the knife poised to drive into her. He looked down at his chest, where a dark spot bloomed. The world was suspended in eerie stillness for one long beat of her heart.
Then chaos broke out.
Dalton grabbed his chest and staggered, his eyes and mouth wide with shock.
Then his eyes snapped to her, as if he suddenly remembered his mission.
He was like a wounded animal, a funnel of rage.
Amy threw herself onto her side when another shot rang out.
The sound was different this time, then two, three, four more.
She lost count. Dalton collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
He sprawled, face down, his torso draped across her legs.
Dark liquid oozed from his back, thick and wet, soaking into her jeans.
She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t scream. The air had been knocked from her lungs, and she couldn’t catch her breath. She was all jerky movements, kicking and writhing, as she tried to pull herself up and flee. The zip tie bit into her wrists, and the bandanna dug at the corners of her mouth.
A strong arm hauled her up and pulled her against the hard body it was attached to. A familiar smell engulfed her. The tie behind her head loosened suddenly, and a deep, soothing voice washed over her. “I got you, Barista Amy. I got you.”
Her knees liquefied, and she slumped against her safe harbor. Then she spiraled into darkness.