Chapter 78
Joni stared at the cabin. She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t go in there and face her friends.
She dropped her head, turned, began walking away.
Then, behind her, she heard the cabin door open. She halted, glancing over her shoulder.
Maggie stepped out, Vilhelm behind her.
It took Joni several long moments to understand what she was seeing: the gun at Maggie’s head, Vilhelm directing her toward the mountain edge.
Then it all began to make an awful, sudden sense: it had been Vilhelm who’d been out here to collect the cocaine; Vilhelm who’d found some missing from the cave; Vilhelm who’d been tracking them, hunting them.
Pulse racing, Joni ducked behind a boulder, keeping out of sight. If she yelled for him to let Maggie go, Vilhelm would turn the gun on her. She needed to think. Be smart.
Her mouth was dry. She could hear the thunder of blood in her ears.
Think!
She glanced about frantically, thoughts ricocheting in desperation. Then she looked toward the cabin . . . an idea emerging.
She’d need to be fast.
Staying low, she began to move, keeping obscured behind boulders where possible. She crept silently toward the cabin, Vilhelm moving in the opposite direction.
Damn! His dog had seen her! Runa came loping toward her, tail wagging.
Vilhelm hadn’t noticed—he kept leading Maggie toward the mountain edge. Joni rubbed the dog briefly behind the ears to keep him quiet, then made for the cabin.
She pushed open the door and it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness.
Where is it?
She scanned the space, heartbeat racing.
Then her gaze landed on it: Vilhelm’s pack.
She rushed forward, unclipping the buckles.
There! Just as she’d hoped, she saw bag upon bag of cocaine.
From outside, there came a sudden burst of noise. A wild roar, feral and rageful.
Maggie?
Without hesitating, Joni swung the heavy pack onto her shoulder—and then she was running, pushing out of the cabin, following the sound, feet pounding earth.
She could see Maggie and Vilhelm on the mountain edge. Maggie was reaching for something—the gun?—and then just as suddenly she was no longer upright but crashing to the ground. The dog had run toward them and was barking, frantic now.
She heard the blow of a boot connecting with a body.
A cry of pain.
Then she saw Vilhelm’s tall, rangy frame, towering over Maggie.
Maggie was curled into herself. She was so close to the edge. One more kick could send her over.
Joni thundered toward them, sliding to a halt a few paces away. “Don’t touch her!” she screamed.
The barking stopped.
Vilhelm turned, startled. The gun swung to her.
With both hands she raised his pack high in the air, holding it above the drop.
“Bitch!”
Maggie lifted her head an inch, looking at Joni through a curtain of tangled hair. There was blood dripping from her lip. When her gaze managed to focus on Joni, her eyes crinkled with hope.
Maggie trusted her. Believed in her.
Vilhelm, head jerking toward Joni, snarled, “Put the bag down, or I kill her!”
Joni knew how to command attention. How to make sure everyone in the room kept their eyes on her. How to be the star of the show. Chin lifted, voice drawn deep from her diaphragm, she told him, “Touch her again and the cocaine goes!”
“You know I could shoot you?” Vilhelm growled.
Joni nodded. “And then the cocaine goes over with me.”
He pushed his tongue between his top teeth and lip.
From the west of the mountain, she saw two figures emerging in the mist. They were rushing along the trail, shoulder to shoulder. Liz and Helena.
Liz looked pale and shaken, blood trailing down her leg, Helena at her side, face flushed. Their eyes widened as they absorbed the sight of Vilhelm on the mountaintop, gun in hand, Maggie curled at his feet.
“My God! Maggie!” Helena said, rushing forward.
Vilhelm spun around, redirecting the gun at Helena. “Don’t move! Any of you!”
Helena stopped, hands raised.
Vilhelm was blinking quickly, his mouth hanging open, losing control of the situation. Joni needed him to remain calm—not do anything rash.
She was still holding the backpack above the drop into nothingness. The weight was causing her muscles to tremble. She couldn’t hold it like this for much longer.
“Step back from Maggie,” Joni commanded Vilhelm. “Then throw the gun over the edge—and you can have your cocaine.”
He turned, glaring at her, gun swinging in her direction. His finger was on the trigger. He pulled his lips over his teeth, thinking. Then he looked down at Maggie. After several long seconds, he grunted in concession—and took a step away from her.
“Maggie,” she said calmly. “Crawl away from the edge, okay? Go to Liz and Helena.”
Maggie’s head lifted fractionally, and then she heaved onto all fours, dragging herself toward the other two. Vilhelm’s dog slunk on its belly toward Maggie, nosing her gently. When she reached Liz and Helena, they helped Maggie to her feet, holding her close.
“Now toss the gun,” Joni instructed.
Vilhelm looked at her narrowly, gun still pointed at her face. His finger twitched on the trigger.
The mountaintop was silent.
She felt the burn of lactic acid in her muscles, arms shaking. She was going to drop the cocaine.
Finally, Vilhelm lowered the gun, muttering something beneath his breath, before tossing it over the edge. She watched the black weapon spin through the air before dropping into nothingness.
“Now give me the cocaine!” Vilhelm yelled.
“I will, and when I do, you will leave this mountain. You will not harm any of us. You will pretend we have never met. We will do the same.” She was staring hard at him. “Okay?”
His eyes were on the pack, not her. “Fine,” he agreed.
But she saw it in the slight curl of his lip, the narrowing of his gaze—she knew he was lying.
The moment Vilhelm had the cocaine, he would turn, come for them.
She would fight hard. Maybe she could land a few punches, get lucky, take him.
Maybe not. And if not, then he’d go after the others.
Maggie was badly injured, couldn’t run. Helena was pregnant and she couldn’t risk a blow to her middle. Liz looked exhausted, deeply shaken.
Vilhelm took a step toward her. “Hand it to me.”
Her arms jerked beneath the weight of the pack. Kilos of cocaine—all that powdered glitter that was never gold but rot, pulling people out of themselves, promising something better that was only ever an illusion.
In her peripheral vision, she could see her friends huddled together, watching.
Then Joni noticed what she’d missed: there was a knife pressed into Vilhelm’s trouser pocket. She could see the dark handle of it exposed at the top. All it would take was one quick movement.
Vilhelm took another step closer.
In a song, the most powerful note is silence. That moment of pause is when the meaning is communicated. She felt it now in the silence as she turned her gaze fully to meet Liz’s. Joni was silently communicating—apologizing for all the ways she’d failed her, telling her all the ways she’d loved her.
Then her gaze was back on Vilhelm as the music in her head began to play.
Vilhelm reached for the pack, and as he did so, with a surge of force, Joni launched it over the edge. In that moment—as Vilhelm’s fingers were outstretched for the pack—that’s when Joni took her chance.
She shoved Vilhelm hard in the side. Her palms met rib and flesh. She slammed the full weight of herself against him and felt him starting to unbalance, to tip toward the edge.
As he staggered, he twisted, arms flailing desperately. He reached out, fingertips opening—and then sealing around Joni’s wrist.
She felt the jolt in her shoulder socket as her arm was yanked hard, feet unbalancing, weight shifting, body tipping.
She heard her own gasp.
She had known the risk. By taking out Vilhelm, she was keeping her friends safe. They had families. Lives to go home to. They had each other. Joni wouldn’t let all that be destroyed.
The wheel of time ran slow.
She felt her feet unpeeling from the edge, the burn of hard, bony fingers against her wrist, the brush of wind filling her jacket as she went over the edge.
There was mist and the wild drop beneath.
She closed her eyes. She was onstage, the crowd waiting below, eyes on her, a sea of hands raised to catch her.
She heard her name being screamed for the final time.