Chapter Thirty-Three
Ellen was going half out of her mind with worry about Avery, but was trying to keep it together for Lyla and Penny. When she was alone in the kitchen, she picked up the phone to call Rick for an update; the line was dead.
Her cell phone had no reception, but that didn’t surprise her as much as the landline. She couldn’t remember the last time the landline had gone out during a storm. She tried the radio, but all she got was static. The one time she thought she heard a voice, it was gone before she could respond.
And Jake wasn’t back.
She wasn’t as worried about Jake—he had Bobby, she had talked to them, and Jake wouldn’t risk dangerous roads. He would seek shelter and be safe—she believed it.
She had to.
But she was definitely worried about her daughter, taken by strangers, three people who had left Greg Baldwin for dead, who had shot a dog, who were desperate.
They had her child.
She cleaned the kitchen because it was that or pull her hair out.
She wanted to go out and look for Avery, but she had no direction to go in.
It was dark and far more dangerous now, even though the rain had lightened up.
Because flash floods could take out a road or a field without warning.
As she cleaned, she prayed hard that Avery would be okay.
That she was fine. That she would come home in one piece.
Penny reclined in her easy chair in the living room, her eyes closed. She was an old woman, but she looked too old right now. It wasn’t the baking and cooking all day; it was the stress of worry.
“Go to bed, Grandma,” she called to her.
“I don’t want to,” Penny said, stubborn as usual. “Not until my great-grandkids are all home.”
Lyla came downstairs with an empty bowl and glass and washed them in the sink. As Ellen put away the sweets Penny had baked that day, she asked Lyla, “How is Margery doing?”
“Tired. She’s upset because the phones are down and she can’t talk to her sister, but she ate Grandma’s stew.”
“Hopefully she’ll sleep,” Ellen said. “That’s the best thing for her right now.
” She had checked her blood pressure when she brought up her dinner; it was steady at 135 over 70.
Slightly elevated, but consistent. Ellen was thinking that her initial stress was caused by not talking to her husband on their planned schedule.
Then it didn’t help that they had driven through the storm.
Still, when the roads were clear, she would suggest that Susie take Margery to the doctor.
They could monitor her blood, proteins, urine, everything they needed to make sure that she didn’t have a serious condition that could jeopardize her or the baby.
And hopefully, she could talk to her husband in the next day or two.
Lyla looked out the kitchen window. “The wind is picking up. Maybe I should check on the horses again. They were so agitated with all the thunder this afternoon.”
“They’re fine. They have their blinders on, they’ve been through storms before.”
“Where do you think Jake and Bobby are?” Lyla asked.
“Safe,” Ellen said, believing it mostly because she had to.
“Do you think Avery is going to be okay? Do you think they got out before Mule Run flooded? Is Sheriff Perez looking for her? And where’s Ryan? Jake said Ryan was on his way here, but it’s been hours and what if he got stuck?”
“Too many questions I can’t answer,” Ellen said. “The phone lines are down, cell reception is poor, so if Ryan couldn’t get through, he may not have been able to call to let us know.”
“But he uses a radio and knows what channel we’re on. Why didn’t he call?”
Ellen had been thinking about Ryan as well, but Avery dominated her worries right now.
“I don’t know,” she said. What else could she say?
“I tried reaching Rick earlier, but radios have limited reach, especially when it’s raining.
There has been some static on the radio, and maybe that’s Ryan trying to reach us. Bobby’s radio likely needs a recharge.”
“But—”
“Lyla,” Ellen said and turned to her daughter. “I’m worried, too. I hate being trapped here, unable to do anything. All we can do is wait.”
Lyla, who was her least demonstrative child, spontaneously hugged her. Ellen melted into her embrace, surprised at how much she needed the hug.
“I love you, Mom,” Lyla said.
“I love you, too, sweetheart.”
They finished cleaning up the kitchen together, then Lyla went to sit with Penny in the living room, and Ellen decided to put on a pot of coffee. As it started to brew, she heard footsteps on the porch. Jake and Bobby? Finally!
She ran to the mudroom door, opened it, but no one was there. Her imagination playing tricks. She wanted her boys home and her mind convinced her they were.
Then she heard Lyla scream from the living room and Ellen ran through the kitchen and dining room and stared at a large, hulking man in the threshold, drenched, with a handgun pointed at her daughter.
He turned the gun to Ellen. “Do not move. Do not do anything, or so help me God, I will shoot someone.”
“What do you want?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“My brother has been shot. It’s serious. You’re a nurse. You’re going to save him.”
“No,” she said. “I know who you are. You have my daughter.”
He stared at her. “You save Sam, I’ll give you your daughter.”
A wave of conflicting emotions ran over her, and it was all she could do to not scream in frustration and fear. Instead, she said as calm as she could, “How do I know she’s okay?”
“You don’t. But if Sam dies, you’ll never see her again.”
He didn’t break eye contact. Ellen glanced at Penny in her reclining chair, Lyla next to her on the couch.
She thought of Margery upstairs, and her unborn baby and the stress this situation would cause.
She thought of Jake and Bobby and the fact that they could come home at any minute, walking into this situation completely unaware of the danger.
Quietly, she said, “I’ll help.”
The man grabbed the shotgun from the corner and Ellen almost sobbed.
She had another gun; it was upstairs in her nightstand.
Jake had a rifle, but it was probably with him in his truck.
But even if she could get to a weapon, she didn’t know if she could stop them before they hurt someone in her family.
And if she did stop them, there was no reason for them to tell her where Avery was.
She couldn’t risk it. It was better to do what they wanted and hope, pray, he wasn’t lying.
The man waved to someone behind him. She couldn’t see her driveway clearly in the dark mist, but then a woman came in half dragging, half carrying a young man not much older than Jake.
She steered him toward the couch, but Ellen said, “On the dining room table,” and motioned through the opening. “I need the light and the surface.”
She quickly pulled out a tablecloth from the hutch and spread it on the smooth surface. She helped the woman get Sam onto the table. He was wrapped in a comforter that looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it. It was the familiar scent that tickled her memory.
But she dismissed that as soon as she saw that the young man was feverish and had a bandage around his abdomen and another around his leg.
“Is anyone else here?” the man asked.
She could lie and hope Margery slept through everything, but if she lied they might hurt someone.
“A friend of mine is sleeping upstairs. She’s pregnant, in her last trimester, please let her be.”
He shook his head, handed the gun to the woman. “Watch her,” he told the woman. “Shoot her kid if she tries anything.” Then he said to Ellen, “I’ll try not to scare her, but she needs to be down here where I can keep an eye on everyone.”
“I need my medical bag,” Ellen said, resigned that she was being forced to help these people. “It’s in the room with Margery.”
He nodded, went upstairs.
Ellen examined her patient. He was pale and clammy. Feverish. His pulse was erratic. “He needs a hospital,” she said. “He has an infection, he needs an IV, antibiotics, fluids. He needs—”
“We tried, dammit!” the woman barked. “The roads are flooded. We can’t get out of this godforsaken valley. Just—do what you can. You’re a nurse. Save him.” Her voice cracked.
“Rena.” Sam’s voice was barely audible, a whisper sliding through cracked lips. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” Rena said, voice breaking. “I can’t lose you, Sammy. Hang in there, she’s going to help you.” Rena looked at Ellen, her eyes pleading with her even as she aimed the gun at her chest.
Ellen’s every instinct screamed to find a way to get these people out of her house. But they had Avery.
And this young man was suffering. No matter what they’d done, she couldn’t let him die if she could help.
The larger man came back down the stairs, escorting Margery by the elbow.
He glanced into the dining room, then brought Margery to the couch.
“This will be over soon,” he said, almost kindly.
Ellen didn’t know what to make of these people.
One minute the man threatened to shoot Lyla, and the next he was gentle with a pregnant woman.
Margery looked from Ellen to the strangers, eyes wide, confused and scared.
The man said to Ellen, “I locked your dog in your bedroom. He looks like a good dog, but I can’t be too careful.”
Ellen nodded, turned to Margery, and assured her that it would be okay. She worried about her health as well as her own family. “They promised not to hurt anyone if I help them.”
The man nodded, caught Ellen’s eye, then put her medical bag down on a chair next to her. “I’m watching you closely,” he said. “I may not know much about medicine, but I know about knives. If you try anything—”