Black Hills
Page 124
They could get help. There was a chance for help. And then Ethan would never get to Lil.
“Morning!”
She heard the cheerful greeting and risked lifting her eyes a few inches. Her pulse picked up speed when she saw the boots, the uniform pants. Not another hiker, she thought, but a ranger.
And he’d be armed.
“Morning,” Ethan called back. “It sure is a pretty one!”
“Nice day for hiking. You’re a little off the trail.”
“Oh. We’re exploring some. We saw some deer, and figured we’d follow them for a while.”
“You don’t want to wander off too far. It’s easy to get lost if you go off the posted trails. Just out for the day, are you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Can’t you hear the madness? Can’t you hear it in his overbright cheer? It’s licking at every word.
“Well, you’ve made some real progress from the trailhead. If you’re going to stick to this loop it gets pretty steep, but the views are worth it.”
“That’s what we’re here for.”
“If you backtrack to the posted trail, you’ll have a better time of it.”
“We’ll do that, then. Thanks.”
“Enjoy the day, and this fine weather. Just head over…” The ranger hesitated. “Jenna? Jenna Chance?”
She held her breath, shook her head.
“What in the world are you doing out…”
She felt it, that moment of awareness. On instinct she raised her head and pushed her body hard against Ethan’s. But even as she moved, he swung the bow from behind his back.
She screamed, tried to lurch forward. But he was right. The bolt moved faster, much faster, than she could. She watched it strike home, and the force of it knocked the ranger back and off his feet.
“No. No. No.”
“Your fault.” The backhand sent Jenna sprawling to the ground. “Look what you did, stupid bitch! Look at the mess I’ve got to clean up. Didn’t I tell you to keep your mouth shut?”
He kicked her, his boot slamming into the small of her back so she rolled and curled up in defense. “I didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything. God, God, he has a wife, he has children.”
“Then he should’ve minded his own business. Assholes. They’re all ass**les.” When he stomped over to wrench the barbed bolt from the ranger’s chest, Jenna began to retch.
“Look here. Got something out of it.” He pulled the sidearm out of the holster, brandished it. “Spoils of war.” Shoving the body over, he dug out the wallet. He slapped the gun back in the holster, unclipped it, and fixed it to his own belt before pushing the wallet in his backpack.
“Get up, help me drag him.”
“No.”
He walked over, pulled the gun again, and pressed the barrel to her temple. “Get up or join him. You can both be wolf bait. Live or die, Jenna. Decide.”
Live, she thought. She wanted to live. Fighting sickness, breathless from the pain radiating from her back, her face, she got to her feet. Maybe he wasn’t dead. Maybe someone would find him, help him. His name was Derrick Morganston. His wife was Cathy. He had two kids. Brent and Lorna.
She said his name, his family’s names as she followed orders, took the feet and dragged the body farther off the trail.
She said nothing when he used the rope to tie her to a tree so he could retrieve Derrick’s radio, go through his pockets for anything else he found useful.
She kept silent when they began to walk again. Nothing more to say, she thought. She’d tried and failed to find some place in him to appeal to. There was no place inside him. Nowhere to reach.
He wasn’t covering the tracks, and she wondered what that meant. She wondered if she would live through the day, such a pretty spring day. See her husband again, her home. Hold her children. Would she speak with her friends, wear her new shoes?
She’d been washing the skillet, she thought, when her life had changed. Would she fry bacon again?
Her throat burned, her legs ached. Her palms throbbed where she’d scraped them against the bark. But those discomforts meant she was alive. Still alive.
If she had the chance to kill him and escape, would she? Yes. Yes, she would kill him to live. She would bathe in his blood if it meant protecting Lil.
If she could get his knife or the gun, a rock. If she could find a way to use her bare hands.
She concentrated on that, on the direction, the angle of the sun, the landmarks. There, she thought, look at the brave pasqueflowers, blooming. Delicate and hopeful. And alive.
She’d be the pasqueflower. Look delicate, be brave.
She walked, one foot in front of the other, with her head down. But she kept her eyes, her body alert for any chance of escape.
“We’re home,” he announced.
Confused, she blinked sweat out of her eyes. She barely saw the mouth of the cave. It was so low, so narrow-like a slitted eye. It looked like death.
She spun around, launched herself at him to fight. She felt the pain, and the satisfaction when her fist connected with his face. Screaming, she used her nails, her teeth to claw and bite like an animal. And when she tasted his blood, it thrilled.
But when his fist plowed into her belly, he took her breath. When it rammed into her face, the sun went dim in a wash of dark red.
“Bitch! Bitch whore!”
Dimly, she heard the harsh wheeze of his breath. She’d hurt him. That was something. She’d given him pain.
He used the rope to drag her over the rough ground and into the dark.
She fought as he bound her hands and feet, screamed, spat, and cursed until he gagged her. He lit a small lantern, and with his free hand dragged her farther into the cave.
“I could kill you now. Carve you up and send the pieces to her. What do you think about that?”
She’d marked him, was all she could think. Blood welled and dripped from the grooves she’d scored in his cheeks, on his hands.
Then he smiled at her, wide and wild, and she remembered to be afraid.
“The hills are honeycombed with caves. I’ve got a few nice ones I use regular. This one’s yours.”
He set the lantern down, then drew out his knife before he crouched. He turned the blade so the soft light stuck the edge. “Need a couple of things from you.”
Joe, she thought. Joe. Lil. My baby.
And closed her eyes.
“Morning!”
She heard the cheerful greeting and risked lifting her eyes a few inches. Her pulse picked up speed when she saw the boots, the uniform pants. Not another hiker, she thought, but a ranger.
And he’d be armed.
“Morning,” Ethan called back. “It sure is a pretty one!”
“Nice day for hiking. You’re a little off the trail.”
“Oh. We’re exploring some. We saw some deer, and figured we’d follow them for a while.”
“You don’t want to wander off too far. It’s easy to get lost if you go off the posted trails. Just out for the day, are you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Can’t you hear the madness? Can’t you hear it in his overbright cheer? It’s licking at every word.
“Well, you’ve made some real progress from the trailhead. If you’re going to stick to this loop it gets pretty steep, but the views are worth it.”
“That’s what we’re here for.”
“If you backtrack to the posted trail, you’ll have a better time of it.”
“We’ll do that, then. Thanks.”
“Enjoy the day, and this fine weather. Just head over…” The ranger hesitated. “Jenna? Jenna Chance?”
She held her breath, shook her head.
“What in the world are you doing out…”
She felt it, that moment of awareness. On instinct she raised her head and pushed her body hard against Ethan’s. But even as she moved, he swung the bow from behind his back.
She screamed, tried to lurch forward. But he was right. The bolt moved faster, much faster, than she could. She watched it strike home, and the force of it knocked the ranger back and off his feet.
“No. No. No.”
“Your fault.” The backhand sent Jenna sprawling to the ground. “Look what you did, stupid bitch! Look at the mess I’ve got to clean up. Didn’t I tell you to keep your mouth shut?”
He kicked her, his boot slamming into the small of her back so she rolled and curled up in defense. “I didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything. God, God, he has a wife, he has children.”
“Then he should’ve minded his own business. Assholes. They’re all ass**les.” When he stomped over to wrench the barbed bolt from the ranger’s chest, Jenna began to retch.
“Look here. Got something out of it.” He pulled the sidearm out of the holster, brandished it. “Spoils of war.” Shoving the body over, he dug out the wallet. He slapped the gun back in the holster, unclipped it, and fixed it to his own belt before pushing the wallet in his backpack.
“Get up, help me drag him.”
“No.”
He walked over, pulled the gun again, and pressed the barrel to her temple. “Get up or join him. You can both be wolf bait. Live or die, Jenna. Decide.”
Live, she thought. She wanted to live. Fighting sickness, breathless from the pain radiating from her back, her face, she got to her feet. Maybe he wasn’t dead. Maybe someone would find him, help him. His name was Derrick Morganston. His wife was Cathy. He had two kids. Brent and Lorna.
She said his name, his family’s names as she followed orders, took the feet and dragged the body farther off the trail.
She said nothing when he used the rope to tie her to a tree so he could retrieve Derrick’s radio, go through his pockets for anything else he found useful.
She kept silent when they began to walk again. Nothing more to say, she thought. She’d tried and failed to find some place in him to appeal to. There was no place inside him. Nowhere to reach.
He wasn’t covering the tracks, and she wondered what that meant. She wondered if she would live through the day, such a pretty spring day. See her husband again, her home. Hold her children. Would she speak with her friends, wear her new shoes?
She’d been washing the skillet, she thought, when her life had changed. Would she fry bacon again?
Her throat burned, her legs ached. Her palms throbbed where she’d scraped them against the bark. But those discomforts meant she was alive. Still alive.
If she had the chance to kill him and escape, would she? Yes. Yes, she would kill him to live. She would bathe in his blood if it meant protecting Lil.
If she could get his knife or the gun, a rock. If she could find a way to use her bare hands.
She concentrated on that, on the direction, the angle of the sun, the landmarks. There, she thought, look at the brave pasqueflowers, blooming. Delicate and hopeful. And alive.
She’d be the pasqueflower. Look delicate, be brave.
She walked, one foot in front of the other, with her head down. But she kept her eyes, her body alert for any chance of escape.
“We’re home,” he announced.
Confused, she blinked sweat out of her eyes. She barely saw the mouth of the cave. It was so low, so narrow-like a slitted eye. It looked like death.
She spun around, launched herself at him to fight. She felt the pain, and the satisfaction when her fist connected with his face. Screaming, she used her nails, her teeth to claw and bite like an animal. And when she tasted his blood, it thrilled.
But when his fist plowed into her belly, he took her breath. When it rammed into her face, the sun went dim in a wash of dark red.
“Bitch! Bitch whore!”
Dimly, she heard the harsh wheeze of his breath. She’d hurt him. That was something. She’d given him pain.
He used the rope to drag her over the rough ground and into the dark.
She fought as he bound her hands and feet, screamed, spat, and cursed until he gagged her. He lit a small lantern, and with his free hand dragged her farther into the cave.
“I could kill you now. Carve you up and send the pieces to her. What do you think about that?”
She’d marked him, was all she could think. Blood welled and dripped from the grooves she’d scored in his cheeks, on his hands.
Then he smiled at her, wide and wild, and she remembered to be afraid.
“The hills are honeycombed with caves. I’ve got a few nice ones I use regular. This one’s yours.”
He set the lantern down, then drew out his knife before he crouched. He turned the blade so the soft light stuck the edge. “Need a couple of things from you.”
Joe, she thought. Joe. Lil. My baby.
And closed her eyes.
