Backwoods Page 16

  They were taking a big risk. Maybe a stupid one. But they had no other choice. Leo couldn’t walk away while Brooke was in danger. Abby wouldn’t walk away. Leaving both women behind would be disastrous.

  In a dark corner of his mind, Leo wondered if this was partly his fault. He hadn’t been the best stepbrother to Brooke. His gut tightened at the memory of their wrestling match yesterday. He regretted being rough with her and using harsh words. The idea that he might never see her again rocked him to the core.

  His feelings for her went deeper than he’d realized. All of the emotions he’d kept buried had rushed to the surface. His attraction to her wasn’t just about hormones and rebellion. It was stronger than their wavering family connection.

  Leo wished he’d done things differently. He’d failed to protect Brooke. He also shouldn’t have lied to his dad about the bag of weed. The deception had made the thieves seem like stoner opportunists, mercenary but harmless.

  When they arrived outside the door, he studied its composition. It appeared flat, and was covered with clumps of dirt. Someone had spackled the door with mud to make it blend in to the hillside. There was no doorknob or handle. Leo tried to pry it open with his spear, to no avail.

  His dad grew impatient and motioned for Leo to step aside. He started kicking the middle of the door. It only took a few tries before the clay-caked wood splintered. This fortress wasn’t designed to keep out intruders; invisibility was its main defense. Behind the door lay a tunnel. Leo had figured that this entrance led to some kind of larger dwelling. It was almost pitch-black inside.

  Leo took a cigarette lighter out of his pocket and pantomimed the sparking motion. His dad nodded and entered the tunnel. They had to duck their heads to accommodate the low ceiling. The squat, narrow space invited feelings of intense claustrophobia. Leo continued into the dark with caution, sticking close to his dad. After about ten feet, he sparked the lighter and held his arm out. The flame flickered and wavered, illuminating the passage. It reminded Leo of an animal burrow. The acrid smell of piss assaulted his nostrils. Perhaps this tunnel was an emergency exit that doubled as a latrine.

  Sick.

  Wrinkling his nose, Leo shuffled forward. Around the next corner, he paused, lifting the flame higher. The passage widened into a dugout with a reinforced ceiling. The wooden planks appeared to be ax-chopped, with rough edges and no uniform size.

  Leo lowered his arm too quickly. The flame went out, casting them into darkness. He smothered a curse as the hot metal singed his thumb.

  His dad gripped his shoulder, holding him still. There were muffled voices overhead. Leo heard an ominous scraping sound. He waited, his pulse thundering in his ears. Then he caught a flash of motion about ten feet in front of them. Light filtered in from the ceiling near the end of the tunnel. It was some kind of hatch, he realized. A figure climbed down the short ladder and raised the barrel of a shotgun.

  Oh, shit.

  “Run,” his dad said, pushing Leo in the opposite direction.

  Before they could get around the corner, the gun blasted. Bullet fragments peppered the tunnel walls. Fire struck his right leg, ripping through his jeans and flaying his skin. Leo stumbled sideways and dropped the spear. He gripped his thigh with a strangled yell, shocked by the searing pain.

  He’d been shot.

  * * *

  ABBY ALMOST COULDN’T bear to watch.

  She suppressed the urge to clap one hand over her eyes as Nathan and Leo broke down the door. It appeared to be locked from the inside, and solidly built. After five or six blows, the door split open. So much for stealth.

  No one came out. Was Brooke even in there?

  Nathan moved the ruined door aside and stared into the dark space. He entered the passageway with Leo following close behind. Abby bit the edge of her fist, terrified. Her heart was beating as fast as a jackrabbit’s, threatening to burst from her chest. She took deep breaths and tried not to faint.

  Waiting was such a sharp misery. She couldn’t stop thinking about Brooke and picturing worst-case scenarios. This path led to madness; Abby knew that from experience. It led to soul-deep anguish and mental collapse. The third day after the earthquake had been the most challenging. There was no long walk to focus on, no helpful distractions. Her injured elbow had been set and cast. She’d reunited with Ella and spoken to her parents. There were so many survivors with horrific tales of the utter devastation downtown.

  But...no Brooke.

  Boom!

  The sound of a gunshot brought her back to the present and turned her blood to ice. Nathan had been right—the men were armed. Had he been shot? She smothered a scream, plagued by visions of torn flesh and bloody mayhem. The ground seemed to shift beneath her feet, like a phantom earthquake.

  Movement on the hillside divided her attention. Oh, no. She’d forgotten to keep watch! Racked with anxiety, she peered around the tree she was hiding behind. A camouflage-clad figure emerged from a cluster of boulders. Gunmetal glinted in the sunlight.

  No. Oh, God. This couldn’t be happening! What should she do?

  Nathan had told her to run, but she was frozen. She couldn’t leave them. She couldn’t leave Brooke.

  Gripping the tree bark, she looked again. The man was crouched on top of the cliff with his rifle trained on the broken door. With a sinking stomach, she realized he was going to shoot whoever came out. Maybe there was no alternate exit, or he’d blocked it. He was waiting for his targets to appear so he could pick them off.

  There was only one way to stop him.

  She slipped off her backpack and reached for the sock weapon inside. When she had it in her trembling fist, she scurried through the trees, putting distance between her and the gunman. As soon as she’d gone far enough to escape detection, she circled around and climbed along the backside of the cliff.

  He thought he could ambush them? She’d ambush his sorry ass.

  There wasn’t much cover on top of the cliff, just low-lying rocks and bushes. She crouched down and moved forward quickly. The weighted sock felt heavy, the cotton hot in her sweaty grip. A breeze ruffled the damp hair at her temples. That was a good thing, she supposed. The wind was blowing away from the gunman, so he probably couldn’t hear the sound of her approaching footsteps.

  Abby didn’t give herself time to hesitate.

  Don’t overthink it.

  When she reached the man in camouflage, she knew she had to act fast, before he sensed her presence. She rushed at him, swinging her sock weapon like a wild banshee. She aimed for the side of his head and missed by a wide margin, connecting with his right shoulder.

  Oops.

  He roared in surprise and scrambled to his feet. Although he’d left his weapon on the ground, Abby was paralyzed with fear, unable to strike again. She recognized him from the trail. His countenance was menacing, his eyes devoid of light.

  Making a pathetic noise, she stumbled backward and almost fell down. Another plan was born out of desperation: run away and hope he gave chase.

  Somehow, it worked. When she turned to flee, he abandoned his post and followed her. The sneak attack must have rattled him as much as it had her. Maybe she’d sparked his predator instincts. He couldn’t resist hunting her.

  She bolted away from him as fast as possible, fighting to stay upright on the rocky slope. She wasn’t a track star like Brooke or a pro athlete like Nathan, but she was able to put distance between them. Adrenaline increased her speed and kept her going. She reached flat ground and tore through the trees, her legs pumping. If she could lure him far into the woods, Nathan and Leo might have a chance to rescue Brooke.

  She didn’t see the exposed root until it was too late. Her shoe glanced off the edge. Although she tried to recover her balance, it was no use. She tripped and went flying, arms outstretched. After a short tumble, she landed on her b
ack in a pile of dirt and damp leaves. The oxygen squeezed from her lungs.

  He was on top of her in a flash. Before she could gasp for breath. Before she could swing the sock-mace again.

  Grabbing her by the hair, he rolled her over and shoved her face into the leaves. Her arm was wrenched backward with shocking pressure, almost to the point of breaking. She struggled for air, tears stinging her eyes.

  While she sucked in a lungful of oxygen, he trapped her wrists together and cinched them with a plastic tie.

  Abby couldn’t believe it was already over. He’d captured her in less than two minutes. She was winded, her shoulder throbbing. Her hands and knees felt raw from the fall. Her scalp ached from the hair-pulling. She didn’t know where her sock-weapon went. It wasn’t clutched in her fist anymore.

  “Get up,” he said, jerking her to a standing position. He squinted at her and smiled, as if she pleased him. “Move.”

  She wanted to make things more difficult for him by refusing to walk. But when he nudged her, she stumbled forward, too shaken to resist. Her knees felt like jelly and her body trembled with tension. She’d used up all her bravery in the attack. There had been a lifetime’s worth in that one swing.

  Up close, the hunter was scary enough to star in a horror movie. He wasn’t hideous or disfigured, as far as she could tell. It was hard to imagine what he looked like underneath the dirty clothes and overgrown facial hair. What disturbed her wasn’t his unkempt appearance, but the perverse enjoyment he seemed to take in her fear. He reminded her of a cult leader or a religious fanatic. There was a Manson-like glee about him.

  And he smelled bad. Like chewing tobacco and dead animals.

  Remember Brooke, she whispered to herself as she trudged forward. Focus on Brooke. Pray for Brooke.

  Never give up.

  Abby was a survivor. She could get through this. As long as Brooke was still alive, she could endure anything. She would keep a firm grip on hope, grasping it with both hands until she could hold her daughter again.

  * * *

  NATHAN HAD KNOWN that breaking in was a stupid idea.

  He couldn’t believe he’d let Abby talk him into it. He was so scared and pissed off that he didn’t even want to fuck her anymore. Unlike Leo, he had no interest in playing hero. He was too old for this shit.

  He hadn’t agreed to do it for Abby, though. Not for Leo, either. If he’d wanted to, he could have kicked his son’s skinny-jeans-wearing ass and dragged him out of here. He was still stronger than Leo. He wasn’t that old.

  He hadn’t walked away for one reason: Brooke.

  Damn it all to hell. He liked her. She needed help. Her quiet tears over that throwaway compliment last night had undone him. Ray was a deadbeat dad, despite his buckets of money. He was an even worse parent than Nathan, and that was saying something.

  If Brooke was his daughter...he couldn’t imagine making any other choice. That didn’t mean he thought barging into the fortress was a good strategy. But, emotionally, he understood Abby’s point of view. The longer Brooke stayed in captivity, the more harm would come to her. She might suffer multiple attacks. There was a strong possibility that she would be killed before help arrived. She could be dead already.

  Nathan hoped he hadn’t sealed his own doom with this decision. Or worse, Leo’s.

  As soon as the shots rang out, Nathan grabbed Leo and hauled him around the corner. But it was too late; they’d both been hit. A searing pain tore through his forearm, white-hot. The dark seemed to close in around them.

  Grimacing in pain, Nathan reached out with his free hand to touch the tunnel wall. “Come on,” he said, dragging Leo toward the exit. Leo loped along beside him, making a hissing sound between his teeth. Blood trickled down Nathan’s forearm. It felt like a flesh wound, but he was too pumped up to judge.

  “I got shot,” Leo said, his breathing labored. “That motherfucker shot me.”

  “Can you run?”

  “No!”

  Nathan couldn’t hear anyone coming after them. He hoped the other hunter wasn’t waiting outside the door. That would be a game-changer, even more than these inconvenient gunshot wounds. But staying in the tunnel wasn’t an option, so he moved forward, his gut clenched with dread.

  He didn’t say “I told you so.” Nor could he bring himself to choke out, “I love you.” There were no fitting words for this situation. Trying not to panic, he kept going. He refused to believe it would end this way.

  They broke out of the tunnel into daylight. Nathan didn’t slow down. He helped Leo through the copse of trees and beyond, heading toward the creek. They stumbled across the forest as quickly as three good legs could carry them.

  When they reached Silver Creek, Abby wasn’t there. He’d assumed she would start running at the sound of gunfire. In his rush to get Leo to safety and evade the hunters, he hadn’t thought to look for her.

  Leo took a seat on a flat rock, groaning. His jeans were dotted with red patches, but not soaked completely through. The spread-out pattern indicated small ammunition, which didn’t cause as much damage. He wasn’t going to die or lose his leg. Nathan tried to smother a sob of relief, and couldn’t quite manage.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Leo asked.

  He swallowed hard, shaking his head.

  “Are you hit?”

  “No, I’m not hit.”

  “Your arm is bleeding.”

  He glanced at the minor laceration. “It’s fine. I was just...worried.”

  “You should be worried. I’m all shot up!”

  Wiping his eyes, he bent down beside Leo to inspect his leg. The wounds were seeping and probably hurt like hell. He needed emergency medical treatment, but it would have to wait. “It’s just birdshot.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Tiny bullets.” They were lucky. Buckshot might have broken bones or severed arteries. “You’ll be okay.”

  Leo flexed his knee experimentally, wincing.

  “We have to keep moving.”

  “We have to go back.”

  Nathan couldn’t believe how quickly Leo had overcome the trauma of getting shot. He was already willing to risk his life again.

  “Abby got captured,” Leo said.

  Nathan’s heart sank. “How do you know?”

  “She’s not here.”

  He raked a hand through his hair, stricken by Leo’s logic. The hunters could have caught up with them, but they hadn’t. They’d gone after Abby instead. Or they’d gone after her first. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t come for Leo and Nathan.

  Within minutes, perhaps.

  Those men knew every inch of these woods, and they weren’t wounded. Nathan was quite certain they would kill to protect their lair. If Nathan and Leo continued to flee at a sluggish pace, they’d probably be shot before the sun went down. Returning to the fortress didn’t seem wise, either. Leo was in no shape to attempt another rescue, and they might meet up with the hunters on the way there.

  “We’re vulnerable out in the open,” Nathan said, glancing around. “We have to hide and hope they pass by.”

  Leo studied their surroundings. The rock he was sitting on had blood smears on it. Anyone with half a brain would know they’d been here. “They’ll expect us to go downriver. It’s the path of least resistance, and it heads to the road. Let’s leave some footprints along the shore and double back. Maybe we can climb that tree.”

  Nathan followed his gaze to a sturdy live oak, nodding in approval. Finally they were seeing eye-to-eye. “Good plan.”

  “While they’re on a wild-goose chase, we can save Brooke and Abby.”

  Nathan didn’t agree or disagree. They’d cross that bridge when it came. His first priority was keeping Leo alive.

  And if this ploy didn’t work, the point would be
moot.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE HUNTER SHOVED ABBY into the dark, keeping one hand on her bound wrists.

  “Wyatt?” the man called out.

  Nathan and Leo weren’t inside the tunnel, so maybe they’d escaped. Another figure met them in the narrow confines. He held an old-fashioned kerosene lantern, which illuminated his face from below, transforming it into a ghoulish parody. She was afraid to stare at either man closely or study her surroundings, even though she knew those details were important. She’d also studied and practiced dozens of self-defense maneuvers, but she hadn’t used them. She’d cooperated out of desperation.

  Her brain rejected any attempt to focus. She wanted to see nothing, hear nothing, experience nothing. Her natural instinct was to withdraw from this horror, not to fight back or plan her escape.

  “What happened?” the man behind her asked Wyatt.

  “I think I hit one of them.”

  Abby’s emotions shut down. She couldn’t process any more bad news. She pictured herself curled up on the ground with her hands clapped over her ears. Oblivion was another method of survival.

  Remember Brooke, she said to herself. Stay alert for Brooke.

  “You think you hit one?”

  “I’m not sure,” Wyatt said. His voice wavered, as if he was scared.

  “They got away,” the other man said, urging her forward. “This mama bear attacked me with a rock before I could shoot at them.”

  Wyatt’s tense brow relaxed at this statement, but he didn’t offer any comment. Turning around, he led the way to a trapdoor in the ceiling of the tunnel. He climbed up a ladder and set the lamp inside to help Abby. She ascended on cue, her knees quaking and her mind numb. The room they entered looked like an underground bunker. Her daughter was lying on a rough-hewn cot with her wrists and ankles tied. She was fully clothed and appeared unharmed. Her large pupils indicated she was still under the influence.

  “Mom,” she cried, struggling to sit up.

  A resurgence of hope flowed into Abby, bringing back her strength and willpower. Brooke was alive.