Back Before Dark (29 page)

H
iro figured that if they needed a policeman, it wouldn’t be hard to find one. Hammer had an army of them in the neighborhood going door-to-door. They were turning over rocks and ready to handle anything that crawled out.

Hiro raced down School Drive, past Campbell, and kept going nearly to Lark Court. Lunk kept pace with her, which took some real effort on his bike. They were a good two blocks beyond most of the police activity.

This was the area Cooper had been studying most on the satellite photos. And Hiro knew exactly where she wanted to start.

“We only check the empty homes—the ones for sale.”

Lunk nodded.

The police could ring the doorbells and talk to whoever answered the door. Cooper might not have much time. She wanted to target the homes that would easily hide a victim. The houses for sale seemed like the highest probability. And even in the dark, they were easy to pick out. None of them had lights on.

Raymond Proctor’s house would be first. They’d skipped it earlier because Proctor had moved and the house was empty. But what better place for a kidnapping lair? Maybe he’d left town but came
back to do the kidnapping. He’d have a key to the house. It would be perfect. Who would expect it?

Hiro banked the turn onto Proctor’s driveway and dumped her bike. Lunk dropped his next to hers and pulled out the bat like he was drawing a sword from its sheath. The two-car garage was attached.

“C’mon.” Hiro motioned, clicking on her flashlight. She circled behind the garage. Sure enough, a nice big window. She shined the beam in the window. The light reflected off the dirt and grime on the surface of the glass, making it impossible to see inside. Hiro moved in close and cupped her hand over her eyes.

Lunk put a hand on her shoulder. “Back away.”

She stepped back just as Lunk rammed the end of the bat through one of the lower panes.

“The bat is faster.”

He was right, and with Coop’s life in the balance, she was all about speed. Hiro moved in with the flashlight. The garage was empty—and she felt like
she’d
just been hit by the bat. She’d been so sure this was the place.

Lunk held the bat like a light saber. “Check the house?”

“No. Just garages. When we find the minivan, then we break into the house.” She couldn’t believe she just said “break into the house.” Great cop she’d make someday. But this was different.

Lunk started for the bikes. “Let’s go.”

A half-block later Lunk broke out another garage window. Empty. Without a word he swung onto his bike and pedaled like a madman to the next house with a realtor’s sign in front of it.

Now she had a hard time keeping up with
him.
Breaking out windows was apparently one of his secret talents. He was a natural at it. She only wished he could shatter the sense of fear and dread that gripped her heart.

C
ooper stood on the wash machine alongside his cousin. Gordy seemed stronger now. He could stand—which was more than he could do when Cooper first saw him. Cooper hugged him with arms that were as cold as the water. They were in trouble. “God, p-please, g-give me an idea!”

“I c-can’t t-think,” Gordy said. “I got n-no ideas.”

“I was praying, Gordy.”

Gordy nodded. “G-good.”

He needed more time—enough time for Hiro to find them. She had to know he’d been taken. She’d have notified the police. His little plan to get kidnapped to find Gordy worked amazingly well. It was his escape plan that had major problems. The loss of the phones was a real killer. And the flooding, which brought its own triple death threat.

There was nothing he could do to prevent electrocution if the box was hot. But the drowning—and the hypothermia—he had to focus there. He needed a plan.
Fast.

What if he ripped out the insulation overhead? Maybe chop a hole in the ceiling so they could poke their heads through?

Cooper pulled the diver’s knife from the sheath. Standing on the lid of the washer, Cooper rammed the tip of his knife into the
plywood flooring above him. He hacked and chopped, sending bits and splinters of plywood flying.

“C’mon, c’mon.” The water was within three feet of the ceiling now. If they weren’t standing on the washer, it would already be over their heads.

The progress was too slow. He’d never get through in time.

Stop, Cooper, stop. Use your head. Find a Plan B.

It was like they were prisoners in the lowest level of a sinking ship. Icy water gushed through the broken windows like gaping holes in the hull. They were trapped below the waterline, going down with the ship unless Cooper did something.
Now.

He studied the window wells. The height of the ceiling. The creek had overflowed its banks. The entire area was flooding. How deep would it get in the basement? Would it stop when it covered the window? If it stayed with the water level outside, there should be a pocket of air at the ceiling above him. He’d have to rip out the insulation.

Standing on the washer, Cooper’s head just missed the bottom of the joists. Gordy had to duck a little. If they were going to survive, they’d need to get at that air pocket.

“W-we need a s-snorkel, Gordy.” Even if the basement filled to within a half-inch of the ceiling they’d still be able to breathe.

Cooper swept their corner of the basement with the flashlight. Copper pipes projected straight up from the hot water heater, disappearing into the ceiling. Could he cut out sections of copper pipe? He looked at the serrated edge on the knife. Even if he could do it—which seemed doubtful, it would take too long.

The water continued to pour in the broken windows with no signs of slowing. The black water churned and foamed—and rose closer to the ceiling.

Cooper scanned his prison again. A pipe, a pipe. Something not more than an inch wide or he’d never get it in his mouth. His flashlight reflected off a length of PVC pipe leading off the furnace. Perfect. If he could cut off a couple short sections.

“Stay here, Gordy. C-can you do that?”

Gordy nodded and braced one hand on the wall and grabbed a joist with the other. “Just g-get us out of here.”

Knife in one hand, flashlight in the other, Cooper jumped off the lid of the washer into the frigid, black water. His breathing came in convulsing, ragged stops and starts as the cold clamped its icy hands around his chest.

“G-god. G-give. M-me. Strength.” He sawed at the PVC pipe with all the might he had. The serrated edge of the knife did its work. White plastic shavings dropped onto the water and floated away. He bit the flashlight between his teeth so he could use both hands to saw. Back and forth, back and forth. When he was almost through he turned the knife around and hammered the pipe free with the stainless steel pommel.

Cooper repeated the same desperate procedure a foot higher on the pipe and snapped it loose. He tucked the PVC in his belt, took the flashlight out of his mouth, and checked on Gordy. He was still standing on the washer. “J-just got you a s-snorkel, Gordy.”

Gordy appeared to be getting more and more alert. Alive. “T-thanks.”

Cooper frantically hacked off another hunk of PVC for himself, and swam for the washer and dryer. The heavy chain tugged at his leg, but he felt no pain from the shackle. He couldn’t feel his legs.

“F-freezing,” Gordy said through clenched teeth.

Cooper had to do something to keep Gordy from losing more body heat. Anything that might have been on the floor to keep them warm was long gone. He looked up—and stared at the insulation between the overhead joists. Could it work like a blanket? Or more like a wet suit?

His heart rate picked up a notch.
That could work.
But he’d need something to tie it around their bodies. He scanned the room in the twelve-foot radius he could reach with his chain. No rope. No roll of duct tape conveniently sitting on top of the furnace. Just the double slop-sink, which was completely submerged. A washer. Dryer. Sump pump. Hot water heater.

“God, p-please,” Cooper shouted. “Help me out here!”

Think
! Almost immediately, he thought—power cords! Electrical cords on the dryer, washer, and sump pump!

“Okay, okay,” Cooper said. “D-don’t m-move, G-gordy.”

Taking a deep breath, he dove under water, pain instantly knifing his face. He reached behind the machine, found the cord, pulled it tight, and sawed at it as close to the machine as he could. It broke free. He pushed off the bottom to get air.

Treading water was impossible. His legs were too heavy. Cooper bobbed to the bottom once and broke the surface again.

He was slowing—his body was freezing into a solid hunk of ice. Two more cords. Two more. He circled to the dryer and dove again. Twenty seconds later he burst back above the water with a second cord.

By the time he’d cut free the cord from the sump pump, he was sure he was going to die. Almost wanted to.
Anything to get away from the cold.

Getting on top of the washer was easy now. He could swim onto it. He slung the cords around his neck and stood, reaching for the insulation.

His arms were so heavy he could hardly keep them above his head. And they didn’t work right. His movements were sloppy. Sluggish. His coordination was going downhill—fast. But Gordy was in worse shape. He’d been in the basement longer.

“C-can you h-hold the light for m-me?” Cooper handed his cousin the flashlight.

Gordy did his best, using both hands to point the light at the ceiling.

Walking along the lids of the washer and dryer, Cooper easily cut free a six-foot section of insulation. “Okay, Gordy. We gotta get this on you—just like a giant diaper.” Cooper slid the insulation between Gordy’s legs and up along his back and stomach, securing it with one of the electrical cords.

Another length of insulation. Cooper wrapped it around Gordy’s waist twice, and used another cord to belt it in place.

Keep going.
He felt like he was working in slo-mo. His body wouldn’t move right. He forced himself to focus on each move, each step. He pulled down a strip of insulation, made a slit through the center, and pulled it over Gordy’s head like a poncho, letting the ends drop down his back and chest.

One more.
Another length of the pink insulation. He did his best to wrap it around Gordy’s upper body, and secured it with the last electric cord.

“I l-look like t-the M-michelin T-tire Man.” Gordy said.

Cooper hoped it worked. It was the best he could do.

He shined the light toward the electrical panel. It was completely underwater. And they were alive. So their odds of survival were getting better. Now there were only two ways to die. Yippee.

Cooper’s body was numb from the waist down. How long did they have?

“W-what about y-you,” Gordy said. “In-s-slation.”

“N-not enough c-cords to t-tie it with.”

Gordy started pulling at the cord around his waste, trying to tug it free.

“S-stop, Gordy, you n-need that.”

“Sh-share,” Gordy said.

“No t-time,” Cooper said. “B-besides, I-I wouldn’t g-get caught d-dead wearing that.”

Gordy looked at Cooper, his face twisted in a sad smile. “Ha, ha.” “T-test your s-snorkel,” Cooper said.

Gordy worked one end into his mouth and braced it against the overhead floor joist to keep it straight. It reached perfectly to the plywood floor above them. Gordy gave him a weak thumbs up.

Together they rehearsed exactly how they would stay together, and keep their snorkels in place when the water rose over their heads.

Standing on the washer lid, they would be fine. One hand on
the snorkel, the other holding the floor joist above them to keep steady. But the lid was slippery. What if Gordy slipped, or his legs buckled and he fell off the edge of the washer? He’d lose his snorkel. He’d die.

Cooper unbuckled his belt, looped the loose end through the electrical cord around Gordy’s waist, and cinched it tight to draw them close before buckling it again.

“Okay,” Cooper said. “W-we’re c-connected.”

Gordy gave a single nod. “W-we sssstick t-together.”

“T-that’s w-what friends d-do.” Cooper hugged him.

Cooper pulled the dive knife out of the sheath and scratched the words TYLER KING—GLOBAL GAMER—KIDNAPPER in six-inch letters across the pink Styrofoam insulating the concrete wall above the washer and dryer. He slid the knife back in its scabbard. Cooper and Gordy would be found—eventually. And when they were, the police would get the kidnapper too. No sense letting King get away with murder.

H
iro’s sense of dread spiked as she rounded the back of the garage. The ground had standing water on it. And the back yard was totally flooded. Hiro couldn’t even see the grass.

She dumped her bike and waded through ankle-deep water. She didn’t care. Her shoes were soaked.

“Foreclosure,” Lunk said. “This place is totally rundown.”

It wasn’t just the overgrown bushes and lawn. It was the whole place. The broken pole light and mailbox missing out front. The chipped paint along the gutters and roof overhangs. The half-dozen notices plastered on the front door.

This place had a creep-factor like none other. It didn’t need a guy handy with a hammer. It needed a bulldozer. An empty house in this bad of shape would probably never get shown. Not once in months.

All of which boiled down to one thing. It would be a perfect house for a kidnapper to use.

Lunk rammed the bat through the garage window, but a piece of plywood on the other side stopped him dead.

He dropped the bat and shook his hands. “I’d need a sledgehammer to get through that.”

“I have a bad feeling about this place,” Hiro said. “We have to check it.”

Lunk was already ahead of her. He kicked at a service door on the backside of the garage. The door absorbed the hit. Backing up, Lunk took a running start, splashing through the flooded yard. At the last second he leaped and plowed into the door with both feet. The door burst open with a bang.

The impact landed Lunk on his side, but he was on his feet with his bat in hand by the time Hiro got to the door.

“Dear God.” She gasped, shining her flashlight into the dark garage. Two cars were parked inside—one of them a compact—freshly wet from the rain. And on the other side of it—a silver minivan. The front license plate reflected the light. CRM 9147.