Double Blind (34 page)

“Oh, they can hunt all right,” Murph said.

“You keep a good hold on them, Murph, or I’ll shoot both of them.”

Once the shocked look on Murph’s face subsided, he mumbled something to the dogs. They immediately stopped pulling against the leashes and sat, flanking him, head and ears erect. Their eyes seemed to bore right through the tree branches and lock on her.

“I’d say you’re a little outnumbered,” Burt said.

“Maybe. But I’ve got a line on the center of your chest and I’m pretty good with this .357.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Want to bet your life on it?” Sam said.

“Come on out, so we can talk,” Burt said.

“I don’t think so. First, you toss the hardware and then we’ll talk.”

Wade stepped forward. “Not much to talk about. We’re trying to catch a murderer. Either help or get out of the way.”

“Either put the guns down or I’ll let Billy run and shoot the first person that tries to stop him.”

Burt whispered something to Wade and then said,” OK. We’ll put them down and then you come out. Agreed?”

“Sure.”

Wade started to protest, but Burt grabbed his arm. The men laid their rifles on the ground.

“Everybody relax,” Sam said. “Except you, Wade. You collect the guns and empty them.”

He did as she instructed and then said. “Now what?”

“Wrap them in your jacket and then come down the slope toward the trees. And nothing funny. Understand?”

Wade looked at Burt, who nodded. Wade bundled the rifles and walked toward her.

When he reached the trees, she said, “Drop them right there.”

He laid them on the ground.

“Now, get back up the hill.”

She waited for him to rejoin the others and then said to Murph: “Tie those dogs to that tree to your left. And tie them tightly.”

Murph secured the leashes to the trunk of a large spruce. The dogs remained at attention, head and ears erect.

“Billy, you OK?” she shouted.

“Yeah.”

“Come on. Let’s go.”

Wade stepped toward her. “You can’t just walk out of here with a murderer. Billy’s under arrest and he’s got to go back and answer for his crimes.”

“He will. Just not with you. The State Patrol is on the way. Billy’ll surrender to them.” She looked up the slope. “Billy, let’s go.”

“No. I’m close to finding that thing I lost.”

“I think you better come with me,” Sam said.

“You go round up the state boys,” Billy said. “I’ll take care things on this end. And after I do, I’ll come in.”

“Then, get out of here,” Sam said. “I’ll make sure you get a head start.”

As they say, I’ll be in touch.” Billy came from behind the rock, crossed an open area, and disappeared into the forest

“Now, let’s all calm down,” Sam said. “Have a seat and let’s give Billy a little running room.”

“You’re making a big mistake,” Wade said.

“It won’t be my first. Now, sit down and shut the fuck up.”

After 15 minutes, she pushed her way through the spruce branches and out into the open. She gathered the bundled rifles beneath one arm. “I’ll leave these at the bottom of the hill.”

Burt glared at her. “It’s a long way home from here.”

“It’s not that far.”

“We’ll see.”

“Where are your horses?” she asked.

Burt smiled. “You know, right this minute I can’t remember where we left them. Can you?” he said to Wade.

“I don’t recall,” he said.

Sam shook her head. “You guys are just too much. All this for two thousand acres of dirt.”

“You’ve been listening to Billy’s lies,” Burt said.

“I know an honest man when I meet one. I was raised by one. Billy’s honest if nothing else. That’s more than I can say for you.” She turned, slipped back into the trees, and started down the slope.

“You won’t make it,” Burt said.

Sam shook her head. “What are you going to do? Shoot me?” she said over her shoulder.

As she entered the trees, she heard Burt’s words behind her.

“Turn the dogs loose.”

Turn the dogs loose!

The words struck Sam harder than a perfect left hook. She looked over her shoulder, but she was too deep into the trees to see the men. Or the dogs. But, she heard the two Pit Bulls snarling, fighting against their restraints. They seemed to sense the coming chase.

She dropped the rifles and ran. Faster than she ever had. Down, stumbling in a near free fall, her feet churning to keep her from sprawling on her face. The tree branches clutched at her clothing, stung her face, and tore at her hands as she attempted to push them from her path.

Even over her own strident breathing, her pounding footsteps, and the slapping of the branches, she heard them coming. Their claws clicked over the rocks and their guttural growls reverberated through the trees.

She leaped over a three-foot high rock. Landing awkwardly, she lost her balance, her momentum throwing her forward. She broke her fall with her outstretched hands and cartwheeled into a tree trunk. A sharp pain knifed through her back.

Fear and a rush of adrenaline pushed her upright. She surged forward once again, but had lost valuable ground to her pursuers. Before she had run another 30 yards, the first of the dogs hurtled over the rock, negotiating it with ease.

She would never be able to outrun them. She reached beneath her jacket and snatched her gun from its holster. Another 20 yards and she whirled around leveling the weapon, squeezing off two rounds. Tree bark exploded near the first dog. It immediately veered to her right, its mate to the left.

She directed the gun at one and then the other, searching for a clear shot. But the animals darted behind trees, rocks, working to flank her.

These dogs were trained for this.

Fear expanded in her chest. She shoved her gun into her jacket pocket and lurched forward, straight down the slope, hoping gravity would be the ally she desperately needed. The dogs crashed through the brush behind her, closer, now trailing by only thirty feet.

She swerved to her right. Ahead, a 20-foot high escarpment towered above her, a pile of rocks welded together by dirt and years of erosion. Hugging its face, a gnarled spruce tree extended high above its table like top.

Without breaking stride, Sam hurled herself upward, welcoming the embrace of the tree’s branches. She grabbed one branch, and then another, her feet searching for a hold.

The first dog, showing no hesitation, flew after her. It’s jaws clamped onto the heel of her boot, pulling her downward. The branch in her right hand snapped. She slipped, falling toward the snarling animals. She clutched another branch and with strength she didn’t know she possessed, yanked herself upward. She slammed her other foot into the dog’s muzzle.

It ignored her attack. Even though it hung by the fangs buried in her boot heel, its grip tightened and it began shaking its head violently, attempting to rip her from the tree. The other dog circled to her left and sprang upward, jaws snapping.

Again, she slammed the heel of her boot against its snout. The dog’s teeth lost their grip on her boot and the beast tumbled to the ground. It immediately jumped up and renewed the attack. Now both dogs leaped and snarled, fangs bared.

Sam climbed higher. Some branches cracked; others held. Two steps upward; one slide back. When she neared the top of the rock formation, she worked herself around to the other side of the tree’s trunk.

She wedged her boot against the base of the thickest branch she could see and, without hesitation, leaped across the gap between the tree and the rock, landing hard, flat on the top of the rocky escarpment. Her gun dug into her belly and her teeth cracked together.

She scrambled to her feet, pulled her .357, and looked around. She was on a ledge, 20 feet wide and extending 50 feet back to the slope. That meant three sides offered her protection, while the other allowed an escape route. She looked down at the dogs.

They weren’t there.

Where did they go? She heard them rustling through the brush to her left. At first, she couldn’t see them, then they came into view. They scurried up the slope, coming around behind her, effectively cutting off her escape route.

She quickly evaluated her options. None looked inviting. She could either jump, climb back down the tree, or stand and fight. Only the latter made sense. She had tried to outrun them and that hadn’t worked. She knelt, her Smith and Wesson leveled in the direction from which the attack would come.

Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it. She wiped sweat from first one palm and then the other and took a deep breath. Don’t panic. Make every shot count. Four rounds left, but she would probably only have time to get off two, maybe three. God, let the first one be perfect. Let one of them fall quickly. One, she might have a chance; two, no way.

They burst out of the brush and abruptly stopped. Their eyes flashed, their lips curled back from their fangs, and drool dripped from the corners of their jowls. They moved forward slowly, heads low, separating to flank her.

She directed the .357 toward the one to her right, willing her shaking hands to steady themselves. As her finger tightened on the trigger, something burst from the trees, howling and snarling. The dogs turned, but gave no ground.

A huge creature, thickly muscled, face covered with a dense dark brown hair, leaped on the first pit bull. A thick, gnarled hand clutched the dog’s throat and lifted it into the air. The other hand twisted its head. A sharp crack truncated the dog’s yelp. The creature tossed the limp animal over the side of the embankment.

The other pit bull hurled itself at the creature, but was met with clubbing blow to the head. It fell in a flaccid heap.

The creature turned to Sam. It was huge and wore filthy, ragged jeans and a shredded green and brown flannel shirt, which fought to contain massive shoulders and a heavily muscled chest, it too matted with dark hair.

Its voice, coarse, raspy, came at her. “Run.”

Sam stood, but couldn’t move. The creature before her was a man, yet not. “But...” she began.

“”Run,” he repeated with more urgency. “They’re coming.”

She heard the sound of the men, thrashing through the trees.

Sam moved past the beast. Its musty smell burned her nose. “It was you, back there, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And at the lab?”

“Yes.”

“Who are you?”

“No time now. You must run. Finish what you’ve started.” He pointed to her left, down the mountain. “I’ll delay them, but you must get to the State Patrol.”

“How did you know...?”

“Run,” he growled.

She did.

*

Burt stood near the base of the escarpment and looked down at Murph, who knelt by the corpse of one of his dogs.

“She killed Thor,” Murph said, with a mixture of sadness and disbelief. He rolled the limp animal over, its head lolling to one side.

“Where’s the other one?” Wade asked.

Murph stood and slipped two fingers in his mouth. He emitted a series of three sharp whistles. Silence. Again, Murph signaled his dog and again no response.

“There,” Burt said, pointing up.

From the ledge, a large bearded man in a ragged flannel shirt looked down at them. Wade fired, but the man ducked. Then, they heard him rustling in the brush, moving away, back up the slope.

“Eloy,” Burt said. “Move to the east. Cut him off.”

Eloy circled the escarpment in the direction Burt indicated, while Burt, Wade, and Murph took up the pursuit, charging straight up the slope. Hollis went to retrieve the horses.

As Burt topped the rocky ledge, he saw the other dog. The left side of its face was crushed and covered with blood. Murph stepped up behind him.

“Good God,” Murph said. “What the hell did she do?”

“It wasn’t her,” Burt said. “It was him.” He nodded up the hill in the direction the man had gone. “Let’s go.”

They raced up the hillside, searching for the fleeing man, but found nothing. Soon, they stepped out into the open air, above the tree line. Hollis came toward them, leading the horses.

Murph took his horse’s reins. “I’m going to go get my dogs. They should have a proper burial.”

“I’ll help you,” Eloy said.

They mounted up and slipped down into the trees.

“What’s going on?” Hollis asked.

Burt told him what had happened. “It was him. No doubt.”

“Who?” Wade asked.

Burt frowned at him. “You know very well who.”

“I thought he was dead?” Wade said.

“Apparently not,” Burt said.

“You saw him?” Hollis asked.

“I saw enough. He’s even bigger. More grotesque.”

“Jesus,” Hollis said, his eyes scanning in every direction. “Where did he go?”

“Don’t know.” Burt lifted his hat and forked his fingers through his hair.

Wade looked back down the slope. “We might be able to catch Sam before she gets to her vehicle.”

“Too late,” Burt said. “She’s down by now.”

“But, she’s going to call in the State Patrol,” Wade said. “If she does, we’re dead.”

“Maybe not,” Burt said.

The two men looked at him.

Burt eyed Wade. “You head back down and call Captain Baker. Harold’s a reasonable guy most of the time. Tell him that Sam Cody got a little excited but that you have everything under control. That might satisfy him. Especially since the CBI doesn’t much give a rat shit what goes on out here.”

“That might work,” Wade said. “At least it might slow them down a bit.”

“And, if the rest of us can find him and Billy,” Burt said. “Make them disappear. It’ll be her word against ours. And she’ll have no proof of anything.”

“What about the journals?” Hollis said.

“We’ll worry about them later. Right now we have to find him.”

“This is getting out of hand,” Wade said. “Framing Billy’s one thing. Hunting and killing two men is another thing altogether.”

“Isn’t it a little late to worry about that?” Burt asked.

Wade sighed. “I just don’t like it.”

“But, you like the money don’t you?” Burt said. He hated Wade. Always had. He simply tolerated him because he was the Chief of Police and thus a useful commodity.