Fire Prayer (25 page)

Chapter Forty

“What is it, Storm?” Aunt Maile called out.

“I don't know, Poppy senses something.” As if to confirm her words, a shudder ran through the mare. Without prompting, Poppy stopped, her ears pricked forward and her head high.

The sound of thudding footfalls and the rustle of disturbed foliage came from ahead. Poppy stamped a forefoot and whinnied a warning.

“Someone's coming,” Storm shouted.

“Can you turn?” Uncle Keone asked. He looked back at his wife. “Maile, you may have to back up.”

Aunt Maile was already urging her horse to reverse, and the buckskin looked glad to have direction. Not far behind them, the path widened and Aunt Maile aimed for a place where she could make a safe turn.

“Is it another horse?” she asked.

“Sounds like a person running,” Storm said.

The wall of lava rock to her right was so close she could brush it with her elbow. She had maybe eighteen inches to her left before the thick ground cover dropped precipitously.

Storm gathered the reins and rested the right one against Poppy's neck. The horse responded instantly by sitting back on her haunches and pivoting on her hind legs. Poppy hadn't wanted to step into the deep foliage, either. Surprised at the mare's tight response, Storm grabbed a chunk of mane and caught herself before she slid off Poppy's rear.

Now the rushing steps were very close, around the next curve in the trail. And Storm and Poppy were blocked by Moonlight, who was near panic.

Uncle Keone was planted deep in the saddle in an attempt to transmit weighty calm to the animal, and he had the reins short and low. Still, the horse was too excited to give his rider all his attention. The appaloosa stamped both front feet, and added a nervous hop to his frantic efforts to break loose and run. That option spelled disaster for the horse, and likely the rider. Moonlight's dark eyes, ringed with white sclera, rolled in the direction of the oncoming clatter.

Storm looked back. She was more certain than ever the slapping steps were human. But what maniac would come hurtling down a track as muddy and steep as this one?

Then she heard a man's voice, muttering as if he were carrying out a secret, yet desperate, negotiation with a greater power.

“Tanner,” she shouted.

Tanner pulled up, and both his wide eyes and the fact that he carried a passenger on his back reminded Storm of Moonlight.

“What's wrong?”

“He's sick. I've got to get by.” Tanner barely looked at her, and headed for the ground cover Poppy had so neatly avoided.

“Stop, I'll help you.” Storm's voice was sharp. There must be a drop-off hidden there. The undergrowth was so dense, it could easily hide a precipice. Enough to break an ankle or collar bone.

He glared up at her, and she could see tear tracks in the dust on his face. “Storm, Christ almighty. Move.” His voice begged.

Storm reached out an arm. She could see that Uncle Keone finally had Moonlight calmed and turned around. Aunt Maile waited at the next turn. “We'll carry you out. We can go faster.”

“I don't ride. Please, he needs help.”

Storm could see that. The boy's head flopped on Tanner's shoulder and his lips were bloodless, almost as white as his face. His left hand was heavily bandaged; the fingers poked out like sea urchin spines.

“We're faster than you are, Tanner. Bob Crowder can call an ambulance from the boathouse. Give him to me.”

Tanner looked at her for a half a second. In that time, he made a decision, and turned so Storm could get a grip on Luke's left arm. Tanner eased the boy off his back and lifted him to slump in front of Storm. The boy moaned. “You can do this?” His voice shook.

“I've carried bigger things than Luke,” Storm said. That was true, but it had been a long time, and it had never been anything as important as a sick child. But she knew the horses would be much faster than a man who was both under extreme duress and carrying a hundred-pound burden. She wrapped her right arm tightly around the boy's waist.

“Get up behind me,” Uncle Keone said to Tanner, and reached out to the man.

“No,” Tanner said, and backed away.

Uncle Keone looked back at Storm and raised an eyebrow.

“Let's go,” she said.

Aunt Maile set the initial pace at a fast walk, while Tanner brought up the rear. He had to jog to keep up with the four-footed animals, and his breathing quickly became labored. Every now and then, on a steep part of the path, he slipped close enough to Poppy's rump that she flicked her tail in warning. She didn't like him so close, with his sliding, pounding footsteps and ragged breaths punctuated with muttered pleas, but she kept on, steady and alert.

When the trail widened at the fork, Aunt Maile increased the group's speed to a trot. Twenty feet farther, Storm heard Tanner fall with a crash that made Poppy tense.

Storm looked back. “Tanner, are you hurt?” He curled in the mud and grabbed an ankle. His mouth gaped with pain.

“Aunt Maile, stop,” Storm yelled.

“No, go on. Go on,” Tanner cried. He waved a hand to shoo her on.

Uncle Keone pulled Moonlight off the trail, dismounted, and walked toward Tanner. Storm knew her uncle would take care of Tanner, probably by loading him onto Moonlight, and she waved Aunt Maile on. Poppy caught up to the buckskin, and the two horses trotted swiftly along the path. Storm tightened her grip on Luke, who stirred at the bumpy gait.

“Luke? Are you awake?” He didn't look back at her or answer, but she saw his fingers curl around clumps of Poppy's mane. “We're helping your dad get you to the doctor.”

She figured it was a good thing to reassure the kid. How scary would it be to wake up and find yourself bouncing along on horseback? Storm let the reins, which she'd tied together, drape over Poppy's neck, and dug in her fanny pack. She drew out the chocolate bar and handed it to the boy.

“Eat this if you can,” she said, and was gratified to see Luke try to keep his bandaged hand entwined in Poppy's mane while the other wrestled with the wrapper. Storm kept her right arm wrapped tightly around the boy and picked up the reins with her left hand.

“Straighten your legs,” she added. “It'll help keep you from sliding side to side.”

Poppy didn't react to the shifting weight of her passengers, but the horse's ears flicked and she turned her head to regard something in the woods. Probably the waterfall, Storm thought. They had to be getting close to Hipuapua Falls.

Aunt Maile turned back toward Storm, a puzzled expression on her face. “Did you hear that?” she asked.

“What?” Storm asked.

“Pig hunters?” Aunt Maile said, just as the buckskin tossed his head and leaped sideways. Storm watched her aunt catch herself and struggle to calm the lunging horse.

Poppy snorted with alarm, and Storm tried to slide her hand forward on the reins, but holding on to Luke made the task more difficult. “Easy, girl. Easy.”

Storm had a bad feeling about what the horses were picking up. Aunt Maile was coaxing her horse, which had balked in the path, when a sharp crack snapped through the trees. The buckskin leaped forward. Poppy jumped, too, and rolled her eyes back, in the direction the sound had come.

Storm clutched and pulled at the reins. “Whoa, whoa.”

Luke slid to one side, dropped the remains of the candy bar, and grabbed the mare's mane in both hands. He was definitely awake now. Storm could see the clench of his jaw in his effort to hold on.

Poppy obeyed, though she twitched to be released. For a few seconds, Storm could hear the buckskin's galloping hooves, then nothing.

A small voice interrupted Storm's thoughts. “Was that a gun?”

“I think so.” Storm whispered the words.

Poppy's twitching subsided to trembles and she stood quietly with her head high. She'd be off like a shot at the slightest sign from her rider. But Storm wondered if that wasn't what someone expected.

And who was that someone? Could the gun have come from local pig hunters? Pig hunters in Hawai‘i usually used dogs, and she would have heard the dogs' baying before the hunters fired a shot.

“Is someone chasing you?” she asked Luke in a soft voice.

“Maybe.” He looked around. “I think so.”

“Who is it?”

“I don't know.” She could hardly hear his answer. “But he killed my mom.”

“Hold tight.”

They needed to get behind a thick stand of trees or a boulder. Where was the shooter now? Ahead of her or behind? She thought the shot was from a rifle, though she wasn't sure. If she were shooting in the woods, that's probably what she'd use. With a scope, she thought, and squelched a burble of panic.

Storm tightened her legs on Poppy's sides and the horse moved forward. Fortunately, the ground was soft and the mare's hooves made little noise. Storm thought of the galloping racket Aunt Maile's horse had made when he took off and swallowed hard. She wanted to cry out to her aunt, make sure she was all right. She also hoped, and was immediately ashamed of the impulse, that the shooter had followed the running horse. She bit her lip, hard.

A copse of trees loomed ahead, and Storm stopped Poppy when they got behind the makeshift shield. Just long enough to ask Luke questions, and think about what to do next.

“How're you feeling?” she asked the boy.

“Shaky, but a little better. The chocolate helped.”

“Didn't your dad feed you?”

“Sure, he did.” The defensive note in Luke's voice was unmistakable. No boy wants to believe his dad is mistaken, or has fallen in the eyes of others. She'd have to remember this.

“Can you tell me who's chasing you?”

“I didn't see him well enough.” Luke sounded very sad.

“Did you tell the police?”

Luke shook his head. Storm waited, and a few long moments later, the boy spoke. “I was staying with the Niwas. You know them?”

“Yes, they're nice people.”

Luke seemed happy that she agreed. “I thought I'd get to talk to Uncle David, I mean, Detective Niwa, but Aunty Caroline took me to the hospital.”

“What happened?”

“My blood sugar gets low when I get hurt or tired. The doctor always wants to check it and make sure I'm eating right and taking my insulin shots.”

“You need one now?”

Luke grimaced. “I don't know. Dad's got my backpack.”

Storm had guessed this was the case; the boy didn't seem to be carrying anything. “So what happened at the hospital?”

“The doctor adjusted my insulin and gave me some tests. She wanted me to spend the night.”

“So why'd you leave?”

“I was scared. The guy in my living room saw me.”

“Can you describe him at all?”

“He was bending over my mom, and it was dark, except for the light coming through the blinds.” The boy's voice shook. “He had a tattoo.”

“You couldn't see his face or what he was wearing?”

Luke just shook his head.

“You remember where the tattoo was?” Storm was sure she already knew the answer to that question, and it was no surprise when Luke pointed to his upper arm.

But his next words were, “Dad told me it was a vow.”

“Does your dad have a tattoo, too?” Storm kept her voice even and warm, without a hint of outrage.

Luke just nodded.

“I don't blame you for leaving the hospital,” Storm said. “I probably would have, too. Did your dad protect you?”

Luke rushed to answer. “He doesn't know who did it.”

Storm looked behind. Speaking of Tanner, she'd really like to talk to him. Shouldn't he and Uncle Keone be coming along? A terrible fear went through her. What if Tanner had faked his turned ankle? It would have been so easy to do. With all her heart, she hoped Aunt Maile had made it back to the beach, and that the buckskin's dash along the winding path had kept them both safe. She also prayed Aunt Maile had been able to call the police.

Storm let Poppy walk ahead, and she thought about Tanner. Luke was quiet, too, and his face was sad and thoughtful. Jesus, Tanner wouldn't fire at his son, would he? She was sure he hadn't been faking his concern when he'd handed over the sick child. No, the father's quest for medical help was sincere.

But maybe the riders had messed up his grand plan. Maybe he thought he could stop them and take the boy in on his own, as he'd originally planned. That didn't sound right, either. Nor could he have fit a rifle in the backpack. Though it didn't have to be a rifle. But Tanner had called her in the first place because he was worried about Luke. She didn't think he'd have fired a gun of any kind in the direction of his son.

So that left who else? Connor knew exactly where they were, though Skelly could have figured it out. And she'd told everyone she could think of they were going riding, let alone they'd hauled a big horse trailer for two hours on the only eastbound road on the island. The Goodyear blimp would have been less conspicuous.

Chapter Forty-one

There was nothing Storm could do when Poppy clopped across the stream except flinch at the noise. She also felt a twinge of guilt for pulling the mare's head up when she lowered it to drink, but they didn't have time for Poppy to dawdle in the stream. Storm was nearly vibrating with anxiety, and Luke's knuckles were white in the mare's mane. Poppy's head bobbed in surprise at the urging pressure on her sides, but she splashed on through the water.

Nor was the path on the other side, strewn with round river rocks, a quiet passage. Storm began to consider a trick she'd only read about, which was to wrap cloth around a horse's hooves to mute the unmistakable clip-clop. She was just about to remove her T-shirt and tear it into strips, then ask Luke for his, when they rounded a bend in the trail.

Poppy nickered a greeting. But neither Storm nor Luke welcomed the man who stood before them. Storm felt the boy shrink against her.

Lambert Poele held a rifle in one hand and held the other hand before him in a stop gesture. He wore a long-sleeved cotton shirt and matching pants in a green camouflage pattern. Sweat had darkened the shirt to a mottled black. His long, disheveled hair and mud-streaked skin looked as if he'd been hunting for hours.

“At last,” he said.

Neither Storm nor Luke said a word. Storm's mind raced to remember if she'd given Poppy a signal to pivot on her hind legs or if the horse had done it on her own. She wasn't sure. All she knew was they had to do it again.

Maybe they could get behind some trees before he got that rifle up and aimed. Maybe he'd hesitate to fire. Maybe he hadn't chambered a round.

Storm sat closer to Luke and hoped he'd pick up on her body language. She wanted to warn him, and ask him to hold on tighter. He must have felt her tension, because his fingers gathered in larger hunks of Poppy's mane. He also straightened his legs, seeking a better seat, but didn't have the experience to do it with stealth.

Poele let out a yell, “No!”

At the same time, Storm squeezed with her legs, harder with the right one, and simultaneously laid the right rein against Poppy's neck to turn her hard into the narrowest part of the path.

Poppy did it. She whirled. It was an unexpected move for Luke, who yelped with alarm and began to slide backward. Storm did, too, even though she knew what was coming.

Before she was even upright, the horse bolted down the path, in the direction they'd just come. This sent Luke even farther toward the horse's rear end.

“Lie down,” Storm shouted. Luke would have to lie forward, which would put his weight up, and nearer the mare's shoulders. Storm hoped he'd be able to drag himself forward with his grip in Poppy's mane. Meanwhile, she grabbed with every muscle in her legs and tried to do the same, flattening Luke to the horse's back.

Luke's slide had pushed Storm back to where Poppy's rump slanted downward, and her leg muscles, spent from holding on during the upward, twisting ride into the forest, could no longer grip the mare's sleek sides. There she was, back near the animal's tail, just like she'd done with Butterfly half a lifetime ago. But back then she'd been sixteen, her legs were accustomed to riding, and most important, she'd been able to grab the saddle strings.

Here, she had only the reins and Luke. If she held on, she would drag the boy off with her. So she let go, and hoped she could roll off the path to a place that didn't plummet her onto rocks six feet below.

At the same time, another gunshot ricocheted through the trees. It even seemed to echo, but that could have been the crack of her head and shoulder when she hit the ground.

Darkness gathered in her vision, while a searing pain pierced her upper chest. Storm lay in the mud, where she gasped like a gaffed tuna and sobbed with the knowledge of her miserable failure to protect Luke.