Forster, Suzanne (11 page)

She drifted off again with that thought in her mind... and still wondering if it could have been a dream.

Somehow she had to escape. That was the sole thought occupying Gus's mind when she opened her eyes the next morning. She'd been pretending to be asleep for the last half hour, watching him as he pulled on his boots and tied the sheathed machete to his jeans. The purposefulness with which he'd done it and then headed out the door made her think he must be going off in search of food, and it had surprised her that he would leave her unguarded.

One look out the window above the bed told her she wouldn't get far, even if she did attempt to escape. He was a half-mile away, but still within eyeshot. The lay of the land was such that he could have seemingly walked off the end of the earth before he would have lost sight of the shack.

This wasn't going to be easy, she realized. If all else failed, the man had to sleep some time, which meant she would have to make it a point to be awake when he wasn't....

Lizards skittered in every direction when she stepped out of bed a moment later. She was getting used to the little green gargoyles by now, but couldn't hold back a shiver as she crossed the creaking, sighing floor. A gritty substance prickled the soles of her feet and worked its way into the crevices between her toes. Shavings from his whittling, she realized. The wood dust and tailings were everywhere, coating the floor and the chair with feathery gray snow.

The castle he'd made sat on the table, its graceful balustrades and spires aligned so delicately she could hardly believe it was real. On closer inspection, she saw that the only thing holding the pieces together were notches in the wood itself. How had he done it with a knife that size? The carving was fantastically intricate and detailed.

The melancholy she'd seen in his profile stirred within her as she realized there was no way to preserve the piece. Its fragility made her think of her own daydreams of magical edifices, castles spun out of light and spiraling toward the misted sun. It would be a crime to destroy anything so pristine, she realized, but the desert had little regard for perfection. It was a hostile place with its charred, barren vistas and blood-boiling heat. Or was it he who was hostile?

Her growling stomach reminded her she was starving.

His duffel bag yielded two high-protein candy bars, and she grabbed both of them, scarfing one down as she continued to search the contents of the bag. Only supreme self-control kept her from devouring the other. She would save it instead, she told herself. There might be a time when she would need it more than right now.

The bag also contained a shiny metal briefcase with a combination lock that she suspected must contain the computer she'd seen. Why a kidnapper would cart a computer around with him, she couldn't imagine, but if she hadn't dreamed the castle, she doubted that she'd dreamed the computer. Her search didn't yield any weapons, which told her that he'd hidden the Magnum somewhere else or taken it with him, but she did find a photograph hidden in a side pocket of the case. It was a tattered snapshot of a still life painting, and though she was not the art expert her stepbrother was, she recognized the style as reminiscent of Van Gogh's.

Moments later as she looked around for something to wipe her grimy hands on, it hit her that her hands were the least of it. She was grimy everywhere, hopelessly filthy. A hysterical sound gurgled up. No one would believe this! If Rob could see her now— No, if
Vogue's
West Coast Bureau Chief could see her now! They would all boggle. She lifted her head and sniffed the air, wrinkling her nose. God, what was that smell? Lizard shit? No, it was
her.
And she was worse than anything lizards could have left. Gus Featherstone smelled like an unwashed jock strap.

Choking back laughter, she began suddenly, inexplicably, to cry. "Oh, my God, " she whispered as tears blinded her for a moment. This wasn't like her at all. She never cried, ever, and the uncontrollable emotion propelled her to the sink, where she cranked on the tap. Red water was better than no water.

As she scrubbed at her grimy face and arms, she told herself that the tears weren't for her. She was sad for Rob, who must be frantic wondering where she was. And for Bridget, whom she missed terribly. Emotion welled up into her throat as she thought about the towheaded moppet, who seemed to have inextricably tangled herself in Gus's heartstrings.
If you dare worry about me, Bridge, even for a moment, I'll hide your toe shoes when I get home.

The metal storage cabinet still made her uneasy, but it was time to brave the evil thing, she decided when she'd finished washing up. Sucking it in, she headed for it, but she wasn't halfway across the room when something astonishing happened. The entire place seemed to shift and shudder like an ocean-going ship.

Being a native Californian, her first thought was of the Big One. She turned, scanning the walls, the ceiling, peering out the window before she realized it was the floor beneath her. It was giving way! She sprang back and realized she'd stepped into the trap instead of out of it.

The rotting boards sagged under her weight, toppling her forward. Pain streaked through her injured knee as she landed on it, and a flurry of snapping and crackling dropped her down another half foot. The floor was about to collapse totally and there seemed to be nothing beneath it!

"Help!" she cried, knowing no one could hear her.

Desperate, she clawed at the crumbling pine slats, breaking one fingernail after another as she struggled to get enough leverage to pull herself out. "The hell with this, " she. snarled as another nail snapped. Heaving furiously, she hoisted herself out with a superhuman effort.

Once she was safe, she inspected her stinging knees and stanched the fresh-flowing blood with her T-shirt. The cut had been reopened, and she cursed the foul, rotting boards that did it. First slivers, now broken fingernails and mangled body parts. The goddamn floor was out to get her.

But then again... maybe not.

Studying the crater she'd made, she bent over the maw and peered through the broken boards. There was a pit beneath the shack's floor. A very deep pit. Another expletive fell out of her mouth, this time more awed than obscene. Rocking up to a kneeling position, she began to work frantically, putting a plan into action even before she'd had a chance to fully think it through. This might be her only opportunity, and he could return at any time. She had to work fast.

She meshed the broken boards back together as best she could, securing them with some of the sharp little pieces of wood he'd discarded while whittling. As soon as she was done, she gathered up a handful of the sawdust and covered the broken boards with it to camouflage them. After that she dragged the rocker over to the corner by the cot. The last thing she did was put on the blue jeans he'd given her, knowing it would confuse him.

From her vantage point in the chair, she watched the door and thought through her plan, fine-tuning it. It was important that he respond swiftly and without analyzing what he was doing. She was going to have to motivate him just right.

When the door finally did swing open, the first thing she saw was the burlap sack he was carrying. He tossed it onto the table, where it landed with a soft, fleshy thunk, and then he strode in after it. The floor groaned plaintively under his heavy steps, and the smells of sage and sweat filled the room.

The hunter-gatherer had returned. He moved first to untie the sack's drawstring. Once he'd accomplished that and yanked the sack open, he drew his knife from the sheath on his thigh. The silver blade flashed blindingly, sending sunlight zinging in all directions.

What was he going to do? Clean his kill? That possibility galvanized her. "We're not alone, " she announced.

"What's that?" He glanced over his shoulder at her.

"There's someone or
something
in that cabinet. " She pointed him toward the rusting unit. "I heard it scratching. "

He swung around, knife in hand.

"Wait!" The chair groaned as she left it rocking and rushed toward him. "Don't go over there. It could be dangerous. "

"Don't be ridiculous. " He gave her a pained grimace. "It's probably nothing, a rat. "

"I heard it growl. Rats don't growl. "

"There's nothing in there, " he insisted, setting the knife on the table. "I opened it this morning. There were some dried-up lizards, a few dead flies. None of them looked very dangerous to me. "

She forced a smile and backed away. "You're probably right. I'm just jumpy. "

"Of course I'm right. Here, I'll show you. "

The floorboards gave way the instant he stepped on them. There was no warning, no crackling or snapping this time. They simply opened up like a trapdoor and he disappeared.

Gus didn't see him hit bottom, but she heard a
kawhump
that shook the shack violently, and the next thing she knew, a siren was wailing in her ears. She turned in horror, compelled to the window by the deafening sound. She expected to see police cars, ambulances, maybe even fire engines, but there was nothing outside the cabin but sand and sagebrush. Nothing! That's when she realized he must have wired the shack with a motion device in case she tried to escape.

She told herself to run, to grab some supplies and make a break for the van while it was still cool enough to travel through the desert. This might be her only chance! Her heart was pounding as hard as if she were running. Her nerves jumped, anticipating flight. But instead, she turned slowly back to the pit as if she were drawn by some invisible tether and stared at the gaping hole, trying to imagine what had happened to him.

The jangling bell made it impossible to hear any noise he might be making. He could be hurt or even unconscious. She would have her head handed to her if he ever got out of there, and perhaps several other body parts as well. But she had to know. She couldn't leave without knowing.

"Are you all right?" she asked as she crept toward the edge.

He didn't answer. He probably couldn't hear her over the alarm, and she couldn't see him until she got to the very brink of her homemade deadfall. He was crouched against the dirt wall, frozen where he knelt. He glanced up at her and shook his head negatively.

"You're not all right?" she persisted.

Gus didn't understand what he meant until he mouthed a word that turned her blood to ice.
Snake.
With great difficulty she crept around to the end of the pit where he was trapped and saw the rattler coiled less than five feet away from him. Its eyes seemed to glow in the dark—glittering orbs that bulged in their sockets and looked as if they were lit by the fires of hell. The evil thing was swaying slowly, its fangs bared.

If he moved, it would strike.

"Get my gun, " he told her, mouthing the words. "It's in the briefcase. Five-two-seven. "

But Gus had begun to teeter so violently she couldn't walk. She couldn't even speak. Just the sight of the reptile had totally unhinged her. She felt as if something inside her were screaming as loudly as the siren, shrieking so wildly it might drive her insane.

"Gus!" he yelled over the noise of the alarm. "My
gun!
You have to get it. You have to shoot the snake. "

She lurched back, soaked in sweat. "No—"

"You have to—Gus!"

She wanted to, but she couldn't. Her fears had already plummeted her into the past, into a waking nightmare that swam with slithering, crawling creatures, their eyes glittering like the snake's in the pit. Screams shook her small, rigid six-year-old body as the cold, slimy ropes coiled themselves around her arms and legs, around her throat. Their hisses burned in her ears, their fangs pierced her tender flesh...

She heard him calling her name as she turned and burst out the door, and knew she would never forget the horrible grip in his voice as long as she lived. It clung to her as she floundered through the sinking sand, wondering which way the van was. Which way? She had to find it. This was her chance to escape. He couldn't follow her now. She was free.

The van was still nowhere in sight when she dropped to her knees in the desert, dizzy with confusion and gasping under the rising sun. She was lost. Her head was buzzing, her lips painfully cracked, and her throat so dry she couldn't swallow or speak. She had no idea how long she'd been walking, but she was afraid to go any farther.

Turning in a circle, she searched the arid, wind-scarred landscape and realized she had no idea how to find the van. Something that might have been the shack was still visible behind her, a black spot in the distance. The moment she saw it, a sob burned in her throat. She had to go back. She couldn't leave him that way. Death by snake venom was slow and torturous. His suffering would be unbearable.

She was nearly blinded by the time she got back. The sun had burned dazzling white spots into her retinas that couldn't be extinguished, even when she closed her eyes. It was like being forced to stare into a spotlight. The pain of her scorched vision, her sunburned face and arms, was excruciating. It felt as if someone had set her on fire!

The sun could be fatal at this time of day. Sheer terror had forced her out of the cabin, that and the chance to escape. She should never have left, and now she had no way of knowing what awaited her inside. What would she do if he'd been bitten? She didn't know how to treat snakebites. She didn't know first aid, and if it was something worse— No, she couldn't allow herself to imagine him already dead.

She was wearing his canvas shoes and they were huge and unwieldy, but even without them, the three porch steps would have been more than she could manage. She didn't realize how sick she was until she tried to climb them. The railing swayed dizzily with her weight, and the handrail wrenched up as she grasped it, exposing rusted bolts and nails. By the time she'd pulled herself up to the landing, she was rocking on her feet like a drunk person and swallowing back the sour taste of nausea.

The alarm was still ringing, but she could barely hear it now, as if it were coming from a tunnel. This
was
heatstroke, she realized. Her internal temperature must be dangerously high. Even her tongue felt thickened and unmanageable. Her vision was spotty now, washing in and out, but she could see that the door was hanging open, just as she'd left it.