Into the River Lands (Darkness After Series Book 2) (15 page)

They still weren’t past the blow-down area, so getting to the creek bank was not going to be easy. The briar patches and tangles of bushes were almost impenetrable in places, forcing Gary to use the machete more than he would like, but he was careful to cut as quietly as possible. They had traversed maybe a hundred yards of this when a second gunshot rang out, sounding just like the first.
 

“Same shotgun!” Gary whispered.
 

“It sounded to me like it came from about the same place as the first one,” Jared said.

“Yeah, I think you’re right. I still think it’s near the creek too, but no telling whether whoever it is upstream or downstream of where Wayne is by now. We need to get closer and try to reach the bank and stick to it until we find him. I don’t like this at all. All he’s got is that damned bow and his Glock. Somebody with a twelve-gauge loaded with slugs or double-ought buck would have him at a disadvantage, even with the 10mm.”
 

“Yeah, especially with him sitting out there in the open in that canoe,” Paul said.

“Let’s keep moving. Whatever’s going on over there on the creek, the sooner we get there, the better. But we’ve got to stay alert and be careful. There’s no way to tell at this point whether that shotgunner is on our side of the creek or the other side. We’ll just have to deal with these briars and stuff. Can’t risk using the blade any more because there could be others in the area that could hear us coming and set up an ambush.”

Twenty-two

A
PRIL
WAS
IMMENSELY
RELIEVED
when Wayne climbed out of the canoe and disappeared into the woods out of her sight downstream. As helpless as she and Kimberly were, tied in that narrow canoe in a dangerous patch of swift current under a steep clay bank; at least he was gone! She felt like she could breath freely again for the first time since the men had walked into their camp this morning. She was sick of looking at him and sick of hearing him talk. Though he had kept his voice low so it wouldn’t carry far, he had not stopped running his mouth since they embarked in the canoe. It had been difficult for her to even think clearly as long as he was bothering her with his constant barrage of questions and comments.
 

Kimberly was finally sleeping again too, worn out as she was by all the action and the upset that had her crying with fear, frustration and exhaustion most of the day. April sat there staring at her as she held her close, almost afraid to move for fear of rolling the canoe upside down. If that happened, her baby would drown with no one there to right it. And she would be hanging by her neck, probably still alive long enough to know it was her fault Kimberly drowned because of her upsetting the boat. Despite the risks, however, April knew she had to think of a way out of this situation. With Wayne out of sight, now might be the only chance she would ever get to try and escape, but how was it even possible? His last minute idea of securing the other end of the rope about her neck to an overhanging branch once he climbed up there had been good thinking on his part.
 

She couldn’t pull herself up by the line, because of the way her wrists and ankles were bound and secured to the seat upon which she sat. This left her no way of relieving any tension on the overhead line, so she had little hope of working the knots around her ankles loose or slipping her wrists free. Any pulling or struggle with enough effort to make a difference would surely capsize the boat. All she could do was sit there in helpless frustration as the minutes ticked by, knowing Wayne would soon be back and her opportunity would be gone.
 

She stared at the bank beside her as she thought and waited. A thick matt of bright green moss with clumps of small ferns growing out of it covered much of the near vertical clay wall. Long, stringy roots from the trees growing on top hung like vines down the side too, exposed by times of high water, when the creek washed away the soil surrounding them. In time the bank would erode further, sending the trees on top crashing into the creek, obstructing the channel like so many others that anyone paddling its current had to navigate around. Looking closer at the bank, she saw that its walls were home to all sorts of small creatures: ants, spiders and large beetles she did not recognize. She began to worry about wasps and bees, or maybe even a snake. What would she do if a snake fell into the canoe with her and Kimberly? She hated being in such a helpless situation. But she was going to hate it worse when Wayne came back.
 

If only her memory had been better, the two of them wouldn’t be in the predicament. She was sure that she and David must have somehow missed the correct sandbar and the path that led to Mitch Henley’s property. It was her fault for being such an incompetent navigator. She was such a city girl, even now after spending that time in the woods with Mitch. She should have been able to spot the trail and if she had, they would be all be safe on the Henley farm by now. She could do little else, so beating herself up for her own inadequacies was as good as anything. What would become of her precious Kimberly now because of her failure?

The sudden report of another shotgun blast snapped her out of these thoughts and woke Kimberly from her short nap. April whispered to her, trying to reassure her when she started crying, but with her hands tied the way they were, she couldn’t give her the mother’s touch that would make the difference. Kimberly only got more agitated, and April could do nothing to quiet her.
 

She didn’t know what this second shot meant. It was quite close, of that she was certain, and it was indeed in the downstream direction just like the first one; the same way that Wayne had gone. He had to be much closer to whoever fired it than she was. So what had happened? Was someone shooting at him? He had not fired his pistol, but he could have used his bow and she wouldn’t have known. April could do nothing but wait, and the not knowing would make the minutes pass like hours.

* * *

Benny Evans racked the slide of his Savage Model 30 12-gauge pump to chamber another round while keeping an eye on the fallen man. He saw that he wouldn’t need it as he stepped closer. The stranger’s legs were still kicking in involuntary spasms, but that would be over in a few seconds. He had only been some twenty paces away when he shot him squarely in the chest. The double-ought buckshot had made quite a mess at that range, and he wouldn’t need to waste another shell.
 

He rushed passed the body in a hurry to check on his boy. He knew Tommy had been hit and he wasn’t sure where, but at least he was still alive—for now. He was on his knees next to the tent he’d been packing, doubled over and clutching at his upper arm. When Benny reached his side, there was blood everywhere, streaming down the wounded arm and covering his son’s other hand that he was using to try and stop the flow. Tommy was in so much distress and pain he wasn’t even aware of his approach until Benny knelt beside him.

“My arm! What hit me, Pop?”

Benny saw that there was no arrow lodged in the arm or even in sight. The high-powered bow had sent it through his boy’s arm and it still went flying somewhere, probably to bury under the thick leaves all around them on the ground. At least that meant that it had missed the bone in his upper arm, and that was good. There would be no broadhead to dig out, but he had to get the bleeding stopped before his boy bled to death. Benny laid the shotgun down and stripped off his belt. He passed it around Tommy’s shoulder and armpit and pulled it tight.
 

“It was an arrow, son. That fellow shot you with a damned arrow. It was the last one he’ll ever shoot though, I’ll tell you that!”
 

“Who was it? Where’d he come from? I didn’t see nobody. Didn’t hear nobody either.”

“I know. He just slipped right up here from somewhere upstream. It was just luck that I was almost back here when I saw him draw down on you. I didn’t have round in the chamber because I’d just killed a hen turkey over there on the other side of the hollow. He heard me rack the slide and I think it caused him to jump a little. Otherwise, he might have got you right in the middle of the back.”
 

Tommy was in a lot of pain. With the bleeding slowed, Benny was able to wipe away enough blood to see what kind of damage had been done. The broadhead had sliced through the triceps area and had probably done a lot damage to both muscles and nerves. But it didn’t hit an artery; otherwise Tommy might not make it.
 

“You’re gonna be all right, son. You’re lucky though!”

“Are you sure he was by himself,” Tommy asked, as he finally looked up and over in the direction of the fallen bowman.
 

“As far as I know he was. But he wasn’t carrying any gear. I’m thinking he didn’t walk way out here with nothing on him. I’m wondering if he ain’t got a boat or something upstream. I’m gonna have a look as soon as I get you situated and make sure you’re not gonna bleed out, son.”
 

“I’m all right. You’d better go have a look around.”

“I’m gonna make a bandage that’ll put some pressure on that wound. Since that arrow didn’t cut an artery, I can get that belt off so you don’t lose your arm. You’re gonna have a long go of healing though, the way it cut through the muscles. I just hope you can get your strength back.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m just glad you got him.”

“Me too. Anybody that would try to kill you just like that for no reason at all, ain’t no telling what he was up to or what he had done before. If anybody
is
with him, they’ll likely be just as bad.”

“That’s why you need to go find out now, Pop. You can make a better bandage when you get back. Just give me my spare shirt out of pack over there and I’ll keep the pressure on it myself.”

Benny knew his boy was right. If there was anybody else out here that had been traveling with that fellow, Benny needed to find them and deal with them now. Both of them got lucky this time. If he had been just a minute later returning with that turkey, Tommy would be dead. And the killer would have taken him out too if he had half a chance. If he had, it would have been a mercy. Benny wouldn’t have known what to do if he lost Tommy too. His forty-year-old son was all he had left in this world that he cared about, and besides, without his help, he knew he wouldn’t be able to make it out here alone. Not at his age.
 

Once he made sure Tommy could hold the pressure on his wound so he wouldn’t lose any more blood, Benny started up the creek, slipping quietly into the underbrush in the direction the man had come from. He stepped carefully and kept his eyes and ears open, the Savage pump chambered and fully loaded in his hands, the barrel out front and at the ready as he stalked. He knew he couldn’t take a chance, and if he saw anything move he intended to open up on it. Considering what that fellow had done, there wasn’t any sense waiting to see.
 

He’d made it to the end of the next bend upstream and still there was no sign of anyone. He was about to turn around and go back to see about his boy, deciding that the man must have been alone after all when he heard something coming from the direction of the creek. There was a steep bank off to his right, and he couldn’t see the water at its base from where he stood listening. At first, he thought it might be some strange trick of the water, a gurgling or bubbling of current, but the more he listened, the more he was sure that wasn’t it. It was a baby crying, clear as could be. There was no doubt about it. Benny’s grip tensed on the shotgun stock and he crept to the bank as quietly as possibly, keeping it pointed ahead and ready to shoot as he made his way to the edge. When he got closer, the first thing he noticed was a piece of rope tied to branch and stretched straight down, like there was a weight on the other end of it or something. The crying sound had died down a bit, and he could hear the low whisper of a woman’s voice as well. Benny took a couple more careful steps until he was close enough to peer over the edge.

Twenty-three

T
HE
TRAIL
OF
THE
three Mitch was following led across two more sloughs they had been forced to wade to avoid long detours out of their way. One put him in waist-deep in stagnant, algae-coated water, but Mitch expected that. The farther downstream the men went, the more low-lying and wet the land would become, until eventually it became part of the vast swamps surrounding the Pascagoula River, into which Black Creek emptied. But Mitch was determined that even if these men were planning to go that far, they would never make it. He was going to intercept them and he was going to be waiting when they stopped to meet whichever one was the forth of their party who was paddling that canoe with April and Kimberly in it.
 

Beyond the last and deepest slough, the tracks entered an extensive area of storm-damaged hardwoods. Mitch knew the destruction was caused by Hurricane Katrina’s passage through the state in 2005. While the area around his family’s land had been mostly spared, there were pockets of devastation throughout the forest here and there, the worst of them caused by spin-off tornados spawned by the tropical storm. This many years after, those swaths of broken and uprooted trees were utter hell to travel through. Not only were the fallen trunks and broken tops piled haphazardly everywhere, enough time had passed that the second-growth trees taking their places sprung up in rampant profusion. Mitch knew that eventually, the ecosystem would return to normal and much of the undergrowth would be choked out by the biggest and fastest-growing new trees. But that wouldn’t likely happen in his lifetime, and until then he did his best to avoid traversing such areas unless absolutely necessary. Today it was necessary though, because those he sought had clearly passed this way, as evidenced by the frequent use of a machete to clear the worst of the obstructions.