Last to Die: A gripping psychological thriller not for the faint hearted (24 page)

M
ike woke
up in the passenger seat of Ace’s truck and rubbed his eyes. He squinted through the windscreen. It was dark, though dawn was approaching. The headlights illuminated a secondary road surrounded on both sides by endless trees.

‘Where the hell are we?’

‘Carter County,’ Ace replied.

‘Tennessee?’

‘Yup.’

‘You’ve been driving all night? Hell, what time is it?’

‘Close on five.’

‘Want me to drive for a while?’ Mike asked.

‘I’m all right.’

Ace reached between their seats and grabbed a can of cola from a cooler. He passed it to Mike and opened another for himself. He threw back his head and tipped half of it down his throat in one go. They drove on in silence for a while. The sun rose, its fresh light making everything seem faint and inconsequential. Mike checked his cell phone messages, but there was nothing new about Jessie.

‘Maybe I ought to have stayed in Rockville. In case there’s word.’

‘You’d rather sit around and wait for Earl to find an idea?’

‘I should maybe have given him the arrow.’

‘Wouldn’t make no difference. That man’s cogs only spin one way.’

Mike sighed and settled back in his seat.

‘Where are we going again?’

‘Place called Swallow Ridge.’

‘Never heard of it.’

‘Not surprised.’

‘Why are we going there?’

‘I told you already. To talk with a man who might be able to help us some.’

‘Who?’

‘His name is Nathaniel.’

‘Nathaniel? Who is he?’

‘He’s a friend of mine.’

‘From where?’

The tip of Ace’s mouth curled slightly. ‘Back in the day.’

‘Why we going to see this guy? Why don’t we just call him?’

‘Don’t think he’s got a phone.’

‘Who doesn’t have a phone in this day and age?’

‘The guy we’re going to see.’

‘Goddamn it, Ace.’

‘What?’

‘I hate your cryptic shit, I really do.’

They drove another while in silence.

‘You asked me at The Shack why I didn’t ask Coraline out?’

Mike glanced at Ace, surprised at this sudden change in direction. ‘I did?’

‘I told you to quit digging.’

‘Sounds like you offered good advice.’

‘I’ve been thinking about what you said. That got me thinking about other things. I ain’t never been one for the ladies. The type I run with ain’t exactly into rings and all that jazz. But I wanted you to know that you and Jessie,’ he changed into a lower gear as they rounded a tight bend, ‘you and Jessie made me think how things could be different. I thought you ought to know that.’

‘Me and Jess, huh?’

‘Yep. That’s right.’

He said no more on the subject and they drove on, climbing higher, tighter roads, cresting hills and finding nothing but more hills beyond them. Finally, Ace pulled off the road and drove down a narrow lane leading to a small blue house. Either side of the lane was flanked by tomato and pepper plants, shoulder height and weighed down with fruit; small speckled chickens pecked and scratched in the yard and a long-limbed dog of mixed origin loped out to greet them, barking with plenty of noise but little menace.

Ace opened the glove compartment and removed the arrow, which he had wrapped in cloth. He cracked his neck from side to side. ‘Let’s go.’

Together they walked past the still barking dog and climbed the steps onto the porch. Ace gave the door three sharp raps. A small woman, past the first flush of youth by a country mile, opened the door and peered out.

‘Well I’ll be durn,’ she said. ‘But you’re a sight for sore eyes, Ace.’

‘Hey, Lucy.’

‘Thought you’d forgotten we knew each other.’

‘Naw,’ Ace looked surprisingly sheepish. ‘I’ve been busy is all. This here is my brother Mike.’

‘I can see 
that
,’ she said, looking past him to where Mike hung back shyly. ‘He favours you.’

‘I’m looking for Nathaniel. He about?’

‘Where d’ya think?’ She jerked her head left. ‘He’s out in the workroom. Seeing as you’re calling you can save me a trip. Tell him I don’t much mind one way or the other if his breakfast goes cold but I won’t be fixin’ another.’

‘Yes Ma’am.’

‘Can I fix you something? You look like you could do with a good meal.’

‘No thank you Lucy, but I appreciate the offer.’

She nodded curtly and went back indoors. Ace led Mike around the side of the house to where a stone barn with wooden doors sat nestled amongst a number of azalea bushes bursting with blooms. The doors were open and Mike could see a figure within, bent over a small wooden table upon which lay various tools.

‘How do, Ace?’ the figure called out without looking up.

‘Doin’ well, Nathaniel. You?’

‘Oh, tolerable.’

‘Lucy says your breakfast is ready.’

The man waved a dismissive hand at this news. Looked like breakfast was going to get a whole lot colder.

‘This is my brother Mike.’

The figure straightened slowly and turned. Mike placed him at close to eighty. He had a shock of white hair and matching eyebrows. He was well over six foot tall, but frail with it, though it was clear he had once been an imposing figure of a man.

‘You must be the fella that fixes the vehicles.’

‘Yes sir, that’s me.’

‘Your brother here talks highly of you.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

Nathaniel searched Mike’s face closely before turning his attention back to Ace. ‘Bein’ as it’s so early I can’t hardly think this a social call Ace, though that would be welcome. It’s been a while.’

‘Yes sir, it has.’ Ace spoke with such sadness Mike glanced at him in surprise.

‘How’s life treatin’ you?’

‘I can’t complain.’

‘Stayin’ on the straight and narrow?’

‘For the most part.’

‘Good to hear. So what can I do for you?’

‘I spoke to a man last night called Willie Scarsdale, showed him something and he said I ought to come talk to you.’

‘Old Willie still beatin’ brush?’

‘Not so much these days; glaucoma.’

‘Shame.’ Nathaniel shook his head.

‘Would you look at something, give me your thoughts on it?’

Ace unwrapped the arrow from the cloth and held it out to Nathaniel. Nathaniel took it and studied it for a moment.

‘Where did you get this?’

‘I found this near to where my brother’s dog lay dead.’

‘A dog?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Well, that’s an unfortunate end for the animal, but I don’t see—’ Nathaniel raised the arrow to the light and frowned. ‘Obsidian, don’t see many of these traditional heads no more.’

‘Willie said you might recognise it.’

‘Maybe. I’d have to check some. You boys want to leave it with me and I’ll see what I can find out?’

‘Sir.’ Mike stepped forward. ‘My wife Jessie is missing, She’s been gone since last Friday and I am nearly out of my mind sick with worry. Tell the truth, I thought she had left me and taken the animal with her. I know now her car remained in town and our dog was killed around the time she went missing. If there’s anything you can tell us about that arrow, sir, I would really appreciate hearing it.’

‘You think this has something to do with your wife?’

‘I do,’ Ace said. ‘I think it has a lot to do with it.’

Another expression crossed Nathaniel’s noble face. Mike felt gut-sick watching the transformation.

‘Sir?’

‘Come on inside,’ Nathaniel said finally, ‘let me see what I can stir up.’

I
t was moss
; dark and green and growing on a shaded section of rock. Jessie stared at it. From somewhere, a faint trickle of water had surfaced and fed it.

She licked her lips: they were dry and parched and her throat ached. She ripped a piece of moss from the rock and smelled it. Damp and earthy; she squeezed it between her fingers until her hand shook, trying to extract a bead of moisture.

Nothing, not a single drop.

She flung the moss aside with a snarl of impotent rage. This was not fair, this was not 
right
.

After a moment, she managed to regain her composure. She ripped another piece of moss from the rock and examined it. She cleaned the roots off and, after a moment of hesitation, popped it into her mouth and began to chew.

It was cool, cool but disgusting. She gagged, but kept on chewing. What little moisture the plant held soothed and cooled her mouth and she chewed until it had dissolved into mush and then spat it out. Before her stomach turned, she grabbed another handful, stuffed it in to her mouth and chewed again. This time she did gag, but not until she had extracted every last single drop of moisture and lessened her ferocious thirst. It was not much, but it was something. She stuffed some of the moss into her pockets and began to climb again.

Halfway up the next embankment she stepped on a loose rock, lost her footing and fell. Before she could catch something, she tumbled back down the slope, rolling and bouncing until she slammed into the dirt at the bottom of the scree.

Jessie lay amongst the rocks and weeds, facing skywards, winded and bleeding from a number of cuts. Her shoulder was on fire and when she turned her head she saw that the skin above her left bicep had split open and was bleeding profusely.

She tried to get to her feet. The air shimmered; she put out her hands but the earth tilted beneath her and she fell down again. This time she stayed down until she was sure she had enough strength to remain upright. When she finally stood up, she found she was cut and bleeding from various places and she was minus a trainer. She spotted it a few feet away and limped over to get it.

When she had reclaimed her trainer, Jessie faced the embankment again and searched out a shallower line to climb. Her head throbbed and when she blinked the ground before her sometimes wavered.

She knew the fall had cost her time and energy she did not have. With growing despair, she drifted wearily along the base of the scree, seeking a new route. The vegetation this high up the mountain was sparse; thin, spindly pines grew at awkward angles through the poor soil. There were more rocks and stones lying in wait for the unsuspecting ankle.

Finally, she found a less steep incline. She wiped her forehead and looked at the baked surface. Was this really the right thing to do? Crossing the rocks left her exposed, and she knew he had a gun. If she went out there and he saw her he could easily pick her off.

What if she stayed in the woods? Maybe she could hide somewhere.

She dismissed that idea almost immediately. He had to know these woods and she did not. He would find her there without question.

She looked down, blood was running down her arm and pooling by her shoe. She scuffed at it to hide it. Her body felt like sitting down. She was utterly exhausted, depleted of all energy. It scared her how much she wanted to stop. She turned and scanned the valley below, peering towards the dense foliage below, listening for any sound that betrayed him. Birds sang and a lone white butterfly bobbed past. He could be anywhere out there.

Fact time.

There were no options open to her. If she stayed put or tried to hide he would find her and he would kill her.

Game over.

She smeared the blood on her arm and wiped her hands against her trousers before pressing on.

The heat was relentless. Despite the lesser angle, rocks and pebbles skittered down and away from her with every step, bouncing over the hardened soil, gathering speed as they fell. At times, Jessie was almost pressed level against the hillside as she dug her aching toes into the compacted earth, frantically searching for traction. It was not long before her hands began to bleed, torn ragged from snagging brush and rough stone. She tried to keep to the cover of the stubby bushes that sprouted here and there through the soil, but more and more she found herself exposed and vulnerable on bald sections. She did not stop and she did not look down.

She no longer cared about below; all her energy was focused on above.

Close to the top of the scree she paused, clung to a dried, half-buried root and squinted upwards. Above her lay a short stubby band of scrubland, after that she could see another rocky outcrop, and then she was almost in the mountain proper. There would be shelter there, caves, shade, perhaps water. The thought of water made her double her efforts. She dug her toes in and pushed off. She was almost at the top when the crack of a rifle filled the air and she heard the ricochet of a round to her left and saw a kick of dirt.

Oh my God, he’s shooting at me.

She pressed herself flat into the dirt, then realised that was pointless. She needed to get to cover. Jessie began to climb faster, trying to reach the small band of scrub trees and bushes growing above the scree.

She was only feet away when the second shot rang out.

M
ike sat
beside Ace on a scarred leather sofa and waited impatiently as Nathaniel shuffled around a small room off the cluttered livingroom. He came in and out of the room many times, retrieving photos from various boxes and folders, blowing dust from lids and frowning at contents that seemed to surprise him. A number of times, Mike heard him grunt and mutter, but finally he laid his hand on what he had been searching for.

‘Here you go.’

Nathaniel came out and handed a number of pictures to Ace. ‘I thought I might have a few others but I guess over the years I musta misplaced them. Don’t think I threw ’em out, but you never do know. Things have a way of walking out the door in this house.’ He raised his head and aimed the last line towards the kitchen.

Ace spread the three photos on the coffee table before him and Mike. The photos were aged, faded yellow and curled at the edges. In the first one, a number of men stood by the rear of a pick-up carrying deer carcasses. Mike recognised Nathaniel, though he was considerably younger, and a younger man wearing a blue cap with fold-down earflaps.

‘Nate sure did like the cap,’ Ace said softly, touching his hand against the photo.

Mike glanced at his brother.

‘He did,’ Nathaniel said, his voice tinged with sadness. ‘Said it was good luck.’ He leaned over the table. ‘Other fellow there is Aldo Switch, he’s the fellow used to make these arrowheads. Sharp as a boar’s tusk they were, hard as flint.’

Ace shifted onto the second photo.

Two men stood over dead animals in each, one young, one older.

‘That’s Aldo Switch there,’ Nathaniel said, nodding to the photo. ‘See the equipment?’

Mike raised the photo to the light and studied the picture. Between the men lay a massive Kodiak bear, his paws outstretched, with blood trickling from his nostrils. The older man squatted beside its head, his chin raised, his dark eyes arrogant and the lines around his mouth set in a haughty cruel manner. Both men carried longbows and quivers. The fetching on the bows was identical to the one that lay on the table before Ace and Mike.

Mike passed the photo to Ace for closer inspection. His hand trembled a little as he did so. Ace took it and nodded, then added. ‘Kodiak, taken in spring by the looks of it.’

‘Aldo never did pay no heed to laws and customs,’ Nathaniel said with a snort. ‘He’d tell you flat out he’d hunt when he wanted and to hell with anyone who thought different.’

‘Where can we find this man?’ Mike asked.

‘Sorry son, you’re barking up the wrong tree with that one. Aldo went out hunting winter of ’98, up the mountains somewhere, never came back. Not that too many mourned his passing. He was a mean son of a bitch, even on his good days.’

Ace tapped the photo. ‘Who’s that with him?’

‘That’s his boy.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Tell the truth I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘I never heard Aldo call him by his Christian name. Kid didn’t talk much. Some folk reckoned he was not right in the head, but me, I reckon he had a hard row to hoe, that one.’

Mike stared at the photo. The younger Switch was tall and thin to the point of being skeletal. He wore his dark hair shaved close to his head and a livid scar ran from his mouth to under his jawline. His eyes were dark like his father’s and he stared into the camera with little or no expression.

Nathaniel opened a different box and found another photo; this one was of the younger Switch standing over a bighorn sheep. Again, he faced the camera, unsmiling and seemingly uninterested in his game or having his photo taken. Something else struck Mike: there was snow on the ground yet the kid wore a thin jacket and wore no hat or gloves.

‘Kid was a natural,’ Nathaniel was saying. ‘Saw him take down turkeys on the wing, and the Lord knows those stupid creatures don’t give much by way of second chance if you miss. He could shoot the ticks off a squirrel with barely a breath taken to aim. Aldo used to bet on him against out-of-towners with crossbows and rifles. Kid used a homemade stick bow, as long as he was tall.’ Nathaniel shook his head. ‘People used to bet against him, but only the once. The boy was one track. He got a bead on something he’d track it until he had it. Aldo liked to brag about his skill, saying he could have made a real professional go of it with him if he’d a mind. Even talked about entering him in a few of the competitions. Never did follow through. Aldo was an intemperate man, and too jealous to put the boy forward. Put drink in him and the combination was lethal.’

‘Where were they from?’

‘Little Fork. You know it?’

Mike and Ace shook their heads.

‘Scut of a place about thirty miles east of here. Up beyond the pine range. I can give you directions.’

‘That would be appreciated.’

‘Not much left of it now, I suppose … not much back then neither.’

‘You mind if we take these, Nathaniel?’ Mike asked.

‘Take ’em. They’re no use to me.’

Mike gathered the photos and put them in the breast pocket of his shirt.

‘That boy,’ Nathaniel said, musing through his memory. ‘He really was a strange one.’

‘What age would he be now?’

‘In his late twenties I expect.’

‘Might he still have family up around those parts?’

‘Could not hardly say; it’s been a long time since I heard the name Switch. After Aldo went missing, the boy didn’t show for no more shoots. I figured he’d drifted on with himself. Might have sold on his father’s gear. Can’t hurt to ask.’

Ace and Mike exchanged a look that Nathaniel noticed.

‘You think this Switch fella has something to do with your wife?’

‘I don’t know, but I’d sure like to talk with him one way or another.’

‘I don’t recall him being much of a talker.’

‘He’ll talk to me,’ Mike said firmly, as he got to his feet. ‘Yes sir he will.’