Ripples (18 page)

I raise up on my knees and peer back at the hut. Fresh shivers ripple down my already chilled spine. Smoke is rising from a stand of pines near the top of the ridge, and flames are licking the boughs of nearby live oaks.

The rain has stopped, but dark grey clouds are still racing across the sky, broken up by wide patches of blue sky. Guess the storm hung around long enough to set this tinderbox on fire. That means the two sheriff deputies standing in front of that hut are the least of my worries. My legs wobble as I struggle to my feet. Another wave of lightheadedness strikes. My shotgun. I look around. Damn. Left it back in the hut. Teresa must have used it to finish off the dying cowboy, figuring he was on to her scam. Probably wiped her fingerprints and left it behind to put the blame on me. Baker will want me for a third homicide.

I kneel and grab a long stick lying at my feet. Need to put distance between me and what’s about to become an inferno. I draw an imaginary line straight through the rugged terrain back to the lake and the underground bunker. It’s probably my only chance. If I don’t bleed out first.

Tess

Bryce marches me in drenching rain to the top of the ridge and along crest. When the downpour slackens he stops and backs me up against a tree—holds me there by my throat. I meet his stare. “Plan on killing me?”

“Depends on whether I can still trust you.”

“What do you want from me?”

“For starters, you help me get rid of both girls and that boy from the ranch house. Do that, and I’ll let you live.”

I give him my sexiest smile. “I’d like to sweeten the deal.”

He releases his grip and takes a step back. “You’ve got bigger balls than any man.”

“I want to be sure they pin the body count on Chandler.”

“Sure. My best bet for getting out of this mess is for the kids to disappear and for him to take the rap for all three bodies I’ve racked up so far.”

“Why not make it a trifecta?”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“As we’re getting rid of the girls and pinning the rap on Chandler, why don’t we shake him down for a couple of those millions he won’t have any use for behind bars?”

His eyes get big.

I touch my hand to my breast. “What I’ve got tucked away here is a legal document. The fellow you killed back at that hut was a lawyer. I got him to draft it. All we have to do is make Chandler sign it. What do you say?”

“You expect me to believe you didn’t trade any favors to get that outta him?”

“All I did was make a promise I never planned to keep. You know you’re the only one for me.” I undo the top button on my blouse, peek up at him and pout, lean forward, and trace my lips with my tongue.

He leans toward me. I jerk back.

He clutches my shoulders. “What?”

“You smell smoke?”

We both sniff the air—look around for signs of fire.

I point back toward the hut. “That lightning strike must have set the whole ridge burning.”

He grabs my arm and yanks me. “Let’s get to the other side of the ridge. If we’re lucky … the updraft from that side will keep it from crossing over.”

I pull back, dig in my heels. “But what about Chandler?”

“We’ll deal with that when we get clear of this fire.”

Mercedes

After the rain squall passes, RJ nudges his stallion and mutters, “We need to get moving.”

As our horses trudge along, I stare almost trance-like at his back, wondering what’s going through his head. When I want him he doesn’t let me get close, but when I’m distant he pulls one of his moods. Funny, books I’ve swiped from that fancy cabin say girls are hard to figure out. It’s RJ who’s the real puzzle. We both keep silent—interrupted only by his grunts when he reins in the stallion and leans down to study the ground for Amy’s tracks.

After about half an hour, tiny white flakes snap me back to the here and now. No way it’s snow, not in the heat of summer. I sniff the air. My head runs through all the possibilities. “There’s a fire somewhere.”

RJ jerks back on his reins and turns in his saddle. What started as a few cinders fluttering down is now light flurry. He holds out his hand to catch a sample of the ash and nods in the direction of the hut. “Must be coming from over there.”

I turn the mare downhill toward home.

RJ grabs her halter and yanks us back. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“To the hut. To grab as much stuff as I can before the fire—.”

“If a fire breaks loose with all this dry fuel lying around, we won’t have a prayer unless we get out now. The last thing you wanna do in a forest fire is try to escape downhill. Fires tend to burn upslope, which means you’ll be heading right into it. You’re dead unless you win the lottery, and a strong wind moves it in a different direction. But the odds are against you, big time … sorry.”

“Then we’d better keep after Amy. No way can she outrun a fire on foot. We’ve got to find her.” I jerk the mare’s reins out of his hands and dig my heels into her sides. RJ freezes in his saddle, his mouth wide open. The mare bolts past him and breaks into a full gallop. I scream, “Shit … not so fast,” and hang on for dear life.

I take a quick peek at RJ and see him turn his stallion to come after me. Just as I get straightened around, a low hanging branch smacks me in the face. When I open my eyes I spot a tree down across the trail. The mare plants her feet. I fly out of the saddle and crash to the ground. Pain shoots through my shoulder, my neck, and arm. Flat on my back, I can’t catch my breath.

Next thing I know I’m shivering. RJ’s kneeling next to me, his hand is on my forehead, his shirt draped over me like a blanket. My feet are propped up on a saddle. Ash is falling around us. He says to stay still.

I mumble, “Wouldn’t think of moving.”

“We’ll have to get going again soon. But first, we have to be sure you’re not going into shock.”

Amy

I push harder through the scrub. Brush is getting thicker. High branches scratch my face, low ones snag my ankles. I stumble … catch my breath. Check the ridgeline. It’s getting farther away.

I slant uphill … press against the Manzanita branches. White flakes are falling … ashes. Like when we burn garbage, and sparks shoot up … and float away. Maybe they’re coming from Mercedes’ stove. My throat’s scratchy. The brush keeps getting thicker. Now it doesn’t give way at all. I turn straight uphill … one step is as far as I get. Maybe going to the top isn’t a good idea.

Downhill is easier … just have to worry about loose rocks. Or … what if I step on one of those killer snakes? I breathe fast. Try to swallow … can’t. Eyes sting … lungs burn. Smoke everywhere … ash is getting thicker. Summertime snowflakes swirl around … tiny red candy wrappers, too. They turn black before they hit the ground. Bryce says you have to be careful burning garbage. Sparks can fly off, catch dry needles on fire … maybe grass, too. If sparks land up in the trees, the whole forest will burn down. Somebody didn’t listen. They weren’t careful.

My heart beats faster. My chest is gonna explode. Reach in my pocket … no candy wrapper. Fall to my knees, sobbing. Cry ’til there’s no tears left. Stand and look downhill. The Manzanita peters out at the bottom. There’s a flat clearing about as big as the lake. Way off to the right side … grass is on fire. Flames reaching for the low hanging branches. To the left it’s clear. I race through the Manzanita to the bottom … go hard to the left … hot, dry air burns my throat, lungs. Have to get away from this fire.

Mercedes

RJ helps me back onto the mare, but this time he ties a lead to her bridle and cinches it to his saddle horn. I don’t have to steer any more … just hang on. He nudges the stallion into a walk and we head uphill. I keep an eye out for Amy’s tracks, but my throbbing neck and shoulder paralyze my brain. Can’t really say when I zoned out.

At the top of the ridge, RJ says he hopes she’s following the crest ’til she spots the lake down below. If she misses it, she’ll wind up on a bluff that overlooks the highway.

I wince from a stabbing pain in the pit of my stomach. “But, what if she’s headed the other direction … right into the fire?”

“They’ll find three charred bodies if we follow her. We just have to hope she made the right choice.”

I squeeze my eyes shut to hold back tears. A short time later, a wave of nausea hits. I hunch forward and let out a weak, “Hold up—please.”

RJ halts his stallion, and the mare stops, too. He jumps down and rushes over to catch me as I lean to the side. When my feet hit the ground he braces me and helps me down the backside of the ridge—about a hundred feet. I slide down and rest my back against a tree stump … hold back a surge of vomit working its way up my throat.

He pulls off his shirt and tucks it under my head. “Here. Lie down … point your feet uphill. You’re going into shock from the pain.”

My teeth chatter.

He leaps up, sprints to the top of the ridge, and leads the horses back down to where I’m shivering to death. He ties them up, unsaddles the mare, and drapes her blanket over me. I close my eyes, hoping sleep will carry me off this mountain.

I wake up, moaning, drenched in sweat, my face clammy. My shoulder throbs. Someone—not RJ—says, “So sleeping beauty’s decided to wake up?”

I know the voice. But it can’t be. He’s dead. I saw it with my own eyes. A woman laughs. Is that Tess? I try to prop myself up. Pain shoots down my arm. “Where am I? RJ?”

The man and the woman laugh again. Hard, cold metal presses against my temple. I eye the barrel of a rifle, follow it up to a bony hand clutching the narrow part of the stock, an index finger resting along the trigger guard. I look up at his face and gulp. It is him. How the hell …? He’s wearing the same creepy smile that used to turn my stomach when the bastard came up to the loft for his “special treat.”

Someone moans a few feet away. I call out, “RJ!” Another moan.

The woman laughs again. It
is
Tess. My heart sinks.

Bryce pokes at my head with the rifle. “Tess, what do you say we just finish these two right here and now?”

Tess’s shrill voice sends a chill down my spine. “No. We need the girl, she’s the key to Chandler’s millions.”

“Then how ’bout the boy? He’s just dead weight.”

“Good point. Only thing he can do is cause trouble. Just leave him tied up here. If the fire doesn’t get him, he’ll make a good meal for some hungry coyote or mountain lion. And nobody can trace him back to us.”

My eyes dart back and forth between Bryce and Tess. Neck’s too stiff—can’t turn far enough to get a glimpse of RJ.

I blurt out the best argument I can think of. “That stallion—it’s a one rider horse. You’ll need RJ—or you’ll have to hoof it all the way to wherever you’re planning to take me.”

Bryce grunts. “We’ll do the riding. You can do the hoofing.”

“But I can’t—the pain—that’s why we stopped.”

Tess mutters, “Put her on the mare. Shoo the stallion back home.”

My heart pounds in my ears. “Our best chance of out running the fire is all of us on horseback. To do that we’ll need the horses… and RJ.”

Bryce swings the rifle barrel away from my face. “She’ll do the walking. Now, let’s get a move on. Don’t like how that ash is blowin’ over to this side of the ridge. Only takes one spark in the wrong place to set the whole place ablaze.”

“And the boy?” Tess asks.

Bryce swats the stallion’s hindquarter. “Git ou….”

The horse bolts and gallops away.

Amy

Watching ash fall as I run. Embers catching in the grass … burning small patches then dying out. Up ahead, something on the ground … a bundle … or …. I slow to a walk. A body. I step closer. It moves. I freeze.

A man … he gets up on his knees … his head drooping … shoulders sag. One arm dangling limp … an ugly red and purple splotch above his elbow. I tiptoe close to him … bend down for a close look at the bloody arm. He turns his face … looks up at me. God, it’s the man from the huge cabin.

He takes my hand. His voice is weak. “Help me up.”

I pull him to his feet.

He staggers … leans into me … drapes his good arm over my neck. Almost whispering, he says, “Have to keep going. Fire’s coming our way. It’ll pick up speed. Got to get to my bunker.”

He takes a step. I stay with him … look up at his face. The frown tells me he’s worn out from the pain … probably lost lots of blood. But that doesn’t slow him … each step’s a little quicker than the last. His breathing gets faster, too—and louder. Sometimes he coughs … then winces. When he stumbles … his face gets all screwed up … and he mumbles things I can’t understand.

Ash and embers are getting thicker. I keep peeking over my shoulder … smoke spreading along the ridge … no Bryce in sight. Once in a while, I tell him to stop and rest. He shakes his head … points straight ahead.

Not much farther we find a pasture … most of the grass is eaten or worn away. Across it … a barn and ranch house … the one where RJ and his uncle lived. The neighbor man sees it, he walks faster … grunts with every step. As we come around to the front of the barn my heart jumps up into my throat. RJ’s stallion is waiting at the barn door.

RJ’s uncle, his butchered face, the pool of blood—it all flashes through my head. I slump over … my knees wobble. The neighbor grabs my arm with his good hand and holds me up.

His voice is raspy. “Let’s go inside.”

I glance over my shoulder. No Bryce. We head for the kitchen door.

In the kitchen, I help the man into a chair. He rests his head on the table … his good arm for a pillow … bloody arm dangling by his side. I get a mug full of water—he raises his head—I lift the mug to his lips. When he finishes drinking he whispers, “Booze?”

“Huh?”

He winces. “Got to be some around. See what you can find.”

Search the whole house. At the doorway to Uncle Eric’s room … flies … like the ones swarming his body … sucking his blood. I study the dark stained carpet. Puke pushes up into my throat … hold it back. Close my eyes for a second. Try to think what everything would look like through crinkly, red candy wrappers.

Find booze in the cabinet next to the bed. When I set the bottle on the table next to the man, he whispers, “Towel.” I hand him one. He douses it with whiskey and starts dabbing the wound. Then he pours booze right on the bloody hole in his arm.