The Cypress Trap: A Suspense Thriller (13 page)

19

Dawn
broke, but hadn’t yet burned away the fog that settled between the trees. A
white mist surrounded Rayanne as she continued her grueling hike through the
woods. She couldn’t see anything but white, and she gripped the tire iron in
her left hand tighter. It provided little comfort, though.

Predators
hunted at dawn and she could stumble upon a bear. Startle it. And it would roar
at her, baring its massive teeth, then charge.

Or
a boar could come raging out of that fog. The sheer impact of its solid head
ramming into her would knock her to the ground. Hopefully the force of it would
mercifully slap life and breath from her body, before the boar could get hold
of her. She saw a nature program where an angry boar tore into a hunter. Its
tusks ripped the man’s legs open, crippling him. Then it charged again, pinning
him to the ground and, using its tusks like swords, it disemboweled him. One of
his companions shot the boar with a bow and arrow. She didn’t know if the
hunter survived. She’d already changed the channel by then.

Now
she imagined boars and bears, or worse. Luger could step out of the fog. If
that happened, she’d have to stand her ground. There was nowhere to run and she
was vulnerable. She knew it. Holding the tire iron, she moved faster, not
running but not walking, either. She didn’t have the confidence to run through
the fog. Blind, she’d smash into a tree or fall into a sinkhole. Still, as best
she could, she picked up her pace.

Rayanne
thought she was headed to the dirt path. After trudging along for what felt
like an hour, she was certain she either missed it or was headed in the wrong
direction. By the time she reached a thatch of wild grapefruit trees, the
late-morning sun had climbed high in the sky and the temperature was rising.

* * * * *

Sitting
in the mangled truck, dead in the ditch, Owen opened his eyes. The sun had
risen above the trees. With it came a new sense of hope. He’d survived the
night. Rayanne would return soon. He knew it. He could feel it. But it wasn’t
the lightening sky that woke him. It was something else. He stirred, realizing
he had drifted off, and wondered how long he had been out.

Then
he noticed it: the absence of sound. Nothing chirped outside. No wind. No
branches scraping the truck. Nothing moved inside the truck either, and the
backseat was deathly still. Darryl’s wheezing had stopped.

That’s
what had woken him. Darryl had stopped wheezing. Owen’s eyes widened, and he
craned his neck, ignoring the pain. Darryl’s body lay motionless in the
backseat.

Owen
stretched an arm over the console toward Darryl’s muddy boot. He shook his
friend. “Buddy, wake up.”

Nothing.
No response.

Owen
grabbed Darryl’s knee, shook his leg. “Buddy, answer me.” Owen shot his arm
forward, punching Darryl’s leg.

The
body slumped to the edge of the seat and an arm fell to the floorboard. All the
running blood from his wounds had dried.

“Darryl!”
Owen was screaming. Adrenaline masked the pain in his shoulder and leg, but his
eyes were flooding. “Don’t you die on me,” he said, pulling Darryl’s foot.
“We’re getting out of this. You hear me? You hear what I’m saying?”

He
stopped shaking his friend and pulled his arm away.

“You
hear me?” His voice lowered, as the inevitable sunk in. He wiped his eyes with
his forearm. Staring at his buddy, he whispered, “We’re getting out of here and
we’re going to Australia. You and me. You hear that? You and me.”

Darryl’s
face was expressionless. There was no light, no breath. Just a cold stillness.

And
that’s when Owen noticed it. Darryl wasn’t wearing his glasses. They must have
broke on his face, Owen thought. He stared at the gash across Darryl’s nose and
at the embedded glass below the swollen eye. The glasses had been lost.

Owen’s
face cringed and he waited for the pain to subside. He gripped the small
rabbit’s foot in his hand. He felt the soft fur in his palm, and his fingers
pressed down on the solid bone inside it. For a moment it soothed him. But only
for a moment, as he thought about that redheaded cheerleader and that night he
was pulled out of Darryl’s father’s Mustang. The night Darryl had his back.

After
a moment or two, Owen regarded the rabbit’s foot in his hand. It looked
different somehow, in the morning light. The foot seemed so small now, as if
memory had played games with his mind. The fur felt thin, fake. It was a cheap
carnival trinket. There was nothing lucky about it. No magic within it.

It
no longer belonged to him.

Moving
his arm over the console, Owen stretched as best he could, grunting through the
pain. He reached for Darryl and returned the rabbit’s foot into his best
friend’s shirt pocket.

* * * * *

Rayanne
felt lost and ready to drop from exhaustion. She plowed forward, though,
certain there had to be a highway just ahead. Or the interstate. Or a random
road.

There
had to be a road at some point.

Somewhere.

She
saw nothing but trees, and as the morning dragged on, she found herself jumping
at every sound and shadow in the woods. She became keenly aware that Scut, with
the spiky blond hair and the spider web tattoos, and the knife that tore her
husband open, could pop out from behind a tree. Dru could be waiting for her
over the next hill. Or Rude Roddy. Or that other kid, the one Scut beat to a
pulp with his baseball bat.

Rayanne
shuddered. They were wild animals, those kids. As dangerous as any bear. As
deadly as any boar. And she prayed it would be too hot for any kind of wild
animals to be roaming about.

She
moved faster. Sweat poured from her face, her legs ached, and Rayanne held her
fingers pressed into her side, trying to stop the cramp. In an effort to
alleviate the discomfort of the heat, she stripped off the sweaty T-shirt,
exposing her stomach to the warm wind coursing through the trees. Her bra had
chafed the sensitive skin on her sides, and she wrapped the brown T-shirt
around her head like a bandanna. That’s when she saw him.

Luger
was standing at the top of a hill, watching her. His shadow trailed behind him
along the grass and weeds.

Rayanne
stopped breathing. She held up the tire iron. Her legs trembled and she tried
to control them. There was nowhere to run this time. If he charged, she would
have to fight.

She
didn’t know if she had any fight left. Certainly she had sweated out all
ability to swing the tire iron with any force. It would be useless this time.

Rayanne
stared at the dog for several seconds. He stared at her, then turned and walked
into the brush.

Rayanne
dropped the iron and inhaled so deeply that she found herself gulping air. She
thought she might hyperventilate and she slowed her breathing, trying to calm
her nerves. Her legs grew limp.

After
a few moments, she picked up the tire iron and pushed on. She could tell which
way north was by the position of the sun. She turned and headed in that direction.

Luger
followed, hidden in the shadows and always a few steps behind.

20

With
the sun high above, Rayanne knew it was well past noon. She wiped sweat from
her forehead and trudged forward. Thirty yards ahead, a barbed-wire fence cut
through the meadow. On the other side, the land looked flat and treeless.
Patches of redring milkweed covered the ground for as far as she could see.
Rayanne ran to the fence, hoping it meant a pasture. Perhaps there was a
farmhouse nearby?

She
tossed the tire iron over the barbed wire, and then dropped onto her back. She
slid in the dirt under the lowest wire line, careful not to cut her arms or
face on the sharp barbs. On the other side, she picked up the tire iron and
stood. Looking behind her, she saw Luger again. He stood under a distant tree,
watching her.

Rayanne
stared at him for another minute. He didn’t seem to be coming after her, so she
turned and headed through the field of dense milkweeds. Eight or nine cows
grazed near a small pond and she walked in that direction. She prayed there
wasn’t a bull there too.

The
cows lifted their heads as she approached, but lost interest and resumed
grazing. The pond, which looked as if the summer sun had taken a toll on it—was
a crater in the ground with a large puddle in its center.

The
sun took a toll on her as well. She took careful steps along the bank and
plopped down where it sloped toward the water. She dropped the tire iron,
listening to it clunk on the ground. She wanted to plunge into the puddle and
drink. It didn’t even look clean enough to jump into, though, much less ingest.

Turning
her head, she noticed Luger several yards behind her at the fence.

He
was approaching.

Rayanne
froze and grasped the tire iron resting beside her left hip. She was about to
get to her feet when Luger stopped as well, never taking his eyes off her. It
wasn’t an aggressive posture, she noticed. He just seemed …

Rayanne
squinted, nervously watching the Rottweiler. She expected him to sprint toward
her and pounce. Surprisingly, he plopped down in the field of milkweed, his
head barely rising above the white blooms. He disappeared in the weeds, then
lifted his head. A moment later he was lost in the weeds again.

Rayanne
exhaled, relaxing her grasp on the tire iron. Her other hand fished the granola
bar from her pocket. Unwrapping an end, she looked down at the light brown
granola. She wasn’t hungry, and wrapped it up.

Behind
her, Luger made a sound that was neither a growl nor a grunt, and she turned to
look at him.

He
moved closer … merely a few yards away.

“You
hungry?” She broke off an end of the snack and sent it sailing toward the
water. It curved in the air and landed at the bottom of the bank, where it
plopped on top of the hardened mud.

The
dog came down the slope after it. He found the piece of granola and gulped it
down. Hesitating, he looked up at her, then turned and drank from the puddle of
water.

Rayanne,
sitting at the top of the slope, wrapped her fingers around the tire iron in
her left hand, gripping it.

Luger
lowered his head, sniffing the ground as if searching for any crumbs he may
have left behind, then trotted back up the slope. He rushed past Rayanne
without making eye contact and headed several yards behind her, disappearing
into the milkweed.

Rayanne
knew he was following her, but wasn’t sure why. With the dog no longer in
sight, she got up and resumed her trek. She followed the fence line for another
hour. The pasture turned into woods, which at least provided some relief from
the sun. But the ground became rocky and uneven. She was painfully thirsty and
tired, and frustrated that she never found a farmhouse. She wasn’t sure how
much farther she could go and grew more concerned with each passing minute.

About
to collapse from thirst and heat exhaustion, she spotted what she was looking
for. The barbed-wire fence stretched in front of her, cutting sharply to the
right. Just beyond it, partially hidden behind trees and tall weeds, was a line
of blacktop.

A
road.

Rayanne
smiled.

A
second wind of energy filled her veins and she thrust forward, running along
the fence line. She moved her legs faster, no longer feeling the pang of thirst
or exhaustion. She headed for the road, running past a couple of cows and an
uneasy calf that seemed startled by her intrusion. They mooed and trotted off
in the opposite direction.

Rayanne
came to the fence corner and slipped under it. There was a shallow ditch
directly beyond it, and she tumbled into it, splashing into a muddy puddle. She
picked herself up and scrambled to the other side. When her foot hit the
pavement, she screamed and fell to her knees. She’d made it, she thought.

She’d
finally made it. She inhaled deeply to slow her heartbeat and catch her breath.

After
resting a moment, she walked to the center of the road. She looked east, then
west. There were no cars. She was alone, except for a signpost that read
“WILLOW ~ 5 MILES AHEAD.”

Not
for long, she told herself. Not for long. She would sit here on the side of the
road and wait for someone to come along.

She
returned to the gravel shoulder and dropped the tire iron. Falling to her
knees, she lay down on her back, looking at the sky. It was a matter of time.
Someone would drive by. Someone would find her.

Fluffy
white clouds moved across the sun, casting a shadow that rolled over the
pavement. Feeling the passing shade, Rayanne shut her eyes and waited. She
wondered how long it would take. But what if no one came by, she thought. What
if she was wasting valuable time by lying here?

She
tried to sit up, but all her energy had evaporated. She sighed and shut her
eyes again. She needed ten minutes. Just ten minutes. If no one came by, she’d
start walking again. She’d head toward Willow. But for now, she needed to rest.

As
she lay there, she noticed—felt, really—another large shadow come over her.
This time it wasn’t the clouds covering the sunlight.

Rayanne
opened her eyes. Luger stood at the edge of the road, barely a foot away. He
stared at her, unflinching. Rayanne sat up.

The
dog growled.

Slowly,
Rayanne got to her feet. Her legs trembled. She gripped the tire iron in one
hand and slipped her other into her pocket. She pulled out the granola bar.
“Nice Luger,” she said. “Good boy.”

His
growl deepened. She held up the granola bar as an offering. Luger grew quiet.
The Rottweiler cocked its head, then stepped hesitantly toward her. Rayanne
remained still and held out the granola bar.

The
dog came to her, sniffed the bar, and took it. He ran back to his position with
the bar in his mouth, plopped down on the pavement, and ate it.

Rayanne
watched him a moment, debating whether to lie down or to take off running. She
did neither, though, as she turned her head to the sound of an approaching car.
It was a red convertible headed west.

Luger
moved to the side of the road as Rayanne waved her arms. She yelled as the
convertible passed without stopping. Its breeze whipped her face and she
screamed, watching the taillights disappear.

Frustrated,
Rayanne ran to the center of the road, waving her arms. When she stopped, she
looked at Luger.

The
Rottweiler stood. Rayanne froze. He watched her. She took a step backward,
keeping her eyes on the dog. He didn’t move. She took another step, then
another. Turning, she took off, walking in the center of the road. The dog
followed.

As
time passed, Rayanne wasn’t sure how far or how long she’d walked. She only
knew that she was exhausted and couldn’t take another step. She stumbled to the
gravel shoulder and dropped to her knees. She cried, then stopped herself. She
was wasting time.

Luger
stopped several feet behind her. The sun beat down on them both, and she wiped
her brow with the back of her hand. Owen was waiting for her, and she didn’t
know what else to do. There had to be another car. A pickup truck. Someone.
Anyone. She cried again, sniffled, then stopped herself.

Luger
stood at the edge of the road and looked at her over his shoulder. Then he took
two steps beside her and plopped down. Rayanne reached over to pet him, then
thought better of it. She let her arm fall to her side.

“So,
I take it we’re friends now, huh?” She sniffled and ran her arm across the tip
of her nose, whisking away the wetness.

He
looked up at her with large brown eyes and cocked his head.

She
forced a quick laugh through her tears. “There’s an old saying that with
friends like you, who needs enemies?”

Luger
stared, his black eyes never blinking.

“You
could probably use a friend too,” she said. “I’m wondering how long it will
last when we run into your owners.”

Luger
huffed and laid his head down on the pavement.

They
sat there, side by side in the road, watching the sun drop in the blue and gold
sky. She debated whether to get up, when she saw Luger lift his head. Then she
heard the car before she saw it.

She
stood. Luger was already standing, his body tense and pointed in the direction
of the oncoming vehicle.