Whispers in the Dark (22 page)

I still hadn’t consciously decided on the next step, but I found myself moving toward the visitors center. The glow of its window flickered through the trees, calling me. Was anyone still inside? Was anyone alive?

When I turned at the parking lot, I saw Sean’s SUV and a battered Land Rover I didn’t recognize, which the other men had probably come in. It would be a good way to get through the desert from a secret landing site.

I stared at the visitors center. What could I do? Two men—three if Jerry was still on their side—and at least one gun. If Danesh was still alive, he was probably tied up or hurt. I couldn’t count on any help from him. Whatever I did, I had to assume I’d be doing it alone.

Everything was up to me. And I was aching, exhausted, and out of ideas.

Chapter 25

I kept to the edge of the parking lot as I moved toward the building. When I reached Danesh’s truck, I paused with my hand on it. My eyes stung as I remembered a drive that now seemed long ago. Then a thought worked its way into my foggy mind. My backpack!

I moved to the driver’s side door, keeping the truck between me and the building. I grabbed the door handle and had barely enough sense to pause. I didn’t want to attract attention with noise. Or light. Did his interior light come on automatically when the door opened? I closed my eyes and thought back. Yes, I was pretty sure it did.

I rested my forehead on the cool window. Why couldn’t anything be simple? I peeked at the visitors center. The window glowed on the side wall, but that wouldn’t have a view of the front parking lot. They could only see me if they opened the door. I decided it was worth the chance.

I took a deep breath, staring through the truck’s windows at the visitors center door.

The door opened.

The dark-haired man stood silhouetted in the open doorway. “No sign of him. What the hell is he doing?”

I froze, praying that the man wouldn’t be able to see me in the dark. The truck blocked his view of me, unless he happened to look at the passenger side window and could see all the way through the cab to my face on the other side. I told myself moving would only attract attention. I told myself the light spilling out the doorway would glint off the passenger window and help hide me.

I willed the man to go back inside.

He turned his head and called over his shoulder. “He’s not coming back! He’s run off.”

The other man’s voice barely reached me. “We’ve got his money. He’ll be back.”

The younger thug stepped outside and stared into the darkness. I held my breath.

He shook his head and turned back. “We should finish this ourselves and get out of here.” The door closed behind him.

My legs went weak, and I sagged against the truck door. Close. Too close. But I was fine. He hadn’t seen me, I was okay.

His last comment suggested they hadn’t yet killed anyone, but I didn’t have much time. I needed to get to my phone and pray that I could reach someone.

I grabbed the door handle, held my breath, and pulled open the door. It sounded loud to me, but surely they wouldn’t notice from inside. I slipped into the cab and snapped off the overhead light. I left the door partly open, to avoid the sound of its closing.

I leaned across the seat and fumbled in my backpack on the floor. I found my phone. It had power! And reception! Just barely, but one bar flickered on and off. I dialed a number that was starting to be too familiar.

The explanation seemed to take forever. We could barely hear each other and I didn’t dare raise my voice. Finally I got across the bare facts, and they said the police would come. But it would take twenty or thirty minutes. They wanted me to stay on the line, but when the connection failed I didn’t bother trying to call back.

I lay across the seat, cold and exhausted. But I couldn’t rest. I didn’t know if we could afford to wait twenty or thirty minutes. The men inside sounded impatient. Where could I go for help?

I could try the campground, but I’d have to hike the half-mile on my bad ankle, wake people, and explain. Robert might still be out with Lily, and the other tourists from two nights before had probably moved on, so I’d have to convince strangers to believe me and take action. And then we’d have to get back here. That would take as long as waiting for the police and just put other people in danger. Our little community had done a great job with one unarmed man, but two armed criminals? I couldn’t drag more innocent people into this.

A single shiver shook me. I wasn’t shivering nearly enough. I dug into my backpack again and changed into dry socks and tennis shoes. At least it gave me something to do. I shrugged out of the oversized jacket, put on the thin sweater I’d brought in case the evening got cool—ha, ha—and put the jacket back on for an extra layer.

That done, I had to face the question of what to do next. If I didn’t do anything, they might yet decide to kill Danesh and Jerry. If I did the wrong thing, I could make matters worse. I was relatively safe now, and that was something. I wouldn’t help anyone by giving the gunmen another hostage or another victim. But I couldn’t just wait and do nothing while they murdered my friends.

I stared at the visitors center. I had to come up with a plan! I needed a weapon—my pepper spray! It shot almost ten feet. I could knock on the door—they’d think it was Sean—and then squirt the man who answered. It would only take care of one of them, temporarily.... I’d have to watch which way his gun was aiming.... It was the start of a plan.

I dug into the outside pocket of my backpack. My wallet was there, but no pepper spray. I checked the other outside pocket and then the main bag, just in case. Nothing. Had Sean somehow taken it? When?

I checked every pocket again, just in case. Nope. It was gone.

I squeezed my eyes tightly closed and pressed my lips together. I didn’t have the pepper spray. I had to let go of the idea. Move on.

I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. Okay, so no pepper spray.

Maybe I could find some kind of weapon or tool in one of the vehicles. A tire iron, something like that. I found a first aid kit and some bungee cords behind the seat, and then noticed the large, built-in box in the truck bed. That must be where Danesh kept his tools. I stepped outside to look at it—padlocked, of course.

I looked at Jerry’s car, Sean’s SUV, and the Land Rover. The thought of creeping around the parking lot, in full view if anyone opened the door again, was enough to have me drawing back into the shadows. And I’d have to deal with door noises and interior lights, assuming the vehicles were even unlocked.

I glanced at the building. Then I noticed the small shed along the side, by the garden, and remembered Danesh’s comment, “We keep the good weapons in the shed.” They’d have tools in there! Rakes and hoes and shovels. I could use a good shovel. And I’d be away from the front door while I searched.

I ran for the side of the building, ducking under the window to pass it. I reached the shed and grabbed the door handle. Then I noticed the padlock.

I stared for half a minute, not wanting to believe. I pulled on it just in case. I leaned my weight on the door. No good.

I obviously was not cut out for rescue work. I did better digging in the dirt and pondering ancient dead people. I should forget the whole thing and wait for the police.

But what about Danesh? How much longer would the men wait before deciding to take care of the remaining prisoners themselves and make their escape? So far I hadn’t heard a gunshot. One might come at any moment, and then I’d know I had wasted too much time. I shivered. Even if the police arrived quickly, the drug runners would surely hear the vehicles, and then we’d have a hostage situation. I had to do something. But what? What?

I wanted to scream and pound on the shed door. I wanted to kick at the walls. I wanted to throw something.

An idea popped into my head.

I turned and surveyed the garden, remembering the line of display squash topping the fence poles.

My shoes squished and slipped in the mud as I fumbled in the dark until I found the squash. I pulled a few off the poles. They were dried out and barely had any weight. I huffed in annoyance but refused to give up my idea now.

I chose a squash about the size of a softball and felt for the hole in the bottom, where the post had poked into it. I crouched and scooped mud into the hole, keeping one eye on the building. I filled two more, one as backup. Okay. One step down. I paused to think through my idea. I knew my tired brain was working slowly, so I needed to think more carefully. I couldn’t let the need to hurry cause me to make mistakes.

I made a sort of bag from my jacket front and piled in a few more light squash. I glanced around the garden, wondering if I’d missed anything useful. The fence poles were wired into the chicken wire; it would take too long to pry one loose. Some of the plants were strung up on sticks. One stick seemed taller and thicker than the rest. I pulled it out of the ground. It appeared to be the handle broken off of a shovel or hoe. I would have preferred the handle with a nice heavy shovel blade on the end, but this was better than nothing. I supported my jacket-front full of squash with one hand, grabbed the stick with my free hand, and scurried out of the garden.

I moved toward the front of the visitors center, pausing when I was in line with the front wall but about ten feet from the corner. I could see the door, but if anyone came out I could duck back out of sight.

I bit my lip and tried to put a plan together. If I could separate the men and take them by surprise, I might—just might—have a chance at stopping them. My plan depended on a lot of variables, too many for my liking. Would Danesh be able to lend a hand? Which side would Jerry choose now? Would the drug runners behave the way I wanted them to or do something totally unexpected? Given my recent luck, I didn’t want to answer that question.

My breathing came fast, and I felt lightheaded. Little trembles shook me. I had to grab control before panic swamped me and I fainted or did something stupid.

I forced myself to breathe deeply and slowly. I focused on the feel of the cold night air on my face, the hair matted to one cheek, my aching legs and back and throbbing ankle. I shoved aside any emotion over being cold and tired, weak and injured, and just focused on the sensations. I smelled damp earth and growing things. I heard the whisper of rustling trees.

I was here, in this moment. From here I could step forward. I couldn’t let myself worry about the future. Only this moment and the next step mattered.

I took a deep breath and whispered, “I have to try. For Danesh.”

I glanced around and identified my escape route, if things should go wrong. I could get into the trees quickly and hopefully lose anyone following.

Time to move. I stood the shovel handle in the mud so I had a hand free. The building was built of cinder blocks with a corrugated tin roof. I nodded to myself. I took one of the small, dried-out squash and lobbed it onto the roof. It hit the tin with a bang and rattled as it rolled all the way down. I jumped even though I’d expected the sound.

I hefted the mud-filled squash and waited. Moments later, the door opened and Red Hair rushed out. My body jerked, but I fought instinct and stayed in place. The man turned to look up at the roof. He held a gun.

I wound up my swing. He glanced my way and the gun moved toward me. I stepped forward and released.

The squash slammed into his face, right between the eyes. He toppled backward and collapsed on the pavement.

I grabbed the next weighted squash and eyed the door, but no one else came out. I grabbed the wooden handle like a bat and crept toward the fallen man, darting glances at the door. He made a choking sound and twitched. I saw the gun by his hand and picked it up, letting the squashes fall so I had a hand for the shovel handle and one for the gun.

The man’s breathing settled into a regular if raspy rhythm, but he didn’t move. I backed away, trying to decide on the next step. If the other man came to the doorway now, he’d see his fallen friend and that would put him on guard. I might not have a second chance at a pitch like that and couldn’t assume I’d succeed again.

I had the gun, but I wasn’t sure how to use it, and the thought of shooting someone made me sick. I might have already killed Sean. I didn’t want to leave a trail of bodies behind me this night. Maybe I could shoot him in the leg. But that would take aim, and I could hardly hold the gun steady. Plus, what if it had a safety I had to unhook or something? I didn’t think Red Hair would wait while I messed around.

I forced my body to move toward the door. Surely the other man would come to investigate any moment. I had to take care of him before the first one recovered.

Then I finally noticed the sounds from inside. Grunts and thuds that suggested a struggle.

I stood with the shovel handle and gun, trying to think. Then I ran through the door, slammed it behind me, and locked it. At least one man was out of the fight for now.

In the back room, two figures wrestled. Danesh’s hair tumbled loose from his ponytail and tangled in his face. The crook landed a blow to his stomach. Danesh grabbed him in a bear hug and they stumbled out of my line of sight. I didn’t see Jerry.

I raised the gun, but I couldn’t shoot without the chance of hitting Danesh, if I could get the gun to work at all.