Blood Rites (23 page)

“Home.”

Donna choked on a sudden rush of sympathy. There would be nothing left at home for him now. “I’d take you but I don’t know the way.”

“Home.” Dickey pointed in a direction Donna thought was east, wiggled out of the bag, and began walking away from her on hands and feet.

Donna caught up with him, grabbing his arm and pulling him upright. “Dickey, you’ll freeze out there.”

“Home.”

Donna recalled that his mother had apparently arrived on foot and asked, “How far?”

Dickey looked confused and Donna tried a different approach. “How long will it take us to get there?”

She sensed the toddler trying to understand the concept of time, eventually answering, “Night.”

Tonight? She hoped he meant tonight. “You won’t lose me when it gets dark, will you?” Donna asked.

In response, Dickey took her hand.

Well, Donna thought, no one had tried to eat her, at least not yet, and a trek through the woods seemed preferable to trying to find the clearing where Russ might be waiting to shoot them both. With a quick silent prayer to whoever might be listening, she let Dickey lead her into the trees.

Dick Wells had been frying trout for breakfast when he heard Stephen’s scream, the sound loud and high, echoing off the peaks around them, saying in a way no words could that Dick had made a fatal error. Though he wanted to shake Stephen awake Dick kept his distance from the creature curled into a tight ball beneath the domed outcropping that shaded him while he slept. Instead he waited for Stephen to join him. When Stephen did, Dick noted how his pale long body trembled as he sat on a log beside the fire. He looked fragile, his drawn face effeminate, delicate. Only his eyes, dark and steady, revealed the full depth of his rage. Since part of it was probably directed at him, Dick said nothing at all as he doused the fire, rolled, and tied his sleeping bag and loaded his pack. When he had finished and Stephen still hadn’t spoken, Dick asked, “How bad was it?”

“Hillary is dead. Helen is alive but wounded. That is all I know,” Stephen told him.

“It’s not too hard to figure out the rest, though, is it?” Dick responded, his voice rigid with hidden emotion. They had Alan, he knew they had Alan, and maybe the twins as well.

Stephen said nothing. Instead he put on a shirt, tied his mountain boots to his belt, and started their return hike at a speed Dick found impossible to maintain. He drowned in the dull pain that filled the space in his lungs where air should rightfully circulate. He ignored it. Fought it. In less than a mile, with his ears ringing and the edges of his sight weaving inward, he admitted defeat. He leaned against a rock and, when he was able, called weakly to Stephen, “I have to rest.”

Stephen turned and walked by the slope, his annoyance at having to waste even a few extra moments vanishing as he noted the pain Dick had managed to conceal. He solicitously helped Dick sit, brushing his fingers over Dick’s wrist in a brief, probably thorough exam that made Dick feel helpless.

“Will Helen bring the truck to our drop-off point?” Dick asked, not certain he could walk the twenty miles at any speed without collapsing.

“Richard, I received a cry for help not a telephone call. I don’t know how hurt Helen is, where she is, or even how long it will take her to heal. We’ll go directly to the cabin instead.”

“That’s at least a three-day hike. Why don’t we walk to East Pine and borrow a car?”

“East Pine is completely out of our way and the roads from there to the cabin are far from direct. Now that we’re on more level ground I can get us there much faster, yes?” Stephen pulled a length of rope from one of the packs he’d been carrying, then tossed both packs aside. He sat below Dick on the slope and slid backward toward him. “Put your arms out straight over my shoulders, Richard, and raise your knees over my hips.”

“Oh, no. You just go on without me and I’ll catch up later,” Dick said.

“You’re the one the kidnapper wants, yes? Now do it,” Stephen ordered.

Dick did. Stephen wound the rope around his wrists, his knees, then both their waists, pressing Dick against him. “The terrain is still far from level and the last distraction I need is you slipping off of me,” Stephen explained. “Besides, it’s best we give you to your assassin alive, yes?” Dick felt Stephen’s body shake in a quick, humorless laugh.

“I know what I’ve got to do,” Dick said. “If they have our sons, they’ll want to make the trade. I’m ready.”

“Of course you are. And after everyone is out of danger, your assassins will be ours.”

Stephen arched his back and gave the rope one final tug. Dick winced. “Listen, does the damn thing have to be . . .”

Instead of arguing, Stephen rolled forward onto his hands.
Level ground, hell
! Dick thought as he found himself staring straight down the slope. Convinced they were about to fall, Dick automatically tried to raise his shoulders but the coils made it impossible. He settled for gripping them instead and wondered if they were tight enough. “Should I untie you, Richard?” Stephen asked.

Stupid pride, that’s all Dick felt but he wished Stephen didn’t have to be so smug in his superiority, waiting for Dick to admit he was exhausted before suggesting this humiliating solution. He was about to say as much when Stephen tensed, flesh hardening to muscles and tendons sinewy and supple as steel cables. They ground into Dick bringing him a stab of an old willed-forgotten memory. The memory intensified as even through three layers of clothing, he felt his body tingle as if he and Stephen were magnetically charged, the human and alien flesh drawn together by forces neither of them could control. Then the memory vanished as suddenly as it had come, forgotten by fear as Stephen began to run.

Dick ordered his body to relax, ordered himself not to pull at the ropes or do anything to break the concentration of the creature moving beneath him. Gradually, he relaxed, closing his eyes, imagining himself on an amusement park ride, then, on flatter ground, in a rocking chair. He felt Stephen touch his mind.

—We’re still a few hours from the cabin. Would you like to sleep, Richard?—

—Later.—

The world sped by them. The noon sun that warmed Dick’s back probably pained his friend, yet Stephen flowed on, oblivious to its rays, to exhaustion, to the weight of Dick above him. “It’s been a long time since you killed a man, hasn’t it?” Dick asked.

Dick had meant this as a warning and he did not expect the vicious anticipation tinging Stephen’s inaudible reply. —I can taste him, Richard.—

Later, Dick must have slept because when he woke it was dark and Stephen had stopped in front of the unlit cabin and begun untying the rope. The muscles in Dick’s back had knotted and he stretched them out, then let Stephen help him to his feet. He felt a weakness that seemed to have nothing to do with his illness and saw the bloody rip in his sleeve, the bite marks, and the red circle around them. Though he would have gladly shared his blood, being used without being asked angered him. He was about to say so when he noticed how Stephen wobbled slightly, how his eyes were glazed, and for an instant, in Stephen’s fleeting grin, just how much he had enjoyed the challenge of that run.

The moment broke as they approached the darkened house. In the doorway, Dick grabbed the flashlight mounted on the wall and played the beam over the room, then went to the table and lit the oil lamps. As the light grew, he noticed the bullet holes in the dark wood floor. He had destroyed the peace of this place and he wondered if he had the power to set things right. Stephen still stood at the door, his expression grim with concentration. “I had expected Helen to be here,” he said in a voice oddly flat as if he had just discovered some dry quaint fact. A moment later Stephen walked to the ladder leading to the loft where Hillary had slept.

“Dickey,” Stephen called and the toddler immediately jumped into his arms. “Papa!” the boy yelped happily and a moment later a girl climbed down and joined them. Her hair was muddy, her face scratched, and though she looked exhausted, she gripped a knife and eyed them both with suspicion. “Donna,” the boy said as he pointed at her.

Stephen held out his hand and said softly, “May I have it, Donna?”

Donna stepped backward away from Stephen, shaking her head. She appeared ready to faint from exhaustion or fear, most likely a combination of both. Knowing from experience that talking would make her feel better, Dick said kindly, “Donna, you can keep the knife if it makes you feel better. We’re not going to hurt you. We know you’ve been through a lot but we need to know what happened to the two other boys and the women who were here?”

“Listen, I didn’t have anything to do with this. Russ took them. I—I tried to stop him . . . Oh, hell! Take it.” She walked past Dick, handing him the knife as she did so, falling into one of the carved wood chairs, hiding her face with her hands. “He left you a note. I saw it on the table when Dickey and I came in.” Donna scanned the room and pointed to the paper in the corner where the wind from the door had blown it.

Stephen retrieved and read it. “He used my name,” he commented, turned it over, and read the opposite side before handing it to Dick.

Dick glanced then at the table where the AustraGlass reports had been stacked and saw that they were gone. “Did Russ take some papers from this house?” he asked Donna.

“He was reading something yesterday afternoon. And he and his partner had an argument about some company in Europe.” She glanced at Stephen and, as she’d been doing since they met, quickly looked away, adding, “And you, I think.”

“Even those reports wouldn’t be enough to tell Lowell who you were,” Dick said.

Stephen looked thoughtfully at Donna. “I want you to close your eyes and think about Russ. Try to build a picture of him in your mind.”

Donna did and heard Dick swear. Russ’s image vanished.

“So now we know,” Stephen said softly as he stared at Dick. “When I was young two hundred miles could separate me from my past. Now two thousand isn’t far enough.”

“What happened was a coincidence, nothing more,” Dick responded.

“A coincidence Helen saw coming the evening of her reception. She shrugged it off. So did I.”

“Why doesn’t Lowell mention Helen?” Dick asked.

“He didn’t have her when he wrote it,” Donna responded. “She came later. Russ caught her. Now the dark-haired girl is dead. The blond woman—Helen, right?—was shot in the leg and the chest. It looked bad for her at first but she was alive and . . .” Her voice rose but she fought down the hysteria, moving closer to Dick and away from Stephen as she described everything that had happened from the time Russ showed up at the campsite with the boys until she ran away with Dickey.

Though Stephen looked concerned, he hardly seemed surprised. “What happened to Helen?” Dick asked him.

“Her human flesh requires time to heal, I think. And Hillary’s death was a shock, far worse than Philippe’s because, though Hillary would have died anyway, Helen was the instrument. I am certain she stayed with Hillary to the end. They were very close.”

“How long will she sleep?”

“I have no way of knowing. She is unique, yes? But one thing is certain—she chose to go with Russ Lowell. Her instincts are already strong. Had they sensed death in her future, she would not have been able to leave with him.”

“Stephen, she was unconscious.”

“Even unconscious, there are ways to fight. No, he’ll be her victim in the end.” He spoke proudly as if Helen had passed an important test on the road to eternal life, then added, “She won’t be sorry when it’s done, yes?”

Donna looked from Stephen to Dick, shock clear in her expression. “Forgive me,” Dick said sadly, “but, Stephen, what do you or anyone in your family know about
maternal
instinct?”

The moment he said the words, Dick regretted them. Dick saw the anger flare in Stephen’s dark eyes, noted the effort Stephen required to control it. “Don’t ever consider sparing me what I must know,” he said, his voice perfectly even. Turning to Donna, he asked, “If Lowell ties her later, what might he use?”

“He had some rope and two pairs of handcuffs. He said the cuffs were police issue.”

“How strong would those be, Richard?”

“I’ve never had anyone break them yet. It’s the big guys that try to.”

For the first time Dick detected a hint of fear in Stephen’s tone as he commented, “I could break them but he might be able to hold her.”

“Well, she has more than strength to work with, right?” Dick asked Stephen.

Stephen nodded, but slowly, as if he weren’t sure how effective her mental control would prove to be. “What else did he carry?” Stephen asked Donna.

“A gun and a rifle, his knife, a lot of food and a camera.”

Understanding the significance of the last item, Dick paled. “Where did they go?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe to Powder River if his partner’s still there.”

“What did Russ do with the reports?”

“We mailed them. He even waited for the driver to pick up the mailbags.”

“Where did he send them?”

Donna shook her head. She didn’t know.

Surprised that he should be the one displaying the most outward confidence, Dick said, “Well, Lowell will never figure out all the truth, not if we stop him now. Should we start with his partner?”

“Not yet. Why don’t you get an hour’s rest, Richard. I’ll take Dickey and bring Hillary’s body home. You may answer any questions Donna might ask. She needs to know all of it.” As Stephen pulled a blanket from the closet, Dickey moved to the front door.

Concerned and somewhat bewildered, Dick said, “You were in such a hurry this morning.”

“And we must be cautious now. Hillary was my ward. I don’t want her body found. It would raise too many questions and we may not be here to answer them, yes?” Stephen responded coldly and left with his son. A short time later Dick and Donna heard the truck drive off.

“How will he know where to go?” Donna asked.

“Dickey will tell him if he hasn’t already,”

“Oh.” She watched him set logs on the hearth and start the fire. “You’re going to want me to stay with the kid, aren’t you?”