Chilling Effect (16 page)

visions or nightmares. She lay there for several minutes, listening to the birds chattering in the trees and Joe’s even, deep breathing just beside her ear.

Only when the call of nature became too urgent to ignore did

she ease herself out from under his thigh, which was resting heav-

ily across hers. She slowly lifted his arm from around her waist and laid it gently on the ground before rising to her feet and slipping soundlessly out of the nook.

Th e morning dew dotted the grass like tears. But the sun was

already gaining in strength, hinting a warm, cloudless day. She took a moment to wish for gray cloud cover before continuing down to

the stream to wash up.

MELISSA F. MILLER

When she returned to the campsite, Joe was awake, pulling on

his shoes.

“I woke up and you were gone,” he said in a voice that couldn’t

hide his panic.

“I had to pee.”

His worried frown turned to a sheepish smile. “Oh.”

She crossed the small space and kissed him.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she murmured, her lips brushing

his. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” He whispered back, his breath tickling her.

“How’d you sleep?”

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear as he answered.

“Surprisingly well. Of course, you did wear me out pretty thor-

oughly . . .”

She felt her cheeks grow warm. Before he could laugh at her,

she pulled back and searched his face.

“I hate to be the buzzkill, but we need to move out.”

Th e humor faded from his eyes, and he nodded. He raked his

fi ngers through his hair, shaking out small dry leaves.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

“You should go to the stream and get some water fi rst. Make

sure you drink up, because we’re going to veer away from it and cut a diagonal toward Boylestown.”

“I thought you wanted to follow the stream?”

She had. Tracing the path of the snaking stream would ensure

they had access to drinking water, but it would be faster to leave the ribbon behind. And all of a sudden she felt convinced that speed

was paramount. Th e longer they were out of contact with Sid, the

more vulnerable Ruby—and Lily—became.

“I think we need to get to town as early in the day as we can.

Get to a phone and get Sid to send us some backup, some transpor-

tation, maybe some cash to get food.”

124

CHILLING EFFECT

“Are you saying you didn’t like my hillbilly hand fi shing?”

She grinned at the crack but grew serious again right away. “No,

I’m feeling exposed out here. Another bright blue sky is another

chance for someone to fl y a drone over our heads.”

“You don’t really think anyone’s stupid enough to bomb two

US citizens out of existence in the middle of Oregon.” He paused

a beat. “Do you?”

She pinned him with a look. “I have no idea. But I do know,

for a certainty, that if it were to happen, the Department of Defense, Department of Justice, and Homeland Security would be out here

so fast to cover it up that no one,
no one,
would ever know what happened to us.”

“What, they’ll send out the Men in Black?”

“Look around, Joe. Do you see anyone whose memory will

need to be erased? We’ll be reported as hikers who got lost and dis-oriented and then starved to death or something.”

She waited while he made a slow survey of the expanse of wil-

derness that lay ahead of them. Th en he swallowed hard.

“Okay. Give me three minutes.”

His large watch, which she’d strapped around her own wrist

after she’d used it to ignite the tinder, banged against her hand.

“Wait. Here. I forgot to give this back to you last night. It’s just got a little dent in the one side.” She unclasped it and handed it to him before he walked down to the stream. He rubbed his fi ngers

over the indentation and smiled.

Th ey crossed the rise and headed west toward the town side by side in silence, conserving their breath and maintaining a good clip. Every minute to ninety seconds, Aroostine glanced up, scanning the sky

for a dark shadow. Th e lack of a drone fl ying overhead did nothing 125

MELISSA F. MILLER

to alleviate her concern. If anything, the quiet served to ratchet up her anxiety.

“We should head toward the highway,” she said, her panic over-

taking her plan to stay out of view.

“Someone might see us.”

“Th at’s kind of the point. Maybe we could hitch a ride to

Boylestown.”

Joe coughed. “You look lovely, don’t get me wrong. But I look

like a man who slept in the woods. Would
you
pick us up?”

She inspected him closely and imagined what she might look

like despite his fl attery.

“Probably not.”

“Besides, the risk that someone who works for Buckmount is

going to drive by and see us is too great. Th at road’s the main thor-oughfare to the casino.”

He was right, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that they had

to get to town. Fast.

He eyed her.

“Did you have another vision?”

“No.”

And the truth was at this point—for the fi rst time in her life—

she would have welcomed one. She felt adrift, unsure of how to help the mother and child who counted on her. She increased her pace,

almost jogging now, as though she could outrun her worry.

“Hey. Roo, look at me.”

She stopped and turned to face Joe, who’d fallen behind and

was now lagging by several paces. But before he could launch into

whatever inspirational pep talk he had planned, her eyes slid over

him and locked on a set of deep ruts that had been carved into the

soft earth.

“Joe, look.”

126

CHILLING EFFECT

A wave of irritation rolled across his face, but he followed her

gaze and craned his neck to look over his shoulder and off to the left.

“Tire tracks?” He crouched and traced the indent with a fi nger.

“Looks like an ATV. Must have been carrying a heavy load.”

A spark of excitement raced up her spine.

“Maybe we can get a ride, if the driver’s still around.”

“What makes you think they’re still around?”

“Only one set of tracks,” she pointed out. “So, whoever it was

didn’t come back this way. We should follow them and see where

they go.”

He hesitated.

“Come on,” she urged.

“Wait. A minute ago you were all hopped up to get to the high-

way and catch a lift to town. Now you want to go off on what’s likely to be a wild goose chase and a huge waste of time? Do you have a

plan or not?” his voice shook with anger and betrayal.

She stiff ened and prepared to fi re back defensively when a fl ash in the distance caught her eye. As if she’d summoned it, her spirit animal stood on its hind legs about fi fty yards away, its feet planted smack in the middle of the tracks. A sign. An unmistakable sign.

Th e only clearer sign would have been if it had worn a placard

around its neck with the words “GO THIS WAY” displayed in

fl ashing neon lights. She had to follow it, not because it made logical sense, but because it didn’t. She simply had to trust her guide.

She looked back at Joe. Now to explain that she was taking

instructions from an imaginary semiaquatic rodent.

“I had a sign.”

“Like a vision?”

“Sort of.”

She glanced back toward the beaver, but was not surprised to see

that it had vanished. Joe was watching her face.

127

MELISSA F. MILLER

He cleared his throat. “Well, that settles that. Let’s go.”

He started off along the tracks. She blinked at the ease with

which he put his faith in a pretend beaver that he couldn’t even see and that she still had never bothered naming and followed him.

Joe fi gured they’d followed the ATV tracks for about a quarter mile before the ground sloped up and the sporadic trees that had lined

their path grew denser and taller. Another couple hundred yards and they were in a densely wooded area. Th e temperature fell by several degrees as the canopy of leaves overhead blocked the heat of the sun.

He had to squint a little to make out the tracks in the fi ltered sunlight.

Th e ground itself was drier and rockier now, making the tracks

less pronounced. Twice they veered off course without realizing it.

Both times, Aroostine realized it fi rst and retraced their steps back to the tracks. If her beaver was giving her any more clues, she kept them to herself, but he didn’t think the beaver was leading her. Th is was all her.

Joe tried to keep his eyes on the tracks, but he kept scanning the

dirt on either side as well. He had no idea what kind of snakes were indigenous to this part of Oregon, but this shady, hard-scrabbled

area seemed like the sort of environment a snake would love.

He was raising his head to call ahead to Aroostine and ask about

the reptile situation when he bumped right into her back. She’d

come to a stop and was standing frozen in path, staring at a natural cave just ahead.

“What the . . .”

“Only one way to fi nd out.” She stepped forward and walked

into the mouth of the cave.

He glanced from side to side. Forget snakes, if he were a bad guy,

he’d probably consider an isolated cave hidden deep in the woods to 128

CHILLING EFFECT

be an excellent place to get rid of a nosy federal prosecutor and her dashing husband.

His pulse pounded and his shoulders tensed as he looked around,

expecting Buckmount to be lying in wait behind the nearest tree, but he saw no signs of human life. Just a startled bird, which left the tree where it had been perched with a furious fl apping and squawking.

He exhaled and followed Aroostine into the cave. He stood just

inside the entrance and blinked several times, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

Th e space was cavernous, at least twenty-fi ve feet across and

twice as deep. Th e walls were rough and gray, much rockier than the sides of the outcropping where they’d slept the night before.

Aroostine was just a dark, shadowy shape, barely visible in the

gloom. She was standing over beside the far right wall, about three yards into the space.

She turned and called over her shoulder, “You have to see this.”

He crossed the uneven fl oor of the cave, taking care with each

step. He proceeded in an exaggeratedly slow tiptoe, which he was

sure looked ridiculous. But that was fi ne with him; he imagined

tripping and getting a chin full of the jagged ground would hurt

like hel . And whatever she wanted him to see probably wasn’t going anywhere—assuming it wasn’t alive, of course.

Oh, dear Lord, please don’t let it be a snake.

At last, he reached the spot where she stood. He stared at the

shape in front of her, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Is that a drone?”

A sleek, brushed-silver-looking, bullet-shaped
thing
sat on a pal-thing

let. Th e nose of whatever it was faced them. And the tail extended another twenty feet back into the recesses of the cave. He reached

out a hand and touched it gingerly, as if it might be hot to the

touch. Th e metal was cool under his fi ngers. A chill ran down his back. If anyone would’ve ever told him that one day he’d look at an 129

MELISSA F. MILLER

inanimate machine and feel the presence of evil, he would have said that person read too much Stephen King.

And yet, confronted by the silent, motionless drone, he couldn’t

shake the feeling that it was a bringer of death.

“Has to be,” Aroostine whispered. She moved around to the side

of the machine, giving it a wide berth as if she too sensed destruction.

She bent and peered at the tail and then walked back to the front to stand beside him, her shoulder brushing his. “It doesn’t look armed.”

Th ank God for small mercies,
he thought.

Th en her eyes met his, gleaming in the near-dark. “Th ere’s

another one behind it, nose to tail.”

“Did Ruby say how many were missing?” He choked the words

out despite the rising nausea in his throat.

Aroostine shook her head. “No. We never got any details out of

her. When she showed up with that note, I went into crisis manage-

ment mode. I was so focused on the threat to Lily and getting Sid

to do something, I didn’t press her on the specifi cs.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t do that thing where you start beating yourself up for

some perceived failure. For one thing, you did the right thing—of

course Lily’s safety takes priority. For another thing, we don’t have time for you to self-fl agellate.”

She gave him a sheepish smile. “Self-fl agellate, huh? You been

brushing up on your fi fty-cent words?”

He smiled back. “Something like that.” He’d read a history of

the Roman Catholic Church, mainly to pass the long evening hours

during her last jury trial. Some of it apparently had stuck.

“We need to do something. Fast. Before the person who stashed

these here comes back for them.”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. He’d pay good

money for a bottle of water right about now.

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CHILLING EFFECT

“Any ideas?”

She set her mouth in that determined line he knew so well.

“Yes. You stay here. I’m going to run to the highway and fl ag down the fi rst car that comes this way.”

“What if it’s Buckmount or one of his lackeys?”

“We don’t have time to worry about that. I’ll take care of myself.”

“Why don’t you stay here? I’ll go.”