Courage Dares (22 page)

Ramone.

The scream rose out of the past, stunning Mary with its violence. She swung around to see who was screaming, but only Wes stood there, a few yards behind her. She turned back to see Ramone advancing through the dim light, his evil presence consuming her— then realized the sound came from herself.

Mary choked yet the scream continued, echoing around her. Tearing at the fragile threads holding her to reality. Holding her to Connor.

Shock sealed her mind, isolating one thought.
I’ve killed Connor.

The moment collapsed in on her, beating her down into an abyss. Time shot rapidly away, yet paradoxically all motion slowed, her senses high-pitched, aware of each micro-second.

Once again she saw Connor's body tumble over the edge. Murder done, as she watched. Murder done, because of her.

The burden she’d carried since her mother's death engulfed her. She approached the edge of sanity. Balanced there.

Faces whirled around her, drifting, their lifeless eyes accusing her. The past and present blended together. She heard again her mother's screams, felt again the helplessness to change events.

Images flashed by— dusky roses, lying on a grave. Her mother, fragile, still, one hand outstretched, her beautiful long hair tangled about her neck like a frayed cord. Lifeless eyes staring up at her. Faces relentlessly pursuing her mind through the dark recesses.

Connor's face, so beloved, so earnest, as he pleaded with her to run when they had the chance. Connor, whom she loved. He couldn’t be left in the snow. She must retrieve his body.

The thought pulled Mary back to the present as her search and rescue training asserted itself. Alive or dead, every person, every
body
had to be retrieved. With a rush the blackness cleared away.

A metallic sound, familiar yet alien, intruded into her thoughts and she focused on it.

Ramone, gun in hand, had shoved in a new clip. He motioned her to enter her tent, but she barely saw him, her mind still occupied with the image of Connor tumbling over the edge.

She started forward, pausing only when Ramone stepped aggressively into her path.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, his loud voice yanking her completely back into the present.

"Connor. We can't leave—"

"Forget him," Ramone said with a snarl. "He's coyote meat." Shoving his gun into its holster, he swaggered closer— a hungry mountain cat with tail twitching as he relished the fear of his prey.

He had her alone now, with no one to stop him. Lust consume his features. "You've got a real man now, babe, not someone who hides behind a woman's skirts."

"He's worth a hundred of you."

"He's dead. And I'm moving in."

"No!" She backed up, and Ira's knife jabbed her in the side, reminding her of its presence.

"Stick Ramone,"
Ira had said. But to kill someone, even to save herself, filled Mary with revulsion. She hesitated, then as Ramone paused to remove his coat, his movements jerky in his haste, she pulled the long blade from its sheath—carefully, lest he see it. The smooth steel felt alien in her hand.

I can't kill him, she thought. I can't!

Then yourself
, a voice within her urged.
Hurry! Before he reaches you.

She clasped the handle of the knife and pressed it against her palm, the cold steel reminding her of its function. Swallowing hard, she jerked it up under her throat.

Ramone stopped, throwing up his hands. "No!"

"Yes," she said, knowing she had no other choice. If she put the knife down Ramone would be on her like a cat on a mouse. Her hand trembled as she pressed the blade against her throat.

A scrunch of snow alerted her to Wes' presence, but too late— he struck her elbow with a sharp, paralyzing blow. The knife flew from her fingers, landing flat on the snow.

With a small cry she dove for it, but Wes shoved her roughly away so that she fell on her back.

Ramone stepped forward and Mary cringed, pulling herself into a tight ball. She wanted to slide into that black pit and stay forever, but the blackness refused to come. Now, when she needed it— wanted it— her mind refused to abandon the horror of the present.

"Ira's knife," Wes observed as he picked it up.

"How'd she get it?" Ramone demanded.

"Must've took it from him."

"So that's what she was doing. Had us put up a tent, then lifted his knife while she acted like she was soooo worried. Well, she doesn't have it now."

He reached for Mary and Wes grabbed his arm.

"You crazy fool. She's the only one who kin guide us. If you go after her, she’ll lead us off a cliff."

"She's okay. She hasn't blanked out."

"She might if you—"

Ramone swore and shoved at him. "Get out of my way, birdbrain. It's all an act she puts on."

Mary pulled herself into a tighter ball as Wes brandished the knife.

"We need her. So help me, I'll use this on you."

Ramone laughed. "You and who else, little man?" He knocked Wes aside, then gasped as Wes slashed him across the hand.

As they struggled for the weapon, Mary could almost hear Connor's voice, urging her to escape.

Now!

Jumping up, she ran past them to where Connor had fallen. She stopped at the lip of the embankment and looked down.

Nothing.

No body.

Connor was not there.

She felt momentary confused. Had someone carried him away? Of course not. Then had Ramone missed? Surely not that close. They had been only about four feet apart. Yet Connor must be able to move....

There! A path broken in the snow below her, headed toward the woods. Connor was alive!

Joy surged through her— exhilarating, energy-giving, life-strengthening joy. It fueled her spirit.

He was alive! Alive!

Thank you, Lord. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

She started to jump down after him, but stopped. Their snowshoes. Also Connor's pack containing his sleeping bag. They didn't have much of a chance without their gear.

Mary spun around— and almost ran into Ramone, who was clutching at his midsection. The haft of Ira’s knife protruded from between his fingers.

Ramone dropped to his knees and she circled him. Judd had re-entered the clearing from the far side and Wes ran toward him, yelling and waving his hands wildly.

Mary sprinted to her tent, grabbed her pack and their snowshoes, then charged back to the embankment.

"Hey!" It was Judd, yelling. "Come back here!" A shot rang out like an angry bee whizzing by. She ran harder.

"Don't shoot her." It was Judd's voice. "Just catch her."

No longer worried about a bullet, Mary snatched up Connor's pack, threw it over the edge, then jumped after it.

She landed awkwardly in the snow, but regained her balance, jammed her feet into her snowshoes, grabbed their packs and ran after Connor. She spotted him about forty feet ahead, and started shouting his name.

He was falling every few steps, but still alive. He turned and looked at her with astonishment.

"Mary! What happened? I was trying to get back up—"

"He shot you!"

"Yes."

"How badly...?" she cried, running up to him. She reached up and touched his face with wonderment.

"We can't talk. Let's go."

"But you're bleeding." She could see the dark wetness covering his left hand where he clutched his side.

"It'll wait. Here they come."

Spinning around, Mary spotted a figure picking himself up off the snow as another jumped down beside him.

"Your snowshoes," she said, tossing them down in front of Connor.

"Did you get everything?" Connor asked, as he quickly thrust his boots into the harness.

"Almost."

"Hurry." He grabbed his pack and shrugged into it. "Go!"

Mary plunged forward into a desperate run, Connor close behind. Having survived this much, they could survive the rest. Two shots followed, one hitting Connor with a dull thud that made Mary glance back, worried.

"Hit my pack. Run! With their rifle gone, we've got a chance."

Another shot lashed through the darkness, spurring Mary on faster than she’d ever run on snowshoes before. She ignored safety and scrambled down into a gully and up the other side.

The trees were a blur as they ran, the night offering little help in avoiding danger. But the alternative was worse, so she ran fast for a few minutes, then settled into the steady, cross-country pace used in her rescue work.

Ten minutes later, Mary stopped in a small sheltered area. The trees hovered around them, black shadows above the white snow.

"It's too dark to see the trail markers. We have to stop long enough for me to get my headlamp out."

"Not yet. You get enough light from the snow. We can travel, if we go slow enough."

"But your wound.... Let me bandage it."

"If they catch up, I'm dead."

"But we must stop the bleeding."

"I've shoved my hand in it."

Mary's knees threatened to collapse. "
In it!
Connor, how bad...? Let me see!"

"Not now—"

"Yes, now. You can’t lose any more blood."

"It's got to be quick, Mary."

Shrugging off his pack, he pulled up his coat and shirt. The bullet had gone right in and out, ricocheting off the rib cage, the dark wound in contrast to his white flesh. It was messy, painful, but not life-threatening if the bleeding was stopped.

Putting on her headlamp, Mary grabbed two large dressings and placed them over the holes, then bound them tightly down. "There. That should keep it under control. Where else are you hit?"

"Nowhere."

"But he fired five shots after you fell."

"He shot downhill, in the dark. It’s hard to judge. His shots were high— he hit the snow just beyond my head. He was in too much of a hurry to get to you."

Relief swept over Mary, leaving her grinning inanely.

Connor started to slip his pack back on, but Mary stopped him. "Let me take your sleeping bag."

"But—"

She unfastened the tie straps as she spoke. "My pack is almost empty. I left my sleeping bag, tent, and most of the cooking supplies behind. You don't need any extra weight."

"I guess not. I'm thirsty."

"Water! I'm not thinking. Oh, no!"

His water bottle had caught the last bullet. She showed it to him, then tossed it away and handed him hers. "Drink it all."

"But you'll need some."

"Later."

When he finished, she packed loose snow into the empty bottle and tucked it inside her coat, counting on the heat of her body to melt it down into a small amount of water. Not comfortable, but it was better than chilling her body by eating ice-cold snow.

"Turn your lamp off when we leave the deep timber," Connor advised her. "A light can be seen for miles in the darkness."

"You're right. Remind me, if I forget. I don't want to advertise our whereabouts."

Putting the pole star off her left shoulder, Mary headed due east. Her mind sang with happiness. She felt lightheaded, almost giddy with relief. Free at last. Not only that, but they were fully dressed and fairly close to the cabin. They could rest there, then head for the police and safety. Safety— and a future. Perhaps together.

The nightmares that had terrorized her dreams since her mother's death hadn’t reoccurred after the first night at the farmhouse. Having Connor beside her had meant all the difference. He was her lifeline to sanity. As long as Connor stayed with her, she’d be able to live a normal life.

Yet what kind of life waited for her once Connor reported back to his ship? She couldn't marry a man whose job forced him to leave her for weeks on end, although she thought she could handle the potential violence of his job now. After what they had been through, she understood Connor's reasons for staying in the military.

Mary pushed onward through the half-darkness, enough light reflecting off the snow to enable her to see through all but the darkest forest areas. She suddenly realized the light came from the Snoqualmie Summit ski slopes. The clouds overhead reflected the bright lights used by the night skiers. Looking up, she could see the clouds were brighter in one direction. It served as a compass, and she pressed onward, confident of not losing her way.

Of course Judd would also notice the ski-area lights. If he caught her, there’d be no way she could lead him back into the mountains.

A half-hour later, she heard Connor fall as they traversed a steep section. Turning, she hurried back to him.

"Are you all right?"

"Just weak. My legs feel like rubber. I keep tripping over the snowshoes."

"We need to stop—"

"No. We must keep going. We're leaving a trail anyone can follow. Do you know where you're headed or is it too dark for that?"

"Yes. I mean... I'm headed toward the cabin."

"The cabin!" He started to raise up, and Mary put her hand on him. It was like holding down an elderly man.

"Rest a moment. You need to."

"But...the
cabin?
"

"Yes. We're close. I changed directions after the avalanche. The van is still a good three days away. If we get to the cabin, we can go inside—"

"Grab the chest and leave? Good idea. But where do we go from there?"

She hadn’t even considered getting the chest. She didn't want to take the time to look for it.

"I thought we could get some food, bandage you better, then press on to the highway.”

"How close are we?"

"Five to six hours, summer hiking. With you wounded, it could take another day."

"I'll manage." He relaxed back with a sigh. "But a short rest’ll help."

"Right." Mary sat down beside him and gave him the melted water in her water bottle.

"Thanks." He drank the small amount of liquid and handed it back.

"You'll know when we get close. You'll hear the cars. We have to follow a stream down, then go under the highway."

"Under it?"

"Yes. The westbound lanes of I-90 are at treetop level as they cross over Denny Creek. It's like a very long bridge, held up with these huge columns. We go underneath them. There's no way to climb up at that point."