Hear No Evil (32 page)

At the same split second, across the years, he remembered Laurie’s soft voice warning him. He heard her say, “
Take care. Take care
.”

His reaction was immediate and instinctive. He leaped back into the car, slammed the door, cut the lights. He threw the car into reverse, and the tires rasped wildly against the gravel. The Blazer lurched backward so swiftly that Eden screamed.

He wrenched it into drive and floored the accelerator.

“Owen!” Eden cried as the car leaped forward.

A bullet crashed through the rear window on the passenger side, and he screamed, “Get down! Get down! Get down!”

Raylene, panicked, kept firing. What was this man doing? Why had he started to leave the car with the motor still running, then changed his mind?

Why had he cut his lights, as if suddenly he knew he was on the defensive? Somehow he
had
known. Somehow he was trying to escape.

Drace had fired first, and Raylene had immediately joined in the attack. Desperately she’d kept her night sight trained on the car, emptying round after round at it.

She must have hit a tire, for she saw the car veer out of control, swerve off the drive and into a grove of trees and brush. She heard the scream of metal, the splitting of wood. The Blazer must have caromed off a tree, a big
one. The crash shook the air. And then all was silent. Ominously silent.

Raylene, so rigid with tension she trembled, kept her barrel trained on the grove. She could barely make out the car’s dark bulk in its midst. But nothing moved. After the gunfire, the silence seemed enormous.

Raylene thought,
Now what? Now what?

Someone’s shooting
. At first, the realization had filled Eden more with wonder than fear. Then she’d felt a sinister thump shake the front wheel, felt the car bolt out of control.

The Blazer spun halfway around and crashed into the grove. Its rear side must have smashed against one of the larger trees, and the impact was deafening, it shook her to her marrow, it literally rattled her teeth.

She was hurled forward, but the seat belt caught her back so sharply that the air was knocked from her lungs. She was conscious of the airbags looming up like a hallucination, just as suddenly deflating.

Then came silence, punctuated only by a strange ticking from somewhere deep in the car’s engine, as if a large insect was trapped there, dying.

“Peyton?” Eden whispered fearfully. “Owen?”

He swore under his breath, “I’m okay. Are you?”

“Yes—Peyton?”

Peyton moaned weakly, stirred in the backseat. Eden tore off her seat belt and was reaching for the door handle, but Owen’s hand seized hers.

“Don’t open the door,” he whispered harshly between his teeth. “The light’ll go on. They’ll see you.”

“But I have to go to her,” she pleaded tearfully.

“Be quiet,” he warned. “They’re out there with guns.”

Oh, Jesus
, she thought, closing her eyes. Her head swam, blood pounded in her ears, and she fought back the mindless terror that rose in her, that wanted to sweep her away.

Out in the darkness, she heard a man shout, but she could not tell what he said.

Owen glanced into the backseat. “She’s awfully still. Maybe just stunned. Get back there, make sure. Can you make it?”

She nodded grimly and half clambered, half slithered between the high front seats. With horror she saw that Peyton had apparently undone her seat belt. She lay back against the seat at an odd angle, silent and motionless.

In panic Eden felt the child’s forehead. It was cool, clammy, and her fingers came away slightly sticky. “Oh, God, Owen, she’s hit her head.”

Wildly Eden ran her hand over Peyton’s limp body. One small foot was pinned between the seat and the back door, which had buckled in the crash. Eden’s stomach wrenched. Her hands shook and tears blinded her eyes.

“She’s
pinned
,” she said in horror. “Good God, she’s
pinned
.”

“Is she breathing all right?”

“I think so.”

“Is she bleeding?”

“A little from the head—” Eden swallowed hard. “I—I can’t tell anywhere else.”

“Don’t try to move her. Understand? Whatever you do, don’t move her.”

Eden couldn’t speak. She stroked Peyton’s forehead and fumbled for her pulse.

“Eden, listen,” Owen whispered tensely. “They’ll come for us. Just stay calm.”

“Owen—the phone—call 911.”

“You call. I’ve got to move. Reach back into the hatch. Hand me the crossbow.”

What he said made no sense. It was mad, out of a nightmare. She heard the hum of the window rolling down.

He repeated, very calmly, very softly, “Reach into the hatch. Hand me the crossbow. Hurry.”

The crossbow?
she thought, dazed with disbelief. But she obeyed blindly, groped in the hatch area and found the sling. The weapon with its built-in quiver of bolts was heavier than she’d imagined, but she dragged it out and handed it over to him.

Peyton moaned brokenly. Eden started to turn back to her, but Owen seized her hand. “I’m going out through the window. There was fire from two directions, the hill and the house. They’ll be coming for us. I need your help.”

Peyton whimpered and tried to shift, but flinched when she couldn’t move her leg, then moaned.

“Help? How?” Eden begged. “Owen, don’t—”

“Shh,” he ordered. “When I’m out of sight, you scream for all you’re worth, baby. Scream that I’m dead. Got it? I’m dead and you and the kid are hurt. Keep it up. Not steady, just at intervals. And call 911.”

Scream
, she thought dazedly.
I can do that
.

“Keep down,” he ordered. “The car’s pointed toward the house. I don’t think the guy there can get a clear shot. If he opens up, the engine’s between you and him. It should shield you. Just stay down, baby.”

He leaned back out the window, gripped the roof of the car, and in one surprisingly fluid movement, hoisted
himself outside and onto his feet. He reached back inside, snatched up the bow, and in only seconds, it seemed, he disappeared into the deeper shadows.

Peyton whimpered softly again. Eden stroked her face. “I’m sorry, honey,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Dear God
, she thought,
help her. Save her
.

She took a deep breath from the diaphragm. She drew back her head and screamed with all the raw power and volume she possessed. “Oh, God, he’s dead! He’s dead!”

She pitched her voice even more shrilly. “Help me!” she wailed. “He’s dead, the child’s hurt, and I can’t move my legs. Help! For God’s sake, help me!”

She split the darkness with another high-pitched animal howl of unbearable suffering. And another. And another.

The screams unnerved Raylene. She gripped her rifle more tightly.

The door of the house flew open. Drace shouted at her. “Ray, stay back! Shoot if you see anything move.”

Raylene swallowed hard. Training and logic told her to check the car. It made sense for her to do it; she was closer to it by seventy yards than Drace, and she could move under the cover of the trees, which he could not. If he told her to stay back, it was only to protect her. She did not want that. She wanted to be his best lieutenant, always, braver and better than any man.

Holding the gun at combat ready, she drew a deep breath and began to move, slowly, cautiously, toward the stilled car. She kept as deeply in cover as she could.

At first the silence of the night had disquieted her. But now with the woman screaming so terribly, Raylene
fervently wished for the silence back. That first godforsaken screech startled her so badly that her stomach lurched.

The first screams were nearly unbearable to her, but somehow they grew even worse, even wilder, almost supernatural.

The man’s dead
, she told herself.
The man’s dead and she’s helpless. It’s almost over now. It’s almost over. Hurry. Move. Move. Move
.

But that demented howling kept her from hurrying. She moved more slowly, more carefully, hoping if she took her time, the woman would die—or at least pass out—before Raylene could reach her.

“Ray!” Drace’s voice came from the house, jarring in its intensity. “Stay put! Wait her out!”

The woman fell silent, and Raylene hoped it was forever. She was just starting to breathe easier when the woman began again, pleading now with God. “Please, God—kill me—it hurts too much!’ and then the screams again, those tormented cries that no longer sounded human.

Raylene forced herself to quicken her steps.
Maybe she’ll die. She’ll die and so will Peyton. Then it’s over, it’s over, it’s over, and we’ll get out of here
.

She edged toward the grove, and could barely make out the darkened Blazer within it. She could not see movement of any sort. The screams had reached a sort of crescendo she had not thought possible. She put her rifle in a firmer position and stepped closer.

Owen saw that the gunman was small, hardly larger than a boy, and with his rifle ready he was making his way slowly toward the Blazer’s window.

Age, size, didn’t matter, Owen told himself. He stood in the shadows ready, the bow cocked, the safety off.

He held his breath, his heart knocking at his ribs. But his arms were steady, and his aim, he knew from instinct, was good.

He wanted to kill this gunman, wanted it so much it was like a seductive drug spreading through his veins. But he aimed for the shoulder of the bastard’s gun arm.

In the sniper’s next two steps, for the space of perhaps three seconds, Owen would have a clear shot.

The figure moved temporarily into the open. Owen did not hesitate or waver. He pulled the bow’s trigger, and the bolt sprang from the groove.

But as he shot, the figure unexpectedly turned. The arrow buried itself in the upper chest of the camouflage jacket, next to the sternum. The sniper made a surprised, gagging sound and staggered, then fell heavily to a kneeling position, left hand scrabbling at the feathered shaft.

Christ
, Owen thought,
I hit him too low, too close to the heart
.

He dropped the bow and hurled himself at the kneeling figure, grabbing from behind in a tight left-armed choke hold, so there could be no cry. At first his prisoner bucked feebly, trying to struggle free, but Owen, teeth gritted, tightened the hold. With his right hand, he took hold of the feathered shaft and gave it a small, deep twist.

The sniper lunged wildly, as if hauled upward by an invisible hook, then fell back.

“You want more, you son of a bitch?” Owen whispered fiercely. “How many of you are there? Tell me.”

“Go to hell,” she panted.

Owen’s heart lurched sickly. A wave of nausea seized him. He suddenly realized how slight and rounded the sniper’s body was, not a man’s, not even a boy’s.

Swearing, he stripped off the ski mask, and the woman’s hair spilled free, a shimmer of pale blondness.

I’ve shot a woman
, he thought, stunned and repelled. But another part of his mind told him, it didn’t matter; she had tried to kill them all.

He shook her. “I said how many of you are there? Tell me—or I give that arrow another twist.” He put his hand on the shaft again.

“Two!” the woman grimaced. “Two—for God’s sake, don’t.”

“Both in the house?” Owen asked.

“Yes—yes—”

“Both armed?”

“No,” she said in a quavering, tearful voice. “One’s a prisoner. A woman.”

Jesus
, Owen thought.
A woman. A prisoner. As if we didn’t have enough problems
.

“Who is she?” he hissed and shook her again.

“M-M-Mimi,” she stammered. “M-M-Mimi S-S-Sto—” Her voice stuttered into silence. Her body lurched, then twitched weakly.

Mimi
, he thought, and the nausea came sweeping back. Its taste rose bitterly in the back of his throat, like poison. He swallowed it down, ground his teeth. “Who’s the other one? I heard him. Who is he?”

A man’s voice called from the house. “Ray? Are you all right?”

The woman fought with sudden wildness to sit up, her hands flailing, her mouth working convulsively. She’d begun to shiver.

“I want him,” she said with a strange desperation, clutching at Owen’s shirtfront. “Please—I want him—I want—”

She went limp, sagged forward. He felt for the pulse in her throat. It was erratic, weakening.

Owen swore again and tasted salt. He didn’t know if it was from sweat or tears.

He tried to work mechanically, not to think. He stripped the woman of her sidearm, stuck it in his belt. He took the assault rifle, slung it over his own shoulder.

From the house he heard the man call, “Ray? Raylene, what’s happening?”

Owen rose, wiping his bloodied hands on the legs of his jeans. He bent and hauled the woman to her feet, then hoisted her into his arms. A plan had formed in his mind. It was desperate and dangerous, but he knew he had little choice. He licked his upper lip.

The woman stirred in his arms, sank back, and shuddered against his body. He carried her through the shadowy grove toward the house.

“Raylene?” yelled the voice from Jessie’s house. “Answer me and get back. I’ll fire on the car. I’ll rip it fucking apart.
Raylene?
”