Hidden Fire, Kobo (40 page)

He staggered over and lowered himself to
the fallen tree and took in the surroundings in more detail. "Where's my
truck?" he said. "How did we get here?"

"I don't know. I think we were in a
car. Maybe the trunk. It seemed like I rolled around a lot." She touched
his knee. "You don't look so hot."

"Good, because I feel like hell."
He rubbed his temples. His hands came away sticky with blood. "Let me
think. They drove us here." He glanced at his watch, grateful they'd left
him that much. "So where's the road?"

"Wait here," Sarah said. "I'll
scout around a little." She darted off.

He rested his elbows on his knees and
lowered his aching head into his palms. Nausea roiled in his gut. Bile rose to
his throat. He fought it, knowing how much his head would hurt if he threw up.
Seconds later, he had no choice.

He was aware of Sarah behind him, holding
his head. When he finally stopped heaving, he pulled her hand away. He got to
his feet and walked a few paces, feeling stronger. Must have had remnants of
that vile brew in his stomach and he was the better for having rid himself of
it. Even his head didn't throb as badly. He regrouped, then faced Sarah.

"I think the road must be up there,"
she said, pointing behind him. "It looks like someone—or two someones—fell
from there to here." She gripped his hand. "I can't believe we didn't
both end up with broken necks. It's
way
up there." Rather than move
his head, he took her word for it.

"Fire road," he muttered.

"How do you know?"

"When I talked with Rachel the first
time, I picked up a bunch of maps of the hiking trails around campus. There are
at least half a dozen of them. There was a fire road on the map. I don't think
there's any other way a vehicle could get here."

Her face brightened. "So we should
get to a trail and maybe some hikers will find us?"

She sounded so hopeful he didn't have the
heart to tell her he thought the odds were slim. "We should get moving
instead of waiting." He stood and looked up the hill. The path of their
downward tumble was clear. He shuddered. Sarah had been right about their luck.
Much in the way drunks seemed to walk away from accidents, being unconscious had
quite likely saved them from serious injury. That was the good news. The bad
news was it was going to be next to impossible to climb up.

"We'll never make it up to the road,"
she said, echoing his thoughts. "But if we slide down a little farther,
there's what looks like a real trail. Probably one of the ones from your map."

"Let's do it," he said.

Slide had been the right word choice. The
hillside was steep and footing was precarious, so he swallowed his macho pride
and traversed much of the distance on his ass. Thankfully, it was less than
thirty yards to the trail.

Sarah brushed her hands off on her jeans.
"Which way?"

"The hiking trails are all above the
University, so down is the way we should go." He listened. "You hear
that?"

"What?"

"Sounds like water. Over there."
He pointed in the direction of the sound.

"That's good, right?"

He smiled. "Yes. Water flows
downstream and according to the maps, there's a stream that runs close to
campus."

"Then what are we waiting for?"
She slid her arm around his waist as if to offer support.

A shot rang out. Fire burned his leg. He
dropped, pulling Sarah to the ground beneath him.

* * * * *

Sarah squirmed under Randy's weight,
trying to get her breath back. "Was that a gunshot?" she whispered.

"Yes. Stay down," he whispered.
"Crawl. Use the vegetation for cover. Get to the stream, follow it to
campus."

"Alone? What are you going to be
doing?"

"I'll slow you down. You can move
faster. Bring help." His weight lifted and she crawled out from under him.

She looked down at his hand pressed
against his thigh. Blood oozed between his fingers. "They shot you. Oh,
God, let me see."

"It's just a graze," he said. "No
big deal." The pain in his face said otherwise.

"I'm not leaving you."

"Sarah—"

"Shut up, Randy. We're in this
together." She twisted her head around, searching for someplace to hide.
Three large trees stood close together, looking like a fortress wall. "Over
there," she said. "Those trees. Will we be safe behind them?"

He lifted himself onto one elbow. "For
a while." A hand patted her bottom. "Go. I'm right behind you."

"I want to feel your hand on me,
mister. No staying behind to play hero."

The undergrowth made it impossible to
crawl on her belly. Crouched as low as she could, zigzagging, she plowed
through bushes and around tree trunks, her eyes on the rugged trees she'd set
as her goal. Randy's labored breathing and hisses of pain confirmed his
presence.

Panting, she reached her mark and sank
down, leaning against one of the rough trunks. Randy followed, dragging his
injured leg. He lowered himself to the ground.

She heard another shot, then three more.
She had no idea how close they were, but they were
loud
.

"Don't move," Randy said. "They
probably … can't … see us."

"Let me see your leg," she
whispered.

"It's all right," he said. "The
bleeding's slowed down. Better to leave it alone."

She noticed his hand was still bloody,
but there didn't seem to be much fresh blood. She'd trust him for now. They
waited in silence for several eternal minutes.

"You think they're going to come
down after us?" she asked.

Randy leaned against the tree next to
her, his eyes closed. "Don't know. So far, they've been nothing but
stupid, like most crooks." His lips twitched upward. "That's how we
catch 'em in the first place."

His words were labored, but she was
relieved to see he was thinking clearly. "And we're catching these guys
how?" she asked. "They're up there with guns and we're hiding behind
the trees."

"Your idea," he said. "I
told you to go for help."

"And leave you to face them alone? I
can't." And she knew then she could never leave him. No matter how
dangerous his job, no matter how exasperating his reluctance to share, no
matter what, he'd become part of her and would be as long as she drew breath.
The
us
she'd feared had sneaked in when she wasn't looking and entwined
itself around her heart.

She rested her hand on his good thigh. He
interlaced his fingers with hers. A feeling of calm wove its way through her
fear.

Another gunshot made her jerk her hand
free. Instinctively, she curled forward into a ball. Crashing sounds
interspersed with profanity hurtled down the mountain.

"Guess they're coming after us,"
Randy said.

"What do we do?"

"You stay right there." He
leaned onto his good knee and turned, peering around the tree.

Another gunshot. "What?" she
demanded.

"Good news. I see one guy. He's not
talking to anyone, so he's probably working on his own."

"But he's got a gun. We don't."

"True. He's also got a temper."

"Is that a good thing or a bad
thing?" Someone's temper had likely ruined half her shop merchandise.

"Could go either way. Means he's not
thinking, which means he's going to make mistakes."

"Mistakes are good, though. Isn't
that what you said? That's how you catch the crooks."

"Part of it." His tone was
guarded. He was hiding his thoughts again. She tried to follow his logic.

The dots connected. "But he could
shoot us first, think later. That's what you're trying to say, isn't it?"

Two more gunshots resounded. She climbed
to her knees and inched forward enough to see beyond their tree wall. "That's
the guy," she said. "Mister Not Walter Young."

"His name is Trent Wallace,"
Randy said. "He has a temper."

He shoved his hair off his forehead and
the familiar gesture filled her with comfort. "Not to mention he's wasting
bullets," she said.

"Good observation. There's also good
chance he's almost out."

"How can you know that?"

"Because, unless I'm mistaken, he's
using my backup piece and there was only one magazine in it."

"He had a gun when he found me,"
she said. "Do you think it was yours? Or does he have two now?"

"Did you see it?"

She shook her head. "No, I felt it.
First he had it at the back of my neck and then in my side." She tried to
replay the events. "You were on the phone in the parking lot when I left
you. It's possible, I suppose. Is that where you passed out? He could have
taken it from you, then used it on me." She pondered that. "Or, he
could have been using a piece of pipe and telling me it was a gun to scare me.
Which worked, if you want to know."

He gripped her arm and brought a finger
to his lips.

"I'm talking too much, aren't I?"

He nodded, then winced and rubbed his
forehead.

Stupid.
He probably had a concussion and she was blathering away.
But she didn't feel as helpless if she was talking. Maybe she should blather in
her thoughts instead. Maybe she should think about how to get out of this mess.
No wheels, no weapons … no way, at least not until that man—Trent Wallace—left.
And even if he gave up on finding them, would Randy be able to walk out of here
with his injuries?

As her thoughts whirled, so did her
nerves. She reached for Randy's hand, seeking the calm it provided, even just
hooking her fingers around his pinkie.

"You've got nowhere to go,"
Wallace said. "Might as well come out."

Sarah looked at Randy in alarm. He shook
his head. "He's bluffing. He can't see us." His voice was
sub-whisper, but she understood and froze, barely allowing herself to breathe.

Leave rustled, branches cracked and
curses echoed. All getting closer. She pulled her head behind the trees like a
turtle disappearing into its shell and closed her eyes the way she used to when
she played hide and seek. Almost laughing, she opened them. Not seeing him didn't
mean he couldn't see her. She'd learned that when she was four.

And then the sounds moved away. She dared
not speak, but looked at Randy to see if he'd noticed. His eyes were closed,
but his grip on her hand was solid. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. After what
seemed like a lifetime, he shifted. Glanced at his watch. "He's gone. I
think we can get moving now."

The sooner they got away from here, the
better. She stood and offered her hand.

Using the tree for support, Randy worked
his way to his feet, testing how much weight his injured leg could handle. Not
much, but better than having to hop back to campus.

He took a tentative step. It was going to
be a long hike. "Keep your eyes open for something to use as a walking
stick."

"For now, lean on me," she
said.

"I'm too heavy."

"I'll let you know when I can't
handle it," she said. "Should we follow the stream?"

He hobbled alongside her, dragging his
injured leg. Every step sent another arrow of pain through him. When they
reached the stream, he pulled off his jersey, then the t-shirt underneath and
extended it to Sarah. "Wet it, please."

She soaked it and handed it back.

"Wrap it around my leg," he
said. "The cold will slow the bleeding and help numb the pain." He
shrugged back into his jersey.

She did as he asked, then crouched by the
rushing water and splashed her face. Aware of a growing thirst, he tried to
lower his body enough to drink.

"Let me," she said. She seemed
to be saying that a lot. She cupped her hands and brought water to his lips.
Most of it dripped away, but after several tries they found a system and he
swallowed enough to get the foul taste out of his mouth and replace at least
some of his fluids. If they followed the stream, he wouldn't dehydrate. Shock
was another issue. He blocked the possibility.

It wasn't long before he knew there was
no way he'd get down the mountain before dark. They stopped again and Sarah
re-wet his dressing. He tilted her chin up. The fading sunlight reflected off
her worried blue eyes. "You have to go on ahead, Sarah. I'll be fine here
until you get back."

Her lips narrowed into a thin line. She
crossed her arms across her chest. "I will
not
leave you. What if
something happens to me? I could fall, or get lost. Then we're both in trouble.
We go until we can't go any farther, then wait for daylight. Together."

Her tone brooked no argument. In silence,
they continued following the stream. Talking was too much of an effort. Dusk
fell and it became harder to pick stable footing.