Weavers (30 page)

CHAPTER 74

Cynthia woke with a start in the truck.
It all came back quickly. Terry was still driving, his hands on the wheel as he hummed along with the radio, and Darryl was staring out the window across from her. All threads connecting the three of them were gone, and Cynthia was glad for that. She wanted to be sad, and she didn’t want to be happy that she was with these strange men. She wanted things that were impossible. She wanted to go back home, to Mom or Dad or her grandparents, even to Mrs. Martin. She just wanted to be with people who she knew cared about her.

Taking advantage of the moment of peace, she took stock of her situation. She had been kidnapped by two strange men, and she had no idea where they might be bringing her. She wasn’t even sure if they knew. Somehow she wasn’t scared. Learning the words “divorce” and “affair” had been a lot scarier than this. She realized she was in a dangerous place, but still she felt serene. Maybe it was the loss of her parents—a loss she hadn’t been witness to but that she could feel all the same—but Cynthia felt like nothing really mattered anymore. The same was not true for her captors, and she knew this put her at an advantage over them.

Every few songs the DJ on the radio would break into the broadcast and begin talking. These interludes tended to induce moments of under-the-breath swearing from Terry before he violently spun the dial, waited about thirty seconds, and spun it back to the music of his preferred station. Cynthia didn’t need her gift to know what was going on. The radio was talking about them, alerting people to look out for them. Cynthia glanced out the window. There didn’t seem to be much chance of them being seen. Terry was sticking to the back roads.

You’ll need to make your own luck now.
The quote had been one of Dad’s, and the recollection made her sad, but the thought was no less true.

“I have to pee,” said Cynthia after spotting a gas station sign growing above the trees on the horizon. She watched as Terry and Darryl exchanged a long look. “I really do,” she said. “I’m going to wet my pants.”

“All right,” said Terry. “I’ll pull off here in a few minutes. Just hold your horses.”

Cynthia nodded and smiled thinly. She knew she couldn’t weave with either of the men, nor could she invade them completely to see what they were thinking, but she could still vibe off of them very easily, and Terry was nervous. The truck was down to a quarter tank, so there was more reason than just pee to stop, but Terry didn’t want to. He wanted to drive and drive and drive.

The gas station sign grew on the horizon and then disappeared behind a wall of timber. Cynthia did have to pee, that wasn’t a lie—and with Darryl in the car, was there a point in lying?—but she also wanted to slow them down and maybe even get noticed by someone. As the sign reappeared, Cynthia formulated a plan.
Darryl told you not to bend him or Terry, so don’t. Weave like Mrs. Martin taught you.

“No funny business,” said Darryl as Terry parked the truck next to a pair of beater trucks. “I’m serious, Cynthia. We’re in a pretty interesting situation right now, and the last thing that any of us need is extra attention. Terry is going to let us off right here, you’re going to use the bathroom while he gases up the truck, and then he’s going to pick us up. I don’t want to regret not making you pee in the woods, is that clear?”

“Yes.”

And then she and Darryl slid from the truck. Cynthia could see the back of the clerk’s head as he stood behind the register. He was an old man who likely would have enjoyed Mrs. Martin’s dogs. Darryl took her around to the unisex bathroom at the back of the station. After knocking on the door and getting no response, he pulled it open for her.

“I’m going to stand right here,” said Darryl. “Do not waste any time. Just get in and get out, OK?”

Cynthia nodded again, and Darryl shut the door after her. She sat on the toilet, made her water, and then pulled up her pants before sitting back on the toilet. Cynthia took a deep breath, pictured the gas station, and then roared into the sky above it. The sight from above was not like Mrs. Martin’s North Harbor map. The map of the Sunoco was blurry at the edges, and the lines looked as though they’d been drawn by a child. Cynthia wondered at these changes and at the obvious skill that her teacher possessed, and then fired into the gas station.

Cynthia could see Terry on the other side of the counter from her, and she realized with a start that she had landed directly behind the eyes of the old clerk. Knowing that she had only seconds, Cynthia wove her own thoughts around the clerk’s, reminding him of the two fugitives on the run he’d heard about on the radio and of the little girl they had taken with them. As she left, she made sure the clerk had two fresh thoughts in his mind: he needed to call the police as soon as Terry left, and then he needed to go around to the back of the building to get a look-see.

Cynthia returned to her body just in time to hear Darryl knock on the door and say, “All right, Cynthia, Terry’s going to be pulling the truck back here.”

Cynthia stood and opened the door a few seconds later, Darryl giving her an odd look as she left the dingy washroom, likely trying to tell if she’d been up to anything. She knew he might be too busy to keep much of an eye on her for much longer, though, if the clerk did as he was told. Cynthia watched with Darryl from the corner of the building as Terry hung the gas pump up, started the truck, and began to drive back to them.

“All right, get in quick,” said Darryl as Terry slid to a stop near them. “I’ve got the heebie-jeebies.”

Cynthia didn’t blame him—she did, too—and then the clerk rounded the building and time seemed to slow. Cynthia had her foot on the truck’s running board, Darryl was waiting behind her, and Terry was sitting behind the wheel when the clerk appeared with an enormous revolver in one hand and the cordless phone in the other.

“You come here, girl,” said the clerk, pulling up short and leveling the gun at Terry. “And you, shut off that truck. Do it quick now—the law’s coming, and I’d rather see you leave in cuffs than bags.”

Cynthia started toward the man, but Darryl grabbed her forearm and held her in place. She turned to him, a look of fury in her eyes, and then the gas station attendant was talking again.

“Yes, they’re still here,” he said into the phone. “They’re holing themselves up in the gas station, and I think their truck broke down.”

None of this made any sense to Cynthia. They weren’t “holing up” in the station, and the truck was ready to ride. But then Darryl was dragging Cynthia to the old man, who threw the phone down and then handed his keys to Darryl.

That’s when she knew that Darryl was in the man.

“Come on, Terry,” shouted Darryl, and Terry left the truck running and followed after them.

The three of them walked around the back of the gas station, where they found an aging Buick. Darryl tossed Terry the keys, and the three of them piled inside, reluctant Cynthia hopping into the backseat with Darryl. The car turned over easily, the bodywork no indication of the care taken for the parts that mattered. Terry pulled around the gas station, and Cynthia stared out of the window at the man. He’d pulled the truck into the road, and gas was leaking everywhere from the pumps. The man gave them a wave as Terry pulled onto the road, and after a short turn the man and the gas station were gone.

“You got him killed. I hope you know that,” said Darryl, but Cynthia ignored him. She was well aware of the price of her failure. “I said no funny business, and then you make that poor guy, who was just minding his own business, get involved. Trust me, that guy was better off not interfering, especially with what’s going to come next.”

Darryl sighed, and Cynthia could tell he was mad enough to hit her.
I don’t care, let him
,
thought Cynthia. Nothing could have mattered less.

“That’s the last time, your last chance. Do you understand?”

Cynthia ignored him, and she could see the fury in Darryl’s eyes. He might have swung on her then, but Terry interrupted their bickering.

“Do you guys hear that?”

“Yes,” said Darryl. “That’s a helicopter. If we’re lucky, it’s headed to the gas station.”

“What if we’re not lucky?”

“Just drive, Terry,” said Darryl.

CHAPTER 75

Katarina sat in leg restraints and handcuffs aboard the chopper.
Next to her in the other rear seat was Jessica Hockstetter, and ahead of them were a pair of pilots dressed in the same headgear that the men in the van and trailer had worn.

Katarina felt worn to the bone, but this was good—they were going to find Cynthia and return her little darling to her. Katarina knew all too well the dangers of being imprisoned by the TRC, but she was also confident that with the girl she’d be able to escape all over again. It wouldn’t be as easy as the last time, but it would be worth the risk.

The helicopter was flying low to the trees, following the two-lane road south as it slowly meandered toward Indiana. Guessing that they would be going south had taken no special intuition. Jessica had already been sure that was where they would head, and the call from the gas station had only confirmed it. Now they were just minutes from getting a visual on the car, assuming they could get a look at the road for more than a few seconds at a time.

Katarina felt anxious. She hated being locked up like this, hated flying, and still had a bitter feeling in her stomach that, as soon as Katarina outweighed her usefulness, that bitch Jessica was going to send her off to be killed by the Israelites. Katarina had followed the cases of long-missing German officials, and the results were uniformly horrifying. First, a shameful parade for the cameras, next a sham of a trial, and finally the rope. Katarina had read the newspaper religiously following Eichmann’s capture, and even though he’d been killed nearly forty years ago, she still had chills at the memory.

I will find a way to live
,
thought Katarina. That she had once overseen death camps where so many had thought the same thing was not lost on her, but that did not alter the fact that she did not want to die.

The helicopter dipped in closer to the trees, and then Jessica’s voice came over the speakers. “Do you feel anything yet? Are they down there?”

Katarina shook her head in answer. She felt nothing. Jessica nodded and turned back to the window, the frustration clear in her eyes.

The helicopter rose and then dipped again as the forest broke into a clean stretch of road. There were three vehicles that could be seen immediately, and Jessica was speaking over their shared comm link, telling the radio operator, “I want cruisers a mile ahead of us and a mile behind us.” Katarina smiled to herself at this command. More men with guns weren’t going to be much help. They needed someone like her to bring this chase to an end. Katarina sighed to herself, content that the day was likely to end with them still in pursuit, and then in her peripheral vision she saw another helicopter closing on their flank.

The new chopper was unmarked, as was the one Katarina was riding in, and the pilot and radio operator wore helmets identical to those the men in her own ride were crowned with. Why the helmets, unless this new helicopter held another who must be guarded against? A queer thought crossed her mind:
Could that be? No
,
she decided,
such a thing simply cannot be possible.
She frowned.
There’s no way the old man is still around, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t more like him.
Katarina grimaced.
He could be, though, and if he is, he’ll be very happy to see you.
This thought was a sickening one, and Katarina only felt worse yet when she turned to Jessica and glimpsed the wry smile crossing the woman’s lips.

The helicopter felt as though it was moving faster over the open road, the new perspective beyond the trees allowing them to see much farther than before. Katarina was searching for Cynthia in the three cars they’d spotted but was finding nothing. It was as if the girl had vanished, even though, for all she knew, Cynthia could have been in sight. Roving police cars were visible on the ground as well, some stopped at various crossroads, others patrolling the same stretch of highway they were overseeing.

There was a burst of static from the front of the cockpit, and then the radio operator said, “All right, visual confirmed. All units toward target.”

“What’s going on?” Jessica asked.

The radioman’s voice was clear over the headsets. “There was a suspect at the gas station who engaged in a firefight with police. He’s in custody now, shot up but conscious, and he confirmed make, model, and color for us.” The radioman pointed below them. “That red sedan right there is our vehicle.”

“I want them in custody now,” said Jessica, the wry smile replaced by one with a wolfish intensity. “No guns, no bullshit, I want them now. Tell Frank to shut them down immediately.”

Frank.
Katarina nodded to herself. Frank was alive, they were about to apprehend the others without her help, and Israel was a mere flight away. When they’d taken them all where they were set on taking them, she’d have to make herself useful to them, and in a hurry.

CHAPTER 76

Darryl had been trying not to think about the helicopters ever since they’d first spotted them, but it was a battle he was losing.
It was bad enough seeing all the cops, but the helicopters made him feel like he was in some spy movie, a movie he had never wanted to be a part of. They were going to need to get off of this chunk of road soon, head in any other direction, and try and find some more trees.

Darryl watched in frustration as they passed another parked cop blocking a side road, and then frustration turned to fear as three marked cars behind them turned on lights and sirens. The cop car that had been blocking the side road pulled out after them as well. Four then. Gaining on them. Time to get to work.

Looking through the Buick’s back window, Darryl locked eyes with the cop driving the first cruiser and began to bend him. /
Throw on your brakes / Ram them / Shoot them / Kill them /
Darryl shoved hard. The cop should have immediately reacted, but nothing happened. Darryl shoved him again, harder this time, and then Cynthia began to scream. Darryl turned to her in confusion, and then a head-splitting pain tore through him. Darryl heard his own voice added to the wind, and then the car was driving into the median. Darryl caught flickers of Terry trying to maintain control, but he could barely keep his eyes open against the pain.

Darryl felt the world passing by in flashes, the car first bouncing over the lawn, then rolling as the sky became the earth and back again, and finally the car coming to a stop. Terry was working to free himself, right hand on the seat belt release just like Darryl, but Cynthia wasn’t moving.
Is she dead?
Darryl had neither the time nor ability to check. Strong arms dragged him from the ruined car and tossed him to the ground like a piece of trash. Darryl tried to push them, but there was nothing there, just a dull spot that felt like a missing tooth.

Darryl screamed as he was cuffed, screamed as they muzzled him, and then someone stuck a needle into his arm. He felt his legs go numb even though he was lying on his belly, and then they were carrying him, then tossing him into the back of a van, where he was strapped to a gurney. Darryl blinked as the last of his consciousness ebbed away. The final thing he saw as his eyes fluttered shut was a man wearing a bizarre helmet leaning over him. Darryl tried one more time to push, to command the man to free him and begin killing, but there was nothing there.