Ka-boom.
The footsteps were growing louder.
My brain tried to do that quick-calculating-reptilian thing again—it had already saved me, right?—but after a second or two of neuron burning, I came to a rather startling yet obvious conclusion:
I was finished. There was no way out.
I tried to gather my strength for a big-time sprint, but really, what would that do? I’d expose myself for certain and in the condition I was in I’d never get far. I’d either get shot or captured. Come to think of it, those seemed to be my only two choices now: shot or captured. I preferred captured, thank you very much. The question now was, how could I maximize my chances of captured over shot?
I didn’t have a clue.
A beam of light danced in front of me. I pressed my back into the tree and went up on my tippy-toes. Like that was going to help. The footsteps were getting closer. Judging by the sound and the brightness of the light, I would guess that someone was within ten yards of me.
Options flew in and out of my brain. I could stay here and jump the guy. If it was Jed, for example, I could disarm him. But any struggle on my part would not only reveal my location for sure, but if it wasn’t Jed—if it was, for example, Stocky—then it would be open season on using deadly force on me.
So what to do?
Hope that I hadn’t been spotted.
Of course, hope wasn’t a plan or even an option. It was wishing. It was fanciful thinking. It was leaving my fate in the hands of, well, fate.
The footsteps were only a yard or two away now. I braced myself, unsure what to do, leaving it to that reptilian part of my brain, when I heard a whisper.
“Don’t say a word. I know you’re behind the tree.”
It was Cookie.
“I’m going to walk past you,” she said, her voice low. “When I do, get right behind me and walk. Get as close to my back as possible.”
“What?”
“Just do it.” Her tone left no room for discussion. “Right up close.”
Cookie walked past my tree, nearly knocking into it, and kept going. I didn’t hesitate. I fell in line right behind her and followed. I could see flashlights in the distance, both on my left and on my right.
“That wasn’t an act, was it?” Cookie said.
I didn’t know what she meant.
“You loved Natalie, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I’m going to walk you as far as I can. We will hit a path. Take it to the right. Stay low and out of sight. The path will lead to the clearing where the white chapel is. You’ll know how to get away from there. I will try to keep them occupied. Get as far away as you can. Don’t go home. They’ll find you there.”
“Who will find me?”
I tried to move in sync with her, matching footstep for footstep like an annoying kid copying another.
“You need to stop, Jake.”
“Who will find me?”
“This is bigger than you can imagine. You have no idea what you’re up against. None at all.”
“Tell me.”
“If you don’t stop, you’ll kill us all.” Cookie veered left. I kept with her. “The path is up ahead. I will turn left, you head down to the right. Understand?”
“Where’s Natalie? Is she alive?”
“In ten seconds, we will be on the path.”
“Tell me.”
“You’re not listening to me. You’ve got to leave this alone.”
“Then tell me where Natalie is.”
In the distance I could hear Stocky yell out something, but I couldn’t make out the words. Cookie slowed her step.
“Please,” I said.
Her voice was distant, hollow. “I don’t know where Natalie is. I don’t know if she’s dead or alive. Neither does Jed. Neither do any of us.”
We hit a path made of crumbled stone. She began to turn to the left. “One last thing, Jake.”
“What?”
“If you come back, I won’t be the one saving your life.” Cookie showed me the gun in her hand. “I’ll be the one who ends it.”
Chapter 22
I recognized the path.
There was a small pond to the right. Natalie and I had gone swimming there late one night. We got out, panting, lying naked in each other’s arm, skin against skin. “I never had this,” she said slowly. “I mean, I’ve had this, but . . . never this.”
I understood. I hadn’t either.
I passed the old park bench where Natalie and I used to sit after having coffee and scones at Cookie’s. Up ahead, I could see the faint outline of the chapel. I barely glanced at it, didn’t need those memories slowing me down right now. I took the path down into town. My car was less than half a mile away. I wondered whether the cops had located it yet. I didn’t see how. I wouldn’t be able to drive it very long—there was probably an APB on it too—but I didn’t see any other way of getting out of town. I’d have to risk it.
The street remained so dark that I was only able to find my car via memory. I practically walked right into it. When I opened the door, the car’s interior light burst through the night. I quickly slipped inside and closed the door. Now what? I was, I guessed, a guy on the run. I remembered seeing on some TV show where the fugitive switched license plates with another car. Maybe that would help. Maybe I could find a parked car and do that. Right, sure, except, of course, I didn’t have a screwdriver. How could I do it without a screwdriver? I searched my pocket and pulled out a dime. Would that work as a screwdriver?
It would take too long.
I did have a destination in mind. I drove south, careful not to drive too fast or too slowly, constantly hitting the gas and brake, as though the proper speed would somehow make me invisible. The roads were dark. That would probably help. I had to keep in mind that an APB wasn’t all-powerful. I probably had some time on my hands if I could keep off main roads.
My iPhone was, of course, gone. I felt naked and impotent without it. Funny how attached we get to those devices. I continued south.
Now what?
I had only sixty dollars on me. That wouldn’t get me far. If I used a credit card, the cops would see it and pick me up right away. Well, not right away. They’d have to see the charge come in and then dispatch a squad car or whatever. I don’t know how long that took but I doubt it would be instantaneous. Cops are good. They aren’t omnipotent.
No choice really. I had to take a calculated risk. Interstate 91, the main highway in this area, was just up ahead. I took it to the first rest area and parked near the back in the least-lit spot I could find. I actually cinched up my collar, as if that would disguise me, and headed inside. When I walked past the small rest-stop convenience store, something snagged my gaze.
The footsteps were growing louder.
My brain tried to do that quick-calculating-reptilian thing again—it had already saved me, right?—but after a second or two of neuron burning, I came to a rather startling yet obvious conclusion:
I was finished. There was no way out.
I tried to gather my strength for a big-time sprint, but really, what would that do? I’d expose myself for certain and in the condition I was in I’d never get far. I’d either get shot or captured. Come to think of it, those seemed to be my only two choices now: shot or captured. I preferred captured, thank you very much. The question now was, how could I maximize my chances of captured over shot?
I didn’t have a clue.
A beam of light danced in front of me. I pressed my back into the tree and went up on my tippy-toes. Like that was going to help. The footsteps were getting closer. Judging by the sound and the brightness of the light, I would guess that someone was within ten yards of me.
Options flew in and out of my brain. I could stay here and jump the guy. If it was Jed, for example, I could disarm him. But any struggle on my part would not only reveal my location for sure, but if it wasn’t Jed—if it was, for example, Stocky—then it would be open season on using deadly force on me.
So what to do?
Hope that I hadn’t been spotted.
Of course, hope wasn’t a plan or even an option. It was wishing. It was fanciful thinking. It was leaving my fate in the hands of, well, fate.
The footsteps were only a yard or two away now. I braced myself, unsure what to do, leaving it to that reptilian part of my brain, when I heard a whisper.
“Don’t say a word. I know you’re behind the tree.”
It was Cookie.
“I’m going to walk past you,” she said, her voice low. “When I do, get right behind me and walk. Get as close to my back as possible.”
“What?”
“Just do it.” Her tone left no room for discussion. “Right up close.”
Cookie walked past my tree, nearly knocking into it, and kept going. I didn’t hesitate. I fell in line right behind her and followed. I could see flashlights in the distance, both on my left and on my right.
“That wasn’t an act, was it?” Cookie said.
I didn’t know what she meant.
“You loved Natalie, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I’m going to walk you as far as I can. We will hit a path. Take it to the right. Stay low and out of sight. The path will lead to the clearing where the white chapel is. You’ll know how to get away from there. I will try to keep them occupied. Get as far away as you can. Don’t go home. They’ll find you there.”
“Who will find me?”
I tried to move in sync with her, matching footstep for footstep like an annoying kid copying another.
“You need to stop, Jake.”
“Who will find me?”
“This is bigger than you can imagine. You have no idea what you’re up against. None at all.”
“Tell me.”
“If you don’t stop, you’ll kill us all.” Cookie veered left. I kept with her. “The path is up ahead. I will turn left, you head down to the right. Understand?”
“Where’s Natalie? Is she alive?”
“In ten seconds, we will be on the path.”
“Tell me.”
“You’re not listening to me. You’ve got to leave this alone.”
“Then tell me where Natalie is.”
In the distance I could hear Stocky yell out something, but I couldn’t make out the words. Cookie slowed her step.
“Please,” I said.
Her voice was distant, hollow. “I don’t know where Natalie is. I don’t know if she’s dead or alive. Neither does Jed. Neither do any of us.”
We hit a path made of crumbled stone. She began to turn to the left. “One last thing, Jake.”
“What?”
“If you come back, I won’t be the one saving your life.” Cookie showed me the gun in her hand. “I’ll be the one who ends it.”
Chapter 22
I recognized the path.
There was a small pond to the right. Natalie and I had gone swimming there late one night. We got out, panting, lying naked in each other’s arm, skin against skin. “I never had this,” she said slowly. “I mean, I’ve had this, but . . . never this.”
I understood. I hadn’t either.
I passed the old park bench where Natalie and I used to sit after having coffee and scones at Cookie’s. Up ahead, I could see the faint outline of the chapel. I barely glanced at it, didn’t need those memories slowing me down right now. I took the path down into town. My car was less than half a mile away. I wondered whether the cops had located it yet. I didn’t see how. I wouldn’t be able to drive it very long—there was probably an APB on it too—but I didn’t see any other way of getting out of town. I’d have to risk it.
The street remained so dark that I was only able to find my car via memory. I practically walked right into it. When I opened the door, the car’s interior light burst through the night. I quickly slipped inside and closed the door. Now what? I was, I guessed, a guy on the run. I remembered seeing on some TV show where the fugitive switched license plates with another car. Maybe that would help. Maybe I could find a parked car and do that. Right, sure, except, of course, I didn’t have a screwdriver. How could I do it without a screwdriver? I searched my pocket and pulled out a dime. Would that work as a screwdriver?
It would take too long.
I did have a destination in mind. I drove south, careful not to drive too fast or too slowly, constantly hitting the gas and brake, as though the proper speed would somehow make me invisible. The roads were dark. That would probably help. I had to keep in mind that an APB wasn’t all-powerful. I probably had some time on my hands if I could keep off main roads.
My iPhone was, of course, gone. I felt naked and impotent without it. Funny how attached we get to those devices. I continued south.
Now what?
I had only sixty dollars on me. That wouldn’t get me far. If I used a credit card, the cops would see it and pick me up right away. Well, not right away. They’d have to see the charge come in and then dispatch a squad car or whatever. I don’t know how long that took but I doubt it would be instantaneous. Cops are good. They aren’t omnipotent.
No choice really. I had to take a calculated risk. Interstate 91, the main highway in this area, was just up ahead. I took it to the first rest area and parked near the back in the least-lit spot I could find. I actually cinched up my collar, as if that would disguise me, and headed inside. When I walked past the small rest-stop convenience store, something snagged my gaze.
