He made his way down the hill and, silently, up to a side wall. The drapes and shades were drawn open. Inside, the place was dark and dusty. No sign of any recent inhabitants, though it was furnished. And he could see animal heads on the wall.
He returned to the hollow.
As he relaxed the tourniquet, he told them, “There’s a cabin. Not far. Deserted. Doubt there’s a phone, but maybe medical supplies. We need to get that leg cleaned.”
He tightened the binding again and, with Hannah’s help, he got Parker to her feet.
Shaw said, “I can carry you.”
“No.” This was uttered defiantly. “I’ll walk.”
In fifteen minutes, they were at the structure, which he estimated was a little over a thousand square feet. A sagging covered porch extended across the entire front, a swinging bench on the right side. It swayed. There were two small windows in the front. As they approached from a shallow angle — it was easier on Parker than a straight climb down the steep hill — Shaw caught sight of a dock extending into the lake. It listed dramatically to the left and the wood was rotten. No boats. Nor were there any other visible houses around the lake, which he put at four hundred acres.
One problem was apparent: the driveway would lead to a larger road, which had probably been mapped on GPS; the Twins and Merritt could find their way here.
The good side to this was that Deputy Kristi Donahue might do the same.
Parker set one foot on the sagging first step, paused and said, “I think I’m going to...” She completed the sentence in silent pantomime, losing consciousness and sagging. Shaw caught her before she dropped more than a few inches.
“Mr. Shaw!”
“She just fainted. Pain probably, not blood loss.”
Shaw hefted her in both arms and nodded toward the cabin. “Try the door.”
She gripped the knob and turned. “Locked. Can you pick it? Did your father teach you how to do that?”
Ashton had, yes.
But now Shaw simply reared back and kicked hard — aiming for an imaginary target about six inches on the other side of the door, to give himself extra drive.
It slammed inward with a crack that was oddly similar to a gunshot.
75
The last abode they’d escaped from had been devoted to fishing.
This was a hunting lodge. Shaw got a better view of the dozens of deer and elk heads he’d seen from outside. The glazed button eyes gazed just past them.
Weapons? He guessed no, eighty percent. The overgrown parking area suggested the place hadn’t been used for a while, and hunters would not be inclined to leave armament for any length of time in a cabin easily broken into.
A living room spanned the front of the structure. A parlor was to the right, bedrooms behind that. To the left was a dining room and, beyond that, the kitchen.
Nothing contemporary or chic about it. A 1950s bungalow.
Shaw laid Parker on the sofa in the parlor and lifted her legs. She remained passed out.
“Mr. Shaw...”
He examined Parker’s color, checked her pulse and assessed her temperature. “She’s all right. But she’s dehydrated. See if the water runs.”
As the girl left, he tried two light switches. Nothing. The place probably had a well, which would be inoperative if there was no power. He looked at Bee’s phone once again. Still gone.
Parker came to, sweating, looking around as she tried to orient herself. “Hannah...”
“She’ll be back in a minute.”
Shaw was surprised to hear water running.
So, city supply. Maybe they were closer to Millton than they’d thought.
The girl carried three glasses into the parlor. “Is it okay? I let it run, but...”
The water had a brown tint. Shaw took a glass and smelled it. He sipped some. “It’s just rust. Not like the Kenoah.” Hannah helped her mother sit up and the woman drank. So did her daughter. Shaw too.
“Ick,” Hannah said.
“Iron’s good for you.” Shaw’s face was deadpan.
The girl rolled her eyes as she laughed.
He walked to a front window and looked out. No sign anyone was in the woods. He said to Hannah, “First aid kits and weapons. Guns preferably. A hunting bow’ll do.”
“You can shoot one?”
I can make them, Shaw thought. If he had time he’d do so now.
“Look everywhere. You take the kitchen. And dining room. All the closets and pantries. Oh, liquor too. It’s an antiseptic.”
She walked off to start the search. Shaw stepped into the nearest bedroom.
After a few minutes she called, “Got something here maybe you can use. Like, a weapon.”
“All right. Keep looking.”
In the two bedrooms all Shaw found was bar soap and washcloths.
He called again to Hannah, “The stove work?”
A clank, then a gasp. “Spiders!” After a moment: “No gas.”
So he couldn’t boil and sterilize bandages. He’d make do with soap. After running the water in the bathroom for a few minutes to clear the impurities, he soaked the washcloths. On one he rubbed the bar, creating a good lather.
In the parlor he called to Hannah, “Any knives?”
“A couple.”
“Bring me the smallest, a kitchen knife, not dinner.”
She appeared with a paring blade.
Shaw helped Parker roll over. He asked, “Aren’t ripped jeans in now?”
She offered a tepid laugh.
He undid the tourniquet and tossed it aside.
Starting at the bullet hole, he cut a long slit in the jeans and pulled the two sides open wide. He looked over the wound. The round had been clean enough so that no serious infection had set in. Nor had the bleeding increased. She was stable for now.
He gripped the soapy cloth.
She said, “This where you tell me it’s going to hurt?”
“Take a deep breath.”
She did, and as he washed the wound, she said, “Oh, well. My... Oh shit.”
He then rinsed the leg with the water-saturated cloth and patted the skin dry. He cut a long strip of cotton from a sheet, about six inches wide, and, after pressing a dry terry-cloth square over the wound, bound her leg tightly.
“Okay?” he asked.
“As can be expected,” Parker whispered. She blinked away tears and took a clean washcloth to wipe sweat from her forehead. A feeble smile. “Guess you turned the heat up.”
Smiling too, he rose. The patient was taken care of, as best he could do. Now it was time for weapons.
He walked into the kitchen. “You said you had something we could use?”
She lifted a plug-in air freshener.
He frowned.
She asked, “Like can’t you make it into a bomb, or something?”
“Glade?”
“MacGyver.”
“What?”
She said, “It was a TV show. This guy I went out with for a while? He liked it. So we binged. The hero made these things, like bombs, out of everyday stuff.”
“Not air freshener.”
“Oh.” She gave a shrug and returned to searching.
Shaw wedged a kitchen chair under the back doorknob and took its mate to the front, did the same. Off the dining room he looked through a utility closet. He found a canoe paddle. It would make a functional club. He set it on the kitchen table, along with two butcher knives, one ten inches, the other twelve.
“What about this?” Hannah asked, pulling a plastic bag from under the sink.
He smelled naphtha.
“Mothballs. If we had any quicklime we could make Greek fire.”
“What’s that?”
“The ancient Greeks used it like a flamethrower. You study history?”