Above the screaming pain, Tillman felt the quiet. She was waiting. Smart. Then he heard a rustling as she slithered over to him. He lay absolutely still, rolling his eyes back in his head. When she lifted his lids and shone the little light, he would appear gone.
Chapter 30
The test of rabbit is winter. The test of bear is spring. The test of man is his wanting.
The great cliffs overlooking the Donahue farm and rimming the river valley looked impressive, even at night. With the passage of clouds, the moonlight shafted down through billowy openings, revealing the texture of the mountain, its overlapping rock slabs and tree trunks in several shades of black. The nearby pasture had turned almost gray with light, its cattle moving lazily as they grazed.
Sitting was much tougher than doing something. Still, Jessie had elected to huddle under the tree. She was glad she had when the man came crawling through the forest at the pasture's edge. At first, all she saw was a shifting pattern in the darkness so elusive she couldn't be sure it was anything. Then, looking from the corner of her eye, as Kier had taught her, she distinguished a head. When the head disappeared, she found a torso, or so she thought. Whoever it was, he was frighteningly close. He hadn't whispered the Tilok password given her by Kier.
She wanted to squeeze the trigger, but all she could think was: What if I puncture a lung? What if I explode a heart? She was not an executioner. And there was plenty of time before the squeeze to think these and the other thoughts jumbled in her head… until she let her finger pull and heard the muffled spit of the heavy-caliber handgun.
The dull thud of the bullet preceded a gush of air from the lungs that made her stomach roll. If he'd been wearing a jacket, he might have suffered only bruised ribs and some thumping of the internal organs. As much as her trembling hand would allow, her gun remained riveted on the almost-invisible form. At the least movement she would shoot again. But nothing, not even a groan, indicated the man had survived the shot. No conscious person could lie motionless in that kind of pain. She waited a minute more, then crawled forward.
It was only a few feet, but she went slowly, watching, listening, with the gun pointed. When she knelt a foot from the stalker, she put her fingers to his carotid and found a pulse. Feeling the torso, she found a bulletproof vest under the camouflage coat and in the sheath across the front a dented steel plate. She had struck only a glancing blow.
She pulled off his helmet, keeping the gun at his temple. "If you can hear me, asshole, don't even twitch or I'll blow your head off."
He did seem to have a large head. Pulling out her penlight, she shined it in his face, then rolled back the eyelid.
As she did it, she leaned over him, pressing the gun to his temple. More quickly than she could have imagined possible, his head jerked up. Automatically, she fired the gun. Missed!
One of his hands buried itself in her hair, yanking her head to the sky while the other grappled with the gun. Two more shots discharged into the night. Now pulling the trigger would do no good because he was stronger-he was aiming the gun.
When she brought her knee slamming up into his ribs, he moaned through gritted teeth. Her head went backward with his hand. Drawn by the fierce pain, her left hand went to the back of her head while the other stayed with the gun. Jessie was fighting a man with the strength of a maniac. He easily wrenched the gun away, and when she rolled, he was on her, clawing at her throat.
Jessie went crazy, kicking and tearing at him and the earth. Like a hungry animal he came after her and after her, bearing down on her until his grip closed on her throat and his grunts turned to satisfaction.
Her head felt heavy. She wanted only air. The hand gave way just a little and she breathed. Still, she was fading. The blood to her brain was being cut off. Like a drunk drowning in a puddle, she was watching herself die.
Her arm flopped. His grip relaxed a little more. She saw only a large round shadow where his face should be. He climbed on top of her, parting her legs around him and moving in tight. God, no. The realization spread like a dread disease. She sensed the sex. He brought the barrel of the gun under her throat.
"Where's the Indian?"
Try to think. The gun would blow her head half off. His hand was already clamping harder again, pinning her in place. She wanted to whimper.
"Where is he?"
"I don't know."
"Don't mess with me." The hand suffocated her. Her vision shrank to a tunnel. She could feel herself sinking. It was blacker than the night. Thoughts swirled, but wouldn't stay, everything turning and mixing.
"Talk." He was shaking her.
"I don't know where he is," she choked out when he released the pressure for a breath.
"You're lying." Then she felt the knife on her cheek, down her neck. It was pricking the skin.
"Oh no." God, she didn't want to be cut.
The knife was back at her cheek. "Tell me."
"He left me here." She could feel the sting of the knife cutting. The horror of it consumed her. The words came fast, staccato. "He left, looking for you. Didn't say how."
"He was going to the house, wasn't he?" The knife stopped cutting. "You're not answering me. I don't want to make a mess of you."
"I imagine he started for the house. Where he is now, I haven't the faintest."
"Tell me about the plane."
She spoke, desperate to keep the knife still. She told him about the brilliant light in the sky, the explosion, the trek through the snow, even the angry squirrel.
"What about the plane? Tell me about the plane. Was anybody alive?"
"One guy, covered in blood. He threw a grenade after shooting at us."
"What did he look like?"
"Older than the rest… glasses… But he was covered with blood… you couldn't tell… "
"Was there anyone else? Anyone around the plane?"
"Not that we saw. Only a set of tracks leaving the plane."
"What did Kier tell you about the tracks?"
"Nothing. Just a man… that's it."
"He knows more."
She felt the blade again. "Well, he didn't tell me," she almost shouted.
"What did you take from the plane?"
"Five bound volumes."
"Did you read them?"
"Not much. We had no time, and they were technical."
"You're lying. He knew a lot. Where is the sixth manual? Were there six of them?"
"There was a spot for a sixth, but there were only five books."
"Don't patronize me." The knife cut her cheek; she gasped at the sting.
"We left the four in the cabin and took one with us. The sixth we never found. Maybe the guy who left the tracks." She felt the knife again. "I'm telling you, I don't know where!"
His hand crushed her throat. "Shut up. You scream like that again and you're dead. Where is the fifth?"
"Kier hid it near a cabin-he didn't show me where."
Now he controlled events. She imagined having a scarred face, death. Her mind fought the obvious conclusions. Think. She had to think, not just cower. He was fumbling with something.
"Rollover."
He turned her easily, like a cougar with a rabbit. She felt the cuffs snap in place. Escape seemed impossible, but she could not let herself surrender. How could she disable him? How could she run?
Now he was unzipping her coat. Then he was pulling it open. As she felt his hands on the buttons of her shirt, her head began to spin. It couldn't be. Not here, on a freezing night in the dirt. Dizziness swept her. He yanked Kier's T-shirt to her neck. She could feel his fingers moving on her belly. He unfastened her jeans. Blackness began to fill her mind-her spirit wanted to crawl to some far-off place.