The front of her sweater was soaked through.
There was blood everywhere.
Tears started to pour down her cheeks.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her sweater up over her head to take it off. Her fingers were numb, like they’d been dipped in ice water, so her effort was clumsy. When she looked in the mirror, her face was smeared with blood. The shock of it paled next to the rest of her image in the mirror.
Large sores were gouged out of her skin, blisters ripped open. Blood and pus oozed in time with her pulse, small rivulets of blood dripped down her breasts and fell to the floor. The bruises that had that morning only covered her chest now extended over her midsection, across her abdomen and down past her navel. She pushed down the front of her jeans. The bruises continued down into her pubic area. She turned and could see in the mirror that the same dark spots covered her back.
No one can know about this.
The thought screamed at her, warning her of the consequences if she told anyone. If she went to a teacher then whatever doctor they took her to would discover the disease she carried.
They would find out the she was getting the special medicine, the medicine her dad said was the only thing saving her life.
And if anyone found out, they would have to stop giving her the medicine. Looking in the mirror she imagined how much worse it would get if she couldn’t have the secret drugs.
She searched the locker room until she found a black sweater left behind by a sweaty P.E. student. It stunk, but Cathy pulled it on anyway, hoping the blood wouldn’t show on the dark color.
Using paper towels she did her best to clean the blood from her face. The bigger problem was her blond hair, now flecked with bright red blood. She found a ball cap in a locker and tried her best to tuck her hair into it.
She was satisfied with the result. It was good enough to get through the hallways. Luckily she had sneaked out of school enough times to ditch class that she knew exactly what door she needed to head for.
Wiping her eyes, she tried to focus on the task at hand. She had to get to a payphone and call her dad. It was all that mattered. He would help her. Sure they had their problems, but she knew he would do anything for her. He had gotten her the medicine to begin with, right? Maybe she needed a bigger dose. Or maybe they gave her the wrong shot last time. Whatever it was, he would take care of her.
Cathy straightened up and pulled herself together. She walked out to the hallway and carefully made her way to the fire exit, praying that no one would see her and that her dad would answer the phone when she called.
FORTY-TWO
Lonetree exited Interstate 70 only ten minutes out of town. They drove a couple of miles through grazing lands dotted with cows huddled near one another for warmth. There was no sign of a building of any kind in sight. Soon they turned onto a gravel road. Large ruts cut across the downward slope of the road, scars from years of heavy rain. The Bronco’s suspension creaked and groaned in protest as Lonetree hit the deep holes without slowing.
The forest was thick even though most of its foliage already lay decaying on the ground. Both sides of the road were walls of towering maples and birch, mostly sticks now with only a scattering of determined red and gold leaves not yet willing to fall. The trees had twisted masses of thorny brambles filling the space between their trunks. Jack had some of the same thorn bushes on his property and he knew they were almost impossible to break through.
They continued bouncing down the path for more than twenty minutes. Jack observed the road had a slight incline and the composition of the forest changed as the truck climbed. Large clumps of rock appeared through the underbrush, made up of the rounded granite found throughout the Appalachians, vestiges of a great mountain range once larger than the Rockies, now worn smooth by centuries of weather.
Lonetree yanked the wheel and turned into an opening between the trees. Branches scraped paint off the sides of the Bronco as it pushed its way down the narrow path. Lonetree leaned forward, looking carefully at the passing trees on their right, occasionally slowing to scrutinize an area more thoroughly. Then, without warning, Lonetree jammed the brakes and the Bronco shuddered to a stop. He turned the ignition, grabbed his gun, and jumped out of the truck.
Jack looked around the truck for something to arm himself with. He suspected that his captor wouldn’t be that sloppy but he didn’t want to miss an opportunity. He opened the glove box and poked through the contents. Nothing.
His door opened. “C’mon. We’re almost there,” Lonetree said.
Jack didn’t move. “Forget it.”
“What’s that?”
“I said forget it. I’m done with this.” Jack turned in his seat and looked Lonetree in the eye. “Tell me where we’re going. I want to know what’s going on.”
Lonetree hesitated, then raised his gun until it was pointed at Jack’s chest. Jack continued to stare the man down. With a sudden movement of the wrist, Lonetree flipped the gun so that the butt pointed toward Jack.
“Safety’s on. But it’s loaded,” he said. “Take it.”
Jack didn’t believe the offer. He reached out for the gun, expecting it to be pulled back from him at the last minute. Once he slid his hand over the handle, Lonetree released his grip and pulled his hand back. Jack turned the gun sideways to figure out the safety lock. He found the safety and disengaged it. Without hesitation, he aimed the gun and pulled the trigger.
The blast of the gun was louder than he expected, especially in the quiet forest. The recoil jammed the gun back into his hand, but it felt solid. Felt like power.
Lonetree looked up as if checking out the target Jack had just shot in the sky. His expression never changed. He waited to see how Jack would react to the trust he’d just given him.
Jack fought down the urge to demand the keys to the truck and get the hell out of there. He reset the safety lock and faced Lonetree. “All right, so it’s loaded. Why’d you give it to me?”
“Call it a goodwill gesture. I need to know whose side you’re on.”
“I’m sure as hell not on your side,” Jack said.
“Yeah, but you’re not on their side either. I’d be dead right now if you were.”
“What do you mean their side? They who? How is Huckley involved? What does he want with my daughter?”
“Slow down. They are the bad guys. Huckley and the others.”
“What others?”
Lonetree paused. “Not yet. I’ll tell you eventually, but not now.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “O.K. So there are these bad men. What do they want with Sarah?”
“To be honest, that’s what I’m trying to find out. This is a smart group. They don’t make very many mistakes. Huckley attacking you in that rest area was way out of bounds. He already had the girl in the car so his hunting trip was successful.”
“What do you know about the girl in the car?”
“I know Janney tried to make you think you had imagined the whole thing.”
“Yeah, he said there was no body. I know he’s lying. The body had to be there.”
“No,” Lonetree said, “he wasn’t lying. He didn’t find the body. I did.”
“I don’t understand. You were there?”
“I was tracking Huckley. Saw the whole thing.”
“But why the hell would you—”
“Hide the body for him? It didn’t fit in my plan for him to get picked up by the regular police. Besides, I’m sure it’s driving them crazy not knowing where the body is.”