The-Hummingbird-s-Cage(96)

I pull Laurel up, nearly toppling under the deadweight of her limp body. I crouch and grasp her right arm, loop it around my neck. Then slowly I straighten, holding her slung around my shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

I stand for a long time, head throbbing, to judge if I have the physical strength for this. To climb down off the mesa carrying Laurel on my shoulders. One slip and we could fall. I could kill us both.

I turn and look at Jim, lying there motionless, arms flung out at his sides in some sort of surrender, face pulped, blood pooling beneath his head.

Then I turn away and start to walk.

I skirt the edge of the mesa till I find what looks like a steep, narrow trail going down. Maybe this is how we climbed up to begin with. It hardly resembles a real hiking trail. More of a goat track cutting between boulders.

I stare down at it and my vision blurs, fades to a sick gray. A buzzing grows in my ears; bile rises again in my throat. I close my eyes and will my vision to return, my stomach to settle.

Desperate, I appeal to the powers that be: If I have a concussion, let it do its worst. So be it. But not yet. Not yet. Not till I make it to the highway and flag down help.

Gradually, my head begins to clear. I shift Laurel on my shoulders and start down the track.

One small step, then another. Feet slide on loose gravel. Focus, focus, pick out a path. I miss a turn, hit a crevasse, turn, a boulder blocks the way, miss another turn, dead-end into a wall of sandstone, turn back, turn again. Focus, focus. I don’t know how, but I keep to my feet. I pause for breath, steady myself against a boulder, rest, close my eyes.

A small stone pings against the boulder, inches from me, bounces off and hits the ground, tumbles ten feet down the path. I open my eyes and stare at it.

“I see you.”

The voice is Jim’s. It’s Jim’s, but it sounds off. Like he has a head cold and can’t breathe right through his nose. It’s coming from above, to the left.

I drag my eyes from the stone and turn to look. He’s standing on an outcropping not forty feet away. A perfect vantage point to see the trail, right down to the bottom of the mesa. To see us. To see me.

He stands there, looking down, head cocked. Wipes at his face with his shirttail, then drops it.

“I’m coming.”

He turns and disappears.

Adrenaline hits me, launches me from the boulder and back on the trail. No more small step, small step, but lunges down and down. Still I know I can’t outrun him. Not even if I were whole and healthy. As I lunge, I glance around, frantic for a place to hide out, to foil what’s coming down the trail after us. To regroup.

Finally I see it. A tangle of small boulders and rocks, seven, eight feet high. A small opening at the bottom. Panting, I move to it, kneel down too fast and Laurel slips from my shoulders. I catch her with both arms, wince from the stabbing pain that shoots from my bad wrist. As I catch her, her mouth gapes; her eyes flicker open. She looks at me, fazed, tries to register what’s happening. I lay my finger against her lips. Her expression freezes. Her mouth clamps shut. No explanation needed.

I lean over and peer through the opening in the rocks. It’s dark, but I can make out a space inside. Just big enough for us to crawl through.

I push Laurel through first. She digs in with her elbows and pulls herself inside. Before I do the same, I glance around again. Nothing in sight. Then I crawl in.

It’s cool and dim, the hole just big enough for both of us to sit up. I hug Laurel against me with my good arm. Ready to clamp my hand over her mouth, if I have to. She’s trembling, heart rabbiting faster than ever. I know she can feel mine doing the same.

For what seems like far too long, there’s silence. No footsteps, no gravel shifting underfoot. I begin to wonder if Jim took a wrong turn, ended up on some other track, lost his way.

But no.

“I see you.”

The voice is close. Nasal, and singsong. Like he’s playing a child’s game.

I squeeze Laurel against me. Whisper in her ear: “Shhhh.”

If he can see us, he can see us. If not, the bastard’s just trying to flush us out.

I won’t play.

“You stupid bitch. If I can get Bernadette, you think I can’t get you? She was ten times the woman you are. And it was easy. Easy. Knock-knock. Who’s there? Payback, baby. Vengeance is mine.”

Payback? Vengeance? What’s he talking about?

“You think I wouldn’t find out? Put it together? I’m a cop, you idiot. It’s what I do. I know it was her. At the house today. Must’ve been right after I left for work. Munoz calls me, tells me you’re gassing up the car. Or trying to.” He’s chuckling. “Only there’s a little problem, huh?”