One Step Too Far (Frankie Elkin #2)(52)

CHAPTER 20





Neil’s eyes shut. He slides sideways. I grab his shoulder before he can hit the ground and jerk him back to sitting.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up.” I’m still in the process of chanting when Nemeth suddenly appears out of nowhere, looking tense.

“We gotta go. Thunderstorm rolling in. We need to take shelter at the tree line.”

“I don’t think he can walk.”

“Not an option. Slap him if you have to, but he needs to move.” Nemeth peers over his shoulder, as if the storm is right behind him. Now I’m spooked. If Nemeth is worried about something, then the rest of us should be terrified.

“Neil!” I shout. His eyelids flutter. I tap at his face, then give up and throw water on him.

“Wh-what?”

“Come on. Time to stand. We’re going for a little walk.”

Nemeth gets on the other side of Neil and helps me heft him to standing. It’s awkward, especially given I’m half their size. But Nemeth is already dragging Neil forward, forcing both Neil and me into motion. Is the torrential downpour about to pour through the boulder field? I don’t want to find out.

Together, we manage to get Neil out of the den. Luciana and Daisy are already waiting. Luciana appears as agitated as Nemeth, while Daisy prances nervously beside her.

I feel a gust of cooler wind. Peering into the horizon, I can see the dark clouds. A line of them headed straight toward us, a black wall devouring the blue sky. It is both beautiful and horrifying. I can’t help but stare, even as my skin prickles with the promise of impending lightning.

“Luciana,” Nemeth barks. “Take Frankie’s place. Frankie, grab the gear.”

Luciana and I quickly switch places. Daisy whines again.

“What about the others?” I ask.

“Marty’s in charge. Hopefully he’s paying attention.”

Nemeth grits out the last sentence. Because Martin’s focus has been one-dimensional all day. Hell, maybe for the past five years.

Neil is trying to lift his feet. The cool wind has pulled him back to consciousness, helping him muster his reserves. With Nemeth and Luciana serving as walking sticks, he starts hobbling forward. Daisy remains glued to Luciana’s side, head down, tail tucked between her legs. I wouldn’t think a SAR dog would be put off by weather. Or is it something else? Because Luciana’s expression remains shuttered, which isn’t like her at all.

I’m still trying to sort through what Neil told me. Or sort of told me. Lies. Which means secrets. One of which most likely stole our food and bashed Neil over the head.

Scott had been missing when the food bags were sabotaged, and present when Neil was struck. Meaning I’ll be starting my next round of questions with him. In front of others. Whatever happens next, I want witnesses.

A fat raindrop lands.

Then a crack of lightning forks across the bruised sky, followed almost immediately by a concussive boom of thunder, so close it causes me to jump. Dark roiling clouds sweep over us, casting the entire canyon into immediate shadow. No more time for admiring the wild beauty. We gotta hustle.

“Just need to get to the trailhead,” Nemeth says, encouraging. “We can hunker down in the trees, let the storm pass. Few more feet. You got this.”

He’s totally lying. The trailhead is at least thirty yards, if not more. But Neil picks up his feet again.

People, straight ahead. I make out Martin and the others. They’re shouting and waving their arms to get our attention. They’ve already made it to the woods. Bob, however, clearly recognizes our predicament and immediately bolts from cover to help. Within minutes, he’s taken over for Luciana, and together he and Nemeth half carry Neil the rest of the distance.

We make it to the woods just as a fresh bolt of lightning electrifies the sky. Then, with a second massive boom, the thunderstorm explodes into the canyon. Rain falls in sheets, soaking our hair, sluicing the dust from our skin.

Nemeth and Bob get Neil situated under a small cluster of pines. The spindly branches aren’t thick enough to block out the downpour, but Neil doesn’t seem to mind. He lifts his face to the sky, the dried blood on his head turning fresh crimson, then running off him in gory rivulets.

Washing away his injury. Cleansing him of sin. If only.

He looks at me then, with the bone-deep exhaustion of a person who’s been carrying a heavy load for far too long. I want to tell him I understand. I want to promise him it’ll be all right. But I don’t want to add to the lies.

He smiles wanly, as if he can read my mind. Then he closes his eyes and surrenders to the rain.



* * *



—

The storm disappears as quickly as it struck. The clouds roll past us, taking their light show with them. Soon the thunder is a distant boom and the air no longer tingles with electricity.

Bob shakes out his hair and beard, then brushes the beaded raindrops from his pack. Just like that, the Bigfoot hunter is ready to go. The rest of us follow suit much more slowly. No one is talking. I go from face to face, searching for any hint of what’s going on. I stare the longest at Scott. His face flushes. With guilt? Remorse?

I turn my attention to Miggy next, who quickly becomes equally flustered.

When we get to base camp, there’s going to be one helluva discussion.