One Step Too Far (Frankie Elkin #2)(84)

“Do you seriously think we could run for it?” Miggy counters. “Martin, Nemeth, Luciana, and Daisy—face it, they were the professionals. If they couldn’t make it . . .”

Bob nods slowly. “Just for consideration . . . we’re down to our last few snack bars. Our gear is limited. Our shelter, if we’re ambushed in the middle of the night . . .”

I look behind us at the giant wall of earth, which in a matter of minutes could turn into the backdrop of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre.

“Maybe we can’t hold out forever.” Miggy shrugs. “But maybe one of us gets lucky and takes him out first.”

An experienced hunter on his home turf. Bob doesn’t have to express his doubt for us to know it.

Slowly, I raise my hand. “If we don’t have the strength to outrun or the supplies to outlast . . . what about the brain power to outsmart?”

“How?” Bob asks.

I shrug. Eye the three engineers. “We build a trap.”





CHAPTER 34





I have fifteen minutes to feel good about my grand idea, before our scheming devolves into bad Scooby-Doo story lines. We’ll bury a giant net that will scoop up the evildoer when he goes racing by. Except we don’t have a net, let alone Shaggy and Scooby to lead a trained outdoorsman racing over a trip line.

We’ll dig a pit, cover it with leaves. With what shovels? Let alone the half a day it would take to dig anything sizeable enough. Guy might as well pick us off one by one while we labor. We’d be grateful to be put out of our misery.

Fine, our own snare to grab him by the ankle. Possible, Miggy allows, assuming we get him to step exactly where we want when we want. The main trail was perfect for ambushing Nemeth and Luciana as it limited them to a specific path. We’re now in the middle of the woods, exposed on all sides, with a guy who’s probably going to put some thought into his approach.

“One of us can sit before the campfire to lure him in that direction,” I attempt.

“Great, till he stops a hundred feet away and takes aim with his rifle,” Scott counters.

“Then I’ll shoot him with my gun,” Miggy finishes.

“Except one of us is dead, and, oh yes, you can’t shoot,” I retort.

“I’ll play the bait,” Neil volunteers.

“Shut up,” we inform him crossly, moving on.

“We need eyes.” Bob brings us back to practical matters. “A sniper’s perch of our own. Some hope of seeing him before he sees us.”

“I can climb,” I offer. “But visibility is limited. This whole area is too thick with pine, spruce, and other prickly trees. None of them make for great scaling, and higher elevation just gives you a view of more needles.”

“If I were him,” Miggy murmurs, “I’d have a ghillie suit. Experienced hunter? Probably made his own, covered in local brush and leaves. Something like that, he could belly crawl right into our encampment, pick us off one by one.”

“This isn’t helping,” Scott says.

“Unless we make our own.” Miggy purses his lips, clearly thinking. “Forget a pit. Too much time and labor. But a series of shallow depressions, say, in a starfish pattern around this area.” He gestures to the tree hollow. “We each hunker down individually, covered in debris.” He looks up at us. “When he appears, we spring. Each of us armed. Attack as one.”

“We’re the teeth of the trap,” Bob states.

“What if he waits all day?” Scott argues. “Makes his move at night?”

“He could have night goggles.” Neil speaks up. “Everyone likes a pair of kickass night goggles.”

“Yes,” Miggy exclaims in exasperation. “He probably has night goggles. And for that matter, hydration built into his suit, space diapers to absorb urine output, and high-protein gel pouches to keep him fueled and awake. He is fucking better prepared. Now, enough about him. What are we going to do?”

“Daisy’s red vest.” I hold it up. “He doesn’t know about it yet. He wouldn’t have left it there.”

Everyone stares at me.

“We take Miggy’s idea, but move it. This campsite as ground zero is too passive—you’re right, he could hunker down and watch for hours, content we’ll eventually return. We need something that draws him out, forces him to move where we want him to move. Something unexpected.” I glance at Bob. “Even if he got Nemeth and Luciana, there’s a chance Daisy got away. Meaning, she’s a loose end for him. Spotting this remnant . . .”

“He’ll want to go check it out,” Bob fills in.

“He won’t be expecting five bodies scattered around its location. He won’t even be looking for us. A scrap of red in the woods. No reason for him not to walk forward and grab it. I did.”

Miggy starts to nod slowly, then Scott. Finally, Neil and Bob.

“As plans go, it’s riddled with holes, uncontrollable variables, and way too many assumptions.” Miggy looks around. “On the other hand, anyone got a better idea?”

We all remain silent.

“All right. Clock’s ticking. Let’s make this happen.”



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