The Boy from the Woods(98)
When he was up against the wall of the hut, he looked over his shoulder toward Rola. He was tempted to signal for her to wait there, but suppose whoever was inside the Dunkin’ Donuts back room—assuming someone was inside and no one had just left the air-conditioning unit on—might be armed.
She had the gun.
He waved her forward. Rola kept the weapon at her side, pointed down. She was agile and quick, ever the athlete. When she reached him, they both ducked down. Neither moved for a moment, waiting to see whether they were heard or seen.
Nothing.
Wilde crawled toward the air conditioner. He gestured with his hand for her to stay down. She nodded. He lifted himself up. He could feel the exhaust air blowing out the back of the unit.
The window shade was drawn.
He couldn’t see in.
Now what?
Time was a-ticking. He came back down to her.
“Someone is in that back room,” he whispered, “but someone may also be in the gas station office. I need you to draw the gun and be ready. I’m going to open the window a crack and pull out the air conditioner. Quietly if I can. You be ready?”
Rola nodded. “Got it.”
He stood and inspected the window. The unit didn’t look screwed in or anything like that. All he had to do was slide the window up an inch and pull the air conditioner out, all in one swift move. Wilde rehearsed the action in his mind as he put his hands on the bottom of the window frame.
Rola stood with her back against the wall. The gun was ready.
Then Wilde mouthed the countdown to her.
One, two…
On three, Wilde pushed the window open and grabbed the air conditioner out. At the same time, Rola swung into action. She spun toward the opening, the gun up and ready.
When Rola saw who was inside, she pulled the gun to her side. Wilde dropped the air conditioner and looked too.
Crash Maynard was chained to a bed.
His hand was wrapped in heavy white gauze. Crash looked back toward them, stunned. Wilde moved fast. He put his index finger to his lips while slipping through the window. He hurried over to the teen and whispered, “Stay quiet, Crash. We’re here to help.”
Tears started rolling down Crash’s face. “I want to go home.”
He sounded like a little boy.
“You’re going home,” Wilde whispered. “I promise you. How many of them are there?”
Crash held up the gauze-encased hand. “Look what they did to me.”
“I know. We’re going to get you to a doctor. Focus, Crash. How many of them?”
“I don’t know. They don’t talk. They wear ski masks. Please. Please. I just want to get home. Please.”
He started sobbing. Wilde checked the shackle holding the boy in place. The chain traveled from his ankle to a plate in the wall. He looked back at the window for Rola. He was surprised not to see her.
Two seconds later, Rola popped back into view, this time carrying one of the discarded crowbars. She handed it to him.
Crash cried, “Please…”
“It’s okay, Crash. Hold on.”
Wilde used the crowbar against the plate in the wall. It didn’t take long. Two tugs and the plate popped out.
At sixteen years old, Crash was pretty close to fully grown. Wilde would be able to carry him if need be, but the teen rolled quickly off the bed and stood.
“Do you know where they stay?” Wilde asked.
Crash shook his head. “I want to go home. Please?”
“How about Naomi?”
He was pretty sure he knew the answer—but Crash’s baffled expression confirmed it. “Naomi Pine?”
“Never mind.”
They moved to the window. Crash climbed through first. Rola helped him. Wilde followed. When they were back outside, they ducked down and stayed as low as possible.
“Take him back to the car,” Wilde told her.
“You come with us,” Rola said.
“No. I have more work to do.”
“You think Naomi might—?”
“Just go. Take him.”
Rola’s eyes bore into his. “We can just call the police, Wilde. They can have a hundred cops surrounding this place in ten minutes.”
“No,” Wilde said again.
“I don’t understand—”
“No time to explain. Take him. I’ll be fine.”
Rola studied his face. Wilde didn’t like that, but he gave her nothing. She frowned and handed him the gun. “In case you need it.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m giving you fifteen minutes. If I don’t hear from you by then, I’m calling the police.”
“Don’t wait for me. When you get back to the car, take him immediately to the Valley Hospital. The finger is there. Every second counts.”
“I don’t like this, Wilde.”
“Trust me, my sister.”
Rola’s eyes welled up when he called her that. She looked toward Crash. “Think you can make a run for it?”
Crash had stopped crying now. “I’m ready.”
Rola took off first. Crash followed her, cradling his injured hand with his good one. Wilde watched until they were out of sight. He checked the locator app again.
There wasn’t much time.