Run: An Emma Caldridge Novella: The Final Episode Page 2

  “No,” Emma said.

  Samantha sucked in a breath. Duggan’s face became even angrier. “I told you—”

  “You told me nothing. Now I’m telling you. I got a man thirty yards to your left that’s going to blow you away, so you’d better lower that weapon. Kill him, Sumner,” Emma called to the left.

  Duggan turned his head in panic, and she raised her gun and shot him in the thigh. He yelled and fell backward, but pulled the trigger on the shotgun, which fired a round into the air. Lily reared and Sam’s horse bolted. Emma pushed Sam down to the ground and launched herself at Duggan. He was sitting on the dirt, rocking over his injured thigh, completely oblivious to everything except the pain. A seeping mess bloomed on his jeans’ leg. Emma grabbed the gun out of his hands, cracked the breech to ensure that it wouldn’t fire, transferred it to the crook of her elbow and aimed her pistol at his head.

  “Sam, toss me the saddlebags, take Lily and get out of here. Now,” Emma said, without removing her attention from Duggan. “Get to the cabin and watch over Leon and Carrie.”

  Sam handed Emma the saddlebags, threw herself onto Lily’s back, turned her down the trail and took off. Emma stayed in position while she listened to the sound of the horse’s hooves fade. Duggan lay on the ground, moaning.

  Emma knelt next to him. “Move your hand. I want to see if an artery’s been hit.”

  Duggan spat in her face.

  “Screw you. You’ve disrupted God’s will and you’ll pay. Shaw will make you pay. He’s got the Supreme Being on his side and nothing will beat him. Especially not some female and a handful of outsiders. They have no power over Sunrise or us.”

  Emma wiped the spit off her face while Duggan spouted his drivel, and rose. The shot looked like it hadn’t pierced an artery. The venal man before her would live. She put the bags over her shoulder and turned down the trail to follow Sam.

  As she ran downhill she heard Duggan calling for help. In the distance the revving of engines told her that his friends were on their way. They’d have to stop at some point to search for him on foot, but she suspected they’d find him pretty quickly. She sped up, leaning back to offset the trail’s downward cant to and pick up even more speed. She discarded the idea of taking Sam’s ribbon path, because she wasn’t sure that she could find it on her own. Instead she took the usual trail that Sam said would take her down toward Shaw’s compound. It had been thirty minutes since she’d spoken to Sumner. In another thirty she would be safe with the FBI entourage.

  The saddlebags over her shoulder and the shotgun in her hand added a bulky, mismatched load that unbalanced her. The most dangerous moment for her was ahead, when the trail would eventually merge with the road. Emma weighed her options. The trail, with its loose and crumbling shale, was difficult to maneuver. It kept her from making better time. The road would be an easier track to run. It also had the advantage of being the most direct route to the compound. She wanted to be on the road, and that meant she’d have to deal with the rest of the posse in the car. Reaching the merge, she plunged onto the asphalt, turning toward the compound. A quick glance at her watch told her she had twenty minutes left to delay. By then the FBI would be in place.

  Emma heard the posse long before she saw them. The engine noise bounced off the terrain and grew louder with every passing moment. The area around the road provided little cover. There were no trees to speak of, and the various squat cactuses and small clusters of scrub bushes were less than three feet high. One hundred yards ahead she saw a rock formation, more like a collection of tumbled boulders, and raced to it. She was halfway there when a black Ford pickup truck came into sight behind her.

  There were three of them. Two stood in the bed. Each held a gun, and to maintain their balance both clutched at a low profile bar attached to the roof. The lamps cast a harsh glow over the landscape. Emma took off running, but behind her she heard a yell and the squeak of the truck’s suspension as it bounced off the road and onto the dirt. She reached the tumbled boulders, ran around them and stopped. Sheriff Tarnell stood before her, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt and holding a gun.

  “Drop the gun and the bag, kneel down, hands on your head,” he said.

  Emma slowly lowered the gun to the dirt and put the bag next to it. The pickup truck pulled alongside and stopped in a cloud of dust as she sank to her knees.

  “Glad you ran her to ground,” one of the men said.

  “Carl, you got more trouble at the base of the hill,” Tarnell said. The FBI is here.”

  The man he’d called Carl nodded. “I know. Duggan radioed. He’s hurt. She,” he pointed at Emma, “shot him.”

  Tarnell looked at Emma. “You shot my buddy Duggan?”

  Emma put her palms on the back of her head, her elbows out, and said nothing.

  Tarnell walked closer and kept the gun’s muzzle aimed at her face. “I told you before, when I ask you a question, I expect an answer.”

  “I want to speak to my lawyer,” Emma said.

  “Tarnell, she’s thinking we care!” Carl said. The man in the flatbed next to him snickered.

  “We don’t have any lawyers in Sunrise that will speak to you. Get up,” Tarnell said.

  As Emma rose she never took her gaze off the sheriff. Of the three, he was the most dangerous. His badge gave him the ability to shoot her and make up a story about it afterward. The three in the truck would back him up as witnesses, and no one would be the wiser. She had little doubt about the danger she faced. Her only hope was that Tarnell was not so far gone that he would kill in cold blood.

  “Remember that friend of mine who owned that gun you took?” she said. “He’s here with the FBI and expects to see me in twenty minutes. He doesn’t, and he’s going to come looking for me.”

  “Then he’d better come looking at the compound, cuz that’s where you’ll be,” Tarnell replied. “Get in the flatbed and put your back against the cab.” He waved a hand at Carl. “Take her in. Shaw’s there and he wants to speak to her.”

  Emma walked to the truck bed and glanced at Carl and his buddy. The second man was grinning. She stepped on the bumper, swung a leg over the tailgate, and walked to the side by the cab. As she passed, the second man used the gun tip to poke her left breast.

  “You don’t be messing around now, you hear?” He laughed. Carl smirked along with him as she sat down with her back to the cab. Carl turned his attention to Tarnell.

  “We saw Samantha Yoder on Leon’s horse. He must be helping her. You want we should get him too?”

  Tarnell shook his head. “Not you guys. You take this one in and I’ll go and get the others.”

  “All right.” Carl smacked his hand on the cab roof. “Johnson, get this truck moving!” he yelled. The truck accelerated, creaked and bounced its way back to the road, turning onto it and picking up speed. The wind blew Emma’s hair around but she ignored it as she mulled her options. Getting captured had the distinct advantage of getting her into the compound with the least amount of hassle. She wished she hadn’t given her GPS watch to Sam, but she still thought that Carrie needed it more than she did. She settled in to see what happened next.

  TEN MINUTES LATER the truck pulled up to the compound’s front gate and Emma’s two captors jumped down to carry on a conversation with the men guarding the entrance. She scooted to the left and craned her neck to see what she could. What she saw dismayed her.

  Shaw was preparing for war. Sandbags lined the gate, and every twenty feet several more were stacked high into a platform, each topped with a semiautomatic rifle on a tripod. Ammunition, piles of what looked like hand grenades, and sticks of dynamite were stacked near their base.

  Carl finished talking to the guards and jumped back onto the flatbed as the truck was waved through and rumbled deeper into the interior. They drove around to the back and stopped at a small carport. Carl pointed his shotgun at Emma.

  “Get out.”

  Emma crawled off the flatbed and stood.

  They
were at the ranch house’s side entrance. Carl used the tip of his gun to push her toward a door. When they were in front of it, he reached around her and opened it. She stepped into a small mudroom, walked across, and entered a large kitchen. A center island held the cook tops. Copper pots and pans hung from above and gleamed in the light thrown by industrial style chrome lamps that hung down on either side.

  The refrigerator, dishwasher, and cabinetry lined either wall, and on the island’s far side was a long, picnic-style dining table with benches for chairs. Carl pushed her to the table.

  “Sit down and don’t move. You try and I guarantee that you’ll be covered in trouble.”

  Emma sat. Carl stood next to her, keeping his gun aimed at her.

  A man strolled into the kitchen. Tall, thin, with a crooked nose, an angular, too skinny face, and small pale eyes, he still managed to exude power. Emma had no doubt that she was looking at Shaw himself.

  “You’ve created a lot of trouble for me,” he said. “Your buddy Ryan is dead. Thought you should know that.” He grinned at her.

  Emma said nothing.

  His grin fled. He walked over, swung his arm and backhanded her in the face. Pain exploded along her cheekbone and she almost slid off the chair. She straightened, and he swung his arm and hit her again, this time opened-handed. Her face jerked to the right and her eyes watered from the pain. He followed that with another backhanded slap.

  Emma now knew what a punching bag felt like. Her cheek burned from where he’d hit her and she could feel the skin beginning to swell. He was preparing to hit her again when Johnson, the truck driver, came into the room. He had a wild look on his face.

  “The FBI is here. On the left slope.”

  CAMERON SUMNER STOOD next to Special Agent Joachim Consalvo on a slope above Shaw’s compound. He liked Consalvo, a loquacious Mexican who came to the country as a child and was funny, bright, and hardworking. He wore a flak jacket, a gun at one hip and a walkie-talkie at another, and held binoculars to his eyes.

  “These fools are lining up for a battle,” Consalvo said. He handed Sumner the binoculars. Sumner readjusted them and spotted what he must have seen.

  “Any children in there?” he asked.

  Consalvo nodded. “At least twelve. Steinberg!” he yelled into the air, and a tall, skinny man with wiry hair, a slender, intelligent-looking face, and about two days’ worth of stubble walked up. Sumner estimated his age at about twenty-eight.

  “Yep?” Steinberg said.

  “You got a bullhorn?”

  “Sure. “ Steinberg loped off and returned a few minutes later with a large bullhorn. “Don’t know if we’re close enough for them to hear.”

  Consalvo handed Steinberg the binoculars while he took possession of the bullhorn. He glanced at the other agent’s face. “You think you could shave before you come to work?”

  “I shaved this morning,” Steinberg said. “Grows real fast when you’re a manly type like me.”

  He smiled and Consalvo grunted.

  “Maybe you need to get a girlfriend to work off some of the excess hormones,” Consalvo said.

  Steinberg shrugged. “I got two. You get a lot of girls when you’re a manly type like me. You need anything else, boss, just holler.” He gave Consalvo a wicked smile and sauntered off.

  Consalvo peered at the bullhorn to see if it was powered up. He flicked the switch and its ready light failed.

  “You’d think a guy who went through college on a full ride scholarship would know enough to check the charge on his equipment,” he said to Sumner. “Steinberg!” he yelled.

  Steinberg loped back to them, with another bullhorn in his hand. “This one’s charged,” he said. “Got them mixed up. Sorry, boss.”

  The men switched equipment.

  “And you should know that some guy named Banner called saying that he received a tip that a group of cult members are hunting a woman named Yoder along with a young girl named Carolyn Brink and a man named Leon Smelting. Seems Yoder and Smelting are harboring the Brink girl after someone named Emma Caldridge sprung the girl from the compound.”

  “Who’s the someone named Banner?” Consalvo asked.

  “I don’t know,” Steinberg replied.

  “I know who he is,” Sumner said. Both men looked at him in surprise. “He owns a contract security company. Strictly international. I’ve worked with his company before.”

  “Contract security? Like mercenaries?” Steinberg said.

  “Like experts in their individual fields who are called on when a project requires their special talents,” Sumner replied.

  “Huh.” Consalvo flicked the switch on the latest bullhorn. “And what’s your particular expertise?”

  “You didn’t ask about that when they added me to this mission?” Sumner raised an eyebrow at Consalvo, who shook his head.

  “There are ten men on this project. I don’t have the time to interview them all. So tell me.”

  “I can fly a plane, helicopter, parasail, hang glider, glider, anything with wings that will float in the air. And I can shoot.”

  “And this Caldridge? She a family member of Brink’s and decided to get her out of there?”

  “She’s not,” Sumner said. “I know her too. She’s a chemist and takes part-time contract security work for Banner. She’s here looking for a man named Ryan, who she believes the cult kidnapped.”

  “You know where we can find her?”

  “I spoke to her last about an hour ago, and she said a posse was chasing her.”

  Both Consalvo and Steinberg gazed at Sumner with varying degrees of incredulity in their expressions.

  “Did you say posse?” Consalvo asked.

  “I did,” Sumner said. “It was the term she used.”

  Consalvo inhaled deeply and blew the breath back out. “God, I hate this western shit. It’s like cowboys and Indians out here. Crazier than hell. I need to get back to New York where there are no posses. Only gangs. You don’t seem too worried about Ms. Caldridge.”

  Sumner shook his head. “I think the posse should be worried about her.”

  “Really?” Steinberg sounded excited at the idea.

  Consalvo gave him a quelling glance. “Don’t you have enough girlfriends? Sounds like this one would run circles around you.”

  Steinberg smiled. “I like a challenge.”

  Consalvo rolled his eyes, faced the compound once again and put the bullhorn to his lips.

  “This is Special Agent Consalvo of the FBI. We’re here to execute a warrant against Emmet Shaw. Mr. Shaw, you have fifteen minutes to surrender yourself. If not, we will be required to arrest you by any means necessary.” Consalvo lowered the bullhorn.

  Steinberg looked at him. “That true? Even with the civilians in there?”

  Consalvo nodded. “We’ve been given the green light on this one.”

  “What if he refuses?”

  “Well, we can’t back down now, can we? The power and reputation of the United States government is on the line. Besides, this guy’s a sick puppy.”

  “What’s the backup plan?” Sumner asked.

  “We arrange to communicate. There’s a trained negotiator with the advance team. We’ll try to establish a connection and see what we can do,” Consalvo said. “First thing we’ll demand is that he release the women and children.”

  Sumner watched the compound through his binoculars. He didn’t think they’d see Shaw anytime soon.

  EMMA HEARD CONSALVO’S message to Shaw. Shaw did too, and he snatched a glass off a nearby counter and flung it against a far wall.

  “Get everyone in here,” he said. “I want some breakfast and I want it now.”

  Within minutes five women entered the kitchen. All wore long prairie dresses and their hair up. All were blond and all looked frightened.

  “I want breakfast,” Shaw said to the group. “And Carl, get one of the boys in here. We’ll have them deliver a little explosive message to the FBI.”

  Th
e women looked alarmed. One opened a cabinet and pulled out a skillet, and another, the youngest of the group, stepped up to Shaw.

  “Don’t do that,” she said, standing in front of him with her hands clasped together. “They could shoot the boy.”

  Shaw punched her in the face. The speed and violence of his response made Emma gasp and she made an instinctive move to help, but stopped when Carl put the muzzle of his gun against her head above her ear.

  “Stay put,” he said.

  The woman dropped, and the other women froze, staring down at her. The one on the wooden floor moaned. Emma watched the reaction of the others, waiting to see if they would fight back. She would have hammered Shaw to the ground and perhaps grabbed his hair and smashed his head into a cabinet pull if she hadn’t had a gun to her head. The women, though, did nothing, and Emma realized that they’d been living with this violence for a long time and perhaps feared worse would follow if they retaliated. In light of the massive arms buildup that Emma had seen outside, maybe the women were right to be frightened. It seemed that being married to Shaw conferred no safety from him. Two looked frightened, but the other two seemed satisfied. As if Shaw’s actions were justified.

  One of the group, an older woman with an angelic face and a round body, stepped closer to the moaning woman and gave her an angry look.

  “We’ll start breakfast,” she said to Shaw in a placating voice, her glance at the collected women warning. While the other women seemed cowed by Shaw, this one appeared to think of herself as the leader. “Don’t worry. She won’t bother you again.” Then she said to the woman on the floor, “Get up and help us,” and her voice held an angry edge.

  You’ll be the first I’ll tell the FBI to arrest, Emma thought.

  Carl said nothing either. Emma glanced at him, and a muscle twitched in his face. Emma couldn’t tell if it was from the sight of the woman being hit or the stress of having to remain outside the violence. She thought it likely was stress, since Carl seemed the type of man who liked violence.

  “Go get her kid,” Shaw said. “The dark-haired one.”

  “Jimmy?” Carl asked.