"You've got four hours," Fallows told them, his arm around Tim. "Four hours to track him down and bring him back to me."
"Alive?" Phelps asked.
"If possible."
The twelve men stood around Fallows checking their weapons. The torture of Paige Lyons hadn't taken more than fifteen or twenty minutes. She hadn't said anything new.
Fallows stooped down and drew a map in the dirt with his knife. Some of Paige's blood was still on the blade. "This ravine curves down here for another mile, then ends. Ravensmith could cross anywhere along here. It would take him too far out of his way to go any further south."
Palmer glanced over at the ravine that split the service station. "That's a ten-foot jump across, Colonel. Not to mention eight feet up. Only way to get to the other side from here would be to leap across and grab hold of the edge of the cliff there, then pull yourself up." He shook his head. "Hell of a chance."
"Believe me, one this man would take. Besides, the cliff levels out the further south you travel, so chances are he'll be down there somewhere, probably waiting for us to cross so he can start picking us off."
"With nothing but a fucking crossbow?" Phelps scoffed.
Fallows smiled. "How's he done so far?"
The men exchanged nervous glances.
"One other thing," Fallows said. "If you don't find him, don't come back. Ever."
"We'll find him, Colonel," Phelps said. "Don't worry."
Fallows turned around and guided Tim away.
"All right," Phelps snapped, "let's move out."
The men double-timed down the road, their heavy boots pounding like a team of horses.
Fallows deployed the remaining men to positions deeper in the woods. "Anything moves," he warned, "blast it. This is one time I don't care if you waste bullets."
Tim said, "What about her? The lady astronaut?"
Fallows looked over his shoulder into the darkening garage. Paige was still tied across the hood of the Rabbit. Her clothes lay in a pile next to the car. "What about her?"
"What are you going to do with her?"
"What do you think?"
"Kill her."
Fallows grinned. "Bingo. But not yet. Not until we see if my men can find good ole Eric. Besides, we might need her to bargain our way aboard the shuttle."
This was the first Tim had heard anything about going aboard the craft. "What do you mean?"
Fallows lowered his voice, even though he and Tim were the only ones left in camp. "I'm taking you out of here, kid. I mean off this crazy island." He walked over to the campfire they'd built on the far side of the garage.
Tim followed eagerly. "I don't get it."
"I told you before, Tim, the time would come when you'd see who really had your best interests at heart. Your dad wasn't able to protect your mom or sister. Or you. And for all his chest-beating, has he even come close to getting you back? Weren't we the ones who chased after him? Huh?"
Tim didn't say anything.
Fallows tossed a log onto the fire. Sparks burst up into a tiny fireworks display. "Come on, we'll get some more wood. We've got a four-hour wait."
They walked along the chewed-up pavement, gathering dried branches from the side of the road. Fallows spoke as they walked, his tone easy and caring, a stiff imitation of Eric's. "But when I promise something, Tim, I deliver. You and I are going to get off this island, courtesy of NASA."
Tim picked up a few small branches.
"And once we get back, I'll take care of you, just like I am now."
Fallows let Tim think it over as they continued to stroll along the road, adding wood to their armloads. He knew the anguish going on in Tim's mind now, but he also knew how it would all be resolved. The walk in the woods away from the woman's tortured whimpering, the compassionate tone so like Eric's, and most important, the hope of freedom. There was only one way Tim could go.
It was all working out so perfectly. If his men found Eric, they'd bring him back broken and humiliated. Or dead. Either way, Fallows won. If they didn't find him, Fallows would kill the men he had left and use the tapes to bargain his passage back to the States.
The woman's arrival had only delayed him a few hours. But it was worth it if he could find Eric. Maybe he wouldn't kill Eric, just mutilate him somehow, cut off his hands or feet, or maybe one of each. Then leave him here to contemplate the life his son would be having with Fallows as his parent. That thought made the small gnawing inside him go away. Yes, death was too sudden, too final.
Fortunately the woman had been able to confirm his own conclusions about the tapes. He'd played them for her while he'd tortured her, the staccato notes echoing around the garage while she screamed. Yes, it had been a stroke of luck finding her wandering nearby. He stopped in the middle of the road. Maybe too lucky. Eric must have known they'd capture her. Yet he let her go.
"Damn," he cried, throwing the wood down.
"What?" Tim asked.
"That son of a bitch!" Fallows pulled his Walther from his holster and began running back to the service station.
Tim followed, fumbling in his pocket for the single 9mm bullet.
Eric ran as fast as he could, straight for the ravine. As his right foot slapped the ground only six inches from the edge, he pushed off, his feet bicycling through the air over the endless drop below him. The weight of the crossbow on his back made him a little nervous, but once he was airborne, he forgot about it. He forgot about everything except how good the ground would feel beneath his feet. He pictured himself missing, tottering on the far edge, slipping backwards, bouncing down against the dirt and rock walls…
His feet bumped dirt and he pitched himself forward like a runner diving for home plate. He was safe. About a hundred yards away he could see the outline of the garage backlit by the campfire. He had waited until he'd seen where Fallows dispatched the guards. That Fallows had then led Tim away had been a bonus.
Eric found the first guard north of the Union 76 station, crouching behind some burned bushes that had obviously been caught in a brush fire. The guard was maybe thirty-five with a red checkered bandanna tied over his head. A gold cross dangled from one ear.
Eric sneaked up behind him as the guard's head swung back and forth, scanning the dark woods. Eric threw his arm around the guard's head, pressing his forearm into the man's mouth to prevent him from crying out. With his right hand, he tried to dig his knife into the man's throat. But the guard used his powerful neck muscles to force his chin down, making it hard for Eric to find his target. Instead he plunged the blade into the man's heart. The cries of anguish were muffled against Eric's forearm as the guard sagged to the ground. Eric picked up the dead man's carbine and trekked quietly toward the garage.
The dead guard was the closest one to the garage, and with him out of the way, Eric figured he had a chance. Free Paige, get her across the ravine to safety, then eliminate the other guards one by one while the rest of the troops were out looking for him. And finally, Fallows.
He crawled along the wall of the garage, looked around, then ducked inside. The fire from the other side of the wall cast a flickering light through the dirty window. A large sign against the back wall said: OUR INSURANCE FORBIDS CUSTOMERS INSIDE GARAGE. Next to that was another sign: PLEASE DON'T ASK TO USE OUR TOOLS.
Eric stooped between the yellow Rabbit and the wall and crab-walked to the front of the car. Paige was still stretched out on the hood. One eye was swollen shut, but she saw him with the other.
"What… kept you?" she said slowly, her lip split in front.
Eric tried not to look at her as he untied her wrists. He'd already seen enough. The dozens of little cuts across her body, the long S that started between her breasts and curved down to her pubic hair. There was blood dripping down her hips.
When he'd finished untying her he helped her dress. "No time," he said, throwing away her bra and panties. "Just the basics." Finally, with painful, halting movements, she was dressed. He handed her the carbine. "Let's get you out of here."
"Aren't you going to say something?"
"What?"
She looked at him with her good eye. A sliver of white shone under the swollen eye. "Say it, damn it!"
"All right. I told you so. Better?"
"Damn right, that's better," she slurred. "You warned me not to go out on my own. I didn't listen. Now you're saving my life for the second time. You at least owe me an I-told-you-so."
"Not yet, lady. Not until you see what's next." He steadied her with his arm around her waist, half-carrying her toward the door.
"The tapes!" she said. "Over there!"
Eric leaned her against the Rabbit's hatchback and ran back to the workbench. The cassette player was there. He popped the cassette out and grabbed the one lying next to it, stuck them both in his shirt pocket. When he returned to help Paige, she waved him away. "I'm OK." She shuffled forward a few steps to demonstrate. "See?"
Eric lead her outside. "Listen, Paige, there's only time to do this once. I'm going to jump across that ravine. Then you're going to jump."
She laughed hoarsely. "There's got to be an easier way to kill me, Eric."
"I'm serious."
She shook her head. "I'll never make it. Maybe if I had a couple days' sleep and a few hours' practice. But not now, not this way."
"No choice, Paige. It's the only way you'll be safe if I don't make it back. Then at least you have a chance of getting back to the shuttle in time."
"The ravine's not the problem. I can probably jump that. But that damn cliff. It's too high, Eric. And too dark."
"Don't worry." He smiled. "I'll catch you."
She gave him a long, steady look. Finally she shrugged. "Sure, why not?"
Eric paced out the distance first, then ran it, pushing off the edge, reaching both arms straight up to grab hold of anything. Just like all those times he'd tried to make a slam dunk back when he played varsity basketball. Only he'd never quite been able to do it. He'd bounced a few off the rim, though. Close. Only this time, close wasn't going to be good enough. His leap was better than he'd anticipated. Both arms and shoulders were above the edge of the cliff and he managed to wrap his fists around the thick bush he'd been aiming for. Quickly he pulled himself up.
He waved at Paige. She walked up to the edge of the ravine and looked down. "I'm glad my other eye can't see," she said, "otherwise I'd be scared."
"Throw the gun first."
She swung the rifle back with both hands like someone giving the heave-ho, and flung it up into the air. But not high enough. Eric grabbed for it, but the gun was a foot too low. It struck the side of the cliff and dropped into the ravine, clattering noisily as it fell.
"Hurry," Eric urged.
"I hope you can catch better than that this time," she said as she backed up. She took a deep breath, tried to block out the pains that crisscrossed her body, and leaned over in the runner's start she'd learned in college. She leaned on her fingers, her butt high in the air, but she couldn't move.
"Come on," Eric said.
"I can't," she said softly to herself. "I can't make it."
And then she heard the pounding footsteps behind her and she knew she had no choice. She sprinted forward toward the dark ravine.
Fallows fired three shots into the air. "Leyson! Driscol! Rendall!" he shouted. "Come here!"
He watched Paige Lyons dashing for the ravine and saw Eric poised to catch her. He might be able to pick off one or both, but he was certain one of them had the tapes. And he didn't know which one. If he shot either of them right now, they were liable to go plunging right into the ravine, taking the tapes, his flight ticket aboard the shuttle, with them.
No rush. Soon she'd either be across or not. If not, well, he'd come up with something else. But if she made it, his men would be here soon anyway. Together they'd be able to finish both of them off.
Paige pushed off from the ground much too early, she realized immediately. Instead of waiting until she'd reached the edge, she'd panicked and started jumping at least two feet too soon. That meant she had to jump an extra two feet. She felt like she was all arms and legs as she floated through the air, the way she felt when she was a gawky twelve-year-old leaping from the high dive for the first time on a double dare from Rodney Belson.
She could see Eric through her good eye. He was stretched out on the ground, his feet anchored around some thick bush. For a moment they were face-level. But then she started dropping, and she was only a little more than halfway across. Her heart expanded until she was sure it was crushing the other internal organs. She forgot how to breathe. She began to fall, her hands straight over her head.
Eric snagged one of those hands, clamping her wrist in his fist. She knocked into the side of the cliff, scraping a few inches of skin from her forehead. Her weight dragged him a few inches over the edge of the cliff. But he had her, of that he was sure. He reeled her in, slowly pulling her up until she could crawl free from the edge.
Then he dove for his crossbow.
With both of them safe, Fallows lowered his Walther's sights on Eric's chest while Eric was busy cocking his crossbow. "Don't bother, Eric me boy," Fallows said under his breath as he tightened his finger around the trigger.
But a familiar sound behind him made him spin around in time to find Tim thumbing the single bullet into the clip and slamming the clip into the handle. Tim shoved the Walther into Fallows's face and fired.
Fallows had started dropping the moment he'd recognized the sound. That instinct saved his life. Tim's bullet whipped by Fallows's temple with less than an inch to spare. But the powder flash scorched Fallows's eyes and he dropped to his knees rubbing them. "Fucking bastard!" he shouted. "I could have saved you!"
Tim stood over Fallows, trying to decide whether or not to wrestle the gun from his hands and finish him off.
Eric watched the scene from across the ravine, knowing what Tim was thinking. And knowing that Tim wouldn't have a chance. Even blind, Fallows could kill Tim instantly if he got his hands on him. He could kill Fallows himself with a shot of the crossbow.
He heard the rustling of brush, the sound of men running.
There wasn't time to kill Fallows and try to save Tim. It had to be one or the other. He didn't hesitate.
"Grab my legs," he ordered Paige. "Hold tight." He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to Tim. "Run, Tim. Run, son, I'll catch you."
Tim looked at his father, hesitated. Even now he remembered the things Fallows had said about his father. They couldn't be true, he felt that inside. But still, he hesitated.
The sound of Fallows's men was louder.
Fallows staggered to his feet, still rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.
"Run, Tim!" Eric called again.
And Tim ran. Hard and fast and with tears in his eyes as each step brought him closer to his father.
A shot cracked the air and Tim felt something bump the back of his thigh. Felt the leg fold under him. Felt himself tumbling toward the edge of the ravine.
"Timmmm!" his father screamed.
Tim dug into the ground, despite his wounded right leg. He stopped rolling a good ten feet from the edge of the cliff. He looked over his shoulder and saw Fallows squinting through one eye, holding the smoking Walther. "He's mine, Eric. My son now!"
Behind Fallows his men emerged from the woods, their M-16s and shotguns lowered for action.
Eric saw it was hopeless. He couldn't save Tim. Not this time. It would be all he could do to get himself and Paige out alive. He looked down at his son's dirty face, saw the blood seeping from his leg. The pain contorting his young face. And that look in his eyes, the look of abandonment. That look lodged in Eric's heart like a splinter.
Fallows and his men opened fire.
"Stay down," Eric said to Paige. "At this angle they can't hit us as long as we stay flat." Their bellies to the ground, Eric and Paige crawled away.
Behind him, Eric heard Tim's cry: "Father!"
When they were safely in the woods, Paige laid her hand on Eric's arm. "Eric."
"With Fallows and Tim wounded, we'll easily beat them back to your plane."
"Eric," she repeated. There were tears in her eyes.
Eric walked away. "Don't say anything, OK? Anything."