No Going Back - 07 Page 16

  A set of desert cammo fatigues would have come in handy, but all I had was the clothes I stood up in. Thinking ahead, I’d left my rucksack with the girls at the cave in order to have a lower profile approaching the ranch, because there was only one way I could do it and that was on my belly. Taking a lesson from nature, my mission was to hunt the Logans the way a wild beast stalks its prey. My friend Rink is a master when it comes to insertion into enemy territory, and I’d learned a thing or two from him. Keeping low, moving very slowly, it’s surprising how easily you can foil even the most alert sentry. Like a lion moving in on a herd of gazelle, you creep in as close as possible, then go for a dash at the final moment, and that’s what I planned now.

  Belly-crawling, the going was slow, but the floor of the desert undulated on occasion and offered places where I could gain on the ranch without fear of giving myself away. At those times I came up to my hands and knees and moved rapidly to where it flattened out and I was forced back down. I made it to within four hundred yards of the buildings without raising the alarm. I had three options from there and lifted my face to check each in turn. Moving directly for the house was out. If Carson was spying from behind the tattered blinds he couldn’t fail to see me, even as the dusk spread like an ink stain across the land. The junk pile that I’d used when coming in from the north was the better route, but I was incredibly thirsty by then and thought that a trip down to the watering hole wouldn’t go amiss. From this angle, the corner of the house blocked much of the view that way and down by the water I determined that there’d be enough of an embankment to conceal me while I drank. I set off: a body length at a time, then a pause while I listened for movement. I didn’t want to twist my head to look around because my face would be detectable as a pale blur even through the shadows. Instead I kept my head down, concentrating on my peripheral vision, where even the slightest movement would be increased tenfold.

  A stockade fence, where the dust had piled up against the lowest spar, offered easier passage, and I was able to move faster for the pool. Then I was on open ground and had to take it slow and easy again. It took me some time and by then night had fully dropped. The moon hadn’t come up yet, but the stars were vivid sparks in the heavens. A soft glow seemed to emanate from the surrounding plain, but here and there lay pockets of shadow where the ground undulated. Using each feature of the land I made it to the watering hole and slithered down to its edge. Thankfully, I slaked my thirst: if I happened to be killed in the next few minutes, I didn’t want to go to my grave parched. Not that it made much difference in the scheme of things, but I now had a bellyful of water, a comforting thought. It made me feel a little stronger, which helped dull the ache in my body from my earlier fight with Samuel.

  I continued along the embankment so that I could come in towards the ranch from an unexpected angle. Out behind me was nothing but open desert and there’d be no way a launch would be anticipated from that direction. To keep my gun clean I’d carried it in my belt at the back with my shirt tucked around it. I drew it now and prepared myself for the last leg.

  Continuing towards the house in the same fashion I got to within fifty yards of the right front corner. Here was the first of the outbuildings and I crouched against the back wall while I took a look around the corner. I was at an angle to the front of about forty-five degrees and couldn’t see into any of the windows, but I could make out flickering light from within. The ranch was so off the beaten track that it wasn’t served by the main grid and as I couldn’t hear a generator running the light must have come from a lantern. Ignoring the house, I turned my attention to the Dodge pick-up.

  The thought crossed my mind: take the truck, go and pick up the girls and get them the hell out of there. The Logans would be stuck out here, sitting ducks for when I sent the police back for them. But that wasn’t going to happen. I was resolved to make them pay for what they’d done to their hostages. Watching the front of the house, I went to the pick-up and crouched down at the back wheel. From under the hem of my jeans I pulled the knife I’d earlier liberated from inside the house. It wasn’t a fighting knife, the type I usually employed, but it was sharp enough for what I intended. I jammed the tip into the tyre, twisted the blade to widen the puncture then moved on to the next wheel. I made a full circuit of the truck, slashing each tyre, and though it wouldn’t put the truck permanently out of commission it would definitely slow it down.

  That done, I moved for the front of the house, my senses on high alert for anyone hiding in the darkness. I shoved away the knife and held my gun ready.

  Kick the door in and go in blasting?

  No, if Carson had readied himself for me I could be doing exactly as he hoped.

  It was best that I take it easy.

  I moved to the right of the front door, seeking a chink between the planks as I’d done during my first time here, all the while watching for the light from within to be disturbed by movement. There was nothing I could detect, possibly meaning that Carson was more disciplined than I’d given him credit for. I found a hole large enough to set an eye to, but thought better of it. Maybe Carson was waiting for me to do just that. It would be difficult for him to see me out here, but who knew what he was capable of?

  I couldn’t keep putting things off for ever: I needed to get a position on the man. Inhaling, I leaned forward.

  To my right I heard the softest scuff of boots in dirt.

  Son of a bitch! Carson wasn’t inside the house. He’d made it look that way and had set me up with a trap. He’d been stalking me all along, I realised, waiting even as I disabled the vehicle before showing his hand. I couldn’t think why he’d waited as long as this, maybe just to be sure of his shot. But now I’d presented myself as a target he was making a move.

  I dropped to my knee, swinging my revolver towards the sound.

  That’s when I got my second surprise.

  It wasn’t Carson attacking out of the darkness. In fact the man lumbering in my direction wasn’t even armed. And judging by the way he jerked, he hadn’t seen me on the front stoop until now. He reacted the way many do when faced by the barrel of a gun: he launched himself sideways out of the line of fire.

  I wanted my rematch so much I could taste it. I wanted to meet him fist to fist and pay him back for the hurt he’d put my body through. But I’m not an idiot. I fired.

  My bullet hit him and Samuel Logan spun with the impact, his arms flailing. He hit the ground and I lined up on him again. He had the sturdy body, the compact muscles, that one bullet might not be enough to finish. I would prefer a head or heart shot, but in the dark that wasn’t easy. I fired again and saw him jolt as my bullet struck.

  Coming up for a better shot at his prone body, I levelled the gun on him again.

  Suddenly it felt like my cheek was on fire, and I heard the crack of a gun an instant afterwards. Splinters of wood made a cloud within the scope of my vision and forced me to turn away. Natural instinct took over and I threw myself down on my right side to avoid the next bullet that slashed through the wall and into the space I’d just vacated.

  From inside the house Carson continued to fire, unloading half a clip of ammunition through the planks. All of his bullets went overhead but it could be seconds before he adjusted his trajectory and shot me like I’d just shot Samuel. I scrambled away, dabbing a hand to the bloody spot on my face. I couldn’t stop to think about the wound, but was reassured not to find a huge hole where I’d been hit. Luckily his first bullet had missed and it was only the flying splinters from the wall that struck me. I’d been fortunate, but that could change with his next round.

  While I was scrambling for my life I couldn’t get off a clean shot, so conserved my bullets. My escape took me back towards the pick-up I’d disabled. Carson was yelling now, raining curses down on me for slaying his son. A window was shattered and the barrel of his gun poked out. Carson was firing indiscriminately and couldn’t see me as I crouched alongside the pick-up. I aimed for his muzzle flash, then adju
sted to the right where he was hiding behind the lintel. I returned fire.

  A chunk of wood flew in the air and Carson let out a howl, but his muttered curses afterwards suggested I’d missed him. Thinking himself clever, he popped up at the opposite end of the window and unloaded four rounds at me. I’d been expecting the move and my gun was waiting for him. As his bullets whacked into the front grille of the Dodge, I leaned over the hood and loosed a single bullet. His yowl this time held a note of agony and there followed the solid thump of a body hitting the floor. No way was I going to lower my guard though, because until I knew otherwise I wouldn’t presume that he was dead. I waited, enveloped in a cloud of cordite. I allowed my jaw to hang open, to cut down on the internal sounds of blood pulsing through my veins, and listened intently. Over to my extreme right wood creaked in the breeze but that was all.

  It had been over so quickly that I was left a little dissatisfied. But the feeling could prove premature, because I still had to check that I’d dropped both Carson and Samuel permanently. Holding my position, I reloaded my gun, allowing the empty shells to fall by my feet. I didn’t start spinning the cylinder or anything dramatic. Then I waited again. From my position I could no longer see where Samuel went down, but I was confident that I’d placed two bullets in his body and he wouldn’t get up from them. I was more concerned that Carson was still alive. Until I was sure he was finished I couldn’t relax my vigilance. I listened some more and the creaking noise fell silent as the breeze dropped. A hush stole over the desert.

  After a minute or so I came out from my hiding place and walked cautiously towards the front of the house. The gun was ready should Carson suddenly jump up and try to kill me. Ten feet out, I stopped and listened once more. Some night creature called in the distance, its voice like that of a mournful spirit. I took another couple of steps, eased up on to the porch. There were holes in the walls the size of clenched fists and one of them gave me a view inside without having to lean in through the shattered window. The lantern light spilled across the boards and touched the sole of a boot. It didn’t move. Taking things real easy, I took a better look around the edge of the window frame and was greeted by a satisfying sight. No, Carson wasn’t dead yet, but a hole in his throat pumped blood with each heartbeat. He didn’t have much time left in this world, but enough that he’d see the face of his nemesis. Shifting to the door, I pressed down on the handle and then nudged it open, following its swing as I stepped into the living quarters. Brent had been moved from where I killed him, and was now laid out on the couch with a blanket over his face, but I paid him little notice. Holding the gun steady, I advanced on his father who was propped against the back wall. The older man struggled to lift his head and meet my gaze. He’d lost copious amounts of blood already, but he still spat a mouthful on the toe of my boot. I didn’t flinch, didn’t give him the satisfaction.

  Although his gun was lying on the floor at his side, it didn’t look like he’d the strength to pick it up. Keeping aim on him I dipped and lifted it away: just in case I was wrong.

  ‘You’re the bastard who killed my boy.’

  His voice was paper thin, but still challenging. His eyes were rheumy, but that was probably their natural state. He fixed them on me.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I killed your son and I killed your cousin Samuel. Now there’s only you left. But I don’t think that’ll be for much longer.’

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’

  It was only fair that he learned the name of his executioner. ‘Joe Hunter.’

  ‘Never heard of you.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have.’

  ‘What’s any of this got to do with you?’

  ‘Call me a concerned citizen.’

  Carson gave a disparaging laugh, but all that did was help pump further blood down his chest. He gave up trying to staunch the flow and his hands slipped into his lap. ‘You came out here because of those bitches . . .’

  ‘I came for the girls,’ I corrected him.

  ‘Fuck, I knew we’d overstepped the mark taking so many in one go. I did warn Brent that we were being too . . . ambitious.’ He laughed again, but it was hollow. ‘Was a time when he’d have listened, too, but there’s no telling him lately.’

  ‘You’re trying to blame all of this on your son. Even when you’re dying? Make no mistake, I’m not going to save you, so you may as well come clean. Confession’s supposed to be good for the soul.’

  Carson shrugged, and now his hands flopped by his sides. The signs were all there; he was leaving this world very soon. His eyelids slipped shut. I gave his boot a nudge. ‘What happened to Helena Blackstock?’

  He didn’t even bother to look at me. ‘Gone.’

  ‘She’s dead?’

  ‘Gone,’ he repeated, and that was all. The next sound was the rattle of air between his lips. The crotch of his jeans darkened as he voided his bladder.

  Chewing a lip, I stared down at the corpse. I had hoped to see him dead, and was happy that he’d paid dearly for his crimes against the women. But, having started questioning him, I now felt I could have done with another minute. I pretty much understood what had happened to the Logans’ hostages; why they chose them continued to elude me. In the grand scheme of things it didn’t really matter. All that was important was that I’d managed to free the girls, they were safe and their tormentors were now all dead. Nevertheless, a part of me wanted to understand the motivation of the beasts. If it had been about sex, then why had they discarded a beauty like Jay Walker, stuffed her in a hole in the ground to rot? Nicole said the men had each taken turns on her, but had spared Ellie the same treatment. Ellie was little more than a child, but if that meant anything to the Logans then they wouldn’t have stripped her naked in the first place. No, there was more to their motivations than the base need for sex, yet I could only cast conjecture now, because there was no one around to straighten things out for me.

  Not unless there was still a spark of life left in Samuel.

  I walked quickly for the front door, holding both my and Carson’s guns ready, because if Samuel had survived his wounds he might take a second try at me.

  That eventuality didn’t come about. Even as I approached the exit door, I could hear the roar of a vehicle powering across the desert towards the ranch. Stepping outside, I watched gumball lights strobe across the desert, blue, red and white, causing the rocks they touched to appear like they flickered and jumped.

  Good, I thought. Jay managed to get safely to the police.

  25

  Officer Lewin was no calculating murderer, and Jay understood now that his actions were driven by panic after his sergeant had challenged him on his part in the Logans’ schemes. He hadn’t thought through the shooting of Espinoza, had merely reacted with violence the second he thought that the game was up. She didn’t believe he’d taken part in the kidnapping of any of the women who’d ended up at the ranch, but he was stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place. Like he’d said to the sergeant, blood is thicker than water. He likely suspected that his kin were involved, but had swayed any investigation away from them out of familial loyalty. One thing she was positive of was that he hadn’t taken as much as a look at their ranch when Helena Blackstock’s husband had reported her missing. The chains in the barn, the holes in the ground: all would have been dead giveaways that the Logan men were keeping prisoners there.

  The sergeant had also intimated that Lewin had given false alibis for the men, and had put him off searching the ranch. How could a man who’d sworn to protect and defend the people under his care do such a thing? It was obvious: he cared more for the Logans than he did anyone else. In some dim recess of her mind, Jay could understand why. Family loyalty was important to her too, but if she suspected her father of committing something as heinous as what the Logans were up to, she could never hold her peace. Or could she? No. It was an alien notion to her, protecting monsters. She would have to tell someone.

  Lewin had snapped his cuffs on to her wrist
s, thrown her in the back seat of his radio car. The seat was hard and flat with little give and she bounced with each jolt of the vehicle as Lewin powered it across the desert. She tried to sit upright, but, having her hands clasped between her knees, her balance was off, so instead she’d turned in order to brace her back against one door. Lewin was a hazy figure beyond the thick Perspex screen that separated the compartments. The plastic was almost opaque with scratches and graffiti etched by previous prisoners, yet she could still see that he was sitting tense in the driver’s position, and she could hear him muttering to himself. She’d already tried to reason with him, but her pleading had gone ignored, and in the end she knew that he was beyond sense and had given up. The closer they got to the ranch, the more agitated he grew and on a couple of occasions she’d heard him snap out a curse that she thought was aimed at himself, or maybe at his kin for forcing him into this position.

  He’d murdered his sergeant, for God’s sake! Bundling Espinoza into Joe’s Yukon, he’d rammed a cloth into the gas tank and set it ablaze. He’d watched as the tank erupted and the SUV went up like a torch. He’d crowed that he’d frame Hunter for murdering the sergeant, but that was ridiculous: the ballistics report would prove otherwise. Then there was the fact that she would tell what really happened, but she understood what that meant. He was returning her to the beasts who’d tortured her. If he were to get away with this she couldn’t be allowed to live, and this time the Logans wouldn’t waste time with torture. He wasn’t acting rationally; every action he performed was only making things worse for him – and far worse for her.