April Henry - Girl, Stolen

Griffin cut his eyes toward Jimbo and then wished he hadn’t. He adjusted his head a couple of inches so that he wouldn’t accidentally see the body again.

Straightening up, TJ wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. “I’ve never done that before,” he said. “It’s different than you think.”

Griffin was afraid to even meet TJ’s eyes. When he finally did, he saw TJ’s pupils looked too big. And his face looked like he was about ready to laugh or cry — or both.

“Oh, well,” TJ said, “there is one good thing. Jimbo finally, finally shut up.” His laugh was high-pitched. It sounded like glass breaking.

Griffin heard TJ go over to the body, but he still refused to look. Jimbo had landed on his side. He heard TJ pull the backpack off Jimbo’s back.

TJ walked back into Griffin’s line of sight. “It’s half yours,” he said, hefting the backpack.

“That’s okay. I don’t need any.”

TJ unzipped the backpack. There was a long silence. “It’s wet. Why is the money all wet?” His voice arced higher. He reached in and grabbed a fistful of money, pulled it out. Red drops speckled the snow. “It’s blood. Oh, my God, it’s blood!”

He dropped the money and then the backpack. A bill floated down and landed by Griffin’s hand. One end of it looked like it had been dipped in red paint.

TJ found a little patch of snow. He knelt down and began to wipe his hands on it like it was a towel. Washing his hands in snow. It quickly turned slushy and pink. And then he stood up, without saying another word to Griffin, and walked away. Leaving Griffin with a broken ankle, a bloody backpack filled with a quarter of a million dollars, two guns, and a dead man.

Crouched behind a huge tree, Cheyenne tried to be as quiet as possible. She was too winded to hold her breath, so she panted shallowly, openmouthed. The cold air scraped her lungs. Her eyes watered, but she refused to cough. Any second they would find her. Thirty minutes ago she had heard the sound of a gunshot, not close, but not far away, either. It had spurred her to walk even faster.

Then five minutes ago she had heard the faint sound of a car engine. She must be near the road! That meant there were people up ahead, people who could help her. And then this whole long ordeal would be over.

She had hurried forward, mindless of branches that lashed her legs, of ground so rough she stumbled and nearly fell a half-dozen times. Her only thought had been to flag down the driver, even though part of her knew that he was surely long gone.

But then she had heard it. Someone running through the trees. Running right for her. And who else would be out in the woods? The driver of the car wouldn’t suddenly get out, because he wouldn’t have any idea she was here. It must be one of the three men. She had gotten lucky when Griffin had turned out to be one of the good guys.

She didn’t think she would get lucky twice.

So Cheyenne had hidden behind the biggest tree she could find and concentrated on remaining absolutely still.

It was the hardest thing in the world. She wanted to jump up and start waving her arms and screaming. Just to get the inevitable over with. Was her killer even now aiming a gun at her?

Cheyenne tried to think of a plan. Knowing she was probably going to die gave her a certain amount of freedom. Maybe she could rush whoever it was — TJ, Jimbo, or Roy — and wrestle the gun away before he overcame his amazement at her suicidal charge. Although it was more likely that she would just end up with a fist-sized hole in her chest.

Still, something inside of her refused to give up. Not after she had gotten so far, risked so much, done so many things she would have said were impossible just a week earlier.

Then words rang out through the cold, still air.

“Freeze! Police! Hold it right there!”

An electric shock jolted from Cheyenne’s head to her heels.

Not the bad guys, then.

Cheyenne was going to live. She had made it!

She didn’t obey the cop. She couldn’t. She stood up and ran toward his voice, heedless of what might be in her way.

“Help me, oh, please help me!” Something sharp tore through her pants, gouging her left calf. Shaking herself free, she ran on, holding her hands high overhead so he would know she didn’t constitute a threat. Her only goal was to close the gap between herself and the cop as fast as she could. She wanted to finally be safe. “Help me!” she yelled again. “I’ve been kidnapped.”

A firm hand gripped her shoulder. “Slow down there, little lady. What are you saying?” There was a faint sound of amusement in the cop’s rough voice. Did he think she was playing some kind of game?

“I’m Cheyenne Wilder. I was kidnapped from the Woodlands Experience shopping mall two days ago.”

“Wait a minute — they mentioned you at roll call this morning. Are you really Cheyenne Wilder? The daughter of Nike’s president?” She could feel him inspecting her. Cheyenne imagined how she must look, her clothes muddy and torn, her face scratched, and her tangled curls filled with old leaves, pine needles, and broken sticks. But her appearance would serve as proof. The only way anyone could look the way she did was if she had been running blind through the woods all night long.

“Jeez,” he said, half to himself. His voice was hoarse, like he was just getting over a cold. “I’m out looking for people jacking deer and instead I find the girl they’re searching for in three states.” She heard his feet shift, and she imagined him looking around. “Where are these guys? Did they follow you?”

“No, no. I was so afraid.” A little sigh escaped her now that she could let go of the fear. “I was so afraid you were one of them. I thought they had finally found me.”

He let out a two-note laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you now. You’re safe. I’d better call in with the good news.” She heard him punch some buttons. “Guess who I’ve got? Cheyenne Wilder! And she appears to be in good condition. Over.”

She could hear a faint, tinny voice, but couldn’t make out the words.

“Roger that,” the cop said. “You can stop searching for her.”

“Let me talk to my father,” she begged, holding out her empty hand. “Please.”

“Oh, he’s not at my station, Cheyenne.” Then the cop spoke to the voice at the other end of the line. “Could you get in contact with Mr. Wilder and have him ring me back? Someone here would very much like to speak to him. Meanwhile, I’m bringing her in. Over and out.” His voice changed, and she could tell he was talking to her again. “My car’s about a half mile down the road. Do you think you could walk there if I guided you?”

“I just made it through the woods. A road’s no problem.” There was no way Cheyenne was going to let the cop get more than five feet from her. She couldn’t stand the idea of being alone, even for a second. What if one of the men popped out of the woods behind her while she was waiting?

He took her elbow, and they began to walk. They hadn’t gone more than a hundred paces when their feet crunched on gravel and then, a few steps later, on smooth blacktop. They had reached the road. So Cheyenne hadn’t been imagining it when she thought she heard a car. If the cop hadn’t come along, she still might have been able to flag down someone. At least now she didn’t have to worry about getting accidentally run over in the process.

“You said you escaped the men who kidnapped you. How did you do that? Did you have help?”

Cheyenne stopped in her tracks, causing the man to bump into her. “Oh, my God! I should have told you right away. You need to call out a search party. This guy Griffin is out in the woods someplace. He’s hurt. He told me to go on without him and he would draw them away.” Turning, she put her free hand on the cop’s wrist. “He needs medical attention immediately.” She tried not to think of him dead, but immediately she saw Griffin in her mind’s eye, as clearly as she had seen him when they had been talking in his bedroom. He lay flat on his back on the frozen ground, his skin as pale as wax, his wide eyes staring up at the gray sky.