David Dun - At The Edge

Crouched down, she ran out the door and down the wall of the barn. At any moment, she expected to be discovered by the lunatics behind her. And then she saw it. A broken board in the side of the barn next to several bales of hay. Approaching it, she discovered a hole that looked like it might be big enough to crawl through. She lowered her head and scrunched her shoulders, barely squeezing into the opening. God, it hurt, first pinching her shoulders, then her hips. At last, she popped free. Ahead, she saw the forest.

Freedom.

She began to run, the eerie screams driving her first up a small path, and then off the trail, through a patch of ferns, trying to put as much distance between herself and the barn as possible.

When Corey was through with the Spaniard, he was moaning in shock. The girl, a young woman really, was still crying, and Jack looked haggard. The German showed no emotion.

"She's your daughter?" she asked Jack.

Jack only nodded.

"I thought you said they all went to Mexico."

"I lied. She wouldn't go. I wanted to protect her. Now this."

"What's your name?" she asked the girl, gently touching her head.

"Janet."

"I did you a good turn. Can you do me one?"

"As long as I don't have to kill anybody," she said, staring at Corey's bloody arms.

"You don't. I still need my videotape."

"That's all you're going to do?" Jack asked.

"Absolutely. We better check the bitch."

Corey was shocked when she opened the interrogation-room door and found the empty chair.

She walked back across the barn to Jack and Janet. ''Jack, did you let her go?''

"Not me."

The German had to take some satisfaction in this turn of events, but he did not smile.

Corey tried to think. They were surrounded by forest. She couldn't be far. But now they couldn't stay here.

''Jack, you and Janet deposit the German in my basement. I've got handcuffs, a place to cuff him. Take him while I chase down the bitch." Then she proceeded to explain in detail what she wanted and how to get into the basement room.

"Why don't you just shoot me now?" the German asked as Corey pushed his head down to stuff him in the back of the van.

"You won't be that lucky."

Before he could say more, she sprayed him full in the face with pepper spray. He lay on his side, emitting muffled groans. She slid his hood over his face, then reached in his pocket, found a wallet and a card.

"What a dumb shit, a wallet with ID. I'll be damned. I thought you looked familiar. You're Hans Groiter, the security guy for the Amada corporation. Shit. Unbelievable.

"Tie his feet tight, Jack, and don't forget to stack some straw bales in front of the cabinet that leads to the room. It's in the cellar, right where I told you. Don't ever take the wire off his neck. Control him with it. And you know whose side you're on?"

"I'm a dead man if we don't deal with this dude," Jack replied.

"I'm real happy you figured that out."

"I want him dead, but I don't want to do it."

"That's my job. And remember those videotapes of your farm and family."

Jack nodded.

"Now let's you and me go back in the barn and make sure all the physical evidence here will incriminate him. This card will come in handy."

A minute later, Corey walked out of the barn, the Colt AR-15 strapped across her back. After popping the Spaniard in the head with the German's fancy Heckler amp; Koch, she left the bloody hulk sitting in the corner and began her search for Maria Fischer's trail.

It took Corey only minutes to find the hole in the barn and the small trail leading away from it. Reaching the fern patch, she saw the disturbed foliage and began following what she hoped was Fischer's escape route. Halfway through the ferns, she heard the helicopter. In minutes the area would be crawling with police. The adrenaline surged through her body and she let herself become the hunter-every scent, every folded leaf, every impression in the ground, held a meaning.

She had to silence Maria Fischer.

Listening to the tap and hum of the big twin turbine-jet helicopter, Dan watched the mountains roll underneath. Sitting next to him was a young officer they called Shane. Curly blond hair framed intense blue eyes that seemed to take in everything. The guy was slender but strong and fit. When they couldn't get Kier Wintripp, a Tilok Indian from the next county who was evidently on his honeymoon in Hawaii, they got Shane.

Next to Shane sat Sergeant Frank Spinoza, a dark-haired man with a reputation for grim determination that often irritated the sheriff but usually resulted in a conviction. Squad cars were to arrive in thirty minutes, but Shane and Frank were authorized to go in if it looked manageable. The highway-patrol copter would go in first. Dan was to remain in Otran's chopper with the pilot until the all clear was given and under no circumstances was the aircraft to enter a live fire zone. The rules were irritating but unavoidable.

Upon arriving, they circled with the highway-patrol chopper. No vehicles were visible at the farm. Staying back about 300 yards, they watched the California Highway Patrol (CHP) copter land.

"We're down and taking no fire," the CHP radioed.

Frank nodded at Otran's pilot.

"We're coming in," the pilot said.

In seconds they were on the ground.

"House or barn first?" Shane asked Frank.

"Let's knock at the house first."

Dan watched them head out, impatient to look around but constrained by his promise to stay. On the front porch they drew their revolvers while the CHP headed toward the back door. No one came to the door. Dan watched them try to open it. Locked. In a couple of minutes the CHP opened the front door. Obviously, they had walked in the back.

"No one home, but two cars in the carport," Frank said over the police radio as they exited the house.

"Ground to Helo," Shane said.

"Helo here," the pilot said.

"Any signs of life?"

"Not yet."

"Stick around. We're going in the barn."

After what seemed like minutes, the radio crackled.

"Come on in," Shane said.

Dan jumped from the copter, his heart in his throat. At the door he slowed.

"Careful," Frank said. "There's no Maria Fischer so far, but it's a murder scene. Don't touch anything. Don't step in anything. You shouldn't even be in here." Frank walked ahead, nodding at the body in the corner.

Dan involuntarily began to retch.

"Somebody castrated him."

"They did more man that. Cut off everything down there. Not to mention his eyes."

"Anyone home?" Frank shouted again. He received no reply.

"Look at that," Frank whispered, nodding at the hangman's noose and the two concrete blocks, bathed in bright light.

''Somebody built themselves a special little room," Shane said, entering what looked like a giant plywood box. It was crude on the outside, but Dan marveled at the finish work within-Sheetrock, carpet, the large two-way mirror. And a single chair. Cuffs on the ground. Blood. A lingering odor-pepper spray.

"They had her in here, I'll bet," Shane said.

Dan went back out and to the other side of the mirror.

The camcorder, mounted and ready to record, sat beside the huge recliner. A single bottle of German beer sat by the chair with no more than two or three swigs gone.

"We'll print it all," said Frank.

Shane nodded, analyzing the scene.

"Maybe they were interrupted," Dan said.

''Why would anybody want to go to this much trouble to interrogate Maria Fischer?" Frank asked.

"I would guess because somebody wanted to know what she knew about a lot of things."

"Like what?"

"Turning trees into gasoline, toxic ponds, stuff like that. And maybe somebody wanted to know if Patty McCafferty was selling favors to the timber industry."