Hannah Alexander - A Killing Frost

She was quiet for a moment, then she asked, “Where would you be?”

“Here.”

Their footsteps moved in tandem for long moments.

“You’ve always loved working the land,” she said.

He thought about his concerns earlier today. “I have, but it doesn’t consume me the way it’s always consumed my father.”

“Monty does a great job of balancing his work on the ranch with his family time. He had to work hard to support a family of seven…and eight, when they brought me in from the cold.”

“I’m just saying that there are now modern ways to handle the ranch that my father didn’t have when I was growing up. There is more efficient equipment, which is expensive, but worth the cost when it comes to spending time with loved ones.”

Again, a long stretch of silence except for the gentle wash of the mass of river to their left, and the sound of their footsteps on gravel.

“All I’m saying, Jama, is that I would want to spend more time with my wife and family than Dad was able to do.”

“Your father is one of the most loving, responsible, good men in the world.”

“I think so, too.”

He heard her steps slow behind him, and he tried to match his steps with hers, hoping she wouldn’t retreat back into her silence.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Tyrell. Nothing at all.”

He turned to look at her, took a step closer to her, until he could almost feel her warmth. “Then I don’t understand why we aren’t engaged now, because there is nothing about you I don’t love.”

“You don’t know everything.” She touched his arm. “Look, I’m sorry if I made you feel responsible for this. It’s me, not you.”

And then she did retreat into silence. Minutes later, they heard the baying of a hound through the darkness. A few seconds after that, Tyrell’s phone rang, and he flipped it open.

“This is Agent Sydloski,” came the curt baritone voice.

“Yes?”

“I understand you passed the roadblock in good time, but we’ve heard from the sheriff that your vehicle has not been seen in River Dance, and that Dr. Keith’s car is still in the clinic parking lot.”

Great. They’d been caught. The sheriff’s office had one holding cell at the edge of town. Tyrell had seen it once on a class field trip.

“Surveillance equipment has picked up a couple of familiar voices,” said Agent Sydloski. “Apparently some people are walking west along the Missouri River.”

“You don’t say.”

“If those people do not return to River Dance immediately, there will be a warrant issued for their arrest.”

“Understood.”

The connection ended.

Tyrell folded his phone and returned it to his pocket. “It’s time to go home, Jama.”

Doriann smelled the river seconds before she saw it-tiny waves moving in the moonlight beneath heavy splotches of fog. She stopped, surprised that it was so close.

She still heard the man’s voice behind her in the woods. So Clancy was either with Deb, or he was still crazy and talking to himself. He didn’t sound angry now, but the voice was too distant to tell what he said.

She hurried after Humphrey, who chuffed and whined, his nose to the ground. Barely a hundred feet downriver rose high cliffs. Humphrey started climbing, and Doriann followed. The trees grew thickly here, and she ran into a low limb. It smacked her in the forehead. She stumbled on a rock and fell hard on her rear.

“Slow down, Humphrey! I can’t keep up.”

Still whining, he came back and licked her. Then he stopped and sniffed the air. Whined some more. By the time Doriann was back on her feet, he was on his way back down the way they had come. He didn’t howl. He whined, that squeaky-scared sound in his throat.

“That’s the wrong way,” she said. “Come on.”

He didn’t come.

She continued climbing without him. He’d probably smelled a rabbit or squirrel. One time he’d led her to a tree where a mama raccoon and three babies huddled in the limbs, looking down at them. And one time a skunk-

“Uh-oh.” She stopped and sniffed. Okay, no skunk. “Come here, Humphrey,” she whispered as she continued the climb.

He came slowly, as if she were dragging him with a rope. He continued to whine.

Sweat dripped down Doriann’s forehead by the time she reached the top of the cliffs and started down the other side. Halfway down, she heard a thunk-thunk-thunk below in the darkness. It blended with Humphrey’s squeak-chuff, squeak-chuff.

Doriann stopped. The wind cooled the sweat on her face, chilling her.

She wished she’d found the Katy Trail, or even Highway 94. The riverbank wasn’t made for walking. And her feet hurt. She had worn her best walking shoes, but after so much running and walking, even they rubbed in places they’d never rubbed before.

Humphrey bayed suddenly, and she gasped. Humphrey’s baying was beginning to drive her nuts. How much noise was a girl supposed to take?

The thunk came again, and she finally peered over the cliff’s edge to the water below. In the light of the moon, she saw the outline of a small boat dock. She thought she could make out a little rowboat in the water. The thumping was probably the boat hitting the dock with the motion of the water.

She hadn’t seen a lot of boats docked on the river for permanent storage. Grandpa said that the current was strong enough that if a boat came loose from the mooring, it could get swept downriver all the way to the Gulf of Mexico.

The thunk grew louder as Doriann stumbled down the side of the cliff. Some of Grandpa’s friends along the river had boats. Grandpa had taken her out on the river a few times, and though they were usually on motorboats, he’d taught her how to paddle a canoe.

She heard the voice behind her again, getting closer.

If she could paddle a canoe, she could row a boat, right? She could get to River Dance if she could avoid the old stumps and snags in places along the shoreline. Out in the middle of the river, she could avoid those and make good time.

She climbed down to the little wooden dock, stepped onto it and studied the rowboat. Two paddles. It was small for such a big river, but if she could stay near the bank, she’d get to River Dance a lot faster.

She’d gone on float trips down the Gasconade. She could do this. She reached down to release the rowboat. The rope was stiff and tight around the post, and she had to work at it.

Humphrey growled. Doriann jerked around, startled. The dog stood in the moonlight, his back to her as he looked into the dark woods.

Some bushes at the edge of the river shifted, rustling from something more solid than the breeze.

And then a shadow rose from the brush, black and menacing. “Hey, little Dori.”

Clancy!

Humphrey snarled and lunged. Doriann screamed.

Jama followed Tyrell through the gurgling waters of Fern Creek. Her shoes would take days to dry out, and she’d probably never get them clean enough to wear to the clinic again.

Tyrell stopped and turned around. “Did you hear something?”

“Like what?”

He took a few steps toward her. “I don’t know. It sounded like a mix between a dog’s bark and a scream.”

She heard it, too. “Coyotes.”

He stood looking upriver for a few seconds, then turned back. “You’re probably right, but what if it isn’t?”

She listened again. Nothing. “If the FBI picked up our voices, they’re sure to pick up the sound we heard. They’ll know if it’s coyotes or not.”

Doriann shoved at the rope as Humphrey tangled with Clancy. The rope caught on a jagged edge of wood. Humphrey yelped with pain, but when Doriann turned around to look, he was attacking Clancy again.