Ridley Pearson - Killer Summer

“We’re on it. We’re contacting every airfield.”

“Takes a good deal of runway to land a jet.”

“We’re on it,” Walt repeated.

“The right kind of satellite might pick up a flare out. I can check on that as well.”

“Anything you can do… The sooner we can track that jet-”

“I’m coming over there.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Did I ask? I said I’m coming over there. If you find Kevin, then call me. Otherwise, plan to pick me up in… ninety minutes. I’ll call you from the plane.”

“The company jet?”

“You could have had this, Walt. This was your choice, not mine. I’ll call from the jet and give you a number where you can reach me. See you shortly.”

Cringing, Walt hung up the phone. He had ninety minutes to save himself from certain hell.

The forest floor was interrupted by chokecherry and brambles, slash and deadfall. Often impassable, the changing terrain required Kevin to traverse the hill instead of climbing vertically. Summer not only stayed with him but occasionally took the lead. While the forest’s darkness made for slow going, using the flashlight would have been suicide, revealing their position in the same way the glow of a light below them told them where the chase was coming from.

Still a good distance away, there was no question that at least one of the three men had followed them into the woods.

“I don’t get it,” he whispered, huffing a bit. “Why bother with us?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“They obviously stole the plane, right?”

“Okay…”

“We were never part of that, so why follow us?”

“Because we saw them?” she suggested.

“No,” he said. “We can’t be the only ones who saw them. That doesn’t make sense. I think it’s you.”

“What about me?”

“I think they want you. The jet’s wrecked. You’re the prize. And me? I’m nothing but… an inconvenience. I’m disposable.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“I hope I’m wrong,” he said, now picking up the pace.

Summer suddenly passed him and leaped onto one of the huge boulders they’d been avoiding.

“Come on,” she urged.

She led the way up and over the rock.

“Don’t scuff the ground,” she hissed. “Don’t give them anything to follow.”

She led them nearly straight up the hill.

Light played in the overhead branches, then dimmed and moved left. Summer and Kevin headed higher, though considerably slower, in total silence. The next time Kevin checked, the beam had moved well away.

“Awesome,” he said.

Summer shushed him.

The ground leveled off. The trees thinned. The moonlight shone brighter.

“Check it out!” she said.

They faced a rambling lodge cut into the rocky hill, making it look as if its log walls grew right out of the cliff. Bluish light glowed from the windows nearest them. Less light came from the far end of the lodge, where Kevin now spotted a tall, white-haired man on a path leading toward some stairs emerging from the forest, stairs that led down to the airfield. A pair of floodlights shone from the corner eaves of the lodge, casting a halogen glare across a field of wild grass.

The lodge was landscaped on three sides by a clearing. Summer stepped forward obviously wanting to call out to the man, but Kevin pulled her back.

“We have two choices here,” Kevin said, his lips to her ear, “the forest or the house.”

He pointed to the treetops. The flashlight beam had turned yet again and was once again coming up the hill from behind them.

The tall man-he looked like an old cowboy-wore blue jeans, boots, and a light-colored long-sleeved shirt. He stopped at the top of the stairs.

“Over here!” he called out loudly in the direction of the flashlight beam.

The beam froze, illuminating the tops of trees. Then it began to advance again up the hill, directly toward Kevin and Summer.

Kevin tugged on Summer’s arm, making sure he had her attention. He pointed to a pair of doors cut into the rock at the base of the lodge, either a garage or storage area, by the look of it.

He drew her close and whispered. “Follow me, fast and low, straight for those doors.”

“He’ll help us!” She meant the cowboy.

The crunching of undergrowth grew ever louder. Whoever was following them was close now.

“Over here!” the cowboy called out. He headed down the stairs.

The lawn was now empty.

“Trust me,” Kevin said to Summer.

He pulled her, and she followed. Together, they ran toward the lodge, reaching the shadows sheltering the two doors.

“Okay?” he asked, panting.

She nodded.

He felt for the door latch. It engaged, and the heavy door sagged open.

“There are stairs over here!” the cowboy called out. The flashlight beam paused briefly.

“It’s going to be dark in there,” Kevin warned.

Summer nodded.

“No noise,” he added.

“So, shut up!” she said.

“Whatever…”

Kevin slipped inside, Summer followed. He took one look around, then eased the door shut, blocking out the light, and gently lowered the latch in place.

The space smelled of cedar and grass, oil and dust. He slipped the flashlight under his shirt to mute its beam, then quickly flashed it on and off to get his bearings. They saw a pair of sawhorses, a workbench, trash bins, tarps, a small tractor, a skimobile or ATV-maybe both-and extension cords, ropes, and tools hanging from a pegboard on the right wall. There was a stack of firewood against the back wall. Steps at the far left of the room led to a door. He determined a route for them to follow.

“We should have stayed in the woods,” she said in a hot whisper. “Or said something to that guy.”

“We’ve got to get word to someone,” he said.

He pulled out his cell phone, turned it on, silenced its ringer.

“No bars,” he said, angrily jamming the phone back in his pocket.

“I’ve got to pee,” she said.

“You’ve got to hold it,” he said.

“There is no way I’m going to hold it.”

“So, pee.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’ll turn my back.”

“I am not peeing in the dirt.”

“I am not dealing with this.”

“There’s got to be a toilet in the house.”

“Why don’t you go ask if you can use it?”

She huffed at him.

“We’re somewhere near the Middle Fork,” he said. “There’re a half dozen of these places, max, in a couple thousand square miles of wilderness. There could be a neighbor a half mile away. But it might be forty miles or more.”

“That’s impossible. We were in the air, what, like ten minutes? Fifteen? How far could we have gone?”

“At three hundred miles an hour, you do the math. The point is, all these places have radios. Maybe that cowboy dude lives here all alone. We need that radio. So, come on.”

Kevin reached out for Summer in the dark and found her arm. She didn’t resist him as he led her along his newly memorized route. He moved slowly, inching his feet out ahead and avoiding knocking over any of the objects he encountered. As the toe of his running shoe connected with the first step of the stairs at the back of the room, he pocketed the flashlight, trading it for the steak knife. He tested the step. It accepted his weight without creaking. They then climbed slowly, eventually reaching the door at the top.

He tried the handle. It wasn’t locked.

He couldn’t see a thing, but he could feel Summer trembling. She squeezed his arm, wanting him to reconsider.

He found her ear and whispered, “Better odds if they don’t catch both of us. There’s a tarp in the corner. Hide under it.” He tried leading her back down the stairs.