Си Бокс - Dark Sky

Price patted the front pocket of his high-tech cargo pants. “I’ve had it with me the whole time.”

“What else do you have on you?” Joe asked.

“My headlamp. It’s in the other pocket.”

Joe whistled, and said, “Give ’em both to me. I’ll get it done as quickly and painlessly as I can.”

“Maybe we should just leave it in there for now,” Price said. “I’ll be the only tech guy in the boardroom with a spear sticking out of him. That’ll really give me some more cred and grow the legend.”

Joe smiled. “What if it snags on a branch while you’re trying to get away? That could really screw you up.”

“Good point,” Price said glumly.

“We need to get it out. Your shoulder is probably still numb, but it’ll hurt like hell tomorrow.”

“I just hope there is a tomorrow,” Price said.

Joe slipped the headlamp over the crown of his hat, turned it on, and focused the beam in tight. The barbs on the point were two spring-loaded bends of steel that curled up from the spear. If he tried to pull it through from the front, they would do an enormous amount of damage.

As Joe studied the wound and tried to figure out the easiest way to extract the spear, Price said, “Do you know what I’ve been doing while I’ve been following you in the dark?”

Joe shook his head.

“I’ve been praying to God to help me get out of this. I’ve been saying in my head, ‘God, if you’re up there, please help me get home. Please help Joe and give him wisdom. If I get out of this, I’ll devote my life to good works.’ I’ve kind of got a mantra going. I repeat it over and over to myself. My mantra is ‘Help me God and I’ll never let you down again . Help me God and I’ll never let you down again.’”

“Good for you, if it helps,” Joe said.

“I think it does. If nothing else, it gets my mind off of this situation we’re in. It must be easier for you with your deep well of faith.”

“Honestly, it’s more like a pail of faith,” Joe confessed. “But it’s interesting you’re thinking that way.”

“We’ll see,” Price said. “The jury is still out on this God thing. It’s new to me. This is just the beta version.”

“Please turn around,” Joe said.

Price winced, then did so. He said, “Just tell me when you—”

With no warning and as swiftly as he could, Joe grasped the shaft just behind the barbed tip and pulled the spear straight through Price’s shoulder. Price reacted with a swift intake of breath and his legs wobbled. Joe tossed the spear aside and helped steady Price by holding him up in a bear hug from behind.

“Done,” Joe said into Price’s ear. “Are you okay?”

“I was about to say, tell me just before you do that so I can get ready. You could have given me some warning.”

“I could have,” Joe said, stepping back and tearing open the first square-gauze package with his teeth.

“You’ve done this before,” Price said.

“I have a few times.”

“I think I can feel it bleeding.”

“That’s good. You’re less likely to get tetanus or any other kind of infection if it bleeds out.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I do. I get hurt a lot,” Joe replied. “And you have no idea how many hooks and flies I’ve taken out of fishermen over the years. It’s best to do it fast.”

Price nodded.

“Now take your shirt off so I can put compresses on the wounds and tape it up.”

—

While Price buttoned up his shirt, Joe retrieved the spear he’d dropped and stuck it into his waistband beneath his belt. He didn’t want to leave it behind for the Thomas clan to find. Plus, any potential weapon might be useful.

Before turning it off, he ran the beam of the headlamp over the .22 rifle to make sure the muzzle wasn’t blocked by mud and that the bolt action was clean. He ejected the single cartridge and studied it, hoping he could tell by looking at it if it would misfire. He couldn’t determine anything and he put the cartridge back in and secured it by working the bolt.

Joe looked up and around him. The eastern sky was beginning to take on a slightly cream-with-coffee hue, but it would still be at least two hours before the sun broke over the top of the mountains.

In the dark behind them, a length of wood snapped. It was a heavy crunch, indicating there was real weight behind it. He couldn’t guess how far away it had happened, but it was close.

“Hear that?” he whispered to Price.

“I did. What was it?”

“A horse stepping on a dead branch under the snow.”

Price’s eyes widened and Joe choked the headlamp out.

“What should we do?” Price asked.

“Run.”

“Where?”

“That way,” he motioned.

“Straight across the creek?”

“Yup. They’re right behind us and getting closer. We need to angle away from the creek.”

Joe shouldered around Price and walked stiff-legged to the creek. Price followed.

Joe stepped carefully from rock to rock until he was on the other bank. The far slope was steep, but rocks and brush poked through the light carpet of snow.

“Stay in my footsteps,” Joe whispered.

He climbed the slope, hopping on top of rocks and in the middle of squat brush. It wasn’t easy, but it didn’t leave a trail in the snow, he hoped. Price kept up as they climbed.

Joe’s heart beat with exertion and terror as he ascended the slope. Behind him and up the mountain, he heard another branch snap and then the unmistakable sound of a metal horseshoe glancing off a rock.

He hated going in the wrong direction when the best and fastest route to a trailhead was straight down the mountain, following the creek. But if they kept going that way, he knew, they would soon be overrun.

Joe clawed his way through a dense mountain juniper bush just below the tree line. When he emerged on the other side, he turned and helped Price. He could smell the sharp scent of juniper berries they’d crushed or dislodged.

Joe hunkered down behind the bush and tried to breathe deeply and normally so he wouldn’t make loud panting sounds.

Within minutes, he heard the soft thump of horse hooves making footfalls below where they’d just been. He cursed the stillness and wished there was a breeze to provide some cover and white noise, because it sounded like the horses were just thirty to forty yards away in the stillness.

Joe reached out and pressed his gloved hand on the top of Price’s head to urge him to keep down. Then he removed his hat and slowly rose on his haunches to get a better sight angle on the creek.

The ghostly dark shapes of two horsemen passed by below them, parallel to the nameless creek. The man out front was bulkier and Joe guessed it was Earl. The second rider slumped over oddly in his saddle. It was Kirby. Kirby looked as though he was either hurt or fighting sleep. Joe hoped it was the former.

Twenty yards behind them, the unmistakable mass of Brad Thomas appeared, leading a line of packhorses. Toby was second from the last in Brad’s string. The gelding walked along dutifully, but Joe could tell Toby wasn’t liking it by the way his horse kept his head bowed.

There’s our stuff , Joe thought. There’s my horse . I wonder where Joannides went?

Kirby was upright on his saddle, but Joe thought he could detect a slight wobble in him as he rode, as if his bones had softened. Joe knew Brad had been hit in the face by the .22 bullet he’d fired.

For a moment, Joe thought about raising the rifle and taking a shot at Earl. But what if he missed? Or what if the cartridge was another dud? Earl’s head was hard to see in the darkness, and as Joe thought about it the man passed out of view behind a snow-covered spruce tree. Kirby followed him and was soon out of clear sight as well.