Джеффри Дивер - The Goodbye Man

Then the foursome was descending a gentle slope through the fields and quiet, needle-carpeted woods.

Walter, holding his wife’s hand, said to Shaw, “How should we handle it, when we’re home?”

Shaw said, “You don’t go home yet. Get to a hotel or motel nowhere near here. Stay there. Eli knows your home address. Odds that a Select’ll come after you? Not high. But you’ve got to be cautious. Wait until you know it’s safe.”

“Call the police?”

Shaw said no to that too. “I need more proof. And remember that the local sheriff’ll tip off Eli and evidence’ll disappear. He will too. And, I’m afraid, witnesses.”

Soon they broke from the forest and walked down a gentle, grassy grade toward the highway.

Abby asked, “So, like, what’s our cover story for any drivers who’ll stop? I mean, we got lost on a hike?”

It was a good question, one he hadn’t thought of. “Let’s blame it on my bad driving.”

Once they hit the state route, it took only five minutes to flag down a car. This quartet of fugitives — an older couple with their son and daughter — presented about as low a threat as could be. A Dodge Caravan stopped. It was driven by a young husband and wife.

Shaw explained that he’d stupidly driven off road to get a closer look at a waterfall and the car cracked an axle. AAA was on the way. He’d stay with the car. But he didn’t want his parents and sister to wait here in the heat and sun. Could the couple please take them to a motel somewhere along their route? They gladly agreed. The husband shook his head about the axle — the sort of mishap that even the most talented of automotive Good Samaritans can’t help fix, which is why Shaw picked it.

No shoulder salutes now. Shaw hugged them all goodbye.

Abby’s grip was especially hard. She whispered, “Thanks, mister. I mean, really.”

Once the vehicle was out of sight, Shaw turned around and jogged hard the two miles back to the camp.

When he arrived, he caught his breath and walked from the woods. He stepped into the Square, heading for his dorm. A cluster of men stood in front of it, talking among themselves: Eli, Hugh, the two bodyguards — Squat and Gray — and several other AUs. Steve too. With them was a tall, slim Companion, his back to Shaw.

The man turned and removed his orange-framed sunglasses. It was Frederick, from the site of Adam’s death. And, yes, he was the man who’d been looking Shaw over earlier at the Discourse.

His eyes narrowed and he said something to Eli and Hugh. Then pointed a long, lean finger directly Shaw’s way.

Shaw recalled the beating of the reporter. Face cracked, dislocated shoulder.

One noisy, one silent. Both excruciating.

He calculated he was a good twenty feet from his only weapons: the war clubs he’d made earlier. And thirty from the cover of the forest.

A glance at the ground underfoot. Gravel. Not good for traction, especially with the slipper-like shoes. He stepped toward the men so he would meet them on a patch of lawn. He kept a look of benign curiosity on his face. To allay suspicions and give himself the chance for a surprise strike.

He’d believed Hugh was not armed, though it was likely Squat and Gray were.

He was walking toward Frederick, the logical course, since he was the one who had pointed to Shaw. This would take Shaw past the guards. His plan: do a wrestling takedown of one of them, and search for and seize his pistol. Squat had a lower center of gravity and would be harder to body slam. Also, Gray’s military bearing suggested that if anyone were armed it would be him. So, Gray would be the target.

Shaw would get him down, hard, and then go for a gun. Because a weapon didn’t present under his clothing in an obvious way, it would be an automatic, slimmer than a revolver. Shaw would draw the slide to chamber a round, even if it meant ejecting — and losing — one bullet.

He could cover Eli and the others and get away.

If there was a weapon.

If he could rack the slide in time.

If Hugh and Squat weren’t armed as well and didn’t draw and fire first.

And if there was no gun?

He decided that the only way he could prevail against Hugh in hand-to-hand was surprise, and that would have been lost in his assault on Gray. He’d seen Hugh’s expertise in martial arts. He was physically fit and emotionally detached. There had been no feeling in the assault on the reporter the other day. The calm opponent has the upper hand over the excited.

As for technique, Shaw knew no close-combat moves like Hugh’s.

Never use your fists; too easy to break your own fingers or wrist. Grapple to the ground, then elbows and knees.

Still he’d do what he could, getting in close and using another wrestling takedown. Lift from low, and drive his opponent onto his back.

His odds? Without the surprise, probably thirty percent.

And adding to the mix: two dozen Foundation members were within fifty feet. Loyalists would rush in to save their Guiding Beacon. Maybe even sacrifice themselves to save their spiritual leader from a Toxic. If they’d trued-up, death would mean nothing to them.

Chances of a successful escape?

Thirty percent.

Shaw kept a smile on his face and casually continued toward Frederick, who gazed back with a knowing expression.

When he was about three feet from Gray, Eli said something to Hugh and both men turned toward Shaw, who lowered his center of gravity and got ready to step into Gray, dip low and sweep his leg out from under him, drop him. The weathered man was right-handed. A gun would be holstered on that hip.

Three steps, two...

Shaw tensed, preparing physically — and mentally — to take on five opponents.

Shaw was five feet from Gray when Eli turned and glanced his way. The cult leader smiled broadly and gave the shoulder salute, calling out, “Apprentice Carter, thank you, thank you!” To the other he said, “Is he gorgeous or what? I told you so. Didn’t I say he was a star?”

Mystified, Shaw slowed and tipped his head, returning the salute.

Steve said, “Thank you, Apprentice Carter.”

Best to keep it short and sweet until he sussed out what was happening. A nod.

Frederick joined them.

Eli looked his way. “Journeyman Frederick here was just telling us what happened. Please. Go on.”

The man said, “Apprentice Carter came up to me and said he saw Novices Walter and Sally and Abby breaking out of the luggage building and running into the woods. There were no AUs around, so Apprentice Carter and I went after them ourselves.” He looked at Shaw. “We thought they might be working for competitors, stealing secrets. Right?”

Shaw nodded.

“We couldn’t tell which direction they went, so we split up. I spotted them in the Henderson Ravine. I ran back and told Journeyman Hugh.”

The head AU said, “We put together a team.”

Shaw, playing a role in a charade he didn’t understand, said to Hugh, “Did you find them?”

“No.”

There’d been no search. He knew about the ravine, which you’d hit if you turned north out of the fence, not east toward the road. The gully led to a maze of canyons, falls, no roads to speak of. Not even logging trails. Eli and Hugh were happy to let them die in the woods.

Witnesses...

Eli said, “Terrible. Such a shame. What were they thinking? And that poor girl.” He looked at Shaw. “She’s only in college, you know.”

You mean, high school. Shaw shook his head sympathetically.

“Send out some men. Have Sheriff Calhoun assign some of his too. We’ll hope we can find them.”

“I will, Master Eli,” Hugh said.