Sharon Dunn - Montana Standoff

The groaning told her she’d hit her target. She tore off the knit hat and leapt out of the car.

An arm suctioned around her waist, and a hand slapped over her mouth. Her keys flew out of her hand, but she wasn’t done fighting. She’d just have to use a different weapon. She bit down hard on the man’s hand and felt a rush of triumph when he yelped and pulled his hand away. She scratched fingernails across the arm that held her waist. He didn’t let go.

She elbowed him in the stomach, a hard swift jab.

His grip on her let up enough for her to angle away from him. Heart racing with fear and urgency, she ran toward the trees. Branches, sky and undergrowth were all a blur in front of her. Her sharp, rasping breathing enveloped her. Feet pounding, jumping over logs, pushing through the trees.

Please, God, help me get away.

The men behind her shouted, breaking branches, charging toward her. Their noise growing louder, closer, pressing on her.

Sarah pushed forward, willing her feet to move faster. Fighting off the terror that rose inside her, she stumbled into the clearing that bordered Bridger Lake. She only had a second to survey her surroundings before the men burst from the trees.

On instinct, she turned and ran toward the other part of the forest and the mountain beyond that. If she could make it up the mountain without being caught, maybe someone in the fire tower at the top of it could help her.

She prayed she’d make it that far.

* * *

From the high metal tower where he watched for forest fires, Bryan Keyes drew the binoculars up to his eyes and scanned the forest and the lake below. He studied the tree-covered mountains in the distance, searching for wisps of smoke. As dry as the summer had been, the tiniest fire could rage out of control within minutes. Anything out of the ordinary would draw his attention. In the few weeks that he had been here, he’d memorized every patch of trees, every cluster of rocks. The solitude and monotony of fire spotting was a far cry from his usual job as a police detective recently relocated to Discovery, Montana.

His stomach coiled into a tight knot. He didn’t want to think about his work as a cop. He’d taken a leave of absence when doubt had crept in, and he’d started wondering if he could ever really make a difference. After months of work gathering the evidence that Tyler Mason was using his temp work agency for human trafficking and illegal labor, Mason had avoided going to trial.

Bryan stepped away from the windows that wrapped around the tower’s octagonal structure. Even thinking about Tyler Mason put his nerves on edge. He wanted justice. Though he’d grown up in Discovery, Bryan had been a detective in Spokane for years. Tyler Mason lured unsuspecting immigrants and sentenced them to lives of hard labor and imprisonment all over the United States. When Bryan uncovered a slave labor factory in Spokane, his investigation led him to Tyler Mason who owned a home and a business in Discovery. In an effort to take down Mason, he’d requested a transfer five months ago.

But then a key witness had disappeared, and the case had fallen apart. And now, the department didn’t want to expend any more time or manpower on what seemed like a battle they couldn’t win.

Gritting his teeth, he studied the landscape. A dust cloud on the road below indicated that a vehicle was headed toward Bridger Lake. Unusual to see people out here, considering how high the fire danger was. The metal of the car glinted in the late afternoon sun.

Bryan drew the binoculars back up to his face, watching as a man got out of the driver’s side and opened the back door. A moment later, a woman jumped out. Bryan’s back stiffened. The man grabbed the woman from behind, but she twisted away, running into the forest. The driver and a second man chased after her.

Bryan’s heart pounded as he scanned the area, trying to get a clear view of what was going on. At this distance, it was hard to tell, but nothing about the interaction seemed friendly.

Finally, he spotted all three of them in the clearing by the lake.

He watched the man push the woman forward. The binoculars shook as Bryan focused in on the action. He was too far away to see clearly and the angle was all wrong, but it looked like the woman’s hands were tied behind her back. He couldn’t be sure.

He adjusted the focus hoping to see more. No luck. The woman’s long brown hair hid her face as she trudged forward with her head down. Then just before the three of them disappeared into the trees, one of the men reached into the back of his waistband. Sunshine shone against the metal of the gun.

His breath hitched. They were going to shoot her.

Bryan dropped the binoculars as adrenaline surged through his body. The most direct route to the woman was straight down the nearly ninety-degree mountain, a hard five-to seven-minute run on rocky terrain to the lake where the armed men had parked. It was the only chance he had of getting there on time. Hiking out to his truck and then taking the circuitous route on logging roads would take an hour or more.

He regretted having turned in his police issue Glock, but the forest service provided a rifle in case of bear attacks. He grabbed it and bolted out the door and down the narrow metal stairs of the tower.

Holding the rifle with both hands, he scrambled down the mountainside. Rocks rolled in the wake of his hurried footsteps. No clear trail came into view. He’d grown up camping in these mountains and had developed pretty accurate radar for finding his way. He knew where the road connected to the lake, but would he get there in time?

As he ran, he listened for the crack of a gun being fired breaking through the thick August air. Silence surrounded him. Did that mean the woman was still alive?

He jumped over a boulder. The terrain became steeper, and he dug his heels in. His foot caught on a root and flung him forward. The rifle flew from his hands, clattering to a stop on a sheer cliff some twenty feet down. He could maneuver around the cliff, but there was no time to climb down and retrieve the rifle.

He forged ahead, praying that he’d be in time. He worked his way through the thick trees seeking an open path.

Bryan stopped, blood freezing in his veins when a gunshot shattered the serenity of the forest.

TWO

From the moment she’d pulled the mask off one of her abductors, Sarah had sensed that the hours of her life were numbered. Now as they dragged her deeper into the forest, she knew she was nearing the end. The men were not bothering with the masks anymore. Clear evidence that she wasn’t coming out of this forest alive.

One of the men—the muscular one with the deep voice—pushed hard on her back. “Where is he?”

They still hadn’t given up their line of questioning. Some sort of last-ditch effort to get the information they’d kidnapped her for in the first place. Their desperation and rage had escalated since her second escape attempt.

She spoke between gasps. “I...don’t...know...where my brother is.” Her wrists hurt from where the rope cut into her skin. This time they’d made sure her bindings were tight.

Deep Voice grabbed her hair, pulled her close and hissed in her ear. “You’re his sister.” He shoved her forward. “You should know.”

Sarah stumbled from the force of the push. “He doesn’t have a phone. He lives all over the place.” Though she and her brother had been raised in foster care together, their lives had gone in very different directions. The last time she’d seen Crew, he had not been in good shape. He was sober, but rail-thin and shaking, probably from withdrawal.

“He talks about you,” said the second kidnapper, a skinny man with acne scars whose eyes were still red from his dose of pepper spray. His words made Sarah frown. How well did Crew know these men? How had he gotten mixed up with people who were so clearly dangerous?