Jane Choate - The Littlest Witness

The Georgia countryside was a blur as Shelley coaxed the minivan to maximum speed. If he weren’t mistaken, they were heading back to Atlanta. After settling Tommy in the backseat, asleep with his stuffed bear in his arms, Caleb had climbed in the passenger side. He didn’t like not driving, didn’t like turning over that control. But clearly Shelley believed she should drive, so he held his tongue. Barely.

A dark cloud smeared the sky gray. The humidity was thick enough to slice and serve up on a platter. Much as Caleb had detested the sand that blew with unrelenting persistence in Afghanistan day and night, he preferred that to the clamminess that crawled over his skin now like a million wet ants.

She flashed a grin his way. “Haven’t perfected that skill yet. I’ll let you know when I do.”

“Seriously, is there anything you can’t do?” He ticked items off his fingers. “You drive like a NASCAR champ. You take down a man who’s twice your size. I was beginning to feel as useless as a snowball in Alaska.”

Her smile died. “I told you to grab Tommy and get out.”

“You really think I’d leave you to take out two armed men by yourself?”

“Your first responsibility is to your nephew.”

“Don’t preach to me about my responsibilities,” he said, voice cold as the desert night in Afghanistan he had only moments ago been feeling nostalgia for. “I’m well aware of my duties.” Duty had defined him for as long as he could remember. Now it lay with Tommy. And it terrified him.

“Then why didn’t you go? I can handle myself.”

“So I saw. But Deltas don’t leave anyone behind. Ever.” The lash in his voice was unlike him. He chalked it up to a combination of fear, exhaustion and worry, but it was guilt that nagged at him unmercifully.

Ignoring his tone, Shelley retorted, “I’m not just anyone.”

“Duly noted.” He turned slightly so that he could see her profile. The softness of her features was belied by the firmness of her jaw. “You handled yourself like a pro back there.”

“I am a pro, Judd. Get used to it.”

Caleb didn’t argue. He had met Shelley less than twenty-four hours ago, and in that space of time, she’d spirited him and Tommy out of a motel, engaged two SUVs in a deadly game of chicken, then taken down an armed assailant who was bent on killing her and Caleb.

She had done all this with such dispatch that he could only marvel at the woman’s skill and courage. She was the real deal.

She hadn’t drawn her weapon. He had a pretty good idea why, but he asked anyway. “Why didn’t you use your gun? You had an opening.”

“I would have if I’d needed to, but I figured the police will have plenty of questions for those yahoos. There’s a chance they may even answer,” she said, confirming his guess. “Plus, taking a life, even when it’s justified, changes you. I didn’t need that. Not again.”

Caleb didn’t mind using his gun. But, like any soldier who understood what that meant, he liked not using his weapon better. Then the last part of her comment registered. He shot her a questioning look, but she only shook her head.

After securing the gunmen with plastic flex-cuffs she’d pulled from her backpack, she’d called Sal and directed him to call the local police and have the men picked up. She’d fished in the men’s pockets and had come away with nothing. “It figures.”

“What?”

“No ID. Not even a burner phone to tell who they called last.”

Caleb understood what she meant. There was no way to know who was giving the orders.

At that moment, a deer leaped from the woods, bounded over the guard rail and onto the road. Shelley braked sharply, avoiding the animal by mere inches. “Do you know that Bambi kills more people every year than Smokey the Bear?”

“I’ve heard stories.”

The clouds of earlier spilled forth in a drizzle, which quickly turned into a heavy rain. With the beat of the rain a counterpoint to his thoughts, Caleb tried to digest the events of the past day and a half. Questions swirled in his mind, questions that led only to a quagmire of more questions. Nothing about this made sense. If the killers thought Tommy could identify his parents’ murderers, why hadn’t they disposed of him when they’d killed Michael and Grace? Why try to kidnap him now?

They rode in silence for thirty minutes until Shelley broke it. “I was afraid of this,” she said, gesturing to what appeared to be an accident scene just ahead.

He got it immediately. An accident on this isolated stretch of road was too much of a coincidence to ignore. The punch of fear was not for himself, but for Tommy. “We’re not stopping.” He made a statement of the words.

“You got that right.” Her smile was hard and tight. “You boys better say a prayer.”

* * *

Shelley gunned the engine and maneuvered around the so-called accident. Angry shouts ensued, followed by the sound of car doors slamming and the roar of an engine.

“They’re on our tail,” Caleb said.

She didn’t bother answering.

The road narrowed just ahead in a series of sharp curves. The rain had worsened, sheeting down the windshield and making visibility a wishful thought.

Gunshots rang out, peppering the rear of the van like a swarm of angry bees.

Caleb twisted in his seat, stuck his head out the window and fired off two shots. The shatter of metal hitting glass told her that he’d hit the windshield. She’d expected no less.

He was Delta, after all.

In a Hollywood thriller, he would have shot out the tires, but this wasn’t Hollywood, and shooting out a tire from a speeding vehicle wasn’t as easy as the movies made it look. In fact, it was nearly impossible.

Caleb looked over his shoulder. “That slowed them down, but they’re still coming.” His grim tone echoed her own apprehension.

“I know.” They approached a sharp curve. She made the turn too swiftly, cut the wheel in the opposite direction, and realized she’d overcorrected. A rookie mistake. For a few breath-stealing moments, the van spun out of control.

At any other time, she’d have wrestled the vehicle back on the road, but the tires failed to gain purchase on the rain-slick asphalt, sending them skidding to a hard stop against the safety railing.

The impact sent Shelley hurling forward, but the air bags cushioned the blow for Caleb and herself. That was both good and bad news, as the deployment of the airbags meant that the vehicle was now disabled. She glanced in the rearview mirror at Tommy, noted with relief that he appeared okay.

“Get Tommy,” she yelled to Caleb and jumped out. “We’ve got maybe ten seconds before they’re on us.”

With Caleb carrying Tommy tucked under his arm, they ran for the trees as the pickup bore down on them and plunged into the dark greenness. The woods could be an unfriendly place, but they were a refuge now. The heavy smell of moss, wet leaves and soaked clothing swam through her senses.

The second the three of them hit the trees, bursts of gunfire sounded. With his free hand, Caleb grabbed Shelley’s arm. He dove and rolled, somehow managing to take both Tommy and Shelley with him until they were hidden beneath the dense underbrush of kudzu and ivy.

In the scramble of arms and legs, her ankle twisted beneath her. She didn’t have time to worry about it as she worked to make herself as small as possible.

The darkness was their friend, as was the storm, no matter how wretched the cold and wetness were. No light found its way through the forest where each tree struggled to find a wedge of sunlight at the expense of its neighbor.

With a finger to his lips, Caleb motioned Shelley to keep quiet, though the reminder was hardly necessary.