Bram couldn’t believe he’d ridden so far, nor that the ground had been so rough. He felt like he’d climbed uphill for miles. He hadn’t been able to come up with a plan for what to do at Mule Shoe other than observe and try to find the killer.
To take his mind off the pain in his shoulder, he returned his thoughts to Liam as the possible arsonist. No one particularly liked the young man. Well, maybe a few females, but he certainly didn’t receive what most men, most people, wanted. Respect.
His best bet would be to formulate a timeline of Liam’s movements. At best it would be circumstantial, but Liam might confess if he thought there was a witness or other evidence. Yesterday when Bram asked Liam if his mother had met Shadow Woman, Liam mentioned the only fire where someone had been killed. He’d said, “Mom was really upset, but I . . .” Bram was willing to bet his mom was upset because she thought Liam set the fire, and Liam was about to say, “But I had nothing to do with it.”
Liam’s time of reckoning was approaching fast.
* * *
Something was hitting me, pushing me, wet, pounding.
My eyes were open, but the blackness did not go away.
The back of my head throbbed. My throat ached from screaming. Something clawed, whined, and licked me. I reached out to push it away. A soft coat, floppy ears. “Holly?”
The dog shivered and nudged me.
Panting and warm air came from behind me. “Maverick?”
The big dog lay beside me and let me hug him before he moved away.
“Good dogs.”
I tried to put it all together. I was shot. Shot! Bleeding! Reaching for my belt to apply a tourniquet, my hand encountered a small object. I felt it with both hands. Of course, this was the GPS. I wasn’t bleeding.
I was . . . wherever this black hole was.
My brain seemed scrambled from the blow and memory. I’d never had such a powerful and detailed flashback. Why hadn’t I fired my gun five years ago? Why had I run instead? Did I let my husband . . .
“Stop! Ground yourself in the present. Got that? Okay, my name is Darby Carson. No, Darby Graham Bell. My husband and my baby . . . No!”
Present. Not past. Not another flashback. “I’m soaking wet from sweat. It’s hot here and it stinks. The ground is . . .” I felt around me. “Dirt. The dogs are here, so they had to get here . . .” I shook my head, then immediately regretted it. Reaching back, I touched the aching spot. My hand came away wet. “Someone hit me over the head and put me . . . here. Did they put you two here as well? No. Maverick, you wouldn’t have let anyone near you. You must have found me or followed me here.”
I felt my jacket, then pants pockets, on the remote chance I had a flashlight or match. I found the two remaining rocks Scott had given me. No help there. I reached out and explored the space. Rock. A rock wall was within arm’s length.
I shifted to find out what was on the other side. Something’s wrong!
Ground yourself . . . Another cascade of memories fell.
A thousand bees were stinging my leg. I opened my eyes. In front of me, on the ground, were the remains of the killer. I jerked my gaze in the other direction. My husband lay in the distance. Nonononono!
The bees were stinging less. The world was starting to retreat. Fight this.
It took all my strength to push to a seated position so I could see. A red lake was forming around my lower leg. My brain felt like it was filled with growing black tar. Tourniquet. I unfastened my belt and looped it around my thigh, screaming with the pain. The darkness returned.
I had no idea how much time passed before I regained consciousness. Was I still in the ebony blackness of an abyss, or on the lawn lying next to the killer?
Holly pressed against me. I stroked her head and sat up. I have to fight this. The counselors at Clan Firinn had warned me I could go into a dissociative fugue state to escape from the memories, the trauma. I could become confused, lose my identity, wander aimlessly. We’d never get out of here. Ground yourself.
“Holly, Maverick, here’s the plan.” My voice was high-pitched and shaky. “You got in here, so you’ll have to lead us out. No voting on this.” The earth throbbed slightly and the stench grew. Sulfur.
“We need to move as quickly as possible ’cause it stinks, in case you hadn’t noticed. And getting hotter if that’s possible.”
Something had triggered that second flashback episode. It occurred when I moved my body. Cautiously I felt around. Rock wall to my right. My voice bounced as if in a small space. Holly was on my left. Beyond Holly? Reaching out, I felt nothing. I dropped my arm and touched the ground. Dirt and . . . metal? My fingers explored the object. Rounded top with a lip under two sides. Long—I couldn’t find an end to it. A rail? Railroad? That didn’t make sense. Could we be in a railroad tunnel? Would a train be coming through soon?
No. The rock wall was within arm’s length. A train couldn’t fit in here. Something smaller. More like a mine cart.
“Good news. Maybe. I think we’re inside an old mine. To get out of here, we just need to follow the rails. I’m sure you two can figure out which direction.”
I started to stand, then froze. A drop of sweat slithered down my forehead. Slowly I ran my hand down my leg. My prosthesis was gone.
I clapped my hands over the scream. Stop, stop, stop . . . No . . . Again the memories flooded my brain.
Night. I’d been lying here for hours, drifting in and out of consciousness, hoping, praying for someone to come along. I’d rolled onto my stomach and tried to crawl away from the killer, but I was too weak to get far.
The sound of a car and flash of headlights made me raise my head. Praise Jesus, thank You, God, someone is here.
Voices.
“Hey, Matt, Chris, come over here! This is cool. A body!”
“Naaa, really? Awesome!”
“Whatcha think we shood do?”
“Grab his gun, man. ’Nother gun over there.”
Approaching footsteps. “Hey, there’s a chick here. Pretty. Should we—”
“Naa, man, I ain’t that drunk.”
They moved away.
Help me! I moved my lips, but no sound came from my throat.
“Check the truck.”
The slam of truck doors, then car doors, then the roar of an engine, and they were gone. Silence again descended on the field.
I closed my eyes.
This time it was Maverick, pushing against me and whining, that brought me around. It was hotter than ever, and the sulfur stench punched me in the face.
“Okay, Maverick, okay.” Something tickled my brain. Hot. Sulfur. Something Grace said. Something about Yellowstone.
The ground trembled again, lasting longer.
Hot air pushed against my face.
Maverick whined again, then grabbed my jacket and pulled.
Grace. Outside the lodge. Talking with Dee Dee and Angie. Yellowstone’s incredibly fragile geothermal pools and geysers can be destroyed or altered by man. For example, people routinely throw pennies, garbage, even soap into geysers and pools. This can change the direction of a geyser or . . .
I grabbed Maverick and pulled myself upright. “Right. We gotta get out of here.”
Somehow, Maverick knew what I needed to do. The big dog let me put my hand on his shoulder and use him as a crutch. We started forward, he keeping pace with my hopping.
The ground shook and a rumbling came from behind.
I hopped faster.
Heat like a blast furnace plastered my clothes against my body. The rumbling grew louder.
My hops were more like one-legged leaps.
Ahead, daylight.
Rushing hot air pushed us. The rumbling was now a locomotive engine. The ground bounced.
We weren’t going to make it. Holly shot ahead and out the mine opening.
I put both hands on Maverick’s shoulder and leaped. Go. Go. Go.
Steam scalded my exposed skin.
We hit the entrance and vaulted to one side.
Seconds later, the geyser erupted with boiling water and steam.