Roland studied the small metal box on his lap. “This is high tech,” he said. “I could use something like this.”
“Maybe I know a guy,” said Warren. “She on track?”
“Yup. Pulling onto 517.”
“This road’ll intersect with theirs a couple of miles from Hélène’s. Meanwhile, no point in interfering with Canada’s finest.”
Three tones emerged from Warren’s backpack. “Black phone,” he said.
Roland rummaged through the pack. “How many goddamned phones have you got in here?” he asked irritably. “Hello?”
“Who is this?” shouted Ned, his voice clearly audible. ”Where’s Warren?”
“What’s the problem?” demanded Warren.
“They got her! They dragged her out of the car and there’s no cops! What do we do now?”
Warren slammed his foot on the accelerator. ”On the way,” said Roland, and disconnected.
• • •
Gunderman drove his car along a dark Canadian road, unable to comprehend his own motivation. There was nothing to be gained.
But he had tracked Luna Burke, Ned Harrelson, and their stolen eagle for almost 2,300 miles, and he could not accept that he had truly lost them. Everything he believed in was burning, his carefully maintained life about to collapse. He headed north, looking for an answer, knowing he wouldn’t find one. He couldn’t rectify the night’s events, nor could he look past them into his empty future. He drove toward the Port Clyde Eagle Sanctuary without a plan. I’ve never done this in my life, he thought, and kept driving.
• • •
A wide shaft of moonlight illuminated her path. The knife, she thought as she ran down the dirt driveway, picturing it lying on the road where she had dropped it. But she still had the gun, strapped snugly to her calf. She heard the roar of an engine, and the area around her was flooded with light.
Memory slipped through her panic. The cairn. Deep in the woods was a safe place, a fortress. She searched the side of the driveway as she ran. She spotted a balanced stack of rocks, and beyond it, a trail. She plunged into the forest, and the car screeched to a halt behind her.
When we get to Hélène’s, we’ll take you on an Owl Prowl! Rose had told her.
It’s a bunch of nutty people wandering around the woods at night, calling to the owls! added Harry.
The tremulous cry of a screech owl joined the chorus of crickets and katydids. She followed the trail, enveloped by the smell of pine and earth, out of the glare of headlights and into a world where she could slip into shadows. She glanced behind her and saw flashlight beams. She skirted the moonlight, searching for the fort. She had helped to build it.
Something rumbled in the distance. Thunder had a physical presence, she remembered, and soon it would crash over the forest. It could lift her into the air. It could find her when she hid.
She leaned against a huge white spruce and paused to catch her breath. Tentatively she touched her thigh, which had taken most of the impact when she landed on the road. Her pant leg stuck to her skin.
She heard the crunch of footsteps. Behind her was Ortega, his flashlight sweeping the darkness. She edged to the other side of the tree, and briefly pressed herself against the trunk. She pushed forward, and Ortega’s footsteps grew softer.
“Luna!” called Adam. “Where are you?” His voice had lost its warmth. Stress crackled around its edges. She straightened the holster around her calf, and hurried deeper into the woods.
• • •
Warren skidded onto the driveway of the Port Clyde Eagle Sanctuary without slowing down. He slammed on his brakes behind Adam’s car, jumped out, and spotted the cairn. “Come on,” he said. “I know where she’s going.”
“Dammit,” said Roland, scowling at the dark wall of trees. Unwillingly he pulled his Glock from its holster and followed. The forest floor crackled beneath his feet.
“Keep it down!” snapped Warren. “You sound like a rhino!”
“Luna!” called Adam in the distance. Two flashlights flickered, and Warren paused.
“We gotta take these guys out,” he whispered, “but they’ll hear you coming. Stay on this trail, follow her, and I’ll catch up.”
“Got it.”
Warren angled toward a single beam of light, which swept methodically back and forth. The man holding the light was tall and solid, and held a pistol in his other hand. Warren hugged the shadows and circled behind him. He glided closer, and in one fluid motion lunged forward and locked an arm around the man’s throat. Paszkiewicz squeezed the trigger, and his silenced weapon coughed. The bullet ricocheted off a nearby pine.
“Paz?” called a voice. Paszkiewicz went limp, and Warren followed the voice.
Ortega was on the alert. He swept his flashlight once, twice, then quickly turned and shone it behind him. He spun slowly, encasing himself in a protective circle of light. “Paz!” he called again.
Warren hovered out of the flashlight’s range, watching its nervous route. This situation requires an accelerant, he decided, so he took a deep breath, slid his left hand upward, and squeezed his own throat enough to slightly compress his larynx. He let out a hoarse, wheezy yowl that fell in pitch and tone until it ended in a deep, resonant rumble. The moving beam came to an abrupt halt. Warren repeated the call. Owwooooo.
“Holy shit,” breathed Ortega. His beam darted back and forth, jerky and sporadic. Put a man alone in the woods, thought Warren, add the sound of a very big cat, and watch how fast thousands of years of civilization grind to a halt. He let it loose again, and the man gasped and dropped his flashlight. He bent to retrieve it, and as he straightened a right cross caught him squarely on the jaw. Warren watched him drop, then set off in the direction of Luna’s trail.
• • •
Luna spotted a rock shelf beside a split hickory. She was close.
There had been more than twenty of them, she remembered, all ages, all hauling wood. Everyone was friendly and kind. She had just turned sixteen, and never experienced anything like it. Are you Harry and Rose’s granddaughter? a man asked her. Silently she smiled back at him, afraid to break the spell.
“Luna!” called Adam. She could feel the electricity in the air. A storm was coming. A pot of water boiled on the stove. Where is that little bitch?
She slowed, puzzled by the denseness of the forest. How could they have driven a truck with lumber and doors and locks all the way back here? She didn’t know why she couldn’t remember. But they had built a safe house, strong and impenetrable. When they were done, a happy six-year-old boy had turned to her.
It’s our castle! he cried. Our fortress!
It stood in a clearing, partially illuminated by moonlight. Luna stopped, her heart pounding, and stared at the structure before her. Many hands had fashioned tree limbs, branches, and vines into a one-room stick fort. Part of the roof had collapsed. A few of the vines had sprouted leaves. All expression vanished from her face.
“Luna?” called Adam, somewhere behind her.
• • •
The forest darkened as clouds drifted in front of the moon. “Come on, babe,” called Adam, using his calm voice. “We’re wasting time!”
He saw an outline in a clearing. He held up his phone, and its flashlight illuminated a crumbling fort. The clouds dispersed, bathing it in a silvery glow, and he leaned in the door. Abruptly she appeared beside the fort, ghostly in the moonlight, and he stumbled backward in surprise. She slid the safety off, and aimed the Ruger at his chest. “Go away, Adam,” she said, holding her arms straight.
He flinched, then recovered. “You’re not going to shoot me,” he said.
The bullet tore past his shoulder. “Jesus Christ!” he cried, as the report echoed through the woods. “What the hell are you doing?”
Footsteps crackled, and Roland appeared out of the darkness. Luna gasped and pointed her pistol at him.
“Roland!” said Adam, with relief. “I thought you…”
“I don’t work for you anymore,” said Roland.
“Bullshit!” cried Luna, aiming the gun from one to the other and back again. “I’ll shoot both of you! That last one was just a warning!”
Roland raised his hands. “No! Wait for Warren!”
She grimaced, confused. “Luna!” called Warren’s voice, seconds ahead of Warren himself. “We’re good,” he said, and rested a hand on Roland’s shoulder. He looked at her encouragingly, and held out his other hand. “You did it. Birds are safe. Let me take that.”
She kept the pistol pointed at Adam’s chest. “No!” she said. “It will never end! He won’t let me go!”
“Yes, he will. Come on. You’ve completed your mission.”
“She’s my wife!” snapped Adam.
Luna pointed the gun at his face, and Warren lowered his voice. “Listen to me,” he insisted. “You can do anything you want, but not if you shoot him.”
Her hands trembled. She felt the fort against her back. She heard the rustle of leaves, and two figures approached. She squinted as she kept her pistol on Adam, trying to identify them, knowing it must be Paszkiewicz and Ortega and that her time was almost up. Instead, two Canadian police officers moved toward her. Their guns were drawn. Their handcuffs glinted in the moonlight. “Drop the weapon!” one called.
The ground rose beneath her. Darkness and hunger and breaking glass. Whirling red lights and a dead end. Cornered. There she is!
Warren positioned himself between her and the officers. “They’re not here for you,” he said urgently.
“Of course they’re here for you!” Adam shouted. ”And I’m the only one who can help you!”
Luna swallowed. She looked at Warren, at Roland, at the two police officers with their drawn guns, and at Adam, with his hard stare. Coming closer were more footsteps. She couldn’t see the stars.
She leaned against the fort, the ebb of adrenaline and flood of despair so familiar it was almost a comfort. She slid down and sat on the ground, knees to her chest, the Ruger in her hand. Warren started toward her, and she raised the gun to her head. Warren stopped as if he had hit a wall. Adam froze. The police hesitated.
There it is, thought Luna. Harry and Rose’s pond. It was dark and soft and would cradle her and sing her to sleep. From its depths came fireflies, glittering like tiny crystals as they made their way to the surface. They’re not fireflies, she realized, they’re stars. She had found the stars again. Her forefinger tightened.
Ned rushed through the crowd, fell to his knees, and wrapped her in his arms. The gun fell and exploded, taking out the remaining section of roof. A ragged cry emerged from Luna’s chest and she clutched him, sobbing, as her tears soaked his shirt.
“It’s okay,” Ned whispered. “It’ll be all right.”