I dropped to both knees and managed to get my left hand out to break my fall. A warm trickle ran down the back of my neck. Darkness narrowed my vision to the size of pins. I fought against passing out and collapsing to my chest. No good would come from me blacking out completely. It felt as though there were a stack of forty-five-pound weights on my back, pressing me closer and closer to the forest floor.
“Mitch!”
Sam’s voice sounded like it was in an echo chamber. I knew my eyes were wide open, but I couldn’t see a damn thing anywhere I looked. There were footsteps all around me. Instinct said to protect my head. But I couldn’t find it.
“Dammit, I need a gun!”
The light pierced my skull like a long boring needle. It was too bright to see more than a foot in front of me.
“You all right, man?”
Pressure on my shoulder. A hand gripping me, pulling me up. I couldn’t assist.
“He’s gonna get away. Stay here and don’t move.”
Not a problem, Sam. Not a problem.
The ground was soft in spots, which made it difficult for Sam Foster and his size fourteens to plow his way through the woods the way he wanted to. The asshole who had knocked Mitch over the head wasn’t that bright, as demonstrated by the bright yellow shirt and matching shoes he wore. Had he just come from playing racquetball or something?
The guy had long since ditched his weapon. Sam spotted it, thought about taking it with him to do unto the guy as he had done unto Mitch. Worse, probably. Despite a little blood, Mitch looked okay. He had to shake off the blow. Rub some dirt on it. He’d likely refuse going to the hospital, but if he couldn’t stand, he was no help to Sam and the effort to find Cassie.
Sam was gaining ground now. He reached out and grabbed hold of every tree he passed, propelling himself forward. The other guy seemed to be slowing down at the same time. The bright clothes must have been a fashion statement. An unwise one, at that.
Obstacles sprung up at every turn. Sam had no trouble avoiding them. Who knew his trail running hobby would pay off? People always asked why he bothered running at his size. Wasn’t it counterproductive? Shouldn’t he be in the gym, getting even bigger? Strength had served him well for many years. But now that he was getting older, he needed the extra endurance running provided him. Lord knows he did everything he could to hide his yoga habit.
The guy was almost within reach. His yellow shirt stood out like a single post-it on a black fridge. Sam lunged forward and slammed his hands down on the guy’s shoulder. The man twisted in an attempt to shrug Sam off, but Sam grabbed hold and let his bodyweight drag the guy down.
“Get off me.” The smaller guy kicked up a storm, managing to connect on a few blows to Sam’s stomach and groin.
One he could prepare for. The other he had to clench his jaw and fight through.
You know, rub some dirt on it.
“Who the hell are you?” Sam maneuvered himself until he had the guy’s legs locked up. Years of Brazilian Ju-Jitsu training paid off. As the guy squirmed, Sam gained control until he finally had him subdued.
The man mumbled a few words, but they were hardly discernible through Sam’s thick forearm.
“You’re lucky I don’t snap your scrawny neck right here,” Sam said. “You hear that, asshole?”
“Mmyhmm.”
“That’s what I thought.” Sam eased up on the guy. Just enough to give him some wiggle room. “You move, squirm, fight against me and it’ll be lights out. I won’t need a damn club to do it, either.”
The guy remained frozen as Sam worked his way to his feet. He lifted the guy off the ground and marched him forward while holding his arms high and tight behind his back. One move and Sam’d dislocate them at the elbow and then yank them out of his shoulder socket.
“That-a-boy. Nice and easy.”
The blinding pain subsided in a matter of seconds. It had been so intense that I fell again after Sam took off. I made it back to my knees, then wedging my fingers in bark grooves on a tree, got to my feet. It took a few seconds for the world to stop jerking around. The back of my head felt as though it had split in two. I felt around, expecting a large gash. Didn’t feel that bad, though. I wiped the blood off on my pants leg and looked for any sign of Sam.
I hadn’t seen which way he’d gone. With the way he blew out of there, he had to have a line on whoever attacked me. There was no screaming or shouting going on, so he either hadn’t caught him yet, or he’d killed him. I’d put my money on the latter. People were surprised at how athletic Sam had remained over the years. Guys that tall with a thick muscular build tend to stiffen up as the years go by. I couldn’t bring myself to tell them it was his yoga practice that kept him so nimble. Cops could be a brutal bunch.
It was unnaturally quiet in the woods. Perhaps the disturbance had sent the birds and squirrels fleeing. After all that had happened in the spot, who knew when they’d return?
I shook the cobwebs from my head and felt steady enough to move away from my support tree. The first few shaky steps made me think I’d made a mistake I might not recover from. But once I got the hang of it, it wasn’t so bad. Look at me, Ma. I’m walking!
Sam’s voice shook the silence. He was preaching, which meant he had someone in custody. My gut tightened at the thought of apprehending Novak right here, right now. Bastard had come back to the scene of the crime. Couldn’t help himself. Didn’t count on running into us, though. He got the best of me, no doubt. That only pissed Sam off even more. The poor son of a bitch didn’t stand a chance.
“Hey, yo,” I called out.
“Mitch?” Sam yelled back.
“Yeah, man. I’m here. On my feet again.”
“All right. Just stay put till we get there.” His voice trailed off as he gave his prisoner a few instructions.
I resisted the urge to sit down on the ground, knowing I might not get back up. I was out a few minutes ago. Odds were I had a concussion. Sam would insist I go to the doctor. Fat chance that was happening as long as I wasn’t throwing up and passing out every few minutes. Besides, I’d been knocked out worse before. One day it would all catch up to me. This was not that day.
Sam emerged from the woods dragging a guy almost half his size dressed like half a banana. I couldn’t believe this was the dude who almost brained me.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” I said.
The guy looked at the ground and spat a wad of bloody saliva between us.
“You know him?” Sam said. “It’s not Novak, I know that.”
“We couldn’t be so lucky.” I walked up to the guy, made him look me in the eye. “What the hell are you doing out here? You involved in this somehow? Speak up, boy.”
He said nothing.
“Who is it, Mitch?” Sam asked.
“Seth. That hurricane night massacre, this poor excuse for a man is the boyfriend of the only survivor. He’s withheld some info every time we’ve run into him, and here he is, popping up again.”