The only way to keep any kind of forward momentum was by staying on the gas, even though I was traveling about thirty miles an hour sideways to do so.
Fortunately, when I got to the end of the line, there was a buttress of railroad ties and fill dirt, looking almost like a ramp, leading up to the last car, and, more important, an open area where I could goose the truck and climb up out of the ditch to straddle a flat spot.
I gunned the three-quarter-ton, dodged between two cottonwoods, both about as big around as a coffee table, climbed out of the Bullet, and looked at the Jeep tracks. I sighed and unlocked the Remington shotgun from my transmission hump, figuring if I was going hunting I might as well go prepared. Before closing the door, I reached in, snagged the mic from my dash, and thumbed the button. “Lucian?”
The old sheriff’s voice rang back. Static. “What do ya need?”
“I’m at the end of the rail spur, but that damned Jeep of his was able to slip through and follow the goat path leading up toward the school.”
Static. “There was a reason those drove into Berlin and Tokyo and not a bunch of pickup trucks, you know.”
“Yep, but what I need is for you to keep an eye out in case he circles around on the old school road.”
Static. “I’m backed up to the railroad crossing in the detective’s car. These assholes from the BNSF say I’m going to have to move when they hook on to that spur of yours, but when that thing starts moving there isn’t anybody going to be able to get through anyway.”
“Make sure you and the interceptor are on this side, would you?”
Static. “Sure, I wouldn’t want to miss any of the fun.”
I tossed the mic back inside, plucked a handheld from the side pocket, and clipped it to my belt. I closed the door, stepping into the midcalf snow, threw the strap on the twelve-gauge on my good side, and marched off after the Jeep.
It was getting warmer, causing the whiteout fog to thicken like pudding, and the snow in the gulley was over my knees, but there was still not much wind. Luckily, I had the Jeep tracks to follow, so I switched off and began walking the tire-track tightrope, finally making it to a stand of naked trees and another slight depression that flattened out to the ridge where the old schoolhouse must’ve been.
As I got to the top of the hill, I paused to catch my breath and promised myself that if the postman made a run for it, I would just shoot him, pretty sure I was too tired to do anything else.
There was a discernible shadow to the left with a smaller shadow to the right, about the size of a vehicle. I jacked a round into the shotgun and continued to follow the Jeep tracks, hoping that I wasn’t too late, but pretty sure that if Jone Urrecha was still alive, he would use her to negotiate.
It was about then that I heard the unmistakable whizz of a 9 mm round whipping past me into the distance. I immediately crouched, brought the Remington up, and pointed it in the direction of the report. “Rowan, you better throw down that weapon and call it quits.”
There was silence for a few moments, and just in case he was a better shot than I thought, I moved to the left a little, keeping a low profile against the slope.
His voice was high and nasal. “How about we make a deal, Sheriff?”
I pinpointed his location to be in or near the Jeep, so I continued to the left, figuring I could work my way along the ridge and circle around, keeping the school between us. “I don’t usually negotiate in these kinds of situations.”
“I’ve got the woman.”
“I know that.”
“You better stop moving out there or all deals are off.” There was more silence, obviously more than he could stand. “You want to hear my offer?”
I thought about letting him sweat, but I was concerned that as nervous as he was he might shoot Jone. “I’m listening.”
“What if I leave her here in the schoolhouse, and you let me go back down the hill in the Jeep?”
“And I’m supposed to trust you?” Against my better nature, I thought about it. “You know I’ve got officers back in town, right?”
“I know you’ve got an old, one-legged sheriff down there, but I’d imagine that the rest of them are trying to get Richard Harvey to the emergency room or scraping the citizenry off I-90.”
He had a point.
“I’ll leave her in the school for you.”
“Along with your gun.”
“What?”
“You throw that pistol of yours out here toward me or it’s no deal. I don’t mind leaving you to the Campbell County Sheriff’s Office, considering how you shot one of theirs—”
“I didn’t shoot him!”
“Good luck explaining that in the heat of the moment.” I let him think about it. “But I’m not letting you waltz out of here armed.”
“What makes you think I don’t have another gun?”
“Because if you had, you would’ve used it instead of that 9 mm. I’m hefting this twelve-gauge with a full-length barrel and loaded with buckshot.” I let him think about that. “It might not get all of you at this distance, but it will get some of you—that much I can guarantee.” It got real quiet. “I’m through negotiating, in case you’re wondering.”
There was no response, but something sailed through the air and landed with a soft thunk to my right. I moved in that direction and fished in the snow, finally pulling out a Ruger semiautomatic minus the magazine.
He found his voice. “I didn’t figure there was any reason to give it to you loaded.”
“Fair enough, but you better not be lying to me.”
The ignition on the CJ-7 fired, and I listened as a door opened. “She’s inside; a little drugged up, but I’ve found that makes ’em easier to handle.”
“You’re not going to get far.”
“I’ll take my chances; anyway, I’ve got friends.”
“So I hear.”
“Watch your back, Sheriff.”
The sound of the door closing was accompanied by the revving of the engine as he spun the Jeep around and circled to the right to what I assumed was the regular road to the school.
I unclipped the handheld from my belt and keyed the mic. “Lucian, can you hear me?”
Static.
“Lucian, if you’re reading me, the postman, Rowan, is headed down the hill; feel free to shoot the Jeep, but I’d like him alive so I can find out where the other woman is and about his partners in this little cabin industry of his.”
Static.
I listened to the sound of the Jeep as I fastened the radio to my belt and started back up the hill. It sounded like the four-by-four was having a hard time negotiating the rutted road, and even as if it might’ve veered to the right and circled around toward the railroad spur, but sounds were strange and untrustworthy in this kind of storm.
Just in case, I pulled Vic’s cell phone from my pocket and looked at the lack of bars; of course, NO SERVICE.
—
Depth-charging my way to the school, I could see the prints where he’d been standing but also where he had dragged the girl to the other side of the Jeep. “And that’s what you get for having one shred of trust.”
Just to make sure, I climbed the steps and yanked the door open—empty.
Leaping off the stoop, I tromped through the shallower snow on the ridge and pulled the radio from my belt. “Lucian, he’s got the woman with him, so be careful taking him.”
Static.
I headed off following in the tracks of the Jeep, which arced back toward the road we’d taken up from the railroad spur. “Now, why would he do that?” The road was worse but faster, so maybe he thought his odds were better doubling back and using the train for cover.
I had another hike ahead of me, but it was a path I knew and it was downhill. I sidled my way down the hill and back into the trees, where at least I could tell if I was upright.