“Oh my god,” Caitlin said.
Ogden fell to his knees beside the woman and turned her over. He put his fingers to her neck.
“That’s not Fiona,” Caitlin said.
“What?”
“That’s not Fiona.”
“She’s alive,” Ogden said. “She’s been shot.”
“Oh god.”
“I’ve got to go call for help.” Ogden looked at the injured woman. By the time the medics made it up that muddy road the woman might be dead. No helicopter was going to fly in this weather, even if there was a place to land, which there wasn’t. He stood there, trying to make a quick decision. Should he move her and meet the ambulance at the road? He looked at the wound to her side. She’d lost a lot of blood. “We’re taking her,” he said. “Get the door.”
Ogden picked up the woman and carried her cradled in his arms through the rain to his rig, where he laid her across the backseat. Caitlin sat in the back with her, holding the woman’s head in her lap.
Ogden called in. “Felton, get me an ambulance to the Questa Lake road. I’ve got a woman who’s been shot.”
“Who’s been shot?” Felton asked.
“The ambulance, Felton.”
“On it.”
Ogden tried to get down the mountain as fast as he could, without letting his adrenaline push him to drive and slide into trouble. The rain let up a bit, but the track was truly a mess. He drove with his tires on the center ridge to avoid getting sucked into the mud of the ruts.
“She’s still breathing?” Ogden asked.
“I think so.”
“Do you recognize her?”
“No.” Caitlin was shaking. “Is she going to die?”
“Felton,” Ogden spoke into the radio, again. “Felton, where’s that ambulance?”
“They’re on the way,” Felton said. “Where are you?”
“Still on my way down the mountain. Another ten minutes, I think.”
“Copy that. I’ll let them know,” Felton said.
“Keep pressure on her wound,” Ogden said.
“She won’t stop bleeding.”
Ogden didn’t say anything, but attended to his driving. The rain was letting up even more and though the fog was thicker, it was in patches so he could see well enough. He thought about the volume of blood and the way the wound looked. The woman could not have been shot too long ago, yet they’d passed no vehicles on the way up. Was the shooter on the way up the mountain? Or still near the cabin?
There was an anxious moment as Ogden rounded the last bend and saw the gravel yard of the little restaurant but no ambulance, but then the paramedics rolled in, red light flashing in the fog.
They had the woman out of the rig and in the back of the ambulance in a matter of minutes. Bucky pulled into the yard just after the medics. One of the medics asked Ogden if he knew the woman’s name or anything about her and Ogden said he did not. Then they rolled away, siren screaming. They had wanted the helicopter, but there would be no flying today.
Bucky walked to Caitlin under the overhang of the restaurant boardwalk. “You okay?” he asked.
“I think so.”
“What about you?” Bucky asked Ogden.
“I think so. How’d you get here so fast?”
“I was down in San Cristobal.”
“We found her in a cabin almost to the lake. I’ll be driving back up there now,” Ogden said.
“Wait for Warren. He’s on his way.” Bucky turned to Caitlin. “Young lady, I’ll take you back to town. You can give me your statement and we’ll get you dry and warmed up.”
Caitlin looked at Ogden. She didn’t want to ride back with the sheriff. Ogden understood. People often wanted to remain with the person with whom they’d experienced something profound or frightening. He nodded to her, letting her know it was okay. He looked to the highway for Warren Fragua’s rig.
“See you back at the office, Ogden,” the sheriff said.
Ogden watched them walk through the now light rain and get into Bucky’s car. He stepped inside the restaurant and looked back through the window as they rolled away.
“Can I get some coffee?” he asked the teenager.
The girl was standing beside the register with the cook. “Was that the girl you were looking for?” she asked.
“No.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
“I don’t know,” Ogden said.
“I’ll get the coffee.”
It took Fragua another five minutes and then the two men were traveling up the slick road in Ogden’s Bronco. The rain had stopped and the fog had thinned considerably.
“No idea who she is?” Warren asked.
“None.”
“All I know is I didn’t drive by anyone on my way up and nobody’s driven down since.”
“How’s the girl?”
“Shaken up, like you’d expect.”
“How’s the boy?”
“You mean me?” Ogden asked.
“Yes, you.”
“Shaken up, like you’d expect.”
“I hate guns,” Warren said.
“That’s because you’ve got a brain.”
“Did you notice anything strange when you were in there?” Warren asked.
“Other than the bleeding woman? Nothing. I didn’t even think that I might be in danger until I was headed down the mountain.”
Half an hour up the trail Ogden spotted the blue Bug again. He parked beside it. The men got out and examined the car. Ogden put his hand on the hood; it was cold. He looked under the car and saw that the ground was soaked underneath.
“This spot look flat to you?” Ogden asked.
“Pretty flat.”
This time Ogden approached the cabin with his weapon drawn. Warren had his pistol out as well and they came at the structure wide from either side. The front door was open just as Ogden had left it. They stepped inside.
“Everything looks normal,” Ogden said. “Right down to the big puddle of human blood on the floor.”
“Did you look in this back room?” Warren pointed to a curtain hanging in a doorway.
“Didn’t even see it.”
Warren moved the fabric aside with his pistol and peeked in. “Just a bed.”
“Made or unmade?” Ogden asked.
“No bedding at all.”
“Well, let’s see if we can figure out who’d been living here.”
“I’ll call down and see if Bucky can find out who owns this place.” Warren left and went back to the truck.
Ogden poked around near the sink and cabinets. There were dirty dishes stacked on the counter, two plates and a couple of forks. The residue of eggs and some kind of meat was not dried hard. He sniffed the plastic cups, no alcohol.
He moved over to the long table against the far wall. One of the panes of the window on that wall was cracked, a corner broken out. It looked like old damage.
Warren came back in. “Bucky’s checking on it. Anything?”
“Not yet. I’m going to see if there are any clothes in the bedroom.”
In the bedroom Ogden found a couple of pairs of women’s jeans and a stack of T-shirts. Then he heard a rumble. “Hey, Warren, you hear that?” he asked, stepping back into the main room of the cabin.
“Yeah,” Warren said.
“Shit,” Ogden said running to the door. He got there just as a white van raced by on the muddy road. “Jesus. Warren.”
The men ran to the Bronco and climbed in. Ogden tried to start the engine, but it decided to be uncooperative. “Christ!”
“Just give it a second,” Warren said. Warren got on the radio and told Felton that a white van was about to hit the highway.
Ogden tried again and the engine turned over. He slammed it into reverse and turned around, fishtailing as he turned onto the rutted lane. “Shit, shit, shit,” he said. “We’ll never catch up.”