In some areas, the river had already flooded its banks.
“The bridge!”
Recalling Irma’s warning, she knew she had to hurry. She suddenly had a horrible vision of Sarge herding the children into his pickup and whisking them away. And what about Sam and Cortnie?
She took a reinforcing breath, then jogged toward the cabin, ignoring the jolting pang in her ankle. She ran inside, slammed the door and lit the lamp with shaking hands.
“Okay, call the police.”
Her purse was lying on the coffee table. She checked it, but no cell phone. She opened kitchen drawers and rummaged through them. “Okay, where’d you put your cell?”
Fear crept into her mind, but she pushed it away. “Focus!”
When had she used it last? A few days ago, a week? She couldn’t remember.
In her panic, she tripped over the laptop case.
“A-ha! There you are.”
She flung it on the kitchen table and unzipped it. Relief rushed through her. The cell phone was right where she had put it earlier, in the inside pocket. She flipped the phone open and let out a groan. No power, no signal… nothing.
“Come on!” She stabbed at the power button. It flashed, then died. “You left it on, you idiot!”
She dropped the useless phone on the table, knowing she would have to drive into town and bring the police back. Spurred into motion, she changed jackets. At least the heavy winter one was warm and dry. She tugged her purse strap over one shoulder, then fumbled in the jacket pockets and pulled out a set of keys.
“Thank God something’s going right.”
Ducking her head against the howling wind and another deluge of rain, she stepped outside, the small flashlight in one hand, car keys in the other. She limped down the path and within minutes, she was at Irma’s cabin. She almost pounded on the door before she recalled that Ed had taken his sister to Edmonton.
Philip’s Mercedes sat dejectedly off to the side of the road. Fat raindrops battered it, then rolled off the hood. She unlocked the door, tossed the flashlight and her purse on the passenger seat and climbed in. Muttering a quick prayer, she shoved the key into the ignition and turned it. A faint raspy sound greeted her. Then, like the cell phone, it too was out of commission.
“For crying out loud!” she cried. “Give me a fucking break!”
Furious, she tried again.
This time the engine was dead silent.
For a moment, she just sat there. Then she slumped over the steering wheel and tears poured from her, unbidden and unrestrained. A crack of thunder made her body jerk. She bolted upright, terrified, and gripped the wheel until her knuckles turned white. The windows were starting to fog over and she wiped the side one with her sleeve. When lightning streaked across the sky, she saw a black hulk off to her left. Another jagged flash lit up the surrounding area, spotlighting a sedan of indistinguishable color. It was parked next to the other cabin, the one near the road.
She shoved the door open, gathered her belongings and bolted from the car. Fighting the storm, she ran toward the cabin. She practically jumped out of her skin when a rectangle of light appeared.
A bulky shadow moved in the open doorway. “Someone out there?”
“Hey!” She waved the flashlight in the air. “Over here!”
By the time she reached the cabin, she was out of breath and fighting back tears. “Help me… please… we have to help them.”
She looked up at the sign over the door. Hope.
Sadie was ushered inside by a burly, red-bearded man in a dingy, stained t-shirt and faded jeans, the latter held up by a leather belt that was half-hidden by his drooping belly. He had maybe a decade on her and had kind, pale green eyes.
“What’s wrong with you, lass?” he asked in a thick Scottish accent. “You look like you seen a ghost.”
“I need to use your phone,” she panted.
She tried not to look at the deer and moose heads that were mounted on the walls of the log cabin or the empty beer cans that littered the floor.
“That’ll be a problem, then. Don’t got one.”
“But we have to call the police!”
The man frowned. “Now why would we do that?”
She took a deep breath. “Sarge kidnapped some children. He’s holding them in an underground bunker.”
“Sarge has a bunker? In the ground, you say?”
Sadie groaned with frustration. “He’s The Fog!”
“’Tis a wee bit foggy out there,” the man said, distracted. “Why don’t you rest up a bit, lass? Your ankle’s swelling. You should raise it, put it up on the other chair. I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared outside, returning a minute later with a bag of ice. He led her to a chair. “Put the ice on your ankle.”
She sat down and watched him move toward the kitchen.
“We have to do some—” Her breath caught in her throat.
Bulging eyes stared back at her. Eight fish in various stages of cleaning were belly up on the counter. Some were still alive, their mouths opening and closing, gasping for breath. Eventually, they gave up trying.
The man picked up a fishing knife, its curved blade glinting dangerously. When he saw her watching him, he smiled. “Once I finish this, I’ll make us some warm apple cider. Unless you’d prefer ale.”
Sadie was mesmerized by the knife. “I don’t want anything.”
“Cider’ll warm you up. Name’s Fergus, by the way.”
“Sadie.”
“Aye, I know all about you.” Fergus sliced through the belly of a small fish and scraped the guts onto a blackened metal cookie tray that rested across the top of the sink. “Irma said you had man trouble and was hiding out here.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“What do you call it then?”
She opened her mouth, floundering for words. But like the half-dead fish, she quickly gave up.
After a minute, she said, “We have to help the children.”
“Sarge’s wee ones are dead. Don’t know why you’d think otherwise.”
“I don’t mean them. I’m talking about my son and the others that he took. They came to me for help. I have to do something.”
“Best wait ’til the morning, lass. ’Til this squall is over.”
“I can’t wait. My son is out there somewhere. We need the police now.”
A gust of wind rattled the door. Sadie jumped.
Fergus frowned. “You planning to take that Mercedes into town in this weather?”
“The battery’s dead. I need to borrow your car.”
The man rinsed off the knife and wiped his hands on a dishtowel. “Perhaps ’tis the booze talking.”
“I am not drunk. I’m perfectly sober.”
He cocked his head. “Aye, you don’t look drunk.”
“Please. Help me, Fergus.”
“Tell you what… I’ll take my car into town and call the cops for you.”
She gave him a thankful smile.
Fergus reached for a jacket hanging beside the door. “You rest here and keep that ice on your ankle.”
He was out the door before she could blink.
A car engine rumbled to life and headlights swept past the window at the back of the house. Then all was still.
She shot out of the chair. “There’s no way in hell I’m going to sit around and do nothing.”
Especially when she had a weapon.
The gun.
She headed for the door, but paused when her eyes landed on the fishing knife. She slipped it into her jacket pocket.
“Better to be safe than sorry.”