The quantity of blood she'd lost was immense. I lifted her wrist but couldn't locate a pulse. I lowered my ear to her face but couldn't hear any breath sounds.
I trudged back down the hill and rejoined Kimber and Dell, who had waited for me. Neither of them met my eyes. We reentered the dead forest. I never thought I would voluntarily enter the perimeter of the blow down again. The web of dead trees terrified me as we descended into the deepest drifts of lumber. Dell led us. I followed Kimber. After walking for ten minutes, Dell stopped and looked us in the eye one at a time and said, "It was important to me that you hear the story from Cathy's own lips, just the way I did a few days back. If I had to tell it on my own, I don't think I could do it justice." He shook his head.
"Right about here is where Phil said the reporter and her husband are buried.
Somebody should know that, look for them. Bury them properly."
He pointed up the hill.
"It's too dark to see, but Phil brought an entire hillside of trees down into this ravine on top of their bodies."
So Phil Barrett had killed Dorothy's husband, too. What was his name? Oh yeah, Doug.
We walked on. I felt numb. What had Dorothy learned that warranted her murder?
Another ten minutes passed. We weren't covering much ground. The path wasn't clear; broken trees and stumps littered the way. Kimber said, "Dell? Earlier?
You were supposed to kill Flynn and Russ?"
"Yes. That's the way Phil had it planned. I was supposed to take care of the two of them and he'd take care of the two of you. We'd let the forest bury the bodies. While he was down in Clark picking you up though, and while Cathy was busy setting the charges on the hillside, I tied your friends up, moved them someplace I thought would be safe, and fired a few shots into the air. Even though Cathy set off the charge, they should be okay where I put them. We'll see real soon. We're almost there."
It took thirty minutes of the deafening roar of the chain saw to free Flynn and Russ from the spot where Dell had sheltered them from the cascade of broken trunks and limbs that the explosives had sent down the mountainside. The lacy web of timber that had imprisoned them in a crevasse at the base of a high rock face was almost eight feet deep. Each time the saw quieted I told Flynn and Russ another part of the story we'd just learned from Cathy and Dell.
Flynn and Russ finally crawled up through the narrow opening that Dell created with his saw. They were both filthy but neither of them appeared to be injured.
Flynn climbed out of the cavern first, then Russ.
Flynn went to embrace Kimber. During the frantic effort to free Flynn and Russ I hadn't noticed his withdrawal from our activity.
"Alan," she said.
"Look at Kimber."
I turned toward him. His arms were crossed over his chest. His eyes were orbs of pure fear.
"I can't breathe," he said.
"I think I'm having a heart attack." His hands were shaking. Despite the chill of the night, beads of sweat dotted his upper lip and brow. He was gasping for breath.
"I can't stay here. I've got to get out of here."
I climbed closer to him.
"It's a panic attack, Kimber. This will pass. You're going to be okay. They always pass, right?"
"No, no. I'm not going to be okay this time! This is worse. I feel like I'm going to die up here. I have to get away from this place. Right now, please. I have to go." His eyes scanned the hillside, searching for imaginary dangers.
I knew I had to grant him whatever control I could.
"That's fine, Kimber. Where would you like to go?"
He didn't hesitate.
"Back to your car. I like it in your car. Right now I want to go to your car."
I needed a helicopter to locate my car. I didn't even know which way to look for it.
Dell Franklins mouth was open as he stared at Kimber. Finally, he said, "We're not too far from it, actually. Your car."
"Can you show us?"
"Sure." Kimber said, "I'm dizzy. I can't feel my hands."
"You'll be okay, Kimber."
"No, no. I won't. I'm afraid I won't."
Dell led us to my car. At times Kimber jogged through the narrow paths between the fallen trees. At times he cowered and waited for Flynn or me to steady him.
The relief I felt at finally clearing the perimeter of the blow down was enormous.
I kept waiting for Kimber's panic attack to abate. But it showed no signs of lessening.
I fumbled for my keys. Kimber climbed into the backseat, begging, "Music! I want music. More Beethoven. Boz Scaggs. Somebody. I don't want to die back here."
I turned to Flynn and Russ.
"We shouldn't all pile in there with him. He needs space. I'll drive him down to town and try to get him stabilized. Dell, where are the other cars?"
"A quarter mile from here, around the edge of the blow down That's all. You go ahead. The three of us will follow you in my truck."
I turned to Russ and Flynn.
"You're sure?"
Russ said, "Go. You're the best one to be with him right now."
I, Dell said, "The closest place you could take him would be my ranch. It's the first ranch past Clark. You're welcome to take him there."; Kimber yelled, "No! No place new. It will make it worse. Turn the:: music up. Drive, please, drive" I offered a sad smile to Dell before I climbed behind the wheel. I said, "Thanks for the offer. You need to finish telling Russ and Flynn the story and get the local sheriff involved. I'll get Kimber to town and try to calm him down."
PART Six
Welle Done
By the time Kimber and I descended from the edge of the blow-down and reached the town of Clark I figured that his panic attack had exceeded an hour in duration. As far as panic attacks go, sixty minutes is a long time. I asked Kimber if that was typical for him. In a voice as cold and sharp as an icicle he told me that it didn't matter, this time was different, he was sure he was dying.
I was starting to worry. Although panic attacks are terrifying for the victim and scary enough for anybody in the vicinity, they are usually, ultimately, harmless physically. But that isn't always the case. Occasionally the physiological stress that an attack places on the body can cause severe consequences-heart attack, stroke, even in rare instances, death.
Ten minutes farther down the hill toward Steamboat, Kimber sat up suddenly in the backseat and said, "Alan, I don't think I'm going to make it to town." I had to admit that he appeared ready for death. He was ghostly white and his respirations were rat-a-tatting like a machine gun. He looked out the window and asked, "Are we close to Welle's ranch?"
I was perplexed by the question. I replied, "Reasonably. A couple of more minutes."
"Go to the ranch, then. Please. The Silky Road. I liked it there today. I think maybe I'll feel safer there. Maybe I'll get better there. Please."
Although familiarity sometimes has an ameliorating effect on panic episodes, I wasn't convinced returning to the ranch was the wisest course of action.
"We're only fifteen or twenty minutes from town, Kimber."
"I don't think I can make it twenty minutes. My chest."
I started to argue that there was no one at the ranch who could let us through the gate. He told me he didn't care. We could break in. He'd explain it all later.
"I've lost feeling in my toes and fingers. Just try it." He was begging.
Remembering that this man had helped save my life only a couple of hours earlier, I drove to the gate of the Silky Road and hit the buzzer. While I was waiting for a response I checked my watch. It was almost dawn. The only thing that was keeping me awake was the adrenaline rush I was having in reaction to Kimber's panic attack. Sylvie finally answered my beckon after a minute or two.
She had obviously been awakened from a sound sleep. I couldn't imagine that she would grant us entry if I told her the truth, so I identified myself and said that Phil Barrett had asked me for a ride home from town and explained that he'd lost his keys and couldn't recall the security code for the gate.