She was trying to convince herself that this was a good plan, but Jace was picturing the rifle in the man’s hands. Picturing the way it would happen, wondering if you heard the shot or just felt it. Or did you feel anything at all? He supposed that depended on where you were shot.
“You think it hurts much?” he said.
“What?”
“Getting shot. Or will I even feel it?”
She turned back to him. “You won’t feel it.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“You won’t feel it, because it’s not happening.”
He lowered his head again. She didn’t know. She hadn’t seen them, she hadn’t run from them, hadn’t changed her name and gone to hide in the mountains only to look through binoculars and see one of them after all this time and over all these miles. She was like his mother-she believed there was a way to fix it all. But the only way to fix it all was to go back in time.
“I’m going to go down and get them,” she said. “When I do, you get under the cot, all right? Hang the blankets down a bit. Enough so nobody can see you.”
“They’ll see the radio,” he said. “That will get their attention pretty fast.”
“Right. Damn it.” She looked at the radio, took a breath, and said, “I’ll go to them, then, and I will keep them from coming up here. Connor, you stay right where you are. I’m going out there and you better not let me down. When I come back, I’ll be alone, and they’ll be gone.”
Then she walked outside and closed the door behind her.
Ethan drove out of the hospital and then out of Billings, took 90 and went west through the flat farm country where the railroads ran parallel to the highway. Neither of them spoke. He left 90 and got on 212 and headed southwest, away from the train tracks that had brought civilization to this place and toward the mountains that had fought it. Ethan was thinking of the way Allison’s lips had looked with those stitches. Torn so badly the doctors had to literally sew her flesh back together, all because of a man’s fist. Likely the man beside him. Ethan could smell him and he could see him and he could reach out and touch him, but he still could not stop him. It was the most impotent feeling of his life. He was willing to pay the price for killing this man. Willing to die in the truck beside him if it meant he had protected the right people.
Only the second man prevented this. Allison had said that she hoped Ethan wouldn’t ever hear the two of them talking to each other. Now he wished desperately that he might.
They passed two police cars as they entered Red Lodge, but neither stopped. The burned man regarded them with casual interest. On the other side of Red Lodge, the road began to climb; the big truck’s engine growled louder now. Onto 212 again, headed into Wyoming, over the Beartooth Pass, and then curling back into Montana. The mountainsides fell off beside them on the left, long, stunning falls, and climbed just as steeply on the right.
“I am curious about one point,” the burned man said. “It’s of no consequence, so you may lie about it if you wish, but I hope that you won’t.”
Ethan drove and waited. On the switchbacks above them, a motor home was lumbering down. He drifted as far right as the road allowed, hugging the corner, tight against the mountain.
“Did you leave the boy behind because you knew who he was?”
“No. I wasn’t told which one he was.”
“Which one. So you were told that he would be present, but you were not given his identity? Not even the false identity?”
“That’s right.”
“So you were operating without concern over his identity until last night, when you received word of the events at your home.”
The events at his home. Ethan gripped the steering wheel harder and nodded.
“This was from your wife? The signal she issued?”
“Initially.”
“She is brave and she is smart. Better than I’d expected, certainly. I mean, look at my face.” He lifted a fingertip to his blistered flesh and grimaced. “She ruined it. And you haven’t even seen my side. There’s still birdshot inside of me. No, your wife is not so bad.”
“Fuck you,” Ethan said.
The burned man nodded. “Of course. Now, if you’ll continue to indulge me, I’m curious about the situation that awaits us. You now know which boy it is, but you did not last night. This means that you discovered the reality of him when he ran away. Am I correct?”
Ethan squeezed the steering wheel and imagined it was the son of a bitch’s throat. He was glad the mountain road was so demanding. It forced his eyes to stay ahead, forced his hands to remain on the wheel.
“You’re correct,” he said.
“And when did you notice his absence?” Every question so formal, like they were in a courtroom.
“Middle of the night. When we were hiking down.”
“So you can’t show me exactly where you lost him?”
“I can get you to the point last seen.”
“The point last seen?”
“It’s how you start,” Ethan said. “When someone is lost. You go to the point last seen, and then you think. You try to think as that person would have when he was there.”
“Marvelous. I’m glad we have an expert along. It’s a tremendous bit of good luck. To the point last seen, then. There we’ll see how good you really are.”
On up the mountain they went.
22
Hannah stood alone on the deck of the tower as the searchers came toward it. About twenty-four hours had passed since the first smoke sighting. There was much more of it now, and she stood on the balcony and stared through her binoculars at it. Tried to act like she was doing her job. She looked through the glasses one last time as the searchers reached the plateau. The shadow man followed, as was the way with shadows. Already Hannah was developing a fear of him. Maybe not one that matched Connor’s, but it was there, and it was growing. She had four men on the way, two of them armed, and there was only the one behind. Common sense said to tell them about him. Common sense said tell the truth, give up the boy, trust the system that was in place here. Follow your protocol. The last time she’d broken protocol, people had died.
You get another chance.
Maybe she couldn’t look at it like that. Maybe that was the worst thing, the most dangerous thing for the boy. She should just play her role, turn him over to them. What was his pursuer going to do then? If she took all of these men up to the tower and told them the truth and gave them the boy? One man wasn’t going to risk taking on four. Even an assassin wasn’t going to risk taking a shot in these circumstances. He’d never make it back out of the mountains.
You think it hurts much? the boy had asked. Getting shot? He had truly wanted to know. It was probably the most important question he’d ever asked.
“Hello! Hello up there!”
The searchers were shouting for her now. It was time. Two choices, two options, right hand or left, heads or tails. Ask them for help and trust that nobody was going to shoot. Or send them on and trust that she could get the boy to a safer situation. Send them on and let the shadow man trail behind and fade out of sight. All she had to do to make that happen was go down and answer some questions. Hang in there for five minutes.
She held the railing as she went down, leg muscles liquid, like after the dreams, her heart hammering so hard, it seemed dangerous. Maybe she’d die before she reached them. Could your heart burst from fear? She thought it had to be possible. She’d read once that some doctors theorized that people who died from heart attacks in the night had literally fallen victims to their nightmares. It was something she’d been unable to purge from her mind once her dreams started.