The excursion, p.25
The Excursion, page 25
If not, he’ll adapt.
He checks the time on his cell phone. Cam should have almost cut through the rope by now. Soon, that moron will be bounding through the snow, trying to escape. Randall can’t wait to hear the crack of Amanda’s gun. The resounding echo bouncing off the mountains, breaking the chill morning air.
He can’t wait to watch Cam go down at the hands of his own cousin. It makes him smile.
“Randall,” squawks the walkie-talkie, “where are you?”
He presses the push-to-talk button. “I’m at the cabin. Where are you?”
“Mr. Rockwell and I are heading up into the trees now,” Hector says. “We just passed the lake.”
“Did you go east?”
“Of course we did.” The speaker hisses through sporadic static. These things were bought on a budget. “Any sign of Mr. Dawson?”
“No.” Randall glances at the cars, then the driveway. “None, yet. How much farther do you have before the two-mile minimum?”
“Not much. Another fifteen minutes or so.”
“Carry on, then. Make sure you abide by the rules.”
“You’re the one breaking the—”
Randall hooks the walkie-talkie onto his belt. Hector is not going to listen to him. Not the way a subordinate should. It won’t be long now. Soon, he’ll be Hector’s boss, and Lance will be out on the street. Everything will turn out fine as long as Lance doesn’t arrive early. As long as he doesn’t arrive before the excursions are over.
Randall gazes up at the second story windows.
As long as he isn’t already here . . .
Frost covers the glass. Despite what Hector said about Lance flying in from Texas, he could be inside the cabin right now. Lance has been known to do things like that. While Randall is the type of hunter to march bravely into the wilderness and kill his prey, picking them off one by one, Lance would rather hide in a blind and wait for the prey to come to him. It’s a lazy way to hunt, in Randall’s view. A coward’s way.
Randall slowly opens the front door and steps lightly down the hall. The dining room. The kitchen. The living room. All clear.
He checks the deck. The windswept snow lays undisturbed, its weight pressing on old posts. The railing sagging. This place is falling apart.
In the upstairs hall, he pauses outside Jacob’s door. The simpleton might have come back. Now would be a good time to tie up this loose end. With Kennedy presumably passed out in the bedroom across the hall, he could quietly knock Jacob out and take him to the boathouse.
No.
The boy weighs too much, and Kennedy might hear Randall hit him.
Smothering the simpleton with a pillow would be better. Let him die in that bed. But, one scream, and Kennedy would wake up. Amanda would hear it, and everything would go to hell.
He cracks Jacob’s door and peers inside.
No matter. The simpleton hasn’t come back.
Randall closes the door, gingerly walks down the hall, and gently raps on Amanda’s door.
“It’s time,” he whispers.
He waits.
He raps on her door again. “Are you ready?”
“Yes. Almost.”
“Meet me in the kitchen. Remember to bring all your things. You’re leaving immediately after we’re done.”
“I know,” she says in a hush.
Ah, but she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know where she’s going after the excursion. It makes him smile.
A noise comes from the hall.
Randall spins around.
No one is there.
He rounds the corner and stops outside Jacob’s room. The door is closed. He can’t remember if he left it open or closed. Behind him, footsteps sound inside Kennedy’s room. He turns. Faces her door. More footsteps come. She’s awake and moving around. Down the hall, a door closes. Amanda is on her way.
A noise comes from behind him.
Someone is inside Jacob’s room.
It must be Jacob, but it could also be Lance.
He rushes downstairs as quickly and as quietly as he can.
Barry did a horrible job with the dishes. The pan he used to cook the steak rests on the drying rack, but it’s smothered in grease. The forks have spots, and wilted lettuce clings to the salad bowls. There are no knives.
“I’m ready.” Amanda appears in the kitchen entryway, blocking Lance’s view of the deck, suitcase in hand. She’s wearing a puffy green ski jacket, fluffy white gloves, and a surprisingly rugged pair of jeans. “These are the best boots I had. I hope they’re okay.”
“They’ll do.” He assumes her Uggs—or whatever fancy-brand footwear she’s wearing—will make it through one day in the wilderness. “Come. We need to go.”
“Wait.” She puts her suitcase on the floor and unzips her jacket partway down, exposing her cleavage. “I haven’t eaten.”
He opens a cupboard and takes out a box of breakfast bars. “Here. We can eat on the way.”
“About the fee . . . you know, the extra twenty percent?” She taps her chin, then circles her finger right above her chest. “I was wondering if I could pay that another way.”
“You’ll pay the full amount.” He pushes her aside and enters the dining room. “You can Venmo me.”
“Hey, what’s the rush?”
He stops.
On the deck outside the french doors, someone has disturbed the snow. Tracks lead from the stairs to the doors. Randall came in through the front door. He checks the handles, and they’re firmly latched. There’s no snow on the dining room floor. No water. Someone came inside this way, but who? And how long ago?
“What’s wrong?” Amanda asks.
He grasps her wrist and pulls her toward the hallway. “We have to leave.”
“Wait.” She grabs her suitcase.
Kennedy reaches the bottom of the stairs—that stupid imbecile—and blocks their path. “Where are you guys going?” She puts her hand on her forehead. “What time is it?”
“We’re going to the boathouse,” Randall says.
“Isn’t it that way?” She points behind him. “Out there?”
Amanda zips her jacket up.
“It is,” he says, “but there’s too much snow on the deck. We don’t want to slip and fall down the stairs.” He steps forward. “Now, please, excuse us.”
“Wait.” She squints. Wrinkles her nose. “Where’s Barry? I thought he went hunting with you?”
“You don’t look well.” Randall puts his hand on her shoulder. “You should go to your room and pack. You must leave the minute Barry returns.”
“No. I—” She sways. Giggles. “Hmm. I guess I am a little hungover. Where’s Barry?”
Where’s Barry? Where’s Barry?
It’s all Randall can do to not mock her out loud.
Stupid imbecile.
He pushes her shoulder, turns her toward the stairs, and forces her to walk. “An associate of mine, an expert guide, has taken Barry on his excursion. I wanted only the best for him, and he’s getting it now.”
“Oh.” Her hair smells like peaches, cream, and rotten grapes. “Wait. I thought no one could go in the boathouse. Amanda, you can’t—”
“Miss Nichols has signed the NDA. As it happens, she has business reasons to see the project. Her company is affiliated with mine.”
“It is?” Amanda asks.
Randall stops. He lowers his chin, closes his eyes, and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I mean, it is,” Amanda says. “It does. My company has worked with Randall’s organization for years. I didn’t realize it when we were talking yesterday, but—”
“It’s confidential.” Randall opens the box of breakfast bars and hands one to Kennedy. “Here, eat this and go pack. Barry will return soon.”
Kennedy frowns at the bar. “You want me to eat this?”
“Go pack your things.”
“I wanted to go hunting with him”—she holds her phone up—“and take some pictures for my blog. He snuck out.”
“You were never allowed to go with him.” Randall’s temperature rises. “You weren’t supposed to be here at all, remember? Trust me, you don’t want to interfere with his hunt.”
She sniffs the breakfast bar. “Which way did he go?”
Her idiocy reaches a new high.
Randall’s heart thumps in his chest, and not in a good way. Not in the way a hunter’s heart beats nature into submission. It thumps like he’s being chased. Like he is the prey, and this he does not like. He does not like Kennedy’s relentless stupidity. She thinks she could wander into the woods and find her boyfriend despite the snow. Despite the frigid wind. Despite Randall’s primordial desire to wrap his fingers around her throat in the name of Darwin’s genius and squeeze.
And, squeeze.
And—
“We need to go.” Amanda takes Randall by the elbow.
Somewhere upstairs, a door slams shut. There shouldn’t be anyone up there but—the tracks on the deck.
Lance or Jacob.
Which is it?
Randall fixes his eyes on Kennedy’s face.
Amanda squeezes his arm.
Kennedy wrinkles her nose. “Why does she have a suitcase?”
“Cam and I decided to leave later today,” Amanda says. “I didn’t want to forget it, so I’m putting it in our car on the way to the boathouse. That’s the real reason we’re going out the front. C’mon, Randall.” She pulls on his elbow.
“Wait.” Kennedy puts her hand up. “Which way did Barry go?”
Randall jerks his arm free of Amanda’s grasp. Glares at the stupid imbecile. “You will stay here.” Calm. Randall must stay calm. He pictures his gun firing. The peace it brings to kill something. Calm. He must remain calm. Barry is the quintessential client, and Kennedy—as much as she deserves to die—is Barry’s lovebird. His pet. She cannot be harmed. “Listen carefully. If you get in the way—”
“If I get in the way, what?” she sneers. “What are you going to do?”
“If you get in the way—”
Amanda grasps Randall’s wrist. “We’ve got to go now.” She pulls him past Kennedy, and they stride down the hall. “It was nice meeting you. Have a safe trip home.”
They step onto the front porch.
The wind whips through the trees in the distance.
Randall reaches into his pocket.
His gun is still strapped to his leg.
The biting air invades his nose. His lungs. It’s bitter, but his gun is sweet.
Compared to the wind, his gun is warm.
Comforting.
It’s comforting to know his gun is right where it should be. Right where he needs it.
He slips his fingers through the slit and caresses the trigger.
He lets the wind inflate his chest.
Part of him hopes Kennedy goes looking for Barry.
The fun part.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHARLY
I would never have believed Jacob took the knife if I hadn’t seen him holding it. He’s afraid of knives. He’s afraid of the noise the garbage truck makes on Mondays. He’s afraid of plastic wrap because he once saw a movie where a serial killer used it to suffocate people. He’s afraid of the dark, and he’s always been afraid of knives.
Until now.
That look in his eye before he left the boathouse . . .
I’ve waited so long for him to show some confidence in life. In anything. And now that he has, I’m terrified. The years of therapy have finally started to work. He appeared more sure of himself than ever, and it couldn’t have come at a worse time.
I sit in the corner of the cage, shivering from the cold. The boathouse door hangs crooked in its frame. The wind beats on the door’s weathered wood, challenging the broken latch. It barely holds. Dry snow whirls outside the window. I fold my arms over my chest and pray for warmth. I pray the sun will conquer the cold and penetrate these walls before noon arrives, but I know it won’t be so. I’ve never gotten what I prayed for without doing something myself, and there’s nothing I can do.
I’m destined to freeze to death.
The ice on the black iron bars glistens.
The red circle on the electronic lock mocks me.
The knob to the boathouse door turns.
I jump to my feet.
Jacob?
The door opens.
It’s not Jacob.
Someone in a ski hat with fluffy white tassels and a fur-lined leather coat steps backward into the boathouse and shuts the door. “Kennedy?”
She spins around. “Charly, what are you doing in here?”
“Help.” I rush to the cage door. “You’ve got to stop Jacob. Did you see him out there?”
“No.” She hugs herself and rubs the backs of her arms. Her coat is designer thin and matches her gloves. “What are you doing in there?”
“Hurry. You’ve got to stop Jacob.”
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
“Your boyfriend’s out hunting with Randall, and—”
“I know. I was on my way to look for him, but the wind—I had to come inside.” The walls shake like an airplane taking off. The wind rages on. “I’m going to find him and go hunting with him.”
“You don’t want to do that. They took my cousin and this other guy. I think they’re going to kill them.”
“What?” She steps closer. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t have time to explain.”
She lifts the electronic padlock. Pulls on it. “It looks like you might have plenty of time.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you, but then you’ve got to go find Jacob, okay?”
She nods.
“Randall locked me in here with Cam and this other guy. Then, he and his friend took them hunting. I think Barry went with them. Did he ever tell you what he came here to hunt?”
“Um, what do you mean? Like, which animal?”
“Yes.”
“Uh . . . no.” Her eyes go to the ceiling. “A bear or a mountain goat, maybe. Like something big.”
“Like a man?”
“What?”
“Your boyfriend came here to hunt humans.”
She backs away. “No. No way. Barry wouldn’t do that.”
“He’s doing it right now, and my brother is out there trying to stop him. He’s got a knife. Please, you’ve got to go find him.”
“I don’t believe you.” She chuckles nervously. “This is some kind of joke, right? Barry put you up to this.” She pulls her phone out and takes a picture.
“It’s not a joke. Look.” I press my face against the bars and point to the cut on my cheek. “Randall’s friend gave me this.”
“I—Barry wouldn’t kill anyone. He’s a dumb jock, but that’s too far.”
“How do you know? You haven’t been dating long. What did he tell you about this trip?”
“Not much. He was really excited for it. He did say it wasn’t going to be like other trips he’d been on but, honestly, I didn’t care. I assumed he was hunting deer or elk or something.”
“He’s out there right now hunting my cousin. You’ve got to believe me.” I point at the cabinet. “Look in there.”
She crosses the floor and opens the door. Picks up an ankle bracelet.
“They put one of those on Cam’s ankle and shocked the shit out of him. It’s like a Taser.”
She takes a black hood off the other shelf. Holds it up.
“They put that over his head,” I say.
She drops the hood. “Your brother has a knife?”
“He took the carving knife. He’s lost his mind.”
She examines the ankle bracelet. “We need to find Barry and straighten this all out.”
“No. You have to—”
“Hold on. I think I can get you out of there.”
“No, you can’t. There’s no way. There’s nothing to break the lock with, and you can’t pick it. It’s electronic. Please, go find Jacob.”
Kennedy places the bracelet on the workbench. “It’s not all electronic. It’s got to have a tumbler.”
“A what?”
“You said Randall locked you in there, right? How did he unlock it?”
“With his phone.”
“But”—she opens the toolbox—“the lock mechanically opened, right? There’s a motor inside it that turns the tumbler.” She takes a tiny screwdriver out of the toolbox and works on the ankle bracelet.
“What are you doing? How do you—”
“All we have to do is activate the lock. Trick it into opening.” She removes a plastic panel from the ankle bracelet and exposes a green circuit board. “There. I just need to short this part.”
“How do you know what you’re doing?”
“I don’t. Well, like—I kind of do. My parents made me get an electrical engineering degree out of high school.” She ruffles through the toolbox. Finds a wire. “I wouldn’t say I know what I’m doing, but I’m not afraid of this stuff.”
“I thought you were a fashion influencer.”
“I am.” She gathers up the ankle bracelet, the wire, and a pair of needle nose pliers. “Engineering jobs are boring.” Her lip gloss shines. “Online influencing is a lot more fun. I have so many followers on Instagram. And Twitter.”
I shouldn’t have brought it up.
She hangs the ankle bracelet on the padlock and lowers her head. Gazes at the circuit board. “Stand back and don’t touch the bars.”
“Careful,” I say. “That thing can paralyze you.”
“I know.” She holds the pliers up. “These rubber handles will protect me.”
I step back.
She uses the pliers to touch the wire to the circuit board. A blue spark lights the room, the bracelet jumps off the lock, Kennedy’s arm jerks back, her face tightens, her necklace leaps off her throat, bounces into her face, and the pliers go flying.
A motor whines, and the padlock drops open.
