Twins of prey 1 3 the co.., p.24
Twins of Prey 1-3: The Complete Trilogy, page 24
“Thank you,” Drake said in a tired loss for words manner spitting blood out of his mouth that had drained from inside his nasal cavity.
“You are welcome, now get up.” Hawkins said motioning to Tomek. “We have some tracking to do.”
“Tracking?” Tomek asked.
Hawkins pointed to the ground and said “That’s what this blood trail says. How many angels are left?”
“Just one,” Tomek answered.
“Which one?” Hawkins asked.
“Not sure, bigger one. I think they called him Gabriel or something like that.” Tomek said.
“Gabriel, huh” I figured he would be the first to run. I always hated the little bitch,” Hawkins uttered in his disregard for the thug.
“Yeah but, he is not bleeding, he must of picked up some blood on his shoes from inside. Once that is gone, how do we track him down in the dark with just his spoor?” Drake asked.
“Spoor?” Tomek asked chuckling and rolling his eyes knowing full well where his brother had picked up the word but still amused at his use of it.
“Yes, it means...” Drake began to say before being interrupted
“His track, I know what spoor is. Uncle made us both read the same African hunting books,” Tomek said trying to show up his brother and impress Hawkins at the same time.
“Ah yes, that Uncle of yours always did enjoy the writings of the legendary Peter Capstick Hathaway. Am I correct in assuming this is the spoor author of which you speak?”
“Yes,” the twins answered in unison.
“Very well then, follow the spoor and let us go track down an angel,” Hawkins said as he pushed his way into the hip tall saw grass.
“We don’t have much blood, and the muck will cover his foot prints, how do we track him?” Drake again asked.
Hawkins just smirked and said, “We don’t, Sypris does.”
19 Rope
For the first time in what seemed to be a lifetime in the pit, the house was quiet. There was no stomping around, no yelling and all the fighting had made its way out to the back yard. Although the violence had moved outside, Annette Henderson still lay trapped at the bottom of her coal cellar a mere twelve feet from the freedom of her basement floor.
Unsure on who had won the fight that had raged out above her, she was sure no matter who the victor was she would soon be on their to do list of kills. Not willing to become a victim, she again flicked the lighter’s brass top open and sparked a flame. Again taking in what she had around her, it was nothing more than a random mess of broken beams, the bow, one arrow, and the dead body of Brooks. Henderson felt more despair than any moment before. The pain in her arm had subsided but for some reason she wished it had not. At least the constant pain gave her something to focus on.
Knowing the cellar’s heavy wooden doors were held tight and locked on the exterior thanks to their cast iron hinges and locks, her only option was to go up. She then started thinking about different scenarios she was put through during her time in the academy.
Instantly she thought back to a first aid class where the instructor had taught the tourniquet technique for stopping a heavy blood spurting situation such as the loss of a limb. The instructor had sliced shoe laces and denim jeans in order to concoct a make shift apparatus that when tied together and spun around a limb would cut off the victim’s circulation to the wound therefore preventing blood loss. Henderson intended to use this same lesson on resourcefulness only she had no need for stopping blood loss. It was not a tourniquet she would be making after all, it was a rope.
Henderson bent down and had her laces removed from her boots within minutes. Many of the guys in her department had laughed about Henderson’s use of 550 paracord as boot laces. She had read about it in a survival magazine, but the truth be told, the real reason she used the strong synthetic rope like cord for her boots was a little bit of laziness. The 550 would not fray or come unraveled and that meant she got longer life out of it than normal laces. In return, this meant easier long-term care.
The speed at which she moved and felt her way around in the dark had surprised even her. Placing both of her boot laces in a pile at the center of the room in order not to lose them in the dark she went over to the corpse of Brooks’ and harvested his laces as well. Knowing Brook’s laces were nowhere near the strength of her own she cut them into three pieces of close to equal length utilizing the sharp arrow head as a knife and then began braiding them as if they were the pony tail of a daughter she may never have.
Interfusing them with the best square knot she could remember, the situation made her giggle. Perhaps it was her way of breaking the tension in the pit or an attempt to clear her mind, but in tying the knots a wealth of fond memories flooded out from her past.
“Right over left, left over right, makes the knot neat, tidy and tight,” Henderson said aloud to herself reciting the chant from her days spent in a green vest that was of course adorned with every merit and duty badge possible. Being a Gold Award winning girl scout meant knots were just one of the many things that a led her into a life time of public service. Her shared training and history in the scouting world as well as a deputy had gotten her about seven-feet of rope.
Continuing to look around the room, she knew she needed more but was out of options. Moving the lighter back and forth searching for answers in the darkness that she knew didn’t exist, a glint of silver caught her eye. Feeling silly that she had not noticed it before. Brooks’ belt was made of leather and his thirty-six-inch waist band would give her another three feet of rope. Removing the belt was quick work and the metal latch made attaching her previous section easy. No square knot was required.
Now with almost ten feet of handmade improvised rope her plan was to attach a heavy plank of wood to one end and throw the plank up onto her basement floor. Pulling it towards her, Henderson thought maybe just maybe it would catch on something, get hung up or at least span a corner of the opening and provide enough support for her to climb out. To her, it was as good a plan as any, but at this point she knew that after tying the rope to a plank, she was still about three feet short of what she would need to at least attempt her escape by climbing out of the cellar. Looking around the room there was nothing, nothing that came to mind other than the bow string. Removing the bow string would leave her defenseless and she figured it would not hold much weight when pulled straight down. Still though, she saw no other choice and soon the string was wrapped around a sizeable plank of the cut floor joist. Picking up the plank and balancing it on her outstretched cupped hands, she wobbled back and forth under the weight of the wood. As if she was competing in a caber toss event at the Pine Run Highland Games, Henderson tossed the wood up into the air and out of the pit.
Getting the wood air borne was the entire plan, getting out of the way of its crashing back down towards her was not. The plank failed to land on the basement floor and stay in place. Luckily, It did however miss her upon its return to the cellar floor as she dived out of the way watching the plank land within inches of her left knee. Not only was her first attempt a failure, but it was clear that once in the air she could see her rope was still in dire need of length.
Straightening out the tangled mess in which the rope had become during the fall she once again lit the lighter in order to see better exactly what she was dealing with. Again looking at the dead young man in the corner she noticed how a nail head that protruded from the beam she tossed had ripped into the denim of his pants. The room was well lit at that point by both the lighter in her hand and the glowing light bulb figuratively burning above her head.
Grabbing the arrow head she began cutting long strips of denim from the angel’s pants. The strips when tied together and then woven into the rest of her rope which provided the length that was so very badly needed. With her new multi-piece rope in hand Sheriff Henderson again held the plank vertical and began pushing off with all the strength in her legs as she lifted her hands sending the board up and out of the hole. This time she stood back adding more of an angled trajectory which guaranteed the plank to land on the basement floor.
Successful in her toss, she began to slowly pull the denim section of the rope back towards her dragging the board across the floor boards above. Slowly, inch-by-inch the board sliped back towards the opening until it reached the side edge of the hole. Henderson knew the board was long enough to span the hole, and she only needed it do so to allow her to climb out. Letting out some slack in the rope she backed up against the small incline that lead up towards the door. Once reaching the door, she placed her back against it.
Drawing in a deep breath, she yanked backwards with enough force sliding the plank across the opening with enough momentum to fight the gravity as it crossed the opening. Due to the darkness, Henderson could not see the plank’s current position, but she knew it hadn’t fallen and that was a great thing. Pushing her back up against the door, she felt pain surge into the top of her shoulder accompanied by a deafening sound that shot into her ears simultaneously.
Henderson dropped to the ground raising her hand up to her ear. The wetness of her blood ran warm upon her hands and she was still clueless as to what had caused it. Sliding her hand down from her ear to the rounded edge of her shoulder bone, she found her shirt practically ripped open and a large chunk of serrated skin and meat had been sliced off. Holding the lighter up to the door she knew what had caused her injury, the same blade that was responsible for cutting open the floor hole, now held her captive. The metal blade of the reciprocating saw had protruded its way through the door she leaned against and provided her with her newest injury.
The noise returned as Annette watched the blood-covered white and red serrated blade of the saw viciously dash in and out of the wooden door. She knew the first attempted toss was loud and figured she had alerted someone to her presence in the cellar. The sheriff knew her options were limited. Either there was an angel coming in to kill her, or perhaps to check on their fallen angel and then kill her. Or worse yet, the day of reckoning was here and her brothers had finally come for their revenge. None of the prospects seemed more attractive than the other and Henderson quickly made her way to the rope.
Reaching up as high on the bottom denim section as she could Henderson wrapped the bottom part of the line around her leg and across the top of her foot where she clamped down upon it with her opposite foot. Climbing out on this skinny and weak of a strand with just her upper body strength would be all but impossible now. Even without the injury to her elbow from the original fall and her now sliced open shoulder blade, the climb would have been iffy. Using her legs and holding tight was her only option. Pointing the lighter towards the door she checked once more as the blade continued making a large square cut. Closing the lid, the room fell back to pitch black and Henderson for the first time placed her entire body weight on the rope and board. It held, to her surprise without as much of a hint of stretch or breaking. The solidness of her escape plan built confidence in her mind and she again pushed up with her feet climbing the rope as if it was middle school gym class all over again. Only at the top of the rope there was no bell to ring, there was freedom, or at least the illusion of it.
Once again Henderson worked her way up and quickly found herself near the top. This was the part of the plan she had yet to figure out in her haste to start climbing. Transitioning off of the rope and onto the board would be the most difficult part. Hearing the square pieces of door fall and hit the ground from its having been cut open, she knew the moment was now. Now or never and with that she let her grip go with both arms and forced them up to the board where they found a light grasp. With her legs still wrapped up in the rope she tried to pull herself up unsuccessfully. Looking back down there was emptiness in the pit other than a bright light and yelling voice.
The tunneling beam of light was so bright that it overwhelmed her and it was as if she was staring into the face of an oncoming locomotive engine. Knowing she hung there on the edge of life and death, the idea of letting go to fall into a quick death seemed peculiar. Strange or not, the grip loosened from her weakened and tired fingers and Henderson felt herself falling. Falling towards the bright white light. This time she would land flat on her back, this time she would not survive. Who had cut through the exterior door and into her shoulder to kill her no longer mattered. She had been saved before they could complete their devilish task.
The impact was not as hard as she had expected it to be. The sheriff chalked that up to the fact that perhaps death did not hurt. Opening her eyes she felt as if she was floating. As if God himself had her in His glorious arms and was ushering her through the pearly gates of St. Peter. God knew her name and she heard Him call for her multiple times. She gladly opened her eyes to look up at Him and just as she had believed she was dead she now knew that was not so, not yet anyway.
Shaking off the confusion and allowing her eyes to focus it was evident that she was not floating at all. She was now being carried. Much like a small child who had gone down for a midday nap, Henderson was in the arms of an angel. It was not the voice of God calling her name and there was no pearly gates. Sheriff Annette Henderson was very much alive thanks to the ability of her unsuspected hero that caught her just as she fell towards the illuminating whiteness of his flashlight.
She certainly never expected of all people to be in his arms. However she was grateful for the surprising rescue. Looking up at his face, she knew that the already long night had just gotten more interesting. Trooper Common would now be joining the investigation.
20 Spoor
Twenty-five yards into the thick switch and sawgrass both Tomek and Drake were impressed with the speed and skill Sypris showed in following the track that Gabriel had inadvertently left behind in his hasty attempt at fleeing from Henderson house. The small dog mixed up her speeds with both running and trotting keeping her nose low to the ground. Her long floppy ears wafted scent into her wet nose as she had no doubt about what her final goal was.
“I cannot believe she is this good, we have not seen blood in almost three-hundred yards.” Drake said.
“Yeah but she may be leading us in the wrong damned direction so we shouldn’t be giving her a gold medal just yet. After all like you said, there is no more blood,” Tomek replied.
“It is not the blood she is after,” Hawkins said.
“What?” Drake asked.
Hawkins smiled and continued on, “Just like when I use her to track down wounded deer, it is not just the blood. It is the scent of the animal she singles out. Gabriel is now that animal and we will find him, sooner than later, so be ready.”
“We have circled back towards the house, how come?” Tomek asked.
“Because, that is what Gabriel did,” Hawkins answered with confidence.
Working their way out of the mosquito filled fields that surrounded the property, the three of them and Sypris alike were happy to be back onto a main trail that led down to one of the creek areas that fed into the river. Upon reaching the creek, Sypris stopped for a drink.
“Ha, she was just thirsty,” Tomek said still skeptical of the Dachshund’s abilities.
“Negative,” Hawkins replied. “She is tasting the water and checking it for scent. She needs to know if he went up or downstream. The little ass hat must know we are tracking him and started moving through the water. That shit only works in the movies, I bet he did not count on a dog who can track over water.”
“For real?” Drake asked not doubting just in a pleasantly surprised manor.
Hawkins did not have to answer Drakes inquiry, Sypris did so for him herself as she took back off following the downstream flow of the creek that would lead back by the far west side of the property and eventually out to the main road.
Following another seventy five yards, Sypris left the creek bed and moved back onto land and which time her nose left the ground and pointed straight up into the air. Following with her nose air bound, she stopped at the gate of the small Henderson family burial plot.
The cemetery had not been used in many years and most of the headstones had withered due to a combination of old age and a severe lack of maintenance. Still a few of the larger decretive burial dressings had survived the years of Mother Nature’s lament. Sheriff Henderson had cleaned up the area but had left much of it to be finished on a later date. The final resting place of her great-grandparents was clearly marked by a still standing nine-foot limestone crucifix. The name Henderson had been carved into its horizontal stone beam. The graves of countless others, both family and employee were strewn about inside the iron-gated area.
Hawkins motioned the twins to come up to his side silently.
“He is close, she has found him. Her nose in the air means she is smelling his body, not his track. Be ready,” Hawkins said with whisper.
Looking over Hawkins’ shoulder Tomek noticed something “Well I’ll be damned, no need to keep looking.”
Looking across the cemetery both Drake and Hawkins saw exactly what Tomek did. They could not see Gabriel in the moonlight but the chill in air showed them his exhaled breath rising like a chimney from behind one of the larger typically shaped headstones.
“He must be right up against it, nice eye,” Drake said complimenting his brother.
Both twins reached down and were scratching Sypris for a job well done which was met with her rolling over to enjoy a belly rub as well.
“Well, that makes it simple, nice job Sypris, let’s go kill him,” Tomek said.
“Wait, you boys and I have done in the rest of them. With Gabriel being the only angel left, we need him to talk,” Hawkins said.
“Talk?” Tomek questioned. “Nope, no talking needed, he dropped his gun after we peppered his ass with the grenade, time to finish this.”
“Yes, talk, you boys do not seem to understand that you are part of something bigger than you know. Pine Run has a darkness that has spread upon it and the darkness comes from the building that burns the brightest. Lucky Trail is more than you or anyone else knows and this is our chance. Our chance to end it all but we need information and that wannabe thug hiding behind a gravestone over there is going to give it to me, to us that is,” Hawkins said.
