“Just lift your hands. Lift them over the hook.”
It seemed to take forever; Amy wondered if Billie would make it or not. Trying to lift her arms made it appear that she had tons of weight on them.
She sobbed softly and tried, and then tried again.
And then succeeded.
This time, she let out a little sob of pleasure and amazement.
“I did it, I did it!” she said.
“I told you. Now, you need to get over to me,” Amy said. “But come slowly, carefully. Your strength will come back. Your arms and legs will work better as you move.”
Billie did as she was told.
“Look at the ropes that are holding my hands to the poles on this bed,” Amy said. “Because they probably plan to move us fast, they’ve used a slipknot, I’m willing to bet. Can you see a loose end on the rope?”
“Sí.”
“Can you pull it?”
Billie nodded and reached above Amy’s head for the rope. She let out little grunting sounds as she tried.
“It’s so tight!”
“Just keep at it. Think about your strength coming back. Think about freedom—real freedom. About getting out of here and away from these people for good.”
Billie let out little sounds as she struggled; Amy was sure the ropes had been tied tight—very tight. With the slipknot, her struggles had just made them tighter.
Suddenly, she felt a release; the ropes binding her right hand had slipped free.
“Billie, yes!” Amy said. “Yes, you’ve done it!”
Her hand was free. Amy quickly freed her own left wrist, and then the ties that were securing her ankles.
She shook her hands for a minute and stretched, feeling needles and pins. She swung her legs around and slowly, carefully, stood.
“I hear something!” Billie said.
“Quiet, softly, Billie, please!”
Billie went silent.
But she was right; someone was coming through the trees. They’d soon be at the shack.
“We have to get out, now!” Amy whispered.
She looked around. They had taken her bag, her phone, her gun—everything.
She needed a weapon.
She saw the hook in the wall that had held Billie.
Billie using the hook for leverage to stand had surely loosened it.
Amy strode over to the hook. It was stuck tightly in the wall. But she needed it; there was a good chance that she would die if one of the cultists caught her and she didn’t have anything that resembled a weapon with which to fight.
She stared at the hook, and she reached for it again, jerking and jerking, finding strength she never imagined that she might have.
The hook slipped free from the wall. Holding it tightly, she told Billie, “Follow me, follow me as closely as you can.”
“But they know the woods. They’ll be out there, they’ll find us!” Billie said.
“I’ll have friends looking for me by now.”
“You’re sure?”
She thought about Hunter.
“I am sure,” she told Billie. “Yes, absolutely.”
She slipped out the front door. It was much brighter outside than it had been in the shack, and she squinted into the sunlight, carefully looking around, listening intently. Her head throbbed.
The sound of someone moving through the brush and trees was coming from their left; they needed to scurry in the opposite direction as quickly as they could.
Amy moved out; Billie remained in the doorway, as if frozen.
Amy grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her ahead. “Move!” she ordered.
Billie started to pick her way through the trees. Amy followed, but then she paused.
Yes, someone was coming back to the cabin. But she was hearing more. Music, distant in the cool air of the forest.
Music, voices, faded, almost as if they were from another time.
They weren’t coming from another time; it sounded almost as if they were coming from a party...or a bar.
The biker bar.
She could imagine many of the town’s faithful had joined to mourn the death of one of their own—Phin Harrison—and honor the sacrifice he had made for the greater good of the cult.
That meant that, inside the bar, there was a small legion who might come after her and Billie, seeking them out in a forest they knew too well.
She hurried after Billie. “Run,” she urged. “Run like hell!”
* * *
Hunter and Roger headed into the forested area a quarter mile north of the biker bar. The plan was move deep inland and then circle back toward the road.
They had just started the hike when Hunter felt his phone vibrating. He nodded to Roger and stopped to pick it up. Over the line, Garza told him, “We have agents ready to move in. Also, Special Agent Ryan Anders is almost there. He started the drive up in the early-morning hours. He’ll be contacting you.”
“He’ll be contacting me?” Hunter asked, irritated. Ryan Anders had been assigned to Hunter. His orders to move should have come from Hunter.
“Hunter, you’re the best at what you do,” Garza said. “You’ve gotten what we need on this, but the situation seems to be exploding.”
Yes, he struck the hornets’ nest and the hornets were moving.
At that point, at least, Hunter had believed that anyone back in the south was safe; the action had moved north. The cult wouldn’t have taken Amy now if they didn’t have something big planned. But there were good people down south who might be in danger for what they knew.
Ryan Anders should have contacted him before making any moves.
“I gave him the order to drive up,” Garza said.
“I see.”
“He’s not alone. He’s with a local detective, Victor Mulberry.”
“Mulberry has no jurisdiction here,” Hunter said. “Why—”
“I have agents from the Miami office looking after the civilians in the south. Mulberry is aware that he has no jurisdiction. What he does have is knowledge of the people involved.” Garza sighed. “Hunter, this kind of action should have had long, careful meetings—team meetings—with everyone involved. We know that this group we’re going up against is heavily armed, but we have no clear evidence of illegal activity by anyone in the town. Our strategy should have been planned out, with the right people in the right places. That proved impossible once they took Amy. We’re working in the blind, in a way I despise. You requested backup, and hell yes, it’s necessary. I don’t want to lose my agents or any civilians—but I don’t want a massacre, either! Keep your focus on finding Amy and any other possible hostages. Be careful.”