were proving false. She hoped she'd never be a test for the third.
She was winded and discouraged as the dog changed direction yet again and the weather worsened. Mike was ahead of her, and it annoyed her that he was moving faster now than she was. Woody straggled along at her side. She felt horrible. She'd made another tactical error, trying this search at night. They were idiots, out in a storm with all four people they were looking for way off their radar screen, somewhere in the wind.
Trotting northwest after the dog, she was furious at herself. Suddenly Woody's light went off beside her. The fog closed in to a tighter circle. Lightning hit, cracking the sky. A boom of thunder followed.
'Shit.' Woody stumbled and swore as the sky opened up and the rain hit with full fury, almost knocking them over with its force.
Monsoon time in Manhattan; it always happened in summer and early fall. Dry in her jacket, April's head and feet were drenched in seconds. Their search party was over. The park was empty, the sky as dark as deepest night. The dog was moving west.
Ahead, Mike stopped to zip his jacket. Then he moved on, his flashlight pointed down at the path. April kept a slower but steady pace, her eye on Peachy's orange necklace and John's jumpsuit just visible and still moving west, now at a run. April checked her watch. They'd been out an hour and forty-five minutes.
The dog and trainer raced on in the rain. And April ran after them, panting and exhausted. She was certain that the dog was heading back to the haven of the red Jeep Cherokee. They were rained out. No dog could smell through a hurricane. She was deeply disappointed at their failure, and she was also ashamed because she, too, yearned for rest and warmth and praise from her boyfriend. Peachy would get her treats whether she'd lost the scent or not. But April had messed up, she'd lost all three of her suspects and was in big trouble. Big.
In six minutes, they were back almost to where they'd started. But Peachy did not stop at the cars. April saw Peachy's orange necklace as she skirted the water's edge on the east side of the lake, traveling north along the patch of water until it became shallows and finally grass. Water poured down on their heads, muting John's excited cry of victory as Peachy hurled herself into the grass and disappeared.
Sixty-six
In a crack of thunder, Maslow grabbed the boy by the back of his jacket and jerked him off Dylan. Unlike the boy and Dylan, he made no sound. All his effort went into the attack, and the boy was caught by surprise.
'Hey!' The boy pushed the sobbing girl from him like a rag doll that had gotten in his way. He tried to get up. As he unfolded his body, his forehead smacked a rock jutting from the ceiling.
'Shit.' He swore and held his head. His foot knocked the flashlight over, dousing the meager light.
Dark took over the cave again but for the lightning outside, flashing like a strobe in a downtown club. Inside, it smelled of rain, sweat, blood, and fear. Maslow went for the boy's knees. Cursing some more, the boy fell hard, and the two grappled on the sharp, stony cave floor, struggling for advantage. Maslow tried to kick his opponent in the balls but couldn't get to him. So he pummeled with his fists as hard as he could from above, landing his blows on the boy's head and neck.
'Cut that out!' The boy's cry was high-pitched and carping. He was actually complaining.
Maslow tried to pin him, but the younger man outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. He flipped Maslow off him, and with one cuff, exploded Maslow's head with a thousand excruciating pin lights of pain. Maslow lay where he had fallen, stunned and immobilized.
Muttering angrily, the boy searched for the light, found it, and righted it so he could see again. Then he returned to the girl and his task of torturing her as if nothing had happened. First he didn't like the way she was lying and moved her around.
She was awake now, crying and begging him to stop. Then suddenly she became quiet. Her body twitched. Maslow could see convulsions in the light. The boy was pleased by these movements.
'Hug me,' he said again.
Her head went back and forth.
He lowered his body on her, holding her down.
'No!' The cry was sharp.
He raised himself up a little, excited. 'Put your arms around me. Come on.'
She couldn't. He let himself fall down on her, crushing her. She bucked against him.
'This is a good feeling. Isn't this good?' he said.
After a few minutes, the pain eased a little in Maslow's head, and he started thinking again. He was a doctor, and a doctor's mind was a repository of secret knowledge. He clicked through it as if his brain were a computer. What part of the body could he attack with little effort? A hat pin behind the ear would kill him in a few seconds. In the Bellevue ER, he'd seen a rich eighty-two-year-old woman killed that way by her greedy son. But Maslow didn't have a hat pin, let alone a knife or a gun.
Maslow groaned involuntarily. David looked his way.
'Isn't this good?' he said. Below him, he was pulling up Dylan's short shirt.
Maslow's hand scrabbled around in the dirt, searching for the imaginary hat pin. He stopped when it connected with a metal object, the broken spoke he'd dropped when the boy appeared. He grasped the precious rusted iron in his hand and pulled himself up. The boy was now lost in himself and Dylan's agony.
Maslow crawled toward him. Using the spoke like a sword, he took wobbly aim, pointing straight at the carotid sinus. He swiped at the nape of the neck, striking the sharp edge into the soft skin so hard it sheared through the artery that fed the boy's brain. The boy howled with pain and grabbed his neck as the hot blood spouted out.
'Are you crazy?' he screamed. He was off Dylan again. In an angry frenzy at the attack, and apparently unaware of how badly he was hurt, the boy grabbed the weapon from Maslow's hand and lunged at him. In a second Maslow was covered with blood.
Sixty-seven
April heard the screams ahead and knew where Mike was headed. He reached the little bridge over the lake bed where water was no more, reaching it just as Peachy's barking rose to a delirious pitch. In a burst of energy she didn't know she had, she followed Mike across the bridge. Woody unholstered his gun.
'Put that away,' she barked. There was too much confusion in the sounds she heard, and she was terrified that Woody might get too excited and shoot in error, hitting Mike or John, the victim, or even herself.
Rain slated down on her face and neck, blinding her. She lost Mike and couldn't see what was going on ahead. She stepped off the bridge and the muddy path gave way. She tumbled down the bank, twisting her ankle as she landed hard on the stony riverbed.
'You okay?' Woody got to her and felt for her arm, his gun still in his hand.
'Yeah, fine. Help me up,' she said impatiently. Woody yanked her to her feet before she had a chance to say,
Through a dense thicket they heard chaotic screams and shouts. Peachy was yelping like crazy, a hero in her finest hour. Mike was trying to take command. She heard it before she saw it.
'Help! Help us, please!'
'Police. Drop that. Put your hands up.'
'Good girl, Peachy. Good girl.'
Then a miracle occurred. The rain ended as suddenly as it had begun, clearing the air almost instantly. April ignored the shooting pain in her foot as she pushed through the dripping bushes. Quickly Mike had holstered his own gun. Now his flashlight illuminated a scene none of them would ever forget. Three people in a cave so small no one else could get in. And blood was everywhere.
