Becoming Quinn

“You use humor to cover up your nervousness, you do realize that, right?” Durrie said. “It’s a tell. Immediately lets me know what you’re really feeling.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Nervousness is not what I’m covering up. It’s a growing sense of regret that maybe I shouldn’t have moved my gun before I pulled the trigger.”

Without taking his eyes off Jake, Durrie pointed off to his left and behind him a little. “The town is that way. Good luck.”

Jake walked quickly to the main door. “Yeah,” he said, hesitating. “You, too.”

He left.

28

Jake made a beeline through the clearing that surrounded the cabin, into the woods on the other side. He wasn’t about to take Durrie’s word on where the town was. In fact, he doubted it was even fifty or sixty miles away, but it seemed prudent to at least give the appearance that he was following directions. If this was a trap, Jake wanted Durrie to think that he was heading where he’d been told to go. But as soon as he was deep enough in the trees, he circled around until he found the road leading away from the cabin.

Durrie had specifically suggested he not use it. In one sense, this was sound advice. Walking on the road would make it very easy for Jake to be spotted. But that didn’t mean the road wouldn’t be helpful. He could travel close to it, in the cover of the woods, and use it as a guide. He was sure there was a much better chance it would lead him to civilization than striking out through the forest.

After about half an hour, he spotted a small rise a little further away from the road, with only a smattering of trees on the top. It would be a good place to get his bearings, and see if he could actually find where he was on that map Durrie had given him.

When he reached the top, he took a moment to eat some of the food Durrie had given him. As he chewed on a piece of cold chicken, he looked around. What he saw did not exactly give him hope.

The forest went on in all directions, broken only here and there by ridges and other high points like the one he was on, except in the West, where the spine of the Rockies rose high above everything else. Nowhere could he see a town or village.

He spread the map on the ground. There was a small X that he assumed Durrie had marked to represent the position of the cabin, but Jake thought it could very easily be misdirection. It took him several minutes, but by using the landmarks he could see, he was able to make a pretty fair guess of where he was. Surprisingly, this also meant the X of the cabin was in the right spot.

He tried not to think what that might mean as he scanned the map for where he should go. He saw that Durrie had also been truthful when he’d pointed Jake in the direction of the town, and while Jake could get there going the way he was going, Durrie’s path would have been at least ten miles shorter.

Double back and try it? Or stick with the road?

If Durrie had been truthful about all this, what else was he truthful about? The dark-haired man who was supposedly coming after them?

He looked at the map again, and decided to stick to the path he’d chosen. By staying near the road, he might come upon other homes hidden in the woods, which could mean shelter or, please God, a phone.

He returned the map to the bag, took a few sips from a bottle of water, then headed back down the hill.

* * *

As Durrie was coming back upstairs from the basement earlier, he’d been content to let Oliver go. It was the option the kid had chosen. Granted, it was the wrong one, but there was nothing he could do about that. Oliver would strike out on his own, and before morning came, he would be dead.

But then the kid had come up the stairs and twice surprised Durrie.

The first surprise had been when he’d actually pulled the SIG’s trigger, and sent a bullet flying just past Durrie’s head. That showed not only nerve, but confidence. Confidence that he could fire a shot that passed that close to another person without hitting them, and confidence that Durrie wasn’t going to retaliate.

The second surprise came just before the kid left. He had made sure to replace the two missing bullets in his mag and thus maximizing his chances for survival. Most people in a similar stressful situation would have just left and not thought about it. Even those who did would probably have just replaced the spent bullet, forgetting that initially there’d been no round chambered in the gun, which meant there was room for a second shell. Jake had automatically pulled two rounds out of the box.

It was a tiny thing, so small, but an important detail. Durrie had found himself staring at Oliver. That was the moment he decided if he let the kid go on his own, it would be the same as Larson deciding Berit Davies had to die.

Durrie gave Oliver a ten-minute head start. During that time, he stored all of the weapons, except two of the pistols and the sniper rifle, in the safe locker built under the kitchen cabinets so no one else would find them. He then packed the pistols and a few other items in his own bag.

When time was up, he activated the tracking device that was tuned to a signal emitted by a chip in the lining of Oliver’s satchel. Durrie had intended it only as a way to locate the kid’s body when this was all over.

He wasn’t surprised to see that Oliver had diverted from the path he’d pointed out. Oliver had no reason to trust Durrie, and following the road was a guarantee of finding civilization somewhere. Only Durrie hadn’t been lying to him. Taking the road was also the easiest way for Larson to find him.

Durrie adjusted the straps on his pack, swung the sniper rifle over his shoulder, then headed out.

* * *

An engine rumbled in the distance.

Jake paused. A car. It could get him downhill a whole lot faster than on his feet. He listened again, but the way the sound was bouncing off the mountains, it was impossible to pinpoint which direction it was coming from.

He glanced around. A ridge rose just on the other side of the dirt road. He raced over to it, and didn’t stop until he was halfway up the slope.

His hope was to find a clear view of the road ahead, but all he could see were a few asphalt-covered spots several miles away. That told him something, though. The road he was following was still dirt, so somewhere ahead it either changed or met a whole new road. His bet was on the latter.

In the farthest spot, he saw a sudden flash of blue. A sedan, he thought, but knew he could be wrong. The glimpse had barely lasted a second, and the distance didn’t help.

He hustled back down the ridge, then briefly contemplated using the dirt road before deciding to return to the woods. Better to stay cautious.

He couldn’t exactly run through the trees, but he did pick up his speed. If the other road was close and he could get there before the car did, he might be able to flag it down.

Dead branches and needles crackled under his feet for a while, drowning out the sound of the car. But soon the motor grew louder, and Jake knew he was going to be cutting it close.

“Come on!” he silently yelled at the asphalt road ahead. “Where are you?”

With all the twists and turns the dirt road had taken, Jake knew it was possible any intersection was still a mile or more away. So he increased his pace, dodging through the trees and hoping he didn’t trip over a root or rock.

Ahead he could see that the trees seemed to end in a distinct line, and realized it had to be the road. He could hear the car, too, maybe a half-mile away at best.

Forgetting his earlier reluctance, he angled over to the dirt road, and sprinted down it.

The path curved, and suddenly, a hundred feet in front of him, it T-boned into the asphalt road.

He was almost there when caution once more exerted itself.

What if Durrie’s right? What if that’s the shooter?

Jake put on the brakes. As much as he just wanted to run out into the road so the driver could see him, he