Conception Cover-Up

Another shot rang out, and Caleb dropped to a crouch. It hadn’t come from Henry…Had Larkin finally decided to join them? He listened intently for movement, but all he could hear was the rain.

“Hey, partner, did we get him?” Brandon’s voice sounded from across the stream.

Caleb ventured a look and saw Henry on the ground, very still, blood pooling from a wound in his chest. “Looks like,” Caleb yelled back.

“What about Jim?”

Caleb had no idea where Jim was. Then he heard a rumble, deeper than thunder, and the ground began to shake. An earthquake? Several large rocks tumbled by and the ground shook harder. He looked up the mountain.

“Landslide, Bran! Landslide!” Caleb ran to the right as fast as he could. Who knew how wide a swath the slide would cut?

Rain poured, thunder boomed and the mountainside came down faster and faster. Falling rocks struck him as he ran. His arm was on fire, but he knew he had to keep going. He slipped in the mud, once, twice, then got up and ran some more, not daring to stop, rocks and water rushing past him. One of the rocks struck his head and he saw stars. Then there was only blackness.

CALEB AWOKE to a steady rain. The ground beneath him was hard and rocky, his soaked clothing clung to his chilled body, his arm throbbed, and there was a relentless pounding in his skull.

He shivered, then groaned as a thousand other aches and pains vibrated to agonizing life. He stayed still for a moment, feeling as if he was on the losing end of a championship prizefight.

Or a landslide.

He sat up abruptly, making his tortured body scream in protest.

Brandon. Where was his partner?

Caleb dragged himself to his feet. Brilliant flashes of lightning illuminated the area. The tons of rock and mud that had detached themselves from the hillside had come to rest just yards away. He’d been lucky to escape. Had his partner?

“Brandon!”

Thunder drowned out his yell. When the rumble died away, he tried again. Picking his way over the shifting pile of rubble, he tried to figure out where his partner had been standing when all hell had broken loose.

At a stream of rushing water, Caleb remembered. Brandon had been on the opposite side. Using a tree branch to keep himself steady, he started across the now knee-deep rapids. Branches and stones pummeled his legs, mud sucked at his boots. Bruised and breathless, he pulled himself onto the bank. He allowed himself only a few moments to rest and fill his lungs.

“Brandon!”

Desperate to find his partner, he dug in the mud with his bare hands. He shoved aside branches and kicked at rocks, calling out Brandon’s name until he was hoarse. Still he found no sign of his partner, or Jim Driscoe.

A shaft of hatred went through him at the thought of the drug dealer, who had put them in this situation.

Suddenly he heard a buzzing in his ears and the night got darker. “Dammit! I am not going to pass out.”

Disoriented and dizzy, he leaned against a tree. Letting the bulky trunk take his weight, Caleb wiped the moisture from his eyes. When lightning flashed again, he stared at his fingers. They were wet with not water, but blood. He closed his eyes, the smell of wet earth and leaves filling his nostrils.

Fatigue overtook him. Suddenly the ground didn’t look so hard and rocky. Would it hurt if he just lay down and slept for a while?

His foggy mind recognized the signs of concussion, and he shook away the thought. Forget sleep, he ordered himself. He pushed away from the tree that had been holding him up and lost his footing on the slick ground. Reaching out, his left hand made contact with a branch, which he used to lever himself up.

Swaying on rubbery legs, Caleb had to admit he wasn’t going to be able to find his partner on his own. Sliding around in the mud was getting him nowhere. He had to have help.

Lightning flashed, blinding him temporarily, and the boom of thunder that followed reverberated in his head. The pain drove him to his knees. Get up, Caleb, get up! he ordered. On legs of oatmeal, he staggered to his feet.

And walked.

With a hammer using his brain for an anvil and his arm still throbbing, Caleb concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Right. Left. Right. Left.

Rain saturated his clothing, weighing him down. After a while he didn’t even try to stop the shivering that racked his body.

Lightning and thunder dogged him every step of the way.

Right. Left. Right. Left.

The words became a litany.

His feet were cold, so cold. His toes squished numbly inside his boots, whatever water repellent they’d once had no match for the sopping terrain.

He had to stop. He had to sit. Only the thought of Brandon, unconscious and alone, kept him moving.

And then he saw it.

A light. Faint. Flickering.

Keeping his gaze focused on that dim welcoming glow, Caleb forced his tired body on. The forest floor was uneven, covered with dead leaves and needles. Wet ferns and vines grabbed at his knees. At one point he stumbled over a fallen log, wrenching his ankle and falling hard on his injured arm. He hissed in a sharp breath, then lay for a moment on the ground, his lungs aching. Angry for his weakness, he pushed up.

Pain bit at his arm, but he welcomed it. As long as the pain stood by him, he wouldn’t be able to surrender to the lethargy the concussion caused.

He limped toward the light. His head pounded as thunder reverberated through the night. But he kept moving. He was not going to let those drug-dealing dogs get the best of him.

After what seemed like an eternity, Caleb finally arrived at the cabin. He made his way around the Jeep parked out front. Not sure what he would find, he reached around to the small of his back for his gun.

It wasn’t there.

He checked the pockets of his soaked denim jacket. Nothing. Great, just great, he berated himself. You’ve lost your only weapon.

In the dim light from a window, he saw the outline of a woodpile on the porch. He eased up the steps and picked up a log, a piece of branch really, just thick enough to get someone’s attention if necessary. Then he made his way to the window and peered inside.

The interior seemed warm and welcoming. A rectangular chopping-block table divided the living room from the kitchen. The furniture was old-fashioned and comfortable-looking. Oil lamps provided light, along with the flames from a huge stone fireplace.

Then he saw a woman standing in front of the stove, stirring something in a saucepan.

Caleb couldn’t smell the food, but his stomach growled, anyway. He hadn’t eaten since he and Brandon had stopped for doughnuts and coffee before heading up to the mountains.

Thinking about his friend and partner reminded him of his priorities. Food and bed could wait. He needed a phone.

For a few minutes he stayed at the window, but seeing no other signs of life, he turned to make his way to the front door.

The movement sent stars shooting through his head so violently that he fell to one knee. The branch dropped from his nerveless fingers and clattered to the porch. Afraid he’d black out, he stayed still for a couple of moments, drawing in deep breaths, then cautiously rose.

But the buzzing in his ears wouldn’t go away, and the night started to close in on him. Caleb hung on to the railing, fighting the faint. One step at a time, he followed the porch to the front door, the hold on his consciousness beginning to slip.

As he raised his fist to knock on the door, he cracked his right arm against the jamb. The pain that shot through him was more than he could bear. Almost instantly he collapsed.