Chapter Thirteen: Gaby

 

 

"I spy, with my little eye ..."

"Mom," Sandy whined, squirming in the backseat. "This game sucks. I don't want to be here."

Me neither, honey, she thought. "Why don't you play with your game for awhile?" she asked, twisting around in the seat to hand him the electronic game she'd shoved into the backpack, back at the apartment.

Sandy kicked at her seat instead. By now they'd been sitting around long enough that his anxiety, caught like contagion from the adults, had faded into the fractious boredom of an energetic five-year-old forced to sit in a car with nothing to do. At least trying to keep him entertained gave Gaby something to do. Otherwise she'd be going out of her mind.

Mom ... Derek ...

But she couldn't show her fear. She had to stay calm for Sandy.

"Do you want to draw? I bet I have a pencil in my purse. Let's see if we can find something for you draw on."

"I don't want to draw." Sandy slid down in his seat until he was nearly horizontal and halfway out of the seatbelt. "I want to go home."

And that was what it really came down to, she thought. He'd been having fun on this new adventure, but now he was ready for it to stop.

Me too, kid. Me too.

"How about—" she began, and broke off abruptly at the distant crack of a rifle shot.

"Mama?" Sandy asked. He didn't seem to have noticed it. He was used to a lot of background noise, cars backfiring and distant sirens, the music of the city. The only thing he noticed was her alarm. "Mama, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, baby," she said through stiff lips, struggling to control her fear. "Everything's okay." She undid her own seatbelt and leaned over the back of the seat to pull the straps of Sandy's belt back into alignment. "Sit up straight, okay? We might have to leave in a minute. You know you have to sit up straight when you're wearing a big-boy seatbelt."

Derek ... Mama ... please, God, please keep them safe ...

She'd just dropped back into her seat and was reaching for her own belt when a movement up ahead caught her attention. She jerked her hand away from the belt and dropped it to the gearshift. The engine was still rumbling as it idled. All she had to do was throw it into reverse.

No, wait ...

"Mama," she gasped, threw the door open. "Sandy, stay in the car!"

Luisa was limping badly, but moving fast. Gaby met her halfway, throwing her arms around her mother and squeezing her desperately. "Mama, thank God, thank God." She looked behind Luisa, but saw no one. Then another distant gunshot made her jump, followed by the quick snap of several more.

"He's back at the cabin," her mother said. "He saved me. He is a good man, Gabriella."

She knew that; oh, she knew that. And now he was fighting Ghost alone.

In that instant, Gaby knew what she had to do. She needed to get her family to safety, but she couldn't leave him alone. She couldn't.

"Mama, do you think you can drive Derek's car, with your hips the way they are?"

"When I was pregnant with you, dear heart, I walked two miles to the bus stop every day, and spent sixteen hours a day on my feet, cleaning houses and taking my secretary classes in the evening—"

"So, yes, then. Mama, take the car. Sandy's in the backseat. Drive to town, and call Lieutenant Keegan. His number is in my phone."

"I can't leave you—"

"Yes, you can, you must. Keep Sandy safe. I have to help Derek."

Luisa cupped Gaby's face briefly in her cool hands. "My brave girl. I will not fight you on this. I know how it is with you and Derek. So it was with your father and me. I would have walked through fire for him." She kissed Gaby on the cheek. "Go, quickly."

Gaby helped her mother into the car and then backed away. Luisa hesitated. Gaby waved both arms in a "Go!" gesture. Her mother blew her a kiss through the windshield, and reversed the car carefully down the driveway.

Gaby watched until it was out of sight.

They were safe. Now she had to make sure that Derek was.

She walked swiftly up the driveway, clenching and unclenching her empty hands. If only she'd thought to check the car for weapons. A tire iron, maybe?

As if a tire iron would do anything against a bear.

As if you could do anything against a bear.

But ... maybe she could help. She had an advantage: Ghost wouldn't know she was there.

As soon as she turned the corner up ahead, she could see the cabin in front of her, across an expanse of lawn. She hadn't realized they were this close to it.

There was movement up in the cupola. Gaby remembered being up there with Derek last night. In the dark, there was nothing much to see, but by daylight, you'd be able to see the driveway and anyone coming down it.

That's probably where he is.

Gaby's whole body was knotted with fear, her hands clutched into fists. She jumped when the rifle boomed again, and then twice more, coming from inside the cabin. The fight was still going on. She wasn't too late. Still, self-doubt beat at her. What if she wasn't a help, only a liability?

But no matter what Derek told her to do, she couldn't run off and leave him in danger. They were a team now. He'd stepped up to help fight her battles. She wasn't going to abandon him to fight his battles alone.

She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and ran across the lawn.

At any moment, she expected to be shot, but no one shot at her. Derek must be keeping Ghost distracted inside. Gaby reached the porch and relaxed a little now that the porch roof shielded her from being seen. She crept up the steps and cautiously peeked inside the half-open cabin door.

The living room and kitchen still looked just the same as when they'd left, the sink with its drying rack of breakfast dishes, the living room with a few scattered books pulled off the shelves. The doors to both downstairs bedrooms stood open, as did the upstairs bedroom door. With the loft-style upstairs, anyone who emerged from that door would be able to see Gaby in the living room.

She wished desperately that she had a gun.

The uncluttered living room offered few options for weapons. The best thing Gaby could see was a poker hanging on the wall beside the fireplace. It was that or a frying pan from the kitchen. She gripped the poker and tried a test swing. In her hands, the poker that had looked so long and heavy on the wall seemed impossibly flimsy.

Hitting a bear that size with this is going to be about as useful as trying to beat him up with a Nerf bat.

But she was committed now. She refused to leave Derek to fight alone.

Cautiously, gripping the poker, she began to climb the stairs.