Snowbound - Crouch Blake - Страница 46
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She continued on toward the stairwell that would take her back down into the lobby.
Will and Rachael crept through the candlelit passage. Where it began to curve toward the veranda exit, Will stopped, whispered, “Wait here. If they’re dead, I don’t want you to see it. You’ve seen enough already.”
Will pushed on.
To his surprise, there was only one body—Sean’s—encompassed by more blood than it seemed possible for a human body to hold. Snow pants, a mask, and a white parka had been discarded by the door.
Four shotgun blasts thundered out from one of the upper floors.
Will ran back to Rachael.
“What the hell was that?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Are they dead?”
“Sean is. Ken’s gone.”
Will’s radio squeaked.
Kalyn’s voice: “Bad guy number two is dead.”
“How?”
“Wolves. They got into the lodge through a broken window in the south-wing alcove. I killed one of them and two were already dead, so that leaves a pair running around here somewhere. Watch yourself. They’re mean as hell.”
Will pressed TALK: “Sean’s gone. Don’t know where his dad is, so another one of them got in.”
“Just get back to your post in the north corridor.”
Devlin’s voice: “Guys?”
“What, baby girl?”
“Are any of you up here? I hear footsteps outside the door.”
“Get the shotgun ready,” Will said. “That isn’t us, but we’re on our way.”
SIXTY-EIGHT
Kalyn moved across the stone floor of the lobby and sat down on the hearth in front of the giant fireplace. She kept looking up and down the north- and south-wing corridors, watching the exposed stairwells that climbed fifty feet toward the rafters on each side of the lobby, the passage behind her, the adjacent library door, closed and locked. She set the shotgun on the stone, fished four shells of buckshot out of the pocket of her fleece jacket. As she reached for the Mossberg to load the shells, a pair of black boots emerged from the flue into the enormous hearth behind her and lowered silently toward the grate.
Devlin illuminated her face with the flashlight beam and held her finger to her lips so the women could see.
She mouthed, “Shhh. Someone’s out there.”
She traded the flashlight for the shotgun but couldn’t remember if she’d pumped it, opted to wait, as the slightest noise would give them away. She crept up to the door, strained to listen. Thought she heard something like a soft exhalation on the other side, perhaps the scrape of fabric against fabric.
She dropped quietly to her knees, lowered herself onto the floor, the right side of her face flush against the carpet. Their room was dark, but a lantern flickered outside in the hallway.
Through the crack under the door, the strand of lantern light was broken in two places. She saw the tips of a pair of boots, could have poked a finger under the door and touched them.
Ten feet away, invisible in the darkness, the infant began to cry.
. . .
Will and Rachael slipped out of the passage and into the stairwell. No lanterns or candles here, the darkness absolute.
Rachael whispered, “Should I turn on the flashlight?”
“No. Just go slow and keep one hand on the wall like we did before.”
Even as he said it, Will knew they might be walking blindly to their death, couldn’t stop himself from picturing a man crouched on the next flight of stairs, outfitted with night-vision goggles, just waiting for them to stumble past.
They proceeded carefully, one step at a time, Will’s heart knocking so hard he feared he’d faint. This was far worse than the wolves. At least you could see your attacker coming outside.
They reached the landing. Will traced his hand along the wall, letting it guide them to the next flight of stairs. Three steps up, he stopped.
“What is it?” Rachael asked.
“I see a light up ahead. Wait here.”
Will ascended the remaining nine steps. At the top, he reached an archway, and from there he could glimpse the corridor, where a lantern mounted to the wall threw shadows and light on a man dressed in black, standing at the door that opened into Devlin’s room.
Will glanced back down the steps, waved Rachael up. She came, stood beside him as the corridor filled with a baby’s wailing. They raised their shotguns.
The man leaned against Devlin’s door, his ear pressed to the wood. Will felt an eerie chill radiate down from the base of his neck into his spine.
Will and Rachael eyed each other, and she could barely see his lips moving in the low light.
Will mouthed, “That’s Javier.”
The man spun, bullets striking the walls of the stairwell, the iron railing sparking.
The Innises returned fire, then dived back into the archway, ears ringing. Will pressed Rachael up against the wall, whispered, “You hit?”
“No, you?”
“No. Don’t move.” Will peeked around the corner, gun smoke drifting through the corridor. The door was splintered with buckshot but still intact. No one there, just sprinkles of blood. Will motioned for Rachael to join him, and he spoke into her ear, “I think he’s pinned down at the end of the corridor, maybe fifteen feet away. All the doors are locked, so I don’t think there’s anyplace—”
Will heard a door squeak open.
SIXTY-NINE
Kalyn pushed the last shell of buckshot into the twelve-gauge and pumped it. She set it beside her, took out the Browning. The shotgun was good if you didn’t know how to shoot, but you could easily get yourself killed in the time it took to absorb the shoulder-bruising recoil, pump it, and take aim. Her head was bleeding again, and she was dizzy from the blow.
As she wiped away the rivulet of blood trailing down her nose, the Browning flew out of her hand and slid across the stone, hitting the library door. She went for the shotgun, and as she realized it wasn’t there, she felt its barrel, still blazing hot, push into the back of her neck.
“You will tell me your name.”
She stared at the floor, said nothing.
“Are you the ex-FBI agent?”
“No, I’ve been imprisoned in this lodge for five years. But I can take you to her right now. She’s just through that passage over—”
“Stand up.” Kalyn stood. “Take three steps forward and slowly turn around, leaving your hands up, fingers open.” Kalyn moved toward the doors, her arms raised. She stopped and turned.
A man garbed all in black stood in the hearth, covering her with her shotgun. Where his face wasn’t streaked with soot, she saw that his skin was reddish brown, wondered if perhaps he was half Mayan.
He looked at Kalyn, said, “I’m afraid you resemble the photograph I have of Kalyn Sharp. Are there any other weapons on your person?” She shook her head. “Remove your jacket and your pants.” Kalyn didn’t move. “Take them off now, or what’s going to happen to you will only last longer and involve more pain.”
A pair of shotgun blasts tore out of the passage.
. . .
Will yelled into the corridor, “You wanna walk out of here, Javier? Two of your friends are already dead.”
. . .
A small explosion around the corner shook the floor beneath Will’s feet.
After a moment, another noise filled the passage—a zipper in motion, followed by the sound of something dragging across the floor. Will didn’t risk taking a peek.
“Hello, Will. Were you able to locate your wife?”
“Yes.”
“I hope the very short amount of time you’ve had together was worth the pain that is coming your way.”
“Look, you have nowhere to go, and there’re two of us here with shotguns.”
Something went whisk in the corridor.
“What was that?” Will asked. The sweeter smell of tobacco smoke mixed in with the cordite. Will was thinking, Maybe I should just go for it, poke out mid-sentence, hope to catch him off guard.
“Do you remember, Will, the substance of our last conversation?”
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