Forty-six
John tucked the radio in his belt. Somewhere far
overhead, a helicopter swung through the sky and vanished from sight, its
dull throbbing slowly fading away.
He scanned the forest on the far side of the small
lake, fearful of snipers. Lucas Chambers wouldn't satisfy himself with
anything less than a hard kill, and his own physical condition had
deteriorated to the point where he couldn't hope to outsmart his old
associate, or defeat him again in hand-to-hand combat.
John returned to the cabin to check on David. The
boy stirred in his sleep, pale, his fingernails tinged with in blue.
"Every year that passes we have new drugs and surgical techniques to add
to our arsenal," Dr. Varley had told him. "We'll operate when the
need arises regardless of the risk, but given a choice, I want at least
ten years."
David didn't have another ten years. He hadn't as
yet survived his first ten.
"I need to talk to Lucas Chambers," John said to
Marlene. "Help me find him."
"I can bring him to you, John."
"Do so. And guard David for me."
Unarmed, he left the cabin and started up the side of
the hill at random. Dobbie came bounding up behind him. John ran his
free hand along the dog's sleek hide. The dog cut off to the right and
vanished from sight down a narrow trail.
A few hundred yards from the cabin, John waited on a
plateau of level ground surrounded by towering spruce. He tilted his head
back, closed his eyes, and let the heat of the noonday sun warm his face.
He reached back in his memory for the summers he had spent here with
Marlene, wishing that he could bask in the happiness of those days without
suffering the awful pain of her absence. Blocking memory of the best days
of his life to avoid the pain had become a kind of suicide that only
darkened what was left of the future.
A half hour passed. The rattle of another helicopter
carried on a breeze from somewhere in the valley. The white tail of a
deer flashed nearby. John watched the graceful animal bound away into the
trees.
A bullet splashed into the side of a tree less than a
yard from his head. An echoing crack of the rifle followed roughly a
second later. John chuckled, wondering if Lucas had spared his life, or
if Marlene had spoiled his aim. He calmly scanned the trees for Lucas
Chambers' approach.
"You suffering some kind of death wish, Hartman?"
John spotted him coming through the trees with his
rifle held at ready across his chest. The mercenary wore camouflage
fatigues and face paint that effectively blended him in with the heavily
shadowed underbrush. "I saw a dog. Where'd it go?"
"The dog's harmless."
Lucas stopped a safe distance away. He grimaced when
he saw John's swollen and discolored hand clutched against his chest.
"Christ, John, you're messed over big time. Brains and dicks we
can do without. Hands we gotta have."
"You must have been counting on me being
terminally messed over
if you thought the two of you could waltz in here and take me out without
getting your asses kicked."
Lucas laughed harshly. "You always were an arrogant
bastard."
"Do you want to talk, or do you want to take another
shot at me?"
"I want to know why you didn't take me and Neal out
when you had the chance. Kahl, too."
"We're getting too old to play with guns, Lucas. You
don't deserve to die, and I can hurt Kahl worse by letting him live.
He's dug his own grave."
Lucas nervously scanned the surrounding forest. "You
don't seem to be armed. Who's backing you up?"
"Let's just say that things aren't always what they
seem and let it go at that."
"Yeah, you got a point there."
"What do you need from this job to make a clean
break, Lucas?"
"I need you dead," Lucas said bluntly. "We've still
got a contract on our heads, and I'm tired of living on the run. We told
them it wasn't our fault and they said they'd lift the contracts if we
take you out, because it sure as hell was all your fault. This has been
our first opportunity to have a go at it."
"Sounds fair. What do you need in the way of proof
that I'm dead?"
"An index finger, right hand. Our prints and DNA
records are still on file."
He held up his swollen, broken hand. "Index finger
of this hand?"
Lucas gave a cautious shrug. "Ironic, ain't it?"
"How about if we cut a deal? Take the finger. Back
off. Call it quits."
Lucas squirmed with indecision. "They'll find out."
"Lucas, it's been a long, long time. They told you
what they want to confirm the kill. I'm sure they're as eager to wrap
this up as you are."
"Yeah, you're probably right. You serious about the
finger?"
"I'm going to lose the hand regardless. Can we
deal?"
Lucas shuffled about restlessly, but he gave a quick
nod. "Yeah, maybe we can deal. I can only speak for me and Neil, mind
you. Kahl's got some heavy-weights on his way in."
"I'll take care of Kahl."
"If we get the contracts lifted," Lucas said quietly,
"we'll call it even. We never blamed you for what you did. You had
guts."
John held up his right hand. "I don't have any
feeling in the hand at the moment. It's busted up pretty bad. Come on
down and take what you want of it. "
"You serious?"
"Think about it. There's no other way."
Lucas set his rifle against a tree. He unsheathed
his black titanium and carbon fiber combat knife and approached
hesitantly, tense and growing more agitated by the second.
John extended his arm and placed his ruined hand
against the trunk of a tree. He kept his face averted, opening himself to
a knife buried in his gut, if Lucas was so inclined. He felt humiliation
allowing a man who wanted him dead to approach within killing distance and
hack off a part of his body.
Lucas had a rough time inching his way within
hand-to-hand combat range. His breathing sounded ragged. "I don't know
if I can do this, John. This is really sick."
"Is there another way? I sure as hell can't do it
for you."
"I hear you got a boy with you. If he's got a gun on
me, I wouldn't want him to see this."
"My boy's not old enough for this."
"I heard he was sick. What's wrong with him?"
"Heart damage," John said. "Rheumatic fever."
"Tough break."
"We'll deal with it."
Lucas' gaze was fixed on the bruised, mangled hand
braced against the tree. "You sure you're not going to go crazy on me?"
"I won't feel a thing. Just get it over with."
"What the hell happened to you?"
"I got drunk and killed my wife. I hurt the hand in
the accident."
"Oh, Jesus."
"It ain't no way to live, Lucas."
"Yeah, I know. I got a family, too, John. So does
Neil."
“Sorry about Neil. He kills too easily. It was the
only way I could think of to stop him. It sure as hell stopped me.”
“The hand? Yeah, we’ll, you’re right about Neil.
You’re probably right about the hand. It'll slow him down, maybe keep him
alive. He's got a kid of his own, like I said.”
Lucas drew close. He stank of sweat and fear. John
felt pressure on his hand and heard the thunk of the razor-edged knife
break through a finger joint to the wood beneath. A moment later, an
unbearable ache and a stabbing pain like an electric current darted up his
arm to his shoulder.
Lucas backed quickly away. "It's not bleeding too
bad. Cover it up with something. It's infected, though. You had better
have it looked at."
John managed a grim chuckle. Lucas dropped the
severed finger in a canteen, then reached down to clean the bloodied knife
in the earth. He sheathed it and backed further away.
John couldn't bring himself to look at his hand. He
thought he understood now what it felt like for a woman to be raped. But
with Lucas pacified, his chances of getting David to adequate medical help
had increased a thousandfold.
Lucas slung his rifle over his shoulder and hurried
away. John saw him look back once before vanishing into the trees.
John staggered an uneven path back to the cabin. He
knelt and rummaged through a hidden bin in the back wall for a medical
kit, pouring antiseptic over the raw wound and wrapping it in gauze. He
glanced at the growing pool on the floor rather than at the hand itself to
gauge the amount of blood he was losing.
"Dad?"
Startled, John spun about. David was sitting up in
bed and staring at him with his eyes dilated and dark.
"Where's Dobbie, Dad?"
"I saw him a few minutes ago. He's okay."
David's gaze fell to his bandaged hand. "Is it
worse?"
"It can't get any worse. And you?"
"It's hard to breath."
"I'll have you out of here by nightfall."
David lay back down and gazed at the ceiling. "Mom
was with me. She says she needs a part of what she used to be. Do you
know what she means?"
"David, I have no idea what she means."
"Is she around?"
"I don't think..."
"I'm here, David," Marlene said quietly.
John started violently at the sound of her
disembodied voice.
David smiled and closed his eyes. John saw how pale
he was. Even the effort to speak had turned his lips livid blue.
The room careened. John staggered and reached for a
post to keep from falling. Even with most of the pain of his arm held at
bay, his body still had to deal with the poisons of infection. The veins
of his right arm were red and swollen. The hand itself had turned
ominously dark.
He went outside to allow David a private moment with
his mother. It hardly mattered now. The mirror could have anything of
their lives it wanted. John didn't see much chance of it achieving any of
its bizarre and inhuman goals.
From somewhere overhead, another helicopter
approached. He ignored the intensifying thud of its rotors and sat on the
ground alongside the black sphere.
"Let's see what you can do with the hand, Marlene."
"John, I don't dare."
"I'm not Kiki, Marlene.
I'm not a specimen. I'm your husband, remember?
If you told me the truth, you can't keep me inside. You said it
yourself. Without me and David, you have no identity and no hope for
survival."
Marlene's remained silent for a time. "Yes, I
see. Perhaps that's why I sensed the possibility that you and David can
be healed. But I cannot be certain."
"If the mirror takes me, David dies. Without me, you
can’t get him into the mirror. You wouldn’t dare take the risk. So go
ahead and take a crack at the hand. I don't have anything to lose. I'm
no good to you like this, and I'm no good to David."
The black sphere flattened and became a reflective
surface. He felt like a child seated beside a sandbox. He held his
bandaged hand suspended over the mirror.
The throb of the approaching chopper grew too loud to
ignore. If they had electronically tracked Lucas Chambers, they knew his location within
a few yards.
"Whenever you are ready," Marlene said mildly.
He risked losing more than just his hand to the
mirror. He was trusting it with his life, and David's life. He had no
good reason to do so. He simply had no other choice.
He dipped his hand halfway into the pool. He could
go deeper, but he tried and could not withdraw it. Below the surface of
the mirror, he could feel nothing but the pain.
"Marlene?"
"Please do not be afraid, John. I'm trying."
He closed his eyes and committed himself. He plunged
deeper, halfway to the elbow. The bloodied bandages that had been wrapped
around the hand popped to the surface.
And then the pain stopped. And the throbbing. He
flexed his hand, a ghost hand, but it was a thing he had not been able to
do since the accident. His fingers worked freely. At least it felt like
they did beneath the mirror's surface, although he knew that the mirror
had no thickness at all.
He saw the chopper moving through the trees,
descending over the lake.
"Marlene, please let me go now."
"I'm trying, John."
His fingertips brushed against something soft. The
sensation took his breath away. It felt like skin.
A hand gently clasped his own.
"Marlene, for the love of God..."
The hand pressed his palm against the side of a
face. John felt the light touch of hair caress his forearm. He cupped
Marlene's cheek gently and burst into tears that left streaks in the dirt
on his face.
The helicopter grew to a noisy banging sound. It
hovered just above the water, facing the cabin. It didn't have the same
sound to the engine or thrashing rotors that he had heard earlier on the
Ridge.
"Are we in any danger?" he said.
"I don't know."
He could feel the vibration of her voice against the
bare skin of his hand.
"John, I can't concentrate. I don't quite
understand what they are doing."
"Describe it to me then. Tell me what's happening."
"Heat signature. Target lock-on."
"Marlene, David's in danger!"
He tugged violently. His hand came free. He rolled
to his feet and leaped down the hill. He dashed to the cabin, threw the
door open, and rushed to David's side. He scooped the boy into his arms,
in both arms, using both hands, the forest outside filled with the staccato roar of the
chopper.
He rushed from the cabin in time to see the flare of
the rocket filtered through the useless barrier of thorns. He dodged to
one side and took two mighty leaps before diving to the ground and
throwing himself atop his son.
The cabin blew out from the face of the rock in a
gout of white flame. Debris finer than powder seared his exposed neck and
scalp, and a shockwave slammed him violently against the small body pinned
to the ground beneath him.
Concussive rebound emptied his lungs of air. The
cliff into which the cabin had been dug collapsed in a rolling cloud of
dust.
John yanked David's limp body from the ground and
tore up the hill to the mirror. A bullet struck a rock at his feet in
bright sparks and whined shrilly. Another poked a hole in the trunk of a
sapling, tearing its guts of wood out the exit hole. And a third buzzed
past his right ear like an angry hornet.
Men called to one another in the near distance.
Standing over the mirror, he paused long enough to
confirm his worst nightmare. David had stopped breathing. He dropped to
one knee and let his dying son slip from his arms.
"John, no!"
The mirror started to morph into the sphere. Before
it could change, David vanished head first through the reflective surface.
"Now is your chance to prove yourself," he murmured
through the thunder echoing from the distant walls of the valley. "Take
care of our son, Marlene."
John Hartman swung away in a controlled rage and
committed himself to combat.
