I pushed ahead through a thicket, pinning the vines and scraping brush beneath the ATV. At least the shack was well hidden, though I had no reason to believe that whoever shot Garrett didn’t know about it. I stowed that thought and decided to worry about it later. I had enough on my plate.
Once through the first wall of foliage, I saw the shack ahead. About ten feet by ten feet, the wooden structure had been constructed of roughly-hewn wood from nearby trees. The roof consisted of a pine thatch, one corner completely rotted through. Fuck.
I motored up to it and peered through the darkened doorway. No windows greeted me, just a narrow entry. It would have to do. A burst of lightning shot across the sky, and the thunder chased it down, the rumble deep and loud.
“Garrett.”
“Mmph.” He squeezed around my waist.
“Come on. We’re here. I have to get you inside.” I threw my leg over and slid off the ATV.
He stared up at me with glassy eyes, his wet hair plastered to his head. “Here?” His breath wheezed in and out.
“Yes.” I dug in my pack and grabbed my gun, then found my flashlight, which I clamped between my teeth.
I slung his arm over my shoulders and pulled, keeping my gun in my free hand.
He stumbled to his feet, and I struggled under his weight.
He stopped, his breath a rattle. “This isn’t the house.”
“Uh huh,” I mumbled around the flashlight and helped him walk forward as the rain intensified, the sheets broken up by the pine boughs overhead.
Training the gun on the door, I followed the beam of light and checked the dank interior. The floor was made of packed dirt and strewn with pine needles. A pile of leaves in one corner appeared to be an abandoned critter nest of some sort. The back left side was wet, water pouring through the hole in the ceiling. Not good, but the ground sloped, so the water ran out between the rough planks. I could work with that. I dropped the flashlight and pulled Garrett along.
“Let’s go.” I dragged him inside, turning sideways so we could navigate through the narrow door.
My back ached, and I wondered if I’d pulled something as I lowered him to the ground in the dry corner.
“Stay.” I retrieved the flashlight and did one more sweep just to make sure nothing was going to jump out.
Dashing back to the ATV, I grabbed our bags and dumped them inside the door. My face and hands were so cold they hurt. Not a good sign. Garrett rested against the wall, his eyes closed.
Even in the dim shack, I could tell his skin was ghostly pale. A frozen hand squeezed my heart, and I snapped. “Garrett!”
His eyes fluttered open. “Yeah?”
“Stay awake, okay?”
“Bossy. I like it.”
I tore through my pack and snagged my Superman lunch box.
“We already ate.” His words slurred, and I forced myself to move faster.
“I know.” I unclicked the latch and flipped open the lid. “I keep my kindling in here so it stays dry.” I pulled out a small pack of dried twigs and a lighter. Glancing to the break in the roof, I realized it was a good thing. I’d need the smoke to vent out that way.
Setting the kindling aside, I flipped up my hoodie and headed back outside.
“Don’t!” He gripped my ankle. “It’s not safe.”
I leaned down and kissed him, his cold lips spurring me onward. “I’m going to find a few fallen limbs. They’ll be wet, but the rain only started within the last little while. I’ll cut down to dryer wood and we’ll be all set. Trust me.”
“I’ll come too.” He tried to sit up from the wall, but only made it halfway before falling back. “Fuck.”
“Stay here. I won’t go far. I promise. Two minutes, tops.”
“I don’t like it.” He reached up and pulled me down, our foreheads touching. “Please be safe.”
“I will. I swear.” I dropped another kiss on his lips and hurried out into the rain. I passed behind the shack and peeked out into the forest. The rain created a milky barrier. That meant I couldn’t see the shooter, but he couldn’t see me either. I hurried forward, my eyes trained on the ground. Up ahead, I saw a limb that would work. I snagged it and another and dragged both back to the shack.
“Garrett, I need one more. I’m almost done. Stay awake.”
He mumbled a response.
I walked in the opposite direction and scanned the ground. An oak limb, the leaves long since rotted away, presented the perfect opportunity. I darted up to it and started dragging it along.
Glancing back, I stopped dead. Beneath the limb, the ground was sunken in what appeared to be a six-foot by about three-foot rectangle. An unmarked grave.
A warning sounded in my heart. I needed to dig. But I couldn’t, not until I was certain Garrett was safe and the shooter was gone. I forced myself to turn and keep going. Dropping the limb at the doorway, I walked in and pulled my hatchet from my pack.
“I’ll have a roaring fire in under ten minutes. Want to time me?”
“Merit badge if you make it?”
I ran my hand along his forehead, hating the cold, clammy feel. “No. If I get it done, I get to use a flogger on you when we get home.”
He grunted. “That’s a big reward.”
“Hey, if you can’t handle it—”
“Done.” He coughed. “What do I get if you don’t make it?”
I kissed him again, then steadied myself so I could get to work. “Hypothermia.”
I STARED at the narrow door. The night beyond consumed what little light the moon offered, the rays gobbled up by the thick clouds and endless rain. Garrett slept beside me. I’d dressed his wound, stripped him, and covered him in fresh clothes from my pack. I’d dried my clothes by the fire and put them back on. We were both warm, well fed with snacks and water, and as comfortable as possible in the shack. Once I was certain he wouldn’t die from the cold, I let him sleep off the injury.
Still, I worried that the shooter lurked just beyond the door, waiting for his chance. I adjusted so I could rest my gun hand atop my knee. If anyone came through the door, I’d shoot first and ask questions later.
The fire crackled, and I tossed another piece of damp wood on the top. It would keep us warm until morning, though I intended to rouse Garrett and head to the house about two hours before daybreak. We’d be soaked through again, but the dark would keep us safe from the shooter’s scope.
Midnight came and went as I kept watch, my eyes drifting closed and my hand drooping until I forced myself awake. The grave just fifty yards away preyed on my mind. Was it him? Had I finally found my dad’s resting place?
And who was the shooter? If it had been one shot, I could have believed in a stray bullet from a hunt
er’s gun. But the second shot dispelled that notion. Someone had tried to kill Garrett. Maybe even me. What the hell was going on? Fresh mysteries piled on top of old ones, and my questions kept circling the grave like a drain. I spent the rest of the night like that—in between waking and dreaming, one eye on the door and my thoughts buried along with whoever lay in the shallow grave.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SHERIFF CROW AND RORY burst through the front door as I leaned Garrett against the wall of the foyer. I’d called them as soon as I got within range of the house’s WiFi.
“How far out is the ambulance?” I started stripping Garrett’s wet coat from him.
“Ten minutes or so.” Rory dropped to his knees and opened a duffel bag of medical supplies. Sheriff Crow knelt, and both men helped me pull his wet shirt down.
“Just a scratch.” Garrett didn’t open his eyes.
Rory pressed his fingers to Garrett’s neck and stilled. “Shit, pulse is slow. Too slow.”
I pulled the gauze away from Garrett’s bullet hole beneath his clavicle. “There.”
Sheriff Crow leaned Garrett forward and stared at the exit wound. “Came out clean, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”
“I had enough of a first aid kit to douse it with alcohol and pack the gauze, but I couldn’t stop the bleed. And the rattle in his lungs has gotten worse.” I tucked Garrett’s hair behind his ear.
He leaned into my touch. “Red.”
“Red?” Sheriff Crow asked.
“That’s what he calls me.” I began pulling the damp shirt the rest of the way off, but lost my balance and hit the floor next to Garrett.
Sheriff Crow grabbed my elbow and peered into my eyes. “Rory, get her upstairs and warmed up. She looks like she might fall over herself.”
“No, I’m fine.” I shook my head and reached for Garrett’s hand.
“No, you aren’t fine.” Worry creased around the sheriff’s eyes. “Rory, get on it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll wait for the ambulance. I expect it here soon.” Sheriff Crow rooted around in the duffel bag as Rory helped me to my feet. “Until then, I’ll check his wound. He’s going to be okay.”