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I hoped it was a promise I could keep.
The brilliant, early-morning sun was slanting through the windows. My hands
were shaking some. Before sentiment could get its tenterhooks into me, I did
the unspeakable.
I took a sharp carving knife to my sofa. I slashed the cushions until the
frame was covered with feathers and goose down.
Next I piled the magazines from the coffee table on top of the ruined sofa.
Shit, shit, shit. This hurts. It really sucks.
I looked around the living room, at the books and mementos of my marriage to
Dr. David Mekin: the model boat he'd constructed, signed, and dated; our
wedding photo on the mantel. I couldn't stop the flood of memories: nest
building, long evenings spent before the fire, lovemaking, and even fights
that we worked through.
I pulled myself together and crawled to the hall closet. I swiftly stood and
pulled down sheaves of my murdered husband David's old medical journals from
the top shelf. I hadn't been allowed to throw them out while he was alive, and
I hadn't wanted to throw them out after he died. David had been a medical
researcher, and a good one. He had found out too much about the School, and
the bastards had killed him. They did that sort of thing, and right now,
someone appeared ready to pursue me and inflict mayhem. Poor David, I thought.
Poor kids. Poor me.
Tears automatically welled up in my eyes. I remembered seeing David's
sheet-covered corpse on a stainless-steel slab. The horrible pain of his loss.
After he was murdered, I'd [166] moved out of the cabin we'd shared and into a
spare room at the Inn-Patient. It was too painful to live with his artifacts
and my memories. Then I discovered Max in the woods. After I gained her trust,
she took me and Kit to meet the other kids. When the bastards from the School
found me, they burned down my animal hospital. Nothing remained but charred
timbers. I was able to rebuild with insurance money. I'd reestablished tenancy
of my old cabin in the woods.
Well, it looked as if it was time to move again-only this time I was pretty
sure Nationwide wouldn't be picking up the tab.
A dozen Duraflame logs were stacked high next to the wood-burning stove. They
would do just fine.
I tossed the logs onto the mountain of magazines and feathers and added a
kitchen stool for good measure.
I steeled myself to do what had to be done.
I touched a match to the pyre. The flame sputtered innocently enough, then
caught with a flash.
I watched tendrils of smoke curl up toward the peak of the cathedral ceiling,
and when the fire was burning well, I took the cell phone from my pocket and
made the call.
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"Please help me," I said with genuine urgency. "There's a house on fire in the
woods behind the Inn-Patient Animal Hospital. Yes, right on Highway
Thirty-four. Please hurry!"
I put on my jacket, tucking a whimpering Pip under my arm. I was crying as I
got ready to leave my burning house.
49 I WAS ALSO mad as hell, absolutely furious, bent on revenge somehow,
someway. There was always a way.
I ran down the steep stairs before second thoughts could slow me. It was
totally dark in the cellar.
It took me several seconds to get my bearings.
I could hear scraping and dragging, and I went toward the sound. Scraping,
scraping, scraping.
The kids were working, lifting and moving heavy boxes and furniture. I mean
incredibly heavy stuff.
With shock, I realized there was all sorts of old junk piled up in front of
the cellar doors-our exit was blocked. And it only got worse. I looked back
toward the stairs and saw smoke starting to seep under the door to the cellar.
I hadn't expected the fire to get there so fast.
What a trap I'd set for us!
We would all die down there.
[168] We'd be burned to death.
I had started the fire!
I waded into the fray and helped Oz, Max, and Matthew move a bed frame and
dozens of cartons of books away from the cellar door. We moved a couple of old
dressers as well.
"Stronger than you look, lady," Max said, and smiled encouragement my way.
A bolt locked the door, but I was able to bang it off with a couple of blows
from a sledgehammer.
Suddenly, an alarm went off upstairs. Then another.
Really loud. Screeching.
"It's just a fire, don't worry about it," I told the kids. "I'm burning down
my house."
50 I LISTENED TO THE PIERCING WAIL of the smoke detector with a mixture of
sadness and satisfaction. When the timbered walls caught, it would create a
smokescreen outside, the diversion we needed. At least, I hoped so. But God,
at what cost!
The cellar doors were of the hatch type, and the hinges were rusted. We put
our shoulders and backs into it and pushed. The doors creaked open. I'd
forgotten how incredibly strong Max and Oz were, especially Oz, who was really
impressing me in all ways.
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The hatch doors lay nearly flat to the ground on the east side of the house,
about fifteen yards from a ravine. The ravine was about ten feet deep, lined
with dramatic and striated rocks dripping with moss; under normal conditions,
it made a nice little nature walk.
[170] Now I saw the ravine as a long chute to safety. That was my prayer.
There had been no way we would escape-but now there was. The fire, the smoke,
all the distractions had worked so far. Now if we were just a little lucky.
Wendy was scared and crying. I couldn't blame her. I wanted to cry, too. I
slowly stuck my head out the hatch doors and looked around. I listened. No
footsteps. No gunshots. I ducked back in and took Wendy in my arms and hugged
her tightly.
"Mama!" she wheezed.
Damn it. See? I was their mother. The only mother they would ever have.
"It's okay, baby," I whispered against Wendy's ear. "We're going to get out of
this. Somehow."
Then, with Pip racing beside me, I sprinted to the lip of the ravine and slid
down to the bottom on my butt. The children followed, Oz guiding Ic, Max
shepherding Matthew and Peter.
I counted noses.
The kids were scared, but at least we were still together, and unharmed so
far.
Now, what to do, what to do?
Hot smoke clouded the cold morning air, and I thought I'd done as good a job
as a girl could do under the circumstances. I'm no commando or superwoman, I'm
a veterinarian!
Before I could fall over from patting myself on the back, I heard a sharp
pinging sound and rock fragments scattered.
There were bullets ringing out around us. We'd been spotted again. Oh my good
God, or bad God, or some kind of God, we were in big trouble! Then we got a
little break. Not much [171] to cheer about, but it was something. The wind
shifted. The smoke from the fire gave us some cover.
"Now fly! Keep low. Very low. Meet me at the car. Go! Run!" I yelled to the
children, and for once they didn't question me; they actually obeyed. It was
probably a quarter of a mile to the road where my car was parked at the
Inn-Patient lot.
At least, I hoped to hell the car was still there. I didn't have a plan B!
The kids flew away as I clambered over rocks and logs and twisted bunches of
fallen branches. I kept the smoke from the fire between myself and the armed
men.
Just when the ravine became too shallow to hide me, I saw a large blue shape I
had always loved.
Like a rock. The Suburban was there. And so were the kids, all of them. Thank
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God.
I leaped ahead and opened the doors for the children and Pip, who all piled in
without any extra urging from me.
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