Purgatory Ridge

The light in the house came on. Through the window, Jo could see Bridger moving about inside.

“What’s he doing?” LePere asked.

“I can’t tell.”

Grace was beside her. “Can you see Stevie?”

“No.”

“Then he’s hiding,” Grace assured her. “Jo, he’s a smart little boy and he’s hiding.”

The front door opened, and a blade of light from inside slashed across the yard. Bridger stood silhouetted in the doorway. Jo watched as he lifted his arm to check the gun he held in his hand. He cast a long, black shadow before him, and when he stepped forward, the shadow touched the fish house wall.

“He’s coming,” Jo cried in a whisper.

“Behind the door,” LePere said. “Everybody behind the door.” He hefted the splintered two-by-four he’d broken earlier trying to wedge apart the bars.

Jo huddled with Grace and Scott. LePere stood before the door with the board raised, ready to swing. Jo was breathing hard and fast, so loud she was afraid Bridger could hear. Lightning ran across the sky and lit the inside of the fish house with brief, startling flashes. Mixed with the thunder that followed was the crunch of Bridger’s boots on the gravel as he came. There was a deadly quiet as he paused at the door. Jo heard the jingle of keys as he searched for the right one. She held her breath. And a cell phone rang.

“Yeah?” Bridger said from the other side of the door. “No, I just got here.” He was silent, probably listening. “Look, I told you. It’s all set.”

Jo felt Grace tense and wrap her arms more tightly around Scott.

“All right, all right. I’ll check. How long before you’re here?”

LePere adjusted his stance and his grip on the board.

“Jesus, relax. Everything will be fine.”

Bridger was quiet for a while. Jo figured the phone call was finished. She waited for the sound of the lock being released. It didn’t come. Bridger simply walked away. Jo rushed to the window and stood on the crate.

“He’s gone down to the boat dock,” she reported. “He’s getting on one of the boats.”

“Where’s your boy?” LePere asked.

As Jo peered at the house, she saw a small form edge through the front door and slip into the dark away from the porch. A moment later, Stevie was at the fish house.

“Which key?” he called softly through the door.

“It’s the only silver one on the ring,” LePere said.

“It’s hard to see.”

Jo could hear her little boy’s voice choked with fear. “You’re doing fine, Stevie,” she told him, trying to keep her own voice calm. “Just fine.”

The lock rattled. The door opened. Jo flung her arms around her son and thought it had never felt so good to hold him.

“We’ve got to go,” LePere said. “To my truck.”

Thunder rolled out of the clouds that spilled over the Sawtooth Mountains. The first drops of rain splatted against Jo’s cheek as she ran with the others away from the fish house. A strong wind came with the storm, and as the lightning etched a stark black-and-white image of the cove, Jo saw the water churning. She also saw Bridger on the deck of one of the boats. She prayed he didn’t see them.

LePere opened the door of his truck. “Damn. He took the key.”

“Isn’t there an extra somewhere?” Grace asked.

“In the house. But he may have taken that one, too. Let’s just get out of here.” LePere dug into the glove compartment and brought out a flashlight. “Come on. Up the road.”

He led the way, Grace and Scott right behind him, Jo and Stevie bringing up the rear. Rain had begun to fall heavily and the wind drove it into their faces. They hurried along the narrow lane that skirted the cove. Jo held Stevie’s hand. Her heart beat wildly, and she dared to let herself feel real hope. They were almost free.

LePere stopped abruptly.

“What is it?” Grace called above the wind and rain.

Jo didn’t have to ask. She’d seen it, too. Another set of headlights winding through the poplars, coming down to the cove from the highway. She remembered Bridger’s phone conversation. Whoever he was expecting had arrived. She leaned to LePere and shouted, “We can hide in the trees until they’ve passed, then go up to the highway and flag someone down.”

He shook his head, flinging rain from the end of his nose. “No one’s on the road at this hour. And it’s the first place Bridger will look.”

“Then we hide in the trees until morning.”

“That’s the second place he’ll look, and there aren’t enough trees to hide us until morning.”

The headlights frosted the trees at the nearest curve. In only a moment, they would shine fully on the place where Jo and the others stood.

“This way,” LePere hollered.

He started through the trees, leading the way toward the dark, hard cliffs of Purgatory Ridge.

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