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newspapers knew they had a good story here. And they pursued it every day with
lurid detail. The Army, in an effort to avoid yet another accusation of
racism, fed them Cruz. Eighteen years for involuntary manslaughter.
By the time Dirk Fallows had arrived, Cruz had done six of those years. A
couple inmates confided to Fallows that Cruz had killed at least two other
prisoners in those six years. One had been overheard making fun of Cruz's
size. He was found drowned in a toilet bowl he'd just finished using, his
pants still wound about his ankles. The second had winked suggestively at
Cruz. He'd been found with an eight-inch nail driven through his eye and into
his brain. Cruz had been questioned, but never charged.
That was one of the odd things about Cruz, Fallows had realized. He seemed to
have no interest in sex, with women or men. Not even with himself. In a
prison, there is no privacy, and secrets are hard to keep. But no one had ever
seen Cruz do anything. Even the soldiers who knew him before his imprisonment
had never seen him with a woman. With anything.
Not that it mattered to Fallows. All he cared about was that Cruz had the
ruthlessness to do what was necessary, and the skill to succeed. That's why
Fallows had helped Cruz get out legally. The Army was happy to get rid of him,
let the civilian world worry about him for a while. Then he'd made Cruz his
second in command.
The men were afraid of both of them. Of Fallows because they couldn't
understand him. He was brilliant, mysterious. Of Cruz because they understood
him too well. He was brutal, indifferent. Fallows planned, Cruz executed the
plan. Sometimes with more enthusiasm than necessary.
Dirk Fallows focused the binoculars on the man riding ahead. Thin, late
thirties. Uncomfortable riding a horse. Nervously glancing around. A cheap
slingshot in his hand.
He swung the binoculars back to the waiting women, studying each from head to
toe. Only one was old enough to be called a woman. She was a few pounds
overweight, but not bad. Marketable. When he looked at the two girls he was
momentarily confused, thinking he'd made a mistake, then realizing they were
twins. Young, maybe seventeen or eighteen. Pretty. The men would be pleased
tonight. After him.
He shifted the binoculars back to the man as he rode deeper into the woods,
scouting ahead. A few more yards and he'd be there. Fallows could almost
imagine Cruz hulking in some tree, crouching patiently, his giant hands open
and waiting. Fallows grinned. It was an image to frighten any man, even
himself.
Damn!
The man on horseback stopped. Leaned forward in the saddle, peered into the
woods. Waited.
"Shit!" he spat. "The son of a bitch is turning around."
The kid at the firepit stopped peeling the flesh of the German Shepherd and
looked up. He started to speak, felt the tickle of black shepherd hair on his
lips, spit it out. "Christ."
Fallows studied the scene with intensity. The man had turned around and ridden
back to his family. They were talking. He refocused the binoculars, trying to
read the man's lips, but the man's horse turned slightly and all Fallows could
see now was the back of his head.
Fallows sighed. Well, if they were deciding to ride the other way, that would
be that. They'd be gone, free and clear. But if they were deciding to push
ahead, they'd be in Cruz's hands soon. There was nothing to do but wait and
see.
Fallows smiled. Wait and see.
"Goddamn it, horse, stay still." Leo Roth sat helplessly gripping the saddle
horn with both hands as his horse moved to the right to nibble some grass. Leo
tried to tug the horse back around, felt bad about taking it away from food,
threw up his hands. "You just relax," he told the horse. "Bon appetit. I'll
just twist around here in the saddle until my spine cracks. Don't bother
yourself."
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"Leo, stop fooling with the damn horse," Cynthia Roth complained.
Leo looked off into the woods at an imaginary audience. "She thinks I'm
fooling with the horse. As if I have any choice here."
"What'd you see, Dad?" Sarah asked.
"Nothing really," he shrugged. "Just a feeling"/'
Cynthia frowned. "Feeling? What kind of feeling? Like a sick feeling, or
what?"
"A feeling, that's all. Nothing specific."
Suddenly Leo's horse lifted his head and tail at the same time, shivered
slightly. Large, greenish droppings plopped to the ground.
Cynthia frantically waved the air in front of her face. "For God's sake, Leo."
"What do you mean Leo? It's the damn horse doing it, not me."
"Couldn't you have moved him first or something?"
"He and I have grown apart. He doesn't confide in me anymore."
The horse finished, swished his tail back and forth a few times, then dipped
his head back to eat more grass.
"Would you look at that?" Leo pointed. "He doesn't even wait a respectable
time. Just eats and shits. What the hell kind of animal is this?"
Cheryl shook her head with disgust, as she always did over her parents'
antics. In high school they'd been a constant source of embarrassment, her
father always cracking corny jokes with her friends, trying to be one of the
guys. Christ. Sarah never seemed to mind, but then Sarah didn't have that many
friends. Not the ones that counted anyway.
Leo Roth looked at his family. He knew he was acting the fool, but he was
scared and he didn't know why. He didn't want them to see how frightened he
really was. He had to be the strong one, keep them all together. He'd even
accept Cheryl's obvious contempt now; it was better than having her as
terrified as he was.
"So what are we going to do, Dad?" Sarah asked. "It'll be dark soon."
"We could make camp here," Cheryl suggested. "We passed a stream half a mile
back."
Leo nodded, considering.
"Why don't we just keep going another hour," Cynthia said. "That'll bring us a
few more miles closer to getting off these creatures for good. I'll break out
the can of plums as a treat."
"Sounds great, Mom," Sarah said.
"I'm in," Cheryl agreed.
Leo looked over his shoulder, back into the woods. Nothing moved. A couple
birds warbled at each other, but other than that everything was peaceful.
Still, something nagged at the back of his neck, some kind of chill. Silly.
Maybe. Aw hell, what did he know about the woods. He was just acting like a
dumb city boy, jumping at every toad.
"Sweetheart?" Cynthia said.
Leo jerked his horse around, pointed it ahead. "We go on."
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