KnockOut

you take over for us here, Beau? We’ve got to get back to Bricker’s Bowl to arrest Mrs. Shepherd Backman.” He looked toward the forensic team, who looked both grim and resigned, and was thankful he didn’t have their job.

47
    TITUS HITCH WILDERNESS
    TITUSVILLE, VIRGINIA
    Ethan cleared away enough brush so he could slip through onto a narrow stone ledge beneath an overhang and into the cave he’d named Locksley Manor when he’d been seven years old, reading Robin Hood and exploring with his grandfather. The cave was well hidden since he’d planted bushes all across the front of it, hoping to prevent hikers from finding it, which had worked, and keeping animals out, which hadn’t. A bear hibernated in this cave most every winter, but it was August now and quite empty, thank God. It smelled like bear, not a bad smell, just thick, kind of oily. The chamber was small, unremarkable, really, giving no hint to the several magnificent chambers to be found deeper in the mountain, each of them with ceilings so high you couldn’t see the top.
    He made his way out through the bushes and brought in Autumn and Joanna. Then he pulled the bushes back into place, covering all signs of a cave entrance.
    He pulled off his backpack as he watched Joanna and Autumn’s faces in the pale light of their sanctuary. He said, “It looks pretty humdrum out here, but as it burrows farther back into the mountain, it becomes quite spectacular. I’ll bring you guys back here to explore it. Let me show you the goodies I brought.” He pointed to his bulging backpack that he’d slung onto the cave floor. “You never know when a tourist is going to get into trouble, and so all of us officers around here are prepared. My backpack is basically a survival kit—water, a half-dozen PowerBars, first-aid stuff, three of those high-tech sleeping bags that weigh a few ounces and keep you warm at twenty below. Not our problem, but it will get cold tonight, cold enough to appreciate them.” He reached in the pack and pulled out a plastic bag. “And the most important, coffee and a couple of mugs.”
    “But we don’t have—”
    “Oh ye of little faith,” Ethan said as he pulled out another small package and opened it. He took what looked like a metal disk, un-folded it into a cylinder, shoved another piece of metal into a bracket at the side, and within a few seconds he was waving a small pot in front of him.
    Without thought, Joanna threw her arms around him. “That is miraculous, simply—”
    She broke off, quickly stepped back, only to hear Autumn say, “I don’t drink coffee but I think you’re miraculous too, Ethan.”
    They all laughed. It felt good to smile, to feel a little wash of relief pour through you. It put the fear aside, if only for a moment or two.
    Ethan looked at the stack of logs he’d left here last year. Above the logs were twenty-five deep scratch marks in the stone, marking each year since he’d found the cave.
    He decided against lighting a fire, not wanting Blessed and Grace to smell the smoke. He made do with a small Coleman burner just large enough to hold his pot.
    Joanna boiled water, Autumn spread out the high-tech space sleeping bags, and Ethan checked all their weapons.
    Ethan looked at the three sleeping bags in a neat line and said, “Here, Autumn, I’ve got your dinner. Eat slowly, you only get two bars, okay?”
    It was quiet, and soon it was nearly dark in the deep wilderness. The trees were so thick that night fell quickly. Autumn fell asleep inside one of the sleeping bags, her hands cupped beneath her cheek.
    When Ethan seated himself beside Joanna, his legs stretched out in front of him alongside hers, his back against the cave wall, he said, “Jonnna, have you thought about how Blessed and Grace found you and Autumn here in Titusville?”
    She shook her head, then sighed, leaned back against the cave wall. “Well, of course I have. I really don’t know, Ethan, but I know without a doubt they’ll find us. You know it too.”
    He nodded. “When Autumn was talking to Savich earlier, Savich told her to tell me he was going to see Mrs. Backman again, to cut off the snake’s head.”
    “A good name for the old witch.”
    “Is he thinking it’s Mrs. Backman who’s the tracker, not Blessed and Grace, that she somehow directs them? Do you think that’s possible?”
    “I’ve thought about it, but when it comes down to that it’s so outside anything that makes sense to me, to any of