“Which would probably finish the job the quake started,” Howie added.
Holly turned around and pointed over the hood of the SUV. “See that road on the other side of the gift shop? That goes to the Ahiga entrance. Tourists weren’t allowed to go into the cave that way, but there are many interesting pictographs.”
“And you know this how?” Yune asked.
“The map they gave out to tourists is still online. Everything is online these days.”
“It’s called research, amigo,” Ralph said. “You should try it some time.”
They got back into the SUV, Howie once more behind the wheel with Ralph riding shotgun. Howie started slowly across the parking lot. “That road looks pretty crappy,” he said.
“You should be okay,” Holly said. “There are tourist cabins on the other side of the rise. According to the newspaper stories, the second rescue party used them as a staging area. Plus there would have been lots of media people and worried relatives once the news got out.”
“Not to mention your ordinary garden variety rubberneckers,” Yune said. “They probably—”
“Stop, Howie,” Alec said. “Whoa.” They were a little more than halfway across the parking lot now, the SUV’s stubby nose pointing toward the road that went to the cabins. And, presumably, to the Hole’s back door.
Howie braked. “What?”
“Maybe we’re making this tougher than it has to be. The outsider doesn’t necessarily have to be in the cave—he was hiding in a barn out there in Canning Township.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning we should check the gift shop. See if there’s signs of a breakin.”
“I’ll do it,” Yune said.
Howie opened the driver’s door. “Why don’t we all go?”
10
The meddlers left the boarded-up entrance and returned to the SUV, the stocky balding guy walking around the hood to get back to the wheel. That gave Jack a clear shot. He laid the crosshairs on the guy’s face, took a breath, held it, and tightened down on the trigger. It didn’t move. There was a nightmarish moment when he thought something was wrong with the Winchester, then he realized he’d forgotten to release the safety. How stupid could you get? He tried to push it without taking his eye from the scope. His thumb, greasy with sweat, slid off, and by the time he released the safety, the stocky man was in the driver’s seat and slamming the door. The others were back in, as well.
“Shit!” Jack whispered. “Shit, shit, shit!”
He watched with increasing panic as the SUV started across the parking lot and toward the service road that would take it out of his line of fire. They would crest the first hill, they would see the cabins, they would see the service shed, and they would see his truck parked beside it. Would Ralph Anderson know to whom that truck belonged? Of course he would. If not from the leaping fish decals on the side, then from the bumper sticker—MY OTHER RIDE IS YOUR MOM—on the back.
You can’t let them get up that road.
He didn’t know if that was the visitor’s voice or his own, and didn’t care, because it was right either way. He had to stop the SUV, and two or three high-powered slugs in the engine block would do the job. Then he could start shooting through the windows. He probably wouldn’t get them all, not with the sun glaring on the glass, but the ones who were left would come spilling out into the empty parking lot, maybe wounded, dazed for sure.
His finger curled on the trigger, but before he could fire the first shot, the SUV stopped on its own near the abandoned gift shop with its fallen sign. The doors opened.
“Thank you, God,” Jack murmured. He applied his eye to the scope again, waiting for Mr. No Opinion to emerge. They all had to go, but the chief meddler was going first.
11
The diamondback emerged from the crack where it had taken refuge. It slithered toward Jack’s splayed feet, stopped, tasted the warming air with its flickering tongue, then slithered forward again. It had no intention of attacking, its purpose was only investigatory, but when Jack fired the first shot, it raised its tail and began to rattle. Jack—who had forgotten shooter’s plugs or cotton for his ears as well as his toothbrush—never heard it.
12
Howie was the first out of the SUV. He stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the fallen sign reading SOUVENIRS AND AUTHENTIC INDIAN CRAFTS. Alec and Yune exited the backseat on the driver’s side. Ralph got out of the shotgun seat to open the rear door for Holly, who was having trouble with the handle. As he did this, something lying on the cracked pavement caught his eye.
“Damn,” he said. “Look at that.”
“What is it?” Holly asked as he bent down. “What, what?”
“I think it’s an arrowhe—”
A gunshot rang out, the almost liquid whipcrack of a high-powered rifle. Ralph felt the passage of the slug, which meant it had missed the top of his head by no more than an inch or two. The SUV’s passenger side mirror shattered and flew away, hitting the cracked asphalt and tumbling across it in a series of brilliant flashes.
“Gun!” Ralph shouted, grabbing Holly around the shoulders and dragging her to her knees. “Gun, gun, gun!”
Howie looked around at him. His expression was both startled and bemused. “Say what? Did you—”
The second shot came, and the top of Howie Gold’s head disappeared. For a moment he stood where he was, blood coursing down his cheeks and brow. Then he toppled. Alec ran toward him and the third shot came, throwing Alec back against the hood of the SUV. Blood burst through his shirt above the belt line. Yune started toward him. There was a fourth shot. Ralph saw it tear away the side of Alec’s neck, and then Howie’s investigator dropped out of sight behind the car.
“Get down!” Ralph shouted at Yune. “Get down, he’s up on that bluff!”
Yune dropped to his knees and scrambled. Three more shots came in rapid succession. One of the SUV’s tires began to hiss. The windshield cracked into a milk-glaze and sagged in around a hole above the steering wheel. The third shot punched through the rear quarter-panel on the driver’s side and blew an exit hole as big as a tennis ball on the passenger side, close to where Ralph and Yune now crouched, flanking Holly. There was a pause, then another fusillade: four shots this time. The rear windows broke, spraying nuggets of safety glass. Another of those ragged holes appeared in the rear deck.
“We can’t stay here,” Holly said. She sounded perfectly calm. “Even if he doesn’t hit us, he’ll hit the gas tank.”
“She’s right,” Yune said. “Alec and Gold, what do you think? Any chance?”
“No,” Ralph said. “They’re—”
Another of those liquid whipcracks. They all flinched, and another tire began to hiss.
“They’re gone,” Ralph finished. “We have to run for that souvenir shop. You two go first. I’ll cover you.”
“I’ll do the covering,” Yune said. “You and Holly do the running.”
A scream came from the shooter’s position. Of pain or rage, Ralph couldn’t tell.