She heard Mr. Tso’s ragged breathing as she reached to support him. He moaned. She spoke to him in Navajo. “Grandfather. Think strong thoughts. You are a brave man.”
Oster’s gun prodded her kidney. “What are you saying?”
Bernie switched to English. “Do what the man says.”
“That’s right. Listen to this smart woman.”
Because of the pain in her shoulder, Bernie used her left arm to help Mr. Tso to his feet. He was shaking, and he did not put any weight on his right leg as they moved to the door.
“We’re going in so you can sign the papers. That’s the only way you both stay alive. Clear?”
Tso grunted.
“Lean on me,” Bernie said. Tso was several inches taller than she was, but about the same weight. He quivered as he gripped her arm. Bernie willed herself to come up with a plan to save his life.
It was darker in the house than on the porch, but she could see the outline of the sofa. She walked toward it, Mr. Tso clinging to her and Oster urging them forward with the pressure of the gun.
“Let go of her now.”
She felt Mr. Tso loosen his grip. Oster slapped her, hard enough to snap her head against her neck and force her backward. Her skull hit the wall as she sank into the couch, and she tasted blood from where her teeth had torn her check.
Oster pointed the gun at her. “Old man, take off that rope of a belt. Do it now.”
Mr. Tso did as told, his stiff hands struggling to move it out of the pant loops. Oster grabbed it.
“Now sit next to her.”
Mr. Tso slumped down on the sofa.
Bernie said, “My fellow officers know where I am. They are probably on their way here already.” She hoped the darkness made it hard for Oster to read her face. “There’s no way you can escape without being caught unless you take the back route. It’s impossible for a stranger to find it in the dark, but I can explain it to you. But only after you toss your gun into that bucket of water by Mr. Tso’s stove and agree to drive away. He and I will say nothing about this as long as you promise to leave us alone.”
Oster looked at her as though she’d never spoken and handed her the rope, keeping the gun leveled at Mr. Tso’s chest. “Wrap this around your ankles.” He watched as she complied. “Tighter. OK, now make it tighter.”
“Now wrap it around the leg of the couch.” She leaned over to comply, looping the rope around the couch leg, fastening her ankles to it.
Mr. Tso coughed, and she heard fluid, a bad sign in a person with a possible broken rib. Oster spoke to him.
“Now, Mr. Tso, slip that twine off those newspapers over there and bring it here. Quick now.”
She felt the gun in her side.
The old man did as told, leaving the newspapers scattered where they fell.
Oster pushed Bernie’s ribs with the gun again. “Get up and put your hands behind you.”
Oster stepped back, and Bernie stood awkwardly, off balance because of the narrowness of her stance. She swung her good left arm toward his face, aiming for his nose with the heel of her hand and all the power she could summon. She made contact just as she felt the weight of the gun come down hard on her injured shoulder. She crashed to the floor chin first. Before she could reach his feet to trip him, Oster grabbed both her arms. He twisted hard as she struggled, sending another shot of hot, raw pain through her right side. He kicked her and stepped on her back, putting his weight into it, as he bound her wrists so tightly it felt like wire cutting into her bones.
Bernie lay still, telling herself to ignore the pain and think.
“Let’s finish here. Where are the papers?”
Mr. Tso remained silent.
The longer Tso delayed, the longer she had to think of an escape plan. Bernie felt Oster remove his weight, and in the next split second he kicked her again, harder this time, connecting with her hip. She moaned automatically. She knew the old one would not want to contribute to her suffering.
Mr. Tso said, “Look on the counter.”
“I can’t see them. What do you do for light?”
“The lantern on the shelf.”
“What shelf? Oh, here. That’s right. Miller told me you used kerosene.”
Bernie quietly turned her head so she could see and breathe better. She watched as Oster took the lantern to the table and removed the glass dome. A match scraped as he lit the wick, and she saw the yellow light. “I don’t see the forms. Oh, there they are. They weren’t on the counter, they were right here on the table.”
There was a scratching sound, as if something outside were trying to get in.
Mr. Tso said, “Skinwalker out there.”
“Don’t try to scare me with that mumbo-jumbo. I’m going to make this as easy as I can for you. I’m bringing the papers to you, and a pen.”
Bernie twisted her wrists against the twine. It hurt, but the sweat on her skin helped her gain some momentum. She pushed at the rope with her legs, keeping the movement subtle to avoid Oster’s attention. The darkness on the floor worked in her favor.
She saw Oster’s feet moving toward the couch. Bernie held still. “It’s easy.” His voice reminded her of a college professor. “All you have to do—”
Bernie heard Mr. Tso laugh, a wild, unearthly sound of derision and disgust. She turned her head, ignoring the pain in her neck, but could see nothing. She heard the sound of skin on skin, a hard slap, and heard a dull thunk, possibly the back of Mr. Tso’s head hitting the wall.
“I’m sure you realize that you’ll both be dead in the immediate future, but you can control what happens before that, old man. The sooner you sign, the less you’ll have to listen to your friend here screaming.”
Mr. Tso said a few words in Navajo, something about regretting her suffering, before she heard Oster hit him again. Then he coughed, a harsh sound that made Bernie wince. “No Navajo. Don’t forget again.”
“He said he needs to think about it,” Bernie said.
“There’s nothing to think about,” Oster said. “He’s lucky. He has a final opportunity to sign the papers, a hero in his daughter’s eyes and to his grandson, on the side of good. Doing his part to save the planet. It’s a fine way for a deceased father to be remembered.”
She heard the scratching again, this time from the front door. She didn’t know what was out there, but it couldn’t be more evil than what was in the house. “I know you are a smart man. I can’t believe you think you’ll get away with this. The captain knows where I am. He’s already dispatched a unit here. This is all a mistake. If you leave now, we could say that you had a mental breakdown or something.”
The new tone in Oster’s voice chilled the too-warm room. “I am the sanest person in the world.”