Page 71 of The House of Cross

They bounced again and again. She slammed down each time.

Even through the earplugs she could hear the chassis squeaking in protest as they passed over washboard terrain that caused the vehicle to shake and vibrate, the feeling pounding into her bones, making her joints ache.

I need water,she thought before one of those swoons came again. This time the dizziness was accompanied by nausea, and she was certain she was going to puke.

She got frightened. If she vomited behind the gag, she was as good as dead.

Swallowing against the metallic taste flooding the back of her throat, she rammed her heels down hard enough to make a thump that she heard even through the plugs. She did it again and again.

Then she squealed and kicked her heels.

The vehicle slowed to a stop. She heard doors open and slam shut.

A bubble of cold air surrounded her, made her feel less sick. Then more doors opened. She felt hands on her. The hands dragged her out of the vehicle into a frigid wind and then sat her upright.

Fingers wrenched the gag from her mouth. “Water,” she croaked.

She felt the ties being cut. The blindfold came off next, and she was looking into the glare of sunlight reflecting off snow.

She squinted, turned away, and saw Toomey, the man who’d said he was from the highway department; he was standing there with a Glock in one hand and a plastic water bottle in the other. He gave her the bottle and Bree drank greedily, grateful for the way it washed her throat and filled her stomach.

Finished, she became aware of two men standing nearby in snow camouflage. They carried automatic weapons.

One of them took several steps to his right, revealing Sampson, who was sitting on a log, also drinking water, also looking dazed. Feeling more lightheaded than woozy now, she reached up under the wool hat she wore and pulled out the earplugs. She heard birds cry.

Her hands were cold. No gloves. She put her hands in her parka pockets, felt around. Her phone was gone.

Bree looked at Toomey. “Who are you? Where are you taking us?”

He gestured to an untracked trail leading into dense forest.

“I’m the janitor. Get moving.”

CHAPTER 51

AS IF FROM DOWNa long tunnel, John Sampson thought he heard Toomey, the man with the highway department, say that he was a janitor. His vision was fuzzy, so it was not until Bree stood up that John realized she was there.

One of the armed guys in snow camo urged him to his feet. Sampson stood but felt dizzy and almost went down.

“Put some snow on your face,” Toomey said. “That’ll wake you right up.”

John scooped up snow and rubbed it on his face. Almost instantly he felt more alert.

“You good?” Toomey said.

Sampson nodded, looked to Bree, and nodded again.

The janitor led the way into the forest, breaking trail in teninches of new snow, with Sampson behind him, one of the gunmen trailing Sampson, then Bree, then the second guy with an automatic weapon.

Still feeling the effects of the drug, Sampson had to keep blinking to prevent the tunnel of trees, brush, and snow they were passing through from closing in on him. Ten minutes into the hike, Sampson became alert enough to know he needed to keep track of where they were going by remembering where he’d been. Sampson had once been a sergeant in the U.S. Army. This was Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape 101.

Count your steps. Determine your course direction. Look at everything around you, but don’t be obvious about it.

There was snow hanging heavy from the trees, so it was not until they’d passed through several clearings that Sampson got a decent enough look at the weak winter sun to estimate it was close to midday and that they were headed roughly northwest. He also figured by the angle of the sun that they’d come north a considerable way since they’d been abducted.

They walked for more than two hours and took more than ten thousand steps through a dense forest. The year before, in Montana’s Bob Marshall Wilderness with Alex, Sampson had studied the trees. In the Bob, they’d been mostly pine. Here they were fir and growing in pockets, some the height of Christmas trees and others old-growth giants.

Sampson figured they must be in the Cascades by now.

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