Chapter 5 - The Edge of the Creek
I didn't scream. I didn't plead.
With every ounce of maternal fury left in my poisoned, frozen body, I lunged forward out of the clay hollow.
I swung the frozen bag of meat with both hands, using the momentum of my entire torso, driving the rock-hard mass of ice and frozen pork straight into Daniel’s face.
The heavy, frosted block struck him flush across the bridge of his nose with a wet, sickening CRACK.
"AGH!"
Daniel shrieked in shock and blinding agony. His head snapped backward, blood spraying from both nostrils across the white plastic of the bag. The unexpected impact threw his aim off; as his finger spasmed against the trigger, the shotgun discharged into the air.
BOOM!
A deafening geyser of orange flame and lead shot shredded the branches above us, raining down shredded pine needles, bark, and smoking leaves.
Daniel stumbled backward into the creek, his boots slipping on the mossy river stones. He hit the water hard, dropping the shotgun into the swirling current.
"Noah! RUN!" I screamed.
Noah scrambled out of the root ball like a shot, his small legs pumping as he tore up the muddy embankment toward the logging trail.
I scrambled to my feet, but Daniel was already recovering. He was younger, stronger, and driven by the panic of a trapped beast. Even with his face masked in blood, he reached out blindly from the water, his fingers clamping like an iron vise around my right ankle.
"Bitch!" he spat, dragging me backward into the stream.
My chin struck a submerged stone, knocking the wind from my lungs in an explosion of stars and bile. Cold water rushed into my nose and mouth. I choked, kicking out with my free left foot, slamming my heel into his collarbone once, twice, three times.
He grunted in pain, but his grip didn't loosen. He hauled himself up my legs, his hands clawing at my waist, his blood dripping into my eyes, blinding me.
"You're not leaving this ditch!" he snarled, his thumbs finding their way toward my windpipe.
Suddenly, a blinding white light exploded over the top of the embankment.
"DROP TO THE GROUND! POLICE!"
Marcus was already face-down in the mud by the truck, weeping hysterically, his hands clasped behind his head as two state troopers pinned his shoulders to the clay with their knees.
At the edge of the creek stood a third officer, his sidearm drawn, two tactical lights mounted on his rail illuminating Daniel and me in the center of the water.
"STEP AWAY FROM HER! HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!"
Daniel froze.
The light was so intense that every drop of blood on his face, every tear in his ruined clothes, was exposed to the world. He was straddling my hips in three feet of freezing creek water, his hands inches from my throat.
He looked up at the officer.
For one fleeting, delusional second, I saw Daniel’s mind calculating—wondering if he could spin this, if he could claim he was rescuing me from the current, if his silver tongue could talk his way out of an active manhunt.
"Officer," Daniel began, his voice trying to find that smooth, corporate modulation. "Thank God. My wife... she's delirious, she ran into the woods—"
"Shut up, Dan," a voice called out from the ridge.
A small figure stepped through the police line, wrapped in an oversized yellow emergency blanket.
Noah.
He was standing beside a female state trooper, his small finger pointing straight down into the creek, his voice carrying over the rushing water with absolute, devastating clarity.
"He tried to burn us," Noah said. "He put something in the meat. Mommy has it in the bag."
Daniel’s face drained of every drop of color.
His eyes slowly drifted down to my chest.
I was lying in the freezing stream, soaked to the bone, bruised, bleeding from my chin and arms. But clutched tightly in both of my hands, held securely against my heart like a holy relic, was the torn, blood-smeared freezer bag containing the untouched pork medallions and the rosemary sauce.
"Get off her," the trooper barked, descending the bank with his weapon leveled. "Slowly. Put your hands on your head."
Daniel didn't speak. He slowly rose from the water, his arms lifting into the cold night air, his eyes fixed on the plastic bag in my hands.
He knew.
He knew that the three inches of polyethylene I held against my chest contained his financial ruin, his criminal conviction, and his ticket to a state penitentiary for the rest of his natural life.
I rolled onto my side, coughing up creek water, my fingers never loosening their grip on the evidence.
The female trooper slid down the embankment, throwing a second wool blanket around my shivering shoulders, gently helping me up onto the grass.
"We've got you, ma'am," she whispered softly. "You and your boy. You're safe."
I looked up at the ridge.
May you like
Noah was waiting for me. He wasn't crying anymore. He held his arms open, his stegosaurus socks long gone, his face streaked with river mud, but he was standing on his own two feet.
I climbed the bank and took my son into my arms.
