Blood of Cain

99

I didn’t know if running over to the pipe would be the last run of my life. I pointed the flashlight beam around the creek-bed, looking for signs of tripwires or shotguns mounted in trees. Nothing but pouring rain and rising black water. I approached the exposed pipe carefully, reaching below the water and feeling for wires. It seemed clean. Then I took a deep breath, aimed the light into the pipe, and looked down the hole.

An eye stared back at me.

It was a frightened but beautiful eye, matching the captivating depth and colors I first saw in Courtney’s eyes. I knelt down and shouted into the pipe. “Courtney!”

“Sean! Help me!”

“I’ll get you out.” I glanced around the outskirts again. There was nothing but a torrent of rain. I looked back down at the pipe. The water had risen another quarter inch. I reached under the water and felt at the base of the pipe. The rushing water had eroded loose dirt. The entire top of the wooden box was exposed. I used my hands to remove mud around the sides of the box. I needed a shovel.

I ran to the tree, propped my rifle against the trunk and grappled with the end of the ax handle. I pulled. It was deeply embedded, the old oak had a powerful hold on the blade. I didn’t want to break the handle so I gripped the head of the ax, on either side of the blade and pulled. Suddenly, the hair stood up on the back of my neck. Lightning exploded somewhere at the top of the massive tree, limbs and leaves falling like confetti around me. I was blinded for a moment, closing my eyes and pulling with every ounce of my strength. The tree let loose its grip, and the ax was free.

I ran back to the box that imprisoned my niece. “I’m here! Hold tight, Courtney.” I used the ax blade to as a trowel to shovel mud from the edges of the box, working as far down as my arms would reach. The water was now less than an half inch before covering the end of the pipe. I straddled above the box, planting one foot on either side, reaching down in the water, slowly pulling. The box came up about three inches, almost buoyant. I squatted down, planted my legs in the mud, and slowly pushed the box into a higher position, using my shoulder to give it the last heave. It stood upright in what was fast becoming a white water river.

I reached for the ax and yelled. “Courtney! Keep close to the back of the box.” I raised the blade and tore through the lid, ripping away splintered wood. I used the blade to cut through a half dozen nails and tore off the remaining wood. Courtney stepped out and fell into my arms. She sobbed. I held her closely rocking her gently, stroking her wet hair. I said, “You’re safe now. Everything is going to be fine.”

She nodded and looked up at me, and then past me, her face melting into absolute horror.

“No, little brother. Everything is not going to be fine. At least not for you and our adorable niece. She was even sweeter at age twelve.”

Dillon Flanagan stood less than six feet from me, pointing a .44 magnum pistol at my chest.