Winterkill - C. J. Box [104]
“How are you guys doing?” April asked. “I miss you guys.”
“We all miss you, too. Where are you?”
“Up here. Up here in the snow. It’s really cold.”
“Then come home!” Sheridan laughed nervously.
April sighed. “I wish I could.” There was a beat of silence, and Sheridan could hear static growing. It was a poor connection.
“I’m not supposed to use the phone. My mom will really get mad if she finds out I’m talking to you.”
“Where is she?”
“Oh, everybody is at a meeting. Mom, Clem . . .”
“Who’s Clem?”
“A guy who lives with us. I don’t like him much, but he’s the only person who knows how to keep the heater running.”
Sheridan noticed that April’s Southern accent was coming back. Sheridan had forgotten that April had had it when she first moved in with them.
“I miss you guys a lot.” She sounded pathetic.
“April, are you coming home?”
April sighed. “I really do want to. I cry a lot. I like my mom and all, but . . .”
“What’s it like there?” Sheridan asked. She was in the kitchen now, parting the curtains. The snow was coming down so hard that the corral and shelter were smudges in the snow. She couldn’t see her mother.
“It’s cold up here. Really cold. I just stay inside all day. Last night, there were awful sounds outside that kept everybody awake. Clem said it was rabbits being skinned alive.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No. How’s Lucy?”
Sheridan tried to picture April as she talked. She pictured her in a corner, wearing rags. For some reason, Sheridan couldn’t see April’s face, just her tangled blond hair. The image of April without a face made Sheridan shiver.
“Lucy’s fine. Goofy as always. She’s been dressing up with Grandmother Missy and going to town. Right now she’s in our room putting on makeup.”
April laughed a little. “She’s our little girlie-girl, isn’t she?”
Sheridan felt tears welling in her eyes. April seemed so close, but she wasn’t.
“Do you want me to go get her? Do you want to talk to her?”
Over the phone, Sheridan heard the sounds of adults talking in the background. Their voices were muffled.
“Uh-oh, somebody’s coming,” April said frantically, her voice climbing in register. “ ’Bye, Sherry. Tell Lucy I miss her. TellMomandDadIlovethem . . .”
The phone disconnected, and Sheridan stood there, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Good-bye, April,” she said to the dead telephone.
Sheridan heard the high whining sound of a snowmobile outside. She ran across the living room and saw out the window that her dad was home. His pickup was in the driveway, and he was driving his snow machine from the garage up a ramp into the bed of the truck.
Without putting on her coat or boots, she stepped outside on the front porch in the deep snow. Even though she was wearing only socks, she couldn’t feel the cold.
Her dad saw her and killed the engine of the machine. He stood up in the back of his truck, looking at her like she was crazy.
“You need to get inside and close the door, Sheridan,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“Dad, I just talked with April.”
“You what?”
“You’ve got to save her, Dad. You’ve got to.”
Twenty-nine
Joe Pickett moved silently through the trees in the dark. Although the moon was obscured by the storm clouds, there was enough ambient light that the virgin snow appeared a dark blue. The trunks of trees rose from it and the branches melded into the night sky. The snow had decreased in its fury, although it had not stopped. It sifted dust-like through the branches, so powdery that it sometimes hung suspended in the air. The temperature had dropped into the low teens, cold enough to evince an occasional pop or moan from freezing timber.
He was on Battle Mountain, approaching the Sovereign Citizen compound on foot from the north. He was not yet close enough to see lights or hear voices. He was there to arrest Spud or save April, or both. He was not thinking clearly.
Joe had been prevented from reaching the compound via Bighorn Road by two things. The first was the snow, which had literally