Author Note: Hello, dear Readers! I know, it's not Sunday. But the idea of posting Chapter 13 on Friday the 13th was just too good to pass up. There probably won't be a chapter this Sunday, unless by some miracle I'm able to get chapter 14 written and ready to go in the next couple of days. I'll give it the old college try.
Thank you to my cowriter katbybee, who took Roy for the scene with him and Johnny's doctor. And thank you to Piscean6724 for beta reading and excellent feedback! Finally, thank you all for your feedback and encouragement! I'm having a great time with this story, even though Matt and Melissa Carter (see my Beauty from Ashes series) are getting antsy for me to get back to their storyline.
TW: Be advised, what with reference to a murder/suicide and other events, things get downright murderous in this chapter.
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Monday, 18 December 1972
When the call came that John and Mike had somehow managed not just to escape, but to make their way to the fire station in town, Hank would have liked nothing better than to get back in the engine and go straight to them. But Danny and his men were needed at the Farm, and Hank wasn't going to try convincing him to leave. For that matter, Shaw needed all the help he could get. So, Hank, Chet, and Marco got busy doing what they could.
Mostly, that meant searching the buildings for any additional captives. They'd found three men in the cellar of the one building with electricity, strapped to cots and forced to listen to some garbage about Hera. They were pretty loopy, but it didn't seem as if they'd been there long. Once they were above ground and given some real food, it wasn't long before whatever drug they'd been force fed started working its way out of their systems. Soon, they could remember their names and where they came from. Jim Abbot and his partner Irving Baxter were paramedics from Bakersfield, and Harvey Bloemfontein was a police officer who had responded to a call with them. None of them remembered the call itself, but they did remember rolling up on the house about the same time.
Most of the men quartered in the stables had stopped the drugged liquid diet, thanks (according to Howie) to Johnny. Some had remembered their names, but the drug had clearly built up in their systems. They were all stumbling about as if they were drunk — really, it was a wonder they'd had any sort of success in their rebellion. They must have just taken their captors by complete surprise.
Hank was sickened by the men's condition, especially when he discovered the tattoos. They didn't just have their ring fingers tattooed, but they all sported a tattoo over their chests in Greek letters. Agent Owens said it was Hera's name. Hank wished he could just make it all go away, but tattoos didn't just go away. It took time and effort and a lot of money to get them removed, and that process wasn't always particularly effective. Hank hated to think what he would find when they finally did get to John and Mike. His men were going to need a lot of help to get past what had been done to them.
The women had tried to fight the FBI team until they saw Hera cowed and in handcuffs. She had finally stopped railing at them when it became clear that Zeus wasn't about to favor her with any thunderbolts. Well, also after she'd attempted to turn Ben Owens into a mouse and it didn't work. When she made the threat, he'd just laughed and dared her to try. That was the turning point. Most of the women witnessed her failure and quickly backed down. Agent Owens (still very much a human) had to order several more vans to come carry away his prisoners, as well as ambulances to transport all the men to the regional hospital.
Danny's paramedics had looked over each of the men before transporting them. They'd also tended the children. Two of the FBI agents had found a couple of children's dormitories. The girls had comfortable quarters, but the boys, even the smallest of them, had been kept in spartan surroundings. At least the youngest ones seemed well-nourished.
Hank was glad to turn the icehouse over to the FBI, counting himself blessed that he couldn't recognize any of the bodies he'd seen. It was bad enough just seeing the stacks of corpses. He was still queasy even now, and happy to leave it to Owens' team to deal with that matter.
Now, at last, after six grueling hours, the job was done. The women were in custody, the men on the way to the hospital, the children in the care of CPS. A couple of neighboring ranchers had come to take the animals until permanent arrangements could be made for them. The FBI still had to go through and catalog all the evidence found at the scene. But they'd turned the place upside down and evacuated every single captive, and there was no further call for Shaw's men.
"Thanks for your help, Captain Stanley." Owens shook Hank's hand. "We appreciate it. I'll stop in and get your statement sometime tomorrow. I'll need to talk with your men too, when they're up to it. We'll need their help and yours building our case to put Myra Lloyd away for a long long time."
"We'll be more than happy to help with that," Hank said. He knew he wasn't just speaking for himself. He'd seen reflected on Marco's and Chet's faces the horror that he was sure anyone could see on his own face. They were firemen, trained to keep their emotions under wraps, but there was only so far that was possible.
Shaw stepped up next to them and cleared his throat. "Sorry to interrupt. Hank, we're all ready to go. We'll take you back to town so you can get to the hospital. Don says your men are there and getting treatment." He turned to Owens. "I'll see ya later, ya old donkey."
"Count on it, horse's ass." Agent Owens punched Shaw on the shoulder. "Seriously, though. I will need to get statements from you and your men. I'll stop by sometime tomorrow."
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"We found them, Jo." Roy stood leaning one shoulder against the wall. He was exhausted, but he felt good, better than he had in months. "Actually, they found us. They just walked right up to the fire station. John's in rough shape, but I just know he's going to be all right. I mean, this is Johnny we're talking about. He's like those Timex watches — you know, takes a licking and keeps on ticking? Mike, they say he's OK physically, but he's awful thin. So's Johnny, for that matter. Mike won't talk at all. I mean, he's always been quiet, but the way he is right now, he makes the old Mike look like a chatterbox." He stopped a second to catch his breath and Jo broke in.
"Roy… have you even noticed?"
"Noticed what, hon?" He saw Johnny's ICU nurse step out of his room and he straightened up. She was coming his way. "Sorry, Jo. Gotta go. Johnny's nurse is here. I've been waitin' for someone to let me in. Love you, bye."
He hung up the phone and approached the nurse. "Excuse me? I've been waiting to see John Gage."
She glanced in his direction, and he could have sworn she sneered. "You mean John Doe?" She looked back towards Johnny's door. "I'm sorry, but we aren't allowing anyone access to him right now. Doctor's orders."
Roy felt his blood starting to boil. "He's not John Doe. He's John Gage. And I'm his next of k —"
She shut him off with the wave of a hand. "He was admitted with no ID and no insurance, for a drug overdose. His doctor has ordered rapid detox. If he survives, he'll be going from here to a mental health facility for drug rehab. Meanwhile, he's not allowed any visitors."
"But —" Roy stared at her, incensed. "I'm telling you, he was kidnapped. He's a highly respected paramedic, not a drug addict and —"
"And I suggest you take it up with his doctor. She'll be back from lunch in…" She glanced at her watch. "About fifteen minutes." And then she trotted away without giving Roy a chance to respond. Roy's hands clenched into fists as he watched her walk away. If he wasn't careful, he was going to wind up punching someone's lights out and then they'd never let him see Johnny.
Well, at least he had a little time before the doctor arrived. He wasn't going to let anyone stop him now. He was going to visit his friend.
When Roy slipped into Johnny's ICU room, he was shocked at how pale his friend was — even more now than he had been at the fire station. He was lying on his bed, staring straight ahead with a blank look in his eyes. His chest was bare, and he was shivering. From the bruising, Roy suspected he had at least one broken rib. Roy's stomach turned at the sight of the black bands around John's ring fingers and the ugly tattoo over his heart. The former, according to Susanna, was a sign of total rejection. He wasn't sure what the latter said — the letters were Greek, as far as he could tell — but it reminded him more than anything else of a cattle brand.
Roy moved to Johnny's bedside and pulled a blanket over him, then sat down and studied the heart monitor. His heartbeat was way too slow, and his lips were a bit blue, but they didn't have him on oxygen. Roy peered closely at the medication bag on the IV pole. Why the hell are they giving him a sedative?! He reached for John's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Hey, Junior." He looked for any sign that John recognized him.
John's eyes flicked downwards and then the mumbling began. "Evil. I'm evil. No redemption."
Roy was quick to protest. "No, Johnny. Hera is the evil one. Not you."
"No redemption. Lost forever. Released." Johnny pulled against the wrist restraints that secured him to the bed.
Roy wondered why Johnny was in restraints, but he wasn't about to press the call button and potentially summon that battleax of a nurse. He was starting to unfasten them when an angry voice interrupted him.
"What are you doing in here? This patient is not cleared for visitors!"
Roy looked back to see a tall, dark-haired doctor standing in the doorway. She wore old-fashioned glasses, and a silver star pendant glittered against her black sweater. Roy wasn't going to let her intimidate him. He sat up straight and glared at her. "Why is he restrained?"
"Common practice for druggies," she snapped. "They're usually violent. Now, who are you and what are you doing here?"
"I'm his brother." No one here could prove otherwise. "I want to take him back to Los Angeles as soon as possible and get him under the care of his doctor there. Whom do I see about that?"
She stared at him, her mouth agape, looking as aghast as if he'd suggested flinging John into outer space. "This patient isn't stable for travel." She pulled a file from a holder near the door and gave it a cursory glance. "Most likely he won't be for some time, if ever. He's in rapid detox. If he survives the next few days, he'll need treatment for his addiction. Without proof of his identity or your relationship, I cannot allow you to make any decisions regarding his treatment."
Now Roy knew what they were doing to John, and he didn't like it. It was unnecessary. Detox could be handled much more gently, and any "addiction" could be treated in Los Angeles. He decided he would call and enlist Dr. Brackett's help getting John out of this place before this so-called doctor finished off the job Hera and her minions had started. Brackett could also help to get Mike home. There was no reason for either man to stay in Idaho.
"You have five minutes," the doctor said. She had never even introduced herself. "Say your goodbyes and then get out of my ICU." She stood in the doorway, watching and waiting.
"Hey, Junior," Roy soothed as his friend continued his dismal chant. "We're gonna get this all sorted out. I'm gonna take you home and you're gonna get better. Everyone is excited to see you again." He reached inside his jacket for a gift Chris had sent his uncle — the little boy's favorite teddy bear, which Johnny had given him when he had his tonsils out. He pressed the bear into Johnny's hand and was pleased when John's fingers tightened around it. "Chris wanted you to have that," he said. "He made me promise to give it to you when we found you. He said if you're hurt, it'll help you get better fast, just like it did him."
"Time's up," the doctor said drily. Her eyes shot venom at Roy as she tapped her fingers on her watch. "Do I need to call Security to remove you?"
Roy sighed heavily. Arguing wouldn't do him any good at the moment. "It hasn't been five minutes, but I'm leaving. And that bear is special to him. And to me. Understand?"
She rolled her eyes. "Completely."
He moved slowly and stopped just out of sight where he could still hear her. Turning around, he peered into the room and watched her carefully. She seemed completely unaware that he hadn't really left, and he kept quiet so he wouldn't alert her to the fact. Something about this woman just didn't sit right with him.
As he watched, she moved to her patient's bedside. "Yes, you are evil, Number 27. And it's time for your release. This time, there won't be any escape." She snatched the bear from Johnny's hand and slipped it into a pocket of her lab coat, then injected something into his IV line.
Whatever it was, it never reached John because the IV was ripped out of his arm and the doctor was tackled to the floor a split second later. Roy held her down, hollering for help. He had left the syringe in the IV port as evidence.
"Let me go, you demon!" The doctor struggled against him and managed to get a hand free. She slammed her palm hard against his nose, making him see stars, but he managed to keep her pinned.
When two security guards showed up to pull them apart, the doctor gestured viciously at Roy. "He did it!" she insisted. "He tried to kill the patient! When I went to stop him, he attacked me!"
And that was when John suddenly turned his head and said very clearly, "No. Stole bear. Poison me. Not him. Her."
She glared at the Security guards. "You can't take that man's word over mine. He's a drug addict."
Roy sat up, blood dripping from his nose. He asked for some gauze to stem the flow, which the doctor gave him only after the senior guard insisted on it. He then asked one simple question. "Why does she have the bear in her pocket? I just gave it to him. If I were going to kill him, why would I give him that bear? It's a gift from his nephew."
The senior guard nodded solemnly, then stepped toward the doctor, one hand hovering over his gun belt. "Turn out your pockets, Doc. Now."
With a frustrated huff, she complied. She hurled the bear at Roy, aiming right for his broken nose. "I was going to set it aside for him."
Roy fastened his gaze on the guard. "You need to get this woman out of here and get a real doctor to take care of him. I heard her say she was going to kill him. He needs to be examined and given proper treatment."
She wielded her ID badge as if it were a shield. "I am a real doctor and I work at this hospital."
"No," said a trembling voice from out in the hall. Susanna. She'd stayed in the waiting area so Roy could have his time with Johnny, but the commotion must have gotten her attention. "Well, maybe she works here. But she is Nyx. She's Hera's executioner."
"You little rat!" The doctor looked ready to lunge at Susanna and strangle her bare-handed, but the guard held her back.
Susanna slipped into the room, making a wide berth around the doctor, and settled into the chair next to Johnny. She pulled his hand into hers and began murmuring gently to him. He wouldn't look at her and he mumbled some more about being evil, but Roy noted that as soon as Susanna took his hand, his heart rate improved.
The guard frowned. "I don't know what's going on here, but you need to come with me, Dr. —" He peered closer at her badge. "Lloyd. Gordon, you keep an eye on them." He nodded toward Roy and Susanna. "Police will want a statement. But let them stay in here. It looks like the patient could use some friendly faces."
The second guard grinned. "Yessir."
And then the security guard pushed the fuming Dr. Lloyd out of the room ahead of him.
When his superior was gone, Gordon turned to Roy. "I think you've got a broken nose, sir."
"Tell me about it. I'll be okay until the doctor gets here." Roy gave John the bear again and repeated Chris's message.
John grabbed at Roy's hand. He held it tight, then tugged again at the restraints. "Free?"
Ignoring Gordon's concerned gaze, Roy removed the unnecessary restraints. "We're workin' on it, Junior. We're workin' on it."
With the stuffed animal on his chest, one hand clutching Susanna, and the other clutching Roy, Johnny gradually drifted off to sleep.
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"Mike? Mike. Talk to me, Mike."
He heard the voice as if from deep underwater. Part of him wanted to respond, but he couldn't figure out how to break through the surface. Down here in the shadows, it was so peaceful. Restful. He was too tired to fight his way up and out. He would just swim here in the shadows and hide from the world.
Yes… swimming. He was just a kid and he was diving, exploring a coral reef. Doing it alone didn't feel right, like he was disobeying some important rule someone had given him. But he did it anyway. He knew how to swim. The diving mask felt tight around his face, but it helped him to breathe. He wasn't quite sure why he had a steady stream of oxygen and didn't have to stay close to the surface to get air through the breathing tube, but he wouldn't spend time worrying about it. He was happy here below, meandering among the fish and the seaweed, flitting among the coral, enjoying the pretty colors as the sunlight filtered through the water. Look at that one — was that a yellow tang? It stared at him, its fins quivering, its little tail flapping as it searched for food.
"Mike, come on. Snap out of it, Pal. I've got someone on the phone who wants to talk to you."
The voice was familiar, but it was too far away. He was just going to stay here under the water and sleep for a while. That was just what he needed. He wouldn't close his eyes though. You never slept with your eyes closed when you had to watch out for predators. There could be sharks or tuna or groupers.
"Mike, honey? It's Beth. I've missed you so much. The boys have too. We just want to see you again. I love you, Mike."
He tried not to blink. He tried to keep his eyes focused on the watery sunlight. He tried so hard. But then he felt moisture on his cheek. That was strange. Of course his cheek was wet — he was underwater — so why did he feel that tear sliding down?
You are evil. You don't deserve to be loved. The words beat an unending refrain in his head. He wanted to be rid of them. Surely Hera couldn't reach him down here. So why wouldn't her voice get out of his thoughts?
Beth was lying. She had to be. She hated him. She let Hera take him. She wanted to be rid of him. All he ever wanted was to make her happy and he had failed miserably. He was useless. He swam deeper, imagining himself a fish seeking out shelter and protection. Looking for shadows to hide in, somewhere far from the voices and the light. He wasn't made for light and air and brightness. He was made for the deepest darkest shadows, and there he would find his home.
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Holding the phone handset between his shoulder and his ear, Hank gently wiped the tear from Mike's face. "I'm sorry, Beth. I'm pretty sure he heard you, but he's wiped out. I don't think he's able to respond right now. We'll try again later. Yeah, we'll get him home as soon as we can." He paused and listened, nodding even though she couldn't see him. "Yes, I promise. That's your news to share. Now, listen. I need you to talk with Malloy and Reed about getting copies of their IDs sent here. We could use insurance cards too. The hospital staff is adamant that we can't take them anywhere if we can't establish their identity and ability to pay for services rendered." Another pause. More nodding. "All right, thanks. I'll call you again when I have an update. Get some rest, Beth." He hung up the phone and settled back into his chair with a long sigh. Whatever Mike had seen at that Farm, it had deeply traumatized him.
The icehouse. Hank saw it whenever he closed his eyes. Those stacks of corpses. Was that what Mike had to deal with as the Bone Man? "Aw, Pal. I'm sorry." He squeezed Mike's hand and then slumped back in his chair. According to Mike's doctor, he was physically all right, even if he was underweight. But the mental and emotional stress had left him almost entirely unresponsive. There had been the single tear that had tracked down his face when he heard Beth's voice on the phone, but that was it so far. Well, at least it was a place to start.
"We're going to get you back, buddy," Hank murmured. "I need you driving Big Red." His heart sank, though, as he considered the long road to healing that lay ahead of his best friend. Right now, the doctor was talking about committing him to a lockdown unit in a mental facility somewhere in Boise. Hank had told him no way. He was taking Mike home to California where the docs at Rampart would work out a treatment plan. Of course, he would need counseling. Pretty intensive counseling, considering what he had been through. But he needed to be close to home.
Before they could get Mike and John out of here, though, he needed those IDs. Without that, both men being considered non compos mentis, they would be made wards of the State of Idaho and remanded into custody for drug rehabilitation.
"How's he doin', Cap?"
Hank tilted his head. "Say that again, Roy."
"How's he doin', Cap?"
There at least was something to make Hank smile. He turned to give his senior paramedic a satisfied look. "You lost the stutter, Pal. Did you even realize it?"
"I did?" Roy's forehead puckered up for a second and then smoothed out. "Heh… I guess I did. That must be what Jo was talkin' about."
Hank's smile faded. "You look like hell, though. What happened to you?"
"It's a long story and I'd rather leave it for another time." Roy settled in on the second plastic chair. "Damn. It's like hospitals everywhere make a pact to have the most uncomfortable seating possible for visitors."
"Heh. They think it'll keep us from wearing out our welcome." Hank sat forward and looked Roy in the eyes. "Now, Pal. Tell me what happened to you. That nose looks broken."
So Roy related the whole story. "And then Susanna came in and said the doctor was Hera's executioner. That seemed to convince the guard because he marched the doctor away and sent police back to take our statements. Susanna stayed with Johnny while I came down to find you."
"Tell me about this Susanna. Are you sure you trust her?" Hank didn't know what to think of this woman from Hera's fold who had somehow attached herself to Johnny.
Roy nodded slowly. "I do. You haven't met her Cap. She's genuine and kind and… and I think she's good for Johnny. You should've seen how he grabbed her hand when she sat by him, how his vitals improved. She wasn't with Hera by choice. She told us the story — somehow Hera got legal guardianship of her when she was a minor. She's tried running away several times before today. She told me everything she knew — it sounds like a real nightmare. Electric shock collars and an icehouse full of bodies —"
Hank shuddered and held up a hand. His stomach was back to turning flips. "Yeah. We saw that. Don't talk about it around Mike, huh?"
Roy winced and nodded. "Sorry. Awful tired. Not thinkin' straight."
"You're sure about leaving her alone with Johnny? After that… that… witch tried to kill him?" Hank's eyes narrowed. "I want one of us with him at all times. Get Chet or Marco to go. Meanwhile, you get that nose looked at, then go back to the fire station and get some shuteye. Captain Shaw suggested we stay there tonight because the sheriff and several of her deputies got away and are still at large. Captain Shaw left one of his men here to drive us, and he'll take you back whenever you're done with the doctor."
"Cap, my nose can wait till we're home. There's not much they can do before the swelling goes down, anyway. I just need an ice pack, and Don can get me that back at the station. I don't trust the doctors here. I know what to watch out for and when I'll need to seek treatment."
Hank stared at Roy for a moment, trying to formulate an argument, but to be honest, he couldn't come up with one. The man had a good head on his shoulders, and he knew when he needed to seek treatment, and Hank was just as wary of the doctors in this place as Roy was. "Fine. Go send Chet or Marco to sit with Johnny and then get back to the fire station. I'll see you later."
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Gunshots were not an uncommon occurrence in the Idaho backcountry. It was the tail end of the elk season after all, and it was pronghorn season. But when Jess Gilbert heard two loud reports, he knew they weren't from any hunting rifle. Another five shots followed in quick succession, and then there was silence.
"Damn!" Jess wasn't usually giving to cussing, and when he did, a heartfelt damn was the strongest it ever got. His mama would have washed his mouth out with soap for even that much, and Daddy would have tanned his hide, but his parents were long gone, God rest their souls. "I came out here to get away from this sort of thing, God!"
Jess had returned to the States about a year ago from service in Vietnam. When he got off the plane, dressed in his uniform, he hadn't expected the vitriol he'd encountered. By the time he'd made it into his brother's car, he had spittle running down the side of his face and a mixture of egg yolk and shattered eggshell plastered in his hair and one ear.
The worst thing, though, had been the shouts of "baby killer." During his time in service, Jess had never once fired a weapon. He'd been a medic, saving lives, and not just American lives. One of his proudest moments had been the time he'd saved a Vietnamese woman during a tricky labor and delivery. The village doctor had been conscripted to serve in a military hospital, leaving the civilian population with no doctor at all, so her husband had sought aid at Jess's MUST unit. The thankful parents had even given the little fella the middle name Jess in his honor. He'd practically floated through the next few weeks — it was a wonderful thing to bring new life into the world instead of watching the lifeblood seep out of a man who'd been hurt so bad there was no help for him. Jess had planned to come home, finish med school, and become an obstetrician so he could feel that joy in new life over and over again. He hadn't counted on returning to experience rejection.
And it wasn't just the hippies he'd been warned would despise him. No, it was nicely dressed men and women, clean cut with a salt-of-the-earth appearance. The coffee shop where he was refused service when they spotted his military haircut. The pastor who refused to shake his hand after church and called him a killer. The prospective employers who declined to hire him as soon as they found out he had been in Vietnam. Hell, he couldn't even get a date. On top of that, the nightmares from all he'd seen in Nam just made things worse.
In every aspect of his life, he felt pushed out, shoved into a corner, forgotten, despised. He couldn't even continue his studies. And so, he'd finally just checked out. Packed up his gear and headed into the wilderness. If society didn't want him, he didn't want them. Up here in the mountains with only himself for company, the nightmares stopped. Every so often, his brother hiked in with supplies for him and filled him in on the family news. Jess didn't let him share any world news — he didn't care who had been elected or how the war was going or anything like that. He would send back small hand-carved gifts for his nieces and nephews and his sister-in-law, but that was the extent of his human connection. It was enough.
He could have ignored the gunshots, and no one would ever have known. But just because he'd been unjustly branded a killer didn't mean he could sit by and withhold help from someone in need. And so, he moved in the direction the sound had come from. His white coat and pants helped him to blend into the snowy landscape, but even so he stayed on high alert. He sure didn't want to come on the receiving end of gunfire if he could help it.
Using techniques he'd learned in the jungles of Vietnam and then adapted to life in the Idaho backcountry, he made his way to where he'd heard the gunfire. From the edge of the tree line, looking down the slope towards the river, he saw a disconcerting sight. A circle of police officers, all lying prone, their blood turning the snow beneath them bright red. He crept closer, concerned that a killer might be prowling about. He soon laid that fear to rest. He could see as he drew nearer that no tracks led away from the scene. Whoever had pulled the trigger had then turned it on herself. He moved from body to body, checking for life signs, nearly gagging at the metallic odor of blood.
There were seven women, six dressed in police uniforms and one in the middle wearing a long white velvet gown and shawl, a veil covering half her face. He'd missed her at first when he came on the scene, for the same reason people would miss seeing him. The snow-white clothing served as effective camouflage. She was the only one still breathing. She'd been shot in the head, and he didn't see how she could possibly survive, but he had to try to help her.
He reached into his pack and pulled out the first aid kit he always carried with him. His kit was a bit more extensive than the standard kit any civilian might get at the drugstore. It had to be, to meet his own needs here in the wilderness. Of course, he wasn't certified here to provide the sort of care paramedics would give, but he could at least staunch the bleeding and get her down the hill to people who could provide the care she needed.
"They had to have gotten up here somehow," he muttered to himself. "Probably drove up to that old resort." It was a rough drive over some bad roads, but these ladies hadn't hiked in. Not in their shoes. Once he'd done what he could for the woman, he checked the others for a set of car keys. He found and pocketed two different sets. Then he knelt, gently slid his arms under the victim, and lifted her up to his chest. Cradling her close, he stood and headed up the path toward the parking lot. There, he found two unlocked police Jeeps.
He got her into the back seat of one vehicle, then slid in behind the wheel and figured out which set of keys worked. Ignoring the sick feeling in his gut, he shifted into gear and headed for the road. He didn't want to deal with people again. He just wanted to live his own life. But sometimes a man was called upon to do what he didn't want to do, and this was one of those times.
He tried the radio, thinking it would be good to alert someone to the situation, but there was no reception here. He would have to wait until he got further along the road.
The closer he got to civilization, the more his gut told him to avoid people. They thought he was a killer — they would find a way to pin this on him. Once he got to the main road, he was able to reach a dispatcher. As he pulled over to park on the shoulder, he explained what he had found up at the abandoned resort and where he had brought the survivor. She said an ambulance was ten minutes out. Perfect timing — leaving the keys on the driver's seat, he got out of the Jeep and headed into the woods, where he kept watch from the cover of the trees until first responders arrived. One police vehicle stopped there with an ambulance and fire truck, and two more blazed by with rescue vehicles behind them, sirens screeching — he figured they were headed to the resort. Satisfied that he had done the best he could, he drifted away before anyone could think to come looking for him.