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  Before leaving, I double checked everything to make sure nothing looked out of order. I don’t know why, but I wanted to make sure whoever came after me would figure I was lying dead somewhere in the poisoned tunnel.

  I headed toward the basement stairs and realized I should wedge the basement door from the basement side to hold off anyone who might be on my tail. I had seen that several times in old westerns I used to watch as a child. I ran to the garage, dropping my backpack on the kitchen floor. In the garage, I found two cedar 2 X 10’s, twelve feet long. Jen was going to use them to build a mulching pit when we returned from New Zealand.

  I grabbed a Stanley, 20-foot tape measure from the drawer in the garage and headed for the basement to measure from the wall facing the staircase to the basement door.

  Running back to the garage, I took the hand saw off the wall and measured the two cedar 2 X 10’s. Cutting several inches off each board, I carried them to the basement stairs. After shutting the basement door, I wedged the one board and it fit snuggly. I sighed, took the board back down, laid it on the stairs and returned to the garage to clean up the saw dust and hang the saw back where it belonged. I returned the measuring tape to the drawer.

  The time on my watch read 5:48 P.M. The sun would be setting shortly and I wanted to be out and on the run at nightfall. I checked the sun in the west; it gave me maybe thirty minutes before it would be down. I had an hour; my freedom would lead me to Jennifer. I sat down in my leather chair, with my backpack on the floor next to my feet. I laid my head back and said a quick prayer when I thought I heard the sound of a helicopter.

  I ran to the window and glanced up into the sky. Several paratroopers were floating toward the front yard. Gasping, I grabbed my backpack and headed down the basement stairs. Thanks, again, Jen for getting these boards. I wedged them against the two-inch thick door and the internal wall. The wedge would give me some time, I hoped. I heard voices and feet pounding on the floor above.

  I ran as fast as I could through the tunnel. I reached my destination and began to dig a hole above my head. I saw daylight facing me.

  I didn’t spot anyone around the house. I had to wait. No way could I chance leaving before dark. I lay there, thinking of Jen. The warmth of her body touching mine made my loins heat up. “I’ll find you, Jen. I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” Hardness formed in my stomach.

  An hour later, the night air covered Southeastern Georgia. I stuck the shovel up the hole and opened the freedom hole wider. I wanted out and dug into the red clay with everything I had, until I could wedge my head through the hole. I listened for any sounds. Dead silence filled my ears. I fell back into the hole and dug some more until my bruised and tired shoulders squeezed through the hole. I WAS FREE. I WAS OUT. I ran. My legs were weak, but I kept on running. I knew there was a creek to the west, maybe two miles. I wanted to jump into that creek and soak up my freedom.

  Chapter 18

  OCTOBER 14th—TWIGGS COUNTY, GEORGIA

  Cheryl had moved her shop several months ago to Twiggs County, just south of Macon, two miles off of Highway 23. She rented a small, two bedroom house, with lots of trees and flowers. Her home sat secluded and, hopefully, away from Herby Saunders. Some of her clients helped with the move. She kept the same name for her business. Her clients followed her the extra thirty miles. Cheryl never advertised, as she didn’t want Mr. Saunders coming anywhere near her house. She still had horrid memories of that afternoon.

  It was on a Thursday, around 4:30; Cheryl had given five, one-hour massages and felt tired. She had been in the house for two months and her business increased every week. Cheryl turned the open sign to closed, shut the door and locked it.

  Cheryl trimmed her hair with a pair of scissors before taking a hot shower and washing her long, brown hair. She stood naked in front of the mirror, still cutting her hair. She never heard the noise.

  The bathroom door was closed, but not locked. The door hung behind her, as she continued to snip away. Her eyes remained focused on her hair when the bathroom door flew open, banging against the wall. A startled look came over her as she saw Herby Saunders’ image in the mirror. He stood in the doorway with a big grin on his sweaty, pudgy face.

  Cheryl spun around grabbing the scissors off the vanity and screamed, “Get the hell out of here, or you will die.” She clenched the scissors in her right hand, holding them high above her head.

  Herby pulled five hundred dollars from his pants pocket and stuck it in her face. With a grin, he moved toward Cheryl. “I’m gonna make you squeal.” Cheryl backed up against the sink, her eyes as big as saucers, her mouth sucking in Herby’s foul breath. Her hand with the scissors wasn’t moving.

  Cheryl didn’t want to kill him, or even hurt him. She just wanted him to go away. She wanted to run her business, please her clients and, maybe someday, get married and have two children. She didn’t have time for a boyfriend, giving her all to the business.

  “Get out, you perverted son-of-a-bitch.” The scissors fell from her right hand to the white, tiled, bathroom floor as Herby pulled a snub-nosed 38 from his shoulder holster and pointed it at her face.

  “Get on your knees and suck me, you little tramp.” Herby pulled the zipper on his pants down, unbuttoned them and slid them down to his knees, exposing his privates. Cheryl, frozen in shock, couldn’t move. Herby grabbed her shoulder with his left hand and forced her weak body onto her jittery knees. “Put it in your mouth and suck it, slowly.”

  Cheryl’s mouth was inches from Herby’s penis. She glanced at the scissors on the floor, which had landed about two feet from her right hand. She had to think fast. She grabbed Saunders hardness with her left hand and stroked it with her magic fingers, while leaning forward and grabbing the scissors off the tile floor.

  “Put it in your mouth, honey!” Herby had his eyes shut. Cheryl, with scissors clenched tightly in her right hand, jammed them into Saunders’ testicles. She yanked them out and pushed them into the side of his penis. Herby screamed. His blood squirted all over Cheryl’s naked body. Saunders backed away from Cheryl and grabbed his bloody privates. “You bitch!” The screams became louder. “You ruined me for life, you slut.” He looked down at his bloody privates and leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. His eyes were wide with fright.

  Cheryl got up quickly, rushed to the cell phone in her bedroom and dialed 911. She laid the bloody scissors on her night stand. She grabbed a robe off a chair in her bedroom, put it on and tied it, covering her trembling, naked, bloody body. Herby stood in her bedroom with his gun pointed toward her. The cell phone wasn’t working. Cheryl quickly glanced at the face of the cell phone. It read: no service. Herby grinned, “I took care of that cell phone, sweetheart. I have connections everywhere. You would’ve been better to have sucked me. Now, you will die in your own bedroom.” The blood oozed through his tan slacks. His face turned ashen.

  Cheryl reached for the scissors. She lunged toward Herby without any recourse and slammed the scissors into his heart. Herby had frozen on her quick approach. He never moved a muscle. Cheryl stabbed him several times, until he lay in a heap on the tan carpet. “Oh, my God! What have I done?” She dropped the scissors and put her hands to her mouth, falling onto her double bed. Sobbing for several minutes, her eyes sprang open. She knew she didn’t have a chance in hell of defending herself against the likes of this asshole.

  She went quickly to the shower and washed the hurt, sorrow, blood and some of the anguish away. She quickly dried herself, grabbed some clothes from her closet and dresser, and stuffed them in a suitcase her aunt had bought for her at a garage sale. She looked down at Saunders’ bloody body to make sure he wasn’t moving. His eyes were open wide, along with his mouth.

  She threw her makeup in a small bag, placing it in the suitcase. She slammed it shut and put on a pair of jeans, a white, pullover blouse, and a pair of tennis shoes she had bought at Wal-Mart. Her wet hair was a mess, but she ran her fingers through it, picked up her suit
case and headed for the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and took out three bottles of water, four Clif bars and put them in a plastic grocery bag. She threw four bananas and two pears from the counter into the bag. Grabbing her purse from the kitchen table, she ran out the door. The suitcase went in the back seat and the grocery bag and purse in the front seat. She started her twelve year old, six cylinder Mustang, with 145,000 miles. It ran, but not real well. She had wanted to trade it in this fall.

  Chapter 19

  FOLLOWING THE ESCAPE

  I spent an hour in the creek soaking my aching body. There is something about natural, flowing water easing body pain. Thoughts entered my head as I lay naked in the cool water. Jen and I had come here several times to skinny dip. I looked back toward SAWWS Inc., remembering the first time I had laid eyes on the property. Thousands of hours had been spent trying to save lives all over the world for the last ten years, and now, this. “Why? Why are you punishing me, Lord?” I splashed cool water on my face, washing away the tears that flowed from my eyes. I crawled out of the creek. I hadn’t brought a towel so I sat on a log until the warm, night air dried my skin. I smelled better and applied some deodorant. I dressed in the same clothes. I looked at my watch; the dial read: 8:58.

  I slept for several hours before being awakened by barking dogs. My heart went to my throat. The dogs, however, seemed to be moving away from me. They were probably chasing a fox. Georgia boys hunt fox at night with hound dogs. My watch read 3:57 a.m. I needed to get to my brother’s place.

  I had five hundred dollars in cash and carried four credit cards and a debit card. Using my flashlight, I glanced at a picture of Jen. The picture had been snapped when we were at Martha’s Vineyard for a long weekend just this past spring. I pressed her picture toward my chest. The tears fell from my eyes. My legs felt weak. I headed toward the Northwest—toward Atlanta. I figured I was going in the right direction. Randy’s place is over one-hundred-forty miles away.

  6:28 a.m.: The morning sun will crest over the horizon within the hour, giving enough light for me to see several hundred feet in front of me. After walking for several miles down the shoulder of Hwy. 17, an old rattle trap pickup slowed and screeched to a stop alongside of me. The man sitting behind the wheel looked like a hill person from the movie Deliverance. “Howdy, sonny.” His jaw looked twisted. “Lookin fer a ride are ya?” A large dog rose from the seat and popped his head through the window. His head showed a large mouth, full of very big teeth, and his ears stood straight up. A faint growl filled my ears.

  “Hi,” I managed to squeak out. I’m bone tired, but sure don’t want to get into the cab with the likes of these two. An odor came through the open window, a foul smell, a mixture of body odor and urine; the urine probably came from the dog. It fogged my sinuses. I just stood there, saying nothing, keeping an eye on the dog.

  “Ya commin or not? I got to get movin. Headin terd Louisville.

  “I’ll get in the back.” Not waiting for an answer, I climbed in the back. The floor of the truck was covered with straw. Two old, white sows were lying down in the front of the eight foot box. I stayed my distance, standing in the rear all the way to Louisville. The old truck rattled and roared down the highway, never exceeding 45 MPH. The fumes escaping from the rusted-out exhaust reminded me of the hours I had spent in the tunnel.

  We entered the city limits of Louisville and I thanked the man. I walked another few blocks and spotted an old Chevy Impala. The sign read:

  FOR SALE

  1985 CHEV

  RUNS GOOD

  TIRES INCLUDED

  NEED $275.00

  WILL TRADE

  I walked slowly up to the front porch. A very large dog lay sprawled out on the weathered, front porch. The dog had to weigh over one-hundred-fifty pounds. It could have been related to the one in the old truck. A split second after my left foot touched the first porch step, the dog opened one eye and I froze. “Is anyone home?” I managed to hear myself say. Thirty seconds later the screen porch door opened. A white lady dressed in blue bib overalls, her grey hair twisted into a rat’s nest and her bottom front teeth missing, filled the doorway. She weighed twice as much as the dog on the porch. Her breasts were proportioned to the rest of her body: huge. “Whacha wantin’?” Her feet were bare and her toenails were dirty and curled. Large crevasses were on each side of her large, pudgy, oily nose. Her eyes looked like large, brown, glassy stones.

  “I was wondering if you’d like to sell your car.” I pointed toward the faded, old, blue Impala. With her deodorant and soap definitely not working, the smell forced me to back away from her and the dog.

  “Sure do.” She looking left and then right. “You wantin’ ta trade anything?” Big grin came over her red, blotchy, puffy face. Her remaining teeth were decayed, crooked and stained.

  “I will pay you cash.” I reached for my wallet.

  “I take half cash and the rest you can stick right her.” Her large meaty hand went towards her crotch. “I ain’t had no lovin in several months now.” Her eyes narrowed from the Georgia sun.

  “I’ll give you $270.00 in cash after I see that she runs.”

  “She runs real good, mister. The damn coppers have a hard time catchin’ me.”

  I walked toward the car. The windows were down. I spotted two raccoons in the back seat mating. I stopped dead in my tracks. “Yoo-You have a couple of raccoons in the back seat.” I squinted from the shiny chrome bumper perched against the wall of the house on the porch, as I looked back at the foul-smelling lady.

  “Oh, those damn coons at it again. Just shoo them out when you open the door.”

  I opened the door and the two coons never missed a lick. I got in, turned the key and the Impala roared to life. I got out and popped the hood. There sat a large engine with a chrome four-barrel carburetor on top. I stepped back and reached under the carburetor with my index finger and pushed on the accelerator; the engine made the car vibrate. I crawled in the car and put the car into drive. The transmission seemed okay. Reverse seemed to work, as well.

  I reached for my wallet and took out two hundred dollar bills, one fifty and a twenty and handed it to the fat lady. She grabbed it and stuffed it in between her large, perspiring breasts.

  Her hand rubbed her crotch again.

  “I need to go.” I took off with the two coons in the back seat and the signed title in the glove department. I got out of town and shooed the love birds out of the back seat of the car, figuring they’d be better off away from the previous owner of my new ride.

  Chapter 20

  ATLANTA

  The Impala ran great, as long as you kept it under seventy. Over seventy, it would sputter. I reached Atlanta after lunch. My brother, Randy, lived north of Atlanta, on the Chattahoochee River, on five acres nestled back off the highway. The five acres were set high enough to keep any flood waters from entering his 4000 square foot, all brick home. He had bought this home two years ago in a bankruptcy deal from a financially-strapped bank. The original owner had foreclosed on the property.

  I pulled the beat up, old, blue Impala onto his asphalt driveway. I tried to open the door and it stood frozen shut. I pushed with my aching shoulder and nothing. I tried the other door and the same thing occurred. I kicked it with my feet; it sprang open. I crawled out and walked to the front door, leaving the car door hanging open. I rang the door bell and waited for Randy to answer.

  My heart ached, wanting to talk, to talk to anyone about the tragic events of the past several days. He never opened the door. I tried the door and it was unlocked. Entering, I shouted, “Randy, Randy, it’s Sam.” I listened, but there was no sound except for the large wall clock in the foyer clicking off the seconds. Every second became an unknown.

  I went through the ranch style house shouting his name. When I came to his den, my heart stopped. Randy sat slumped in his chair with a bullet hole in his forehead. The blood had dried. “For Christ sake, what the hell is going on?” I felt his pulse—no sign of life
. He was as dead and cold as ice. My heart swelled. How much more can I take? “Jen, Jen!” I shouted.

  I reached for the phone on his desk. I had to call the police. My arm froze before my hand reached the ivory phone. “I can’t call the police. His college roommate, Travis Shear, I need to call him. He works for the CIA. I searched through Randy’s rolodex. He had two numbers listed, one cell and one home. I dialed the cell number. People say Randy and I sound alike.

  The phone rang three times and my heart pounded. “This is Shear.”

  “Hey Travis, Randy, Randy Abbott.” My hands were sweating. I wasn’t a good liar.

  “R-Randy A-Abbott. H-How are you doing?” His voice cracked on every word.

  “Not good! Some asshole tried to kill me yesterday.” I felt Randy had been dead for almost a day. I needed to test Travis.

  The silence lasted seconds. “H-How? What did he look like?”

  “The police have him. His body laid on my garage floor after I blew his ass away.”

  “The p-police have him. What’s his name?” Travis’s voice hurried.

  “I don’t know. I thought maybe you knew something.”