The Vanishing by Gary Brown (top 10 motivational books TXT) 📕

Fallon locked his thumb into the trigger guard, prevented the gun from firing. He thrust his knee into Prophet’s ribs. The cult leader clutched his side, fell to the ground.

“Both of you on your feet,” Fallon yelled. He grabbed Amanda by the arm, placed the gun against her temple. “Or I’ll do her right now!”

Prophet gasped, held his side, rose to his feet, “Hurt her and I’ll squeeze the last breath out of you with my bare hands.”

“You’re forgetting which side of the barrel you’re on,” Fallon replied. He waved the gun. “The supply shed. Move!”

60

“ON THREE,” MARTIN said. “Ready? One… two… three!”

With a running start, Martin and Earl charged the door to the supply shed in which they and Claire were being held prisoners, tried unsuccessfully to break it down.

“It’s no use,” Martin said. He peered through the slats of the wooden door, found the source of the obstruction. “There’s a cross brace in place. No way we’ll be able to budge it, much less break it down.”

“Try this,” Claire said. In her hand she held two wooden dowels. “It’s all I could find. If you shimmy these through the cracks in the frame, maybe you can lift the beam high enough to push it out of its brackets.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Martin replied. He handed the trucker one of the wooden sticks. “See if you can find an opening on your end, Earl.”

The gap between the planks of the old wooden door formed an irregular channel between the timbers. Earl fitted the length of dowel between several boards until he found a space wide enough to accommodate the thin stick.

“Ready on my end,” Martin said.

Earl nodded. “Mine too.”

“We’re probably only going to get one shot at this, so let’s take it slow and easy,” Martin said. “The beam is about eight inches wide. Claire, when Earl and I raise it clear of the brackets and I give you the word, push the door as hard as you can. That should knock it clear of the brace.”

“Okay,” Claire said. She stepped between the two men, placed her hands against the door.

“All right, Earl,” Martin said. “Like I said, slow and easy.”

The dowels bent under the weight of the thick beam.

“Mine’s too weak,” Earl said. The stress on the wooden stick was extreme. It began to snap. “It can’t take the load.”

“Keep going. Just a little higher and we’ve got it. Get ready, Claire. When I say push, push hard!”

“It’s breaking,” Earl said. “I can’t raise it any higher. It’s stuck in the channel.”

“I’m almost there,” Martin replied. “Now, Claire! Push!”

Claire pushed against the door as Earl’s dowel broke in his hands. The beam teetered, almost fell away, then dropped back into its bracket with a loud clatter.

“Damn it!” Martin yelled. “We almost had it. Look for more of those dowels, Claire. We’ll try again.”

Earl raised his hand. “Wait!” he said. He stepped away from the door. “Move back. Someone’s comin’.”

Footsteps stopped outside the shed door. The heavy beam rattled free of its brace. A voice called out to the prisoners inside.

“Step out slowly,” Fallon announced. “And if you’re thinking about rushing the door, forget it. You’ll be dead before you see moonlight.”

Martin, Earl and Claire stepped out of the confines of the supply shed into the cool night air.

Claire recognized her sister immediately. “Amanda!” she cried. “It’s me, Claire. Thank God you’re all right!” She stepped forward to embrace her sister. Fallon blocked her path, trained his gun on her. Martin pulled her back.

“I was right,” Earl Bentley said. He pointed an accusing finger at Fallon. “That’s the fella I gave the ride to.”

“And just who the hell are…?” Fallon asked. “Wait a minute. I recognize you. You’re that trucker.”

“Guess I should have left ya right where I found ya,” Earl Bentley replied. “Broken down on the side of the road. If I had, I probably wouldn’t be in this mess right now.”

“How very astute of you,” Fallon replied. “I take it these are your friends. Let me guess: FBI? CIA? INTERPOL? HOMELAND?”

“Neither,” Martin replied. He pointed to Amanda. “We’re here for the girl. Let her come with us and we’ll disappear. No one will know where you are. You have my word on that.”

“Do you really think I’m that stupid?” Fallon replied. “That you could locate her means you’ve done your homework. You know who we are. That makes you a liability. Besides, Martin, I’m surprised you don’t recognize me.”

Martin stared at Fallon. “How do you know my name?” he asked.

“Actually, I knew your wife and daughter very well. Mind you, the last time I saw you, you were lying on the ground. Remember the barn? Memories like that never fade, do they? Remember watching Anne leave? How she walked past you like you were a total stranger? I do. I was there. I’m the one who took her. Melanie too.”

With Fallon’s words, a vortex of memories whirled in Martin’s mind: Little Melanie, alone and crying on the kitchen floor… the surreal chanting emanating from the barn… the circle of hooded strangers… Anne’s vacant stare as she walked past him despite his pleas… the final horrible blow to his head that left him unconscious and utterly alone…

“It was you?” Martin said breathlessly. “You took my family, my life.”

“Yes, but it was for a good cause,” Fallon replied nonchalantly.

“You motherf--!”

“No, Martin!” Claire screamed. Too late, she tried to stop Martin as he lunged forward.

Fallon stepped aside, avoided the attack, caught Martin by his outstretched hand, twisted his wrist in a tight circular motion, sent him reeling head over heels to the ground several feet away. He walked to where Martin lay, buried his boot into his throat, and pressed down. Martin gasped, clutched wildly at Fallon’s leg, fought for oxygen.

“No one took your life,” Fallon said. Dirt from his boot fell into Martin’s mouth. “You fucking well gave it away.” Fallon released his foot, stepped back. Martin rolled to his knees, grabbed his throat, sucked