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Faith’s eyes widened. “It’s under the deer!” she called. “Beulah’s under the deer!”
The police officers looked at each other, clearly not sure whether to believe her or not.
“Move your asses!” Missy barked. “Now!”
They jumped as though they had been tased and rushed back toward the grave. One officer helped Michael lift the deer carcass out of the grave, then they began to dig again. Turk grew more excited as they continued to dig, barking encouragement and running in circles around them.
They dug for another twenty minutes before Faith’s shovel once more hit something solid. “Got it!” she cried.
The others quickly dug around the dirt, revealing a plain wooden coffin, the same design as the one in which they found William Hucksley.
Faith leapt into the grave and pulled at the lid. It was nailed shut.
“Shovel!” she called.
Michael tossed one down to her, then jumped in after her with his own shovel. Missy radioed for an ambulance ASAP while Michael and Faith jammed their shovels under the lid and struggled to pry it open. Turk looked over the lip of the grave and whined plaintively.
Finally, the lid gave. It opened with a soft hiss as the air pressure equalized. She threw the lid open to reveal the pale, still body of Beulah Ford.
Her lips were blue and there were purple circles under her eyes. Her fingers were bloody from where she had struggled to open the grave.
Her eyes were closed, and when Faith felt for a pulse, it was still.
No! It was there! She still had a pulse! It was weak and irregular, but it was there.
Faith immediately dropped to her knees. “She’s still alive!” she called. Then she stooped over and began CPR. She breathed in deeply, then covered Beulah’s nose, opened her mouth, and exhaled. She repeated the action three times, then began chest compressions.
“Come on, Beulah,” Faith whispered. “Come on.”
“How long until the ambulance gets here?” Michael called.
“Two minutes!” Missy shouted down.
“Come on, Beulah,” Faith said. “We’re right here. Don’t go away. Stay with us.”
She continued CPR until the ambulance sirens sounded in the distance.
“Come on, Beulah,” she said again. “You’ll be okay. Help is here.”
Beulah’s eyes flew open. She gasped, then coughed hard. She gasped again and grabbed Faith’s arm, eyes staring wildly.
“It’s okay,” Faith said. “You’re safe.”
She coughed again, then gasped, then started breathing steadily. “Oh my God,” she said, her voice thin and hoarse.
Faith laughed, overcome with relief. “You’re okay,” she said. “We got you.”
Beulah grabbed Faith’s arm again and looked into her eyes. “Are you an angel?” she asked.
Faith grinned. “Well, that’s not the word most people use, but I’ll take it.”
Above her, Turk barked excitedly, leaping and licking random hands and faces in celebration. Faith looked up at the sky where the Big Dipper hung lazily from the invisible line that connected it to the North Star.
It was a beautiful night.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Michael, Faith, and Turk walked into the interrogation room where Carter Barkley sat. He was chained to the floor with thick iron shackles, his hands similarly shackled to a stainless steel table that, like the steel chair he sat on, was welded to the floor.
