The Thunder Rolls

by Bethany Campbell

  KEN AND NORA had risen from bed to rummage in the kitchen for an impromptu supper. Evening was fast falling, and a light rain drummed against the windows.

  The lamplight in the kitchen gave everything a golden cast. Nora listened to the low grumble of the thunder and felt protected and cozy.

  She sat on a stool by the counter, her chin propped on her hand. Rather dreamily she watched Ken constructing a pair of enormous sandwiches.

  “I should be doing that,” she said.

  “You do it all week long. It’s my turn.”

  She sighed, happy simply to have him in her sight. He’d pulled on his jeans and boots, and although he’d donned his shirt, he hadn’t buttoned it. His straight hair was tousled and hung over his forehead, glinting in the lamplight.

  Nora was barefoot, her toes curling on the stool’s rungs. She wore her jeans and the shirt Ken had given her that morning. It was pleasantly large, and she liked the intimate feel of his clothing next to her bare skin.

  She tossed a strand of hair from her eyes. “I should brush my hair,” she said.

  He looked up, gave her a slow crooked smile, and shook his head.

  She smiled back. “No?”

  “No. I like you rumpled. It reminds me of how you got rumpled. Makes me want to rumple you again.”

  He opened a bag of potato chips, poured a heap on each sandwich plate and carried the plates to the table. “Let’s eat. I’ve got to keep my strength up.”

  “I don’t want you to get rumpled out.”

  “You’re gettin’ bold.”

  “Yes. I am.”

  She rose and went to the counter. He had opened a bottle of red wine, and she poured two glasses. She followed him to the table and set them down.

  “Oh,” she said, “just a minute. I forgot place mats and napkins. Let me get them.”

  Playfully he blocked her way, taking her in his arms. “Let’s rough it. Sit. We don’t have to be formal.”

  As he started to kiss her, a loud squeal of brakes in the drive ripped across the quiet sound of the rain. A car or truck door slammed, and half a moment later, booted feet hit the porch running. Someone jerked at the locked door, then began a loud, frantic knocking.

  “Slats! Open up!” It was Cal McKinney’s voice.

  Ken’s grip tightened on Nora’s arms. He frowned in the direction of the door. “What in hell—”

  “Slats! It’s me—Cal—” The knocking banged so violently that it almost drowned out a roll of thunder.

  Cal’s voice alarmed Nora. She stared at the drapes that hid the sliding glass door. They quivered from the impact of Cal’s blows on the metal doorframe.

  Ken, too, looked worried. “What’s he want?” he muttered. Quickly, he released Nora and moved to the door.

  He yanked the drapes partly open, and almost simultaneously unsnapped the lock. He slid the heavy glass door open. Cal quickly entered, glanced over his shoulders and banged the door shut behind him.

  His pale blue shirt was spotted with rain, and his hair curled with dampness. He carried the black leather holster, and in the holster was the gun. He looked first at Ken, then at Nora, then back at Ken. Something wild flashed in his hazel eyes.

  He was breathing hard. “Gordon,” he said without introduction. “He’s heading this way.”

  Without realizing it, Nora took a step backward. Fear went through her completely, as if someone had impaled her with a spear.

  Ken’s shoulders tensed. “What?”

  Cal glanced out at the drive, then reached for the cord of the drapes and jerked them shut. “Don’t ask me why, man. He’s right on my tail,” he said. “Get away from the windows.”

  Ken shook off Cal’s hand. He stepped away from the glass, but his eyes went cold. “Gordon?”

  Cal nodded, glancing at Nora again, his face taut. “I was in town, putting gas in the truck. I saw him, thought I should follow him. He saw me, too. We started havin’ a little race. By the time we hit the lake turnoff, he was drivin’ crazy, man—and he was heading here. I ran him off the road, but he got right back on. I said, don’t ask me how—”

  Another scream of brakes filled the air. Metal crunched against metal, as if Gordon’s car had clipped Cal’s truck. There were three long seconds of silence. Then a car door slammed.

  “Take this,” Cal said, thrusting the holstered gun toward Ken.

  The thunder rolled. “No,” Ken said, his jaw rigid. He nodded toward Nora. “Get her out of here. Take her out the back way.”

  Footsteps echoed on the porch. They drew nearer.

  Cal spun on his boot heel and stared at Nora. “Call the sheriff,” he ordered. He shoved the gun at Ken again.

  Ken shook his head.

  Cal swore. “Jesus! What am I gonna have to do? Kill him for you?”

  “Nobody’s killin’ anybody. Nora, get out of here. Take her out of here. Did you hear me?”

  Nora stood frozen, unable to move.

  “Slattery?” She recognized Gordon’s voice. It had an odd sound, as if he wasn’t completely sober. Terror gripped her. “I know you’re in there, Slattery. Come out and face me—like a man. Stop sneaking like a snake behind my back and face me.”

  “Get her out,” Ken said between his teeth. “I’m going to talk to him, is all.”

  Cal swore again. “You get her out. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Slattery? You comin’ out? Or do I kick this door out? People that live in glass houses shouldn’t steal wives. Nora, get yourself out here. You get yourself to my side—where you should be. Then maybe I won’t kill him. Maybe. I’m gonna count to three. Then if this door doesn’t open, I kick it open.”

  Nora’s stomach churned. An old fear she hadn’t felt for years filled her, and she found herself moving toward the door, anxious to appease Gordon, anxious to do whatever it took to calm his rage.

  “No,” Ken said fiercely, seizing her by the shoulders. “No.” He stared into her eyes, his own blazing implacably.

  “One,” said Gordon, menace in his voice.

  “Son of a bitch,” Cal snarled through clenched teeth. He yanked the drapes half-apart, and with almost the same motion, threw the door open. He stepped onto the porch, still holding the holster, but holding it far out, as if he didn’t want to use the gun. “Now, Gordon,” he said placatingly, “don’t go talkin’ about kickin’ my daddy’s door down. This is gettin’ out of hand. Why don’t you and I sit down and have a drink?”

  Gordon stepped back to the edge of the porch. He shook his head. His figure was shadowy in the rain and thickening darkness. Then a long shimmer of lightning lit the sky. Nora caught a flickering glimpse of Gordon’s features. The expression on his face appalled her. It was not the expression of a sane man.

  Worse, he was wearing a gun on his right hip, and he held another, still holstered, in his left hand. Unlike Cal, he held it close, almost lovingly. Then the glare of the lightning faded, making Gordon into an indistinct silhouette again.

  “Butt out, McKinney,” Gordon said. “I’ll take care of you later. You ran me off the road, you bastard.”

  “Well, hell, Gordon,” Cal said, a smile in his voice, “I didn’t mean to. It was all in fun. But let’s talk—”

  “I want my wife, and I want Slattery,” Gordon said. “Nora! Get out here! Slattery? Slattery?” Gordon began to cluck like a chicken, mocking what he thought of as Ken’s cowardice. The sound had a deranged ring. Then he stopped as suddenly as he had begun. The only noise was the soft, steady patter of the rain.

  “Let me go to him,” Nora said in a shaking voice. “I’m the one he’s really mad at. I know how to handle him—”

  “No!” Ken retorted, almost pushing her toward the back door. “Leave. Get out.”

  “Now, Gordon,” soothed Cal, “wouldn’t you like to have a shot of whiskey, buddy? My daddy’s got a fifth of Wild Turkey under the counter. I’ll tell you what—let’s have a few drinks and—”

  “McKinney, get out of that doorway,�
�� Gordon said viciously. “If Slattery isn’t out here in thirty seconds, I’ll start on you.”

  A breeze rose, making the drapes flutter. Nora watched numbly as Ken stepped into the night. He stationed himself in front of Cal, his thumbs hooked into the front of his belt. Perhaps ten feet separated him from Gordon, who stood near the steps, poised like the gunfighter he wanted to be.

  “You got a problem, Gordon?” Ken said in his quietest voice.

  Lightning flared weakly again, silvering Ken’s hair, casting a brief, will-o’-the-wisp illumination over Gordon’s face. His face seemed empty, his eyes dark and wasted.

  My God, thought Nora, he looks ten years older than he did last week. What’s he done to himself?

  Mercifully the light died, and all she could see of Gordon was his dark shape.

  He squared his shoulders. “I’ve got a problem, all right. You’re the problem, Slattery. You’re after my wife. Nora? Nora? Get out here.”

  Nora’s muscles tensed. She would have obeyed his call, but she saw Ken hold up his hand, a gesture telling her not to come. She held her breath and didn’t move.

  “She’s not your wife anymore, Gordon,” Ken said in the same quiet voice. “She hasn’t been for two years.”

  “She made her vows to me forever,” Gordon answered. “What man put together, let no God put in thunder. Let no God put in sunder.”

  He doesn’t even know what he’s saying, Nora thought with a fresh surge of panic.

  Ken stood his ground, keeping his hand half-raised in a gesture of peace. “She’s her own woman, Gordon. And I want no trouble with you. I’m not a fightin’ man.”

  “No! You’re a sneakin’ man—you’re after my wife. You’re after my child. You’re after my mother.”

  Ken shook his head dubiously. “Gordon, this has nothin’ to do with your mother.”

  “Don’t you mention her name,” Gordon almost screamed. “Don’t mention my mama’s name. I want Nora. Nora? Nora! Get out here—I want you to come kneel at my feet, Nora. Nora, you come here and kneel, dammit—”

  “Slats, this boy’s out of control,” Cal said in a low voice. He tried to step to Ken’s side, but Ken made a tense motion signaling him to stay back.

  “Nora, if you don’t come out here and kneel, I’ll shoot this dog down and come in and make you kneel. I’ll do worse’n that.”

  He’s going to kill us all, Nora thought. Her knees shaking, she stepped to the door. If it would help to kneel, she would kneel. He had done worse to her in his time.

  “Stay back,” hissed Cal, and once again she halted.

  “Don’t talk to her like that,” Ken warned Gordon. “She doesn’t have to take it from you anymore.”

  Gordon was silent for a moment. It was as if he was trying to remember something. When he spoke, he sounded as if he was making a speech that he’d rehearsed. “Slattery, you’re a sneak and a thief. I come to settle this man-to-man. The old way. I got a gun.”

  “I see that,” Ken said without emotion.

  “I brought you one, too.” Gordon paused, as if for dramatic effect. He threw the holstered gun at Ken’s feet. “Take it,” he ordered. “Take it and fight like a man.”

  “No.”

  “Take it and fight like a man.”

  “No.”

  “Jeez, what a stinking coward you are. You want Nora?”

  There was a beat of silence, broken only by the hushed sound of the rain.

  “Yes,” Ken said. “I want her.”

  “Then,” said Gordon, his right hand hovering near his gun, “fight for her, you son of a bitch.”

  In the distance lightning flickered, followed by a dull mumble of thunder.

  “Not with guns,” Ken said, weariness in his voice. “You want to fight, I’ll fight you. But no guns. Drop the gun belt, Gordon. Then I’ll fight you if you have to fight.”

  Gordon laughed. “Take it, Slattery. I’ll give you to the count of three again. If you haven’t picked it up by then, I draw. And I’ll shoot you apart. A piece at a time.”

  “I don’t like guns.”

  “Then you ain’t no man,” Gordon mocked. “One.”

  “For God’s sake,” said Cal, “the man doesn’t like guns. Fight fair, you little—”

  “Shut up. I’ll kill you both. Nora? I seen you in the doorway. You gonna watch me kill ’em both? I’m gettin’ ready. I’m countin’. Two. Get ready to die, cowboy.”

  Suddenly Ken went into a crouch, reaching for the gun.

  “Jesus, you fool—don’t—” Cal said, suddenly throwing himself between Ken and Gordon. His stance was menacing and he was drawing the Smith & Wesson from its holster.

  Gordon was faster. His hand snapped to his hip and then almost straight out in front of him. A blaze of light spurted and a roar filled the air.

  Cal’s body gave a violent jerk forward. Then, staggering, he lurched backward. The gun fell from his hands, clattering to the boards of the porch.

  Nora screamed.

  “Cal!” Ken’s cry tore the rainy darkness.

  Cal’s back hit the plate glass so hard that it shook, and his legs buckled. He caught at the drapes that fluttered in the damp breeze. Clutching them, he fell, crumpling at Nora’s feet. She couldn’t see his face anymore. It was covered with blood.

  “He drew on me!” Gordon shouted. “He had a gun all the time—you two drew on me first. Die! Die!”

  He aimed his gun at Ken’s head, and a second shot rocked the night.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE LIGHTNING PLAYED behind Gordon, an eerie blue flicker that outlined him. To Nora, his dark shape seemed to swell, grow larger, overwhelming her vision like some monster in a dream.

  From the corner of her eye she could see Ken lying on the floor of the porch. He still held up his head, she could tell, but he didn’t move. She was afraid to look more closely; the sight would rip her heart in half. No, it was already ripped in half, and she was stunned sick.

  She knew that Gordon was looking at her; even in the darkness she could feel it. The lightning shone again, from another direction. Shadows played across his face. He seemed to smile malevolently.

  Ken lay helpless, wounded, and Gordon, smiling, was going to shoot him again.

  You’ll have to kill me, too, Gordon, she thought in defiance. You’ll to have to kill me before you can kill him.

  She ran to Ken, trying to throw herself down, to shield his body with hers. But Ken rose on his knees, catching her. She flung her arms around his neck, her eyes squeezed shut, waiting for Gordon to fire a third time. She hugged Ken as tightly as she could, her body tensed for the coming blow.

  If I die, she thought, clinging to Ken, I’ll die loving you.

  Behind her, Cal groaned.

  “It’s all right, it’s all right,” Ken said, holding her so close that her ribs almost cracked. “Baby, it’s all right.”

  Cal groaned again, louder. “Je-hosh-a-phat!” he said. “This smarts like hell.”

  “It’s all right, it’s all right,” Ken repeated in Nora’s ear. “Honey, get up. I’ve got to see to Cal, baby. Help me see to Cal.”

  He got to his feet, drawing her with him. She didn’t think her knees would support her. He held her to him with one arm. His other hand held a gun, and it was aimed at Gordon.

  “Fall down, you son of a bitch,” he snarled at Gordon, “or I’ll shoot you again. Calvin? Are you alive, boy?”

  “Ouf,” Cal muttered. “He grazed me, is all.”

  Nora’s eyes fluttered open. She clutched Ken, staring up at him without comprehension. She began to shake.

  Ken hugged her to him more securely, but kept the gun trained on Gordon. “Calvin! I said, are you alive?”

  “And I said, ‘Yes,’ dammit,” Cal said in a pained voice. “This is as bad as gettin’ kicked in the head by a horse.”

  “How bad are you hurt?”

  “Not bad, dammit—chill out.”

  Nora forced herself to look at Cal. He’d
raised himself to sit, slumping against the plate glass. He was wiping the blood from his face with the hem of the drapes.

  “My mama would switch me if she saw me bloody her good drapes like this,” he grumbled.

  He’s alive. And Ken’s standing. Ken’s got a gun, Nora thought numbly. And that must mean that Gordon is—Gordon is—Gordon is—

  She made herself turn in Ken’s arms so that she could see Gordon. The inconstant lightning flared again. Ken was standing, but Gordon was sinking to his knees.

  At first, Nora thought that he was smiling grotesquely at her. Then, with a shock, she realized why his mouth twisted so strangely. Gordon was crying.

  His knees struck the porch floor with a thud. He held his hands in front of him in almost a prayerful attitude, cradling his right in his left. His shoulders shook with muted sobs.

  “You shot me,” he said. “You shot me in the hand.”

  “Shoulda put it between his eyes,” muttered Cal, wiping his forehead.

  Nora looked at Ken again. “You shot him? He didn’t shoot you?”

  Ken nodded without emotion.

  Nora turned to Gordon again. His holster was empty, his gun nowhere to be seen. His shoulders heaved harder.

  “It hurts,” Gordon wept. “It hurts.”

  “Tell me about it.” Cal’s voice was sarcastic. “Lawsy, could somebody get me a towel?”

  Ken gave Nora an encouraging hug. “How about it, sugar? Can you get him a towel? And make sure he’s all right?”

  She nodded, although she kept gazing with fascination at Gordon’s hands. When the lightning flared, she saw blood oozing between the fingers that he clamped protectively around his right hand. It dripped to the porch floor to mingle with the rain. The thunder gave a tired rumble.

  “You opened up the whole back of my hand,” Gordon whined. “I can’t move it.” He hunched over, as if protecting himself from further pain.

  “Call 911, too,” Ken told Nora. “Say there’s been a shooting at the McKinney lake house.” Keeping his gun on Gordon, he kicked the second gun, the one Cal had dropped, behind him, far from Gordon.

  Nora tried to gather her wits and regain control of her emotions. She walked back inside the house, but her movements did not seem real; they seemed to take place deep inside some dream.