Norman got cold feet. ‘Is it wise to telephone the cops? Maybe we should wait a while – Boots and Duke might just decide to take off.’
‘There’s no working telephone in Pits so we’ll have to drive to the nearest pay phone. You sit and rest that leg.’
Fifteen minutes later Pamela hurried into the trailer’s living room.
She rattled a set of keys. ‘We’ll take Wes’s truck. It’s parked next to the gas station.’
‘I don’t know . . .’
‘What ya mean, you don’t know, Norman?’
‘Where we gonna go?’
‘To a pay phone. Or to the nearest town. Find the sheriff’s office. Listen, Norman. My friends are in danger up at the house. If we don’t bring help they’re likely to wind up dead.’
Norman realized that Pamela could see the doubt on his face. Her nostrils flared with anger.
‘Norman. Don’t wuss out on me now. I saved your life, remember?’
‘I know.’
‘So I’m owed a favor and I’m calling it in right now.’
‘Okay, okay.’ He grimaced as he stood up. The snake venom had swollen his leg. It felt tight.
Hurt like a sliver of red-hot iron had been forced into his flesh.
Pamela’s anger changed to concern. ‘Can you walk okay?’
‘I’ll be fine. Let’s just get to that truck.’
Norman limped from the dining room into the kitchen. If he kept walking he reckoned that maybe the tightness in his leg would ease.
Can’t do much about the burning sting, though.
Pamela opened the trailer door to let in the desert sunlight. Even though the day was headed toward evening its radiance was still fiercely bright. Norman followed her down the three steps to the dusty ground. She waited for him.
Took his arm.
That feels nice. The gentle pressure of her fingers around my arm. A guy could get used to this.
‘Keep walking, Norman. I’ll help.’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Try hard as you can. We don’t want to stop until we’re in that truck.’
Pamela was right. Norman wanted to be in that truck. He wanted to drive out of here as fast as those big old tires could carry them. It was the bit about the sheriff’s office that he wasn’t too happy about.
They moved away from the trailers, heading toward the parking lot with its line of abandoned cars. Beyond the lot lay the cafe. Just a few yards beyond that was the gas station. He could see a truck parked beside it. That had to be Wes’s truck. Just another three minutes, and—
‘Norman. What happened to you, bud?’
He stopped dead. Duke’s voice.
Oh, shit . . .
‘Yeah, Normy.’ Boots’s little-girl tones. ‘We wuz worried that you might have got hurt.’
Norman stopped, turned. Pamela stood beside him, supporting him.
‘Guys,’ he said with a forced smile. ‘Am I glad to see you.’
Duke scowled. Norman saw himself reflected in the tough guy’s shades. ‘You sure you’re glad to see us?’
‘Sure I’m sure.’ Norman made it sound like he’d been having fun.
Boots nodded. ‘You found Pamela, then?’
‘Yup. I found her.’
‘Why didn’t you come back to the house, Norman?’ Duke eased the big revolver out of his belt.
Norman saw that Boots’s gun was in her hand as her arms hung loosely by her side.
Gun? Oh, fuck!
Realization hit Norman like a deluge of ice water.
I’ve left my gun on the table in the trailer.
‘Norm, buddy.’ Duke’s voice was chilling. ‘I asked why you didn’t return to the house when you’d found runaway Pammy here?’
‘We couldn’t,’ Pamela told him.
‘He wasn’t asking you, Miss Smarty Pants,’ Boots said.
Norman faked an easygoing shrug, but in reality he was getting anxious. ‘It’s embarrassing to admit this,’ he said.
‘What’s embarrassing?’
‘In truth, Duke, I got bitten by a snake.’
‘So?’
‘I needed treatment. Pamela helped me.’
‘She sucked out the poison?’
Norman nodded. ‘Look, Duke, you can see where the rattler’s fangs went through my pants.’
Boots was impressed. ‘See that, Duke? He really did get bit.’ She looked at Norman. Her eyes were big and dewy. ‘Does it hurt, Norman?’
‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ he replied.
‘Okay, Norm.’ Duke chewed an idea over. ‘I buy the snakebite. But where were you headed now?’
‘The cafe,’ Pamela said. ‘They’ve got a first-aid kit there.’
‘But ain’t that square pad in your pants a dressing, Norman? Or is it your time of the month?’
‘Uh? Oh, a temporary dressing.’
‘He needs painkillers, too,’ Pamela added quickly.
Duke looked from them to the cafe. ‘It ain’t no direct route. You were heading toward the gas station. And there’s a truck parked just there.’
‘No, Duke. Like I said, we—’
‘A truck,’ he interrupted. ‘All gassed up and good to go. And ain’t those the truck keys in Pammy’s hand?’
‘Oh, Normy.’ Boots looked as if she was going to cry. ‘You weren’t figurin’ on runnin’ out on us?’
‘No.’
‘We’re your bestest friends in the whole wide world, Normy.’
Norman tried to change the subject. ‘Shouldn’t we be getting back to the house? The others will be making a run for it, too.’
‘We locked them in the attic,’ Boots said.
‘Like maybe we should’ve locked you in, Norman,’ Duke hissed. ‘Then you wouldn’t have been tempted to double-cross us.’
‘I didn’t.’ Norman heard his voice rise into a squeal of protest.
Gotta persuade Duke I wasn’t deserting him and Boots. If I don’t he’s gonna use that Magnum on me.
Duke considered.
Norman stood beside Pamela. Boots stood beside Duke. The two pairs faced each other. The sun had taken on a rusty tint as it sank toward the hills. The highway was deserted. The silence was so intense that it almost hurt Norman’s ears.
What would Duke decide?
Norman looked at Boots. She stared at Pamela with those dead brown eyes of hers. She lifted one of her dirty white boots an inch, then set it down, then raised the other. As if marching on the spot.
Weird.
Duke slid a cigarette from a pack. He lit it. Then:
‘I want to believe you, Norman. But you can see my dilemma.’
‘God’s honest truth, Duke. I wasn’t planning on leaving you and Boots here.’
‘I’m thinkin’ I need proof of your loyalty.’
‘Anything – I’ll do anything.’
Duke nodded at Pamela. ‘You got your test, Norman,’ he said. Then he handed Norman the Magnum. ‘Shoot her in the head.’
‘Pardon?’
‘“Pardon?”’ Duke mimicked. ‘Why doesn’t it surprise the everlasting shit outta me that you still speak all polite like a duchess?’
‘But—’
‘You heard me, Norman. Prove your loyalty to me and Boots. Blow Pamela’s bitchin’ brains out.’
Norman hefted the gun. It was heavier than the Glock automatic. He looked up at Pamela. She was moving backward, stumbling through the dust. She was shaking her head.
‘No, Norman,’ she whispered. ‘Please don’t do it.’
‘You can do it, Normy,’ Boots encouraged. ‘Just pop one of them caps into her face.’
‘Won’t feel a thing, Normy.’ Duke grinned. ‘Ya’ll be doin’ her a favor. Now she’ll never grow old and wrinkled and suffer from arthritis, and piles and shit.’
Norman raised the revolver. The blue metal barrel glinted.
Pamela was gasping while she backed away. ‘Please, Norman. Don’t kill me. Not after what I’ve done for you. You won�
�t—’
‘Shut up!’ Norman snapped.
‘Addaboy,’ Duke praised him.
Then Norman turned. Fired.
Fired at Duke. The guy jerked sideways.
Lost his balance. Went down.
Did I hit him?
Norman raised the gun as Duke sat up. He was ready to fire again.
Wanted to fire again! Right plug-fuck center of Duke’s chest. But his hand shook so much that the gun jumped out of his sweat-slippery fingers. It fell in the dust.
Duke looked dazed for a second. Blood streamed from a nick at the edge of his ear where the big-caliber round had brushed it.
So I did hit him. Only just.
Duke’s eyes cleared behind his sunglasses.
Dragging the shades from his face he snarled at Boots: ‘Kill them both.’
As Boots raised her revolver Pamela flew at her.
If Norman expected a catfight he was mistaken. Pamela swung her fist to deliver a hell of a punch at Boots’s piggy face.
Boots squealed.
Dropped down.
But not out. She climbed up onto all fours in two seconds flat. She raised the hand that held the revolver.
Pamela followed through with a full-blooded kick.
The sneaker thudded into Boots’s chunky side right where one of her kidneys was.
Boots gave a cry that sounded strangely orgasmic. The kick didn’t stop her, either; slowed her, though.
Panting, she shuddered so hard that Norman saw her small breasts jiggling like jello. Then she started to climb to her feet again. The pistol was still in her hand.
Norman glanced at Duke. He moved on all fours to where the hefty Magnum revolver lay in the dirt.
Do I make a run for the pistol? Kill them both? he asked himself. But at that moment Pamela turned to him, hair flaring out, eyes flashing with urgency.
‘Norman! Run!’
Norman didn’t ask where they were running. Simply followed Pamela. Her long legs covered the distance in an easy sprint. Norman limped. His teeth were gritted. He grunted with pain.
The snakebite burned like fury. His leg felt so tight. And heavy, as if it were clad in iron.
Can’t run, can hardly walk . . .
A gunshot rang out. The bullet whined past him to smack into the ground, kicking up a splash of dust twenty yards in front of him.
Now Norman ran.
Pain or no pain.
He caught up with Pamela. They ran side by side.
‘This way,’ she panted.
He followed as she hurtled round one of the trailer homes. Now the fifty-foot aluminum box was between them and the two maniacs with guns.
Crack . . . crack-crack!
‘They’re still firing,’ he gasped. ‘Morons!’
‘Don’t bank on them not hitting us. Those trailer walls are like foil.’
Norman glanced back. Pamela was right. Boots and Duke must have fired again from the other side. Bullets came busting through the trailer’s flimsy aluminum walls. Right through them to ricochet off stony ground close by.
‘Where now?’ Norman asked, running hard. ‘To the house?’
‘Nope.’ Pamela’s stare was fixed on the horizon. ‘To the hills.’
Norman’s leg hurt. The snake venom must have been fizzing in his leg muscle. He looked up toward the rocky hills that were turning red in the setting sun.
Panting, he gasped out the words. ‘Pamela. I don’t think I’m gonna make it.’
Chapter Fifty-one
Norman realized a rock-solid truth: I’m gonna be dead by tonight.
Prospects weren’t good. Here he was, running up through Pits’s cemetery with Pamela. The pair of them were being chased by Boots and Duke. Two crazy people with guns.
Crazy people with a proven track record of killing in cold blood.
Nope. The bottom line is: it doesn’t look hopeful at all.
‘You’ve got to run faster, Norman.’ Pamela panted the words as they exited the cemetery. Ahead was the old house on the hill. Beyond that, a craggy landscape littered with rusting mining gear.
‘I am running as fast . . . as I can.’ Norman struggled to breathe. ‘Snakebite. Hurts . . . hurts like hell.’
Pamela might have intended to offer words of encouragement. But the crazed pair behind, letting loose with their handguns, was all the encouragement Norman needed.
Bullets buzzed through the evening air to ricochet off the rocks around them or chew flesh out of a cactus.
‘That’s better,’ Pamela gasped as Norman piled on the speed.
Sweat blinded him, a stitch began to dig into his side. He risked a glance back.
Boots had fallen back. Now she was hobbling through the cemetery, clutching her side. A stitch like Norman’s? Or had that kick of Pamela’s finally made itself felt through her sluggish – her hoggish – nervous system?
Duke continued to run strongly. He was lean. Fit.
Muscular.
That guy wasn’t going to tire easily.
So much for the government telling you that cigarettes were bad for you, that they silted up your lungs and clogged your arteries. Duke chain-smoked. But he ran like an athlete.
‘We can’t keep running forever,’ Norman panted.
‘We’ve got to make it into the hills again. Need somewhere to hide.’
‘For God’s sake . . . keep out of the canyon this time . . . dead end.’
‘Don’t I know it.’
Norman glanced at Pamela. Her clear-eyed gaze was locked on the path ahead. Blonde hair flew out around her head. Her breasts moved in time with the rest of her body. A pleasing motion. Not a loose wobble.
God, is she something?
Something special.
If we make it outta here alive, maybe we could—
CRACK!
The sound of Duke’s Magnum stopped that particular line of thought. The round passed so close to Norman’s head that he felt its slipstream snatch at his hair.
The leg that had been pierced by the rattler’s fangs ached like nothing on Earth. He was sure that it had swollen to twice its normal girth.
‘Keep running,’ Pamela urged him. ‘Once we’re in the hills we can give him the slip.’
‘Might be time to say a prayer to your guardian angel,’ Norman panted back.
He glanced over his shoulder.
No fair!
Duke was maybe forty yards behind them. And closing.
The guy didn’t look tired.
Hadn’t lost his cool.
A killing machine in human form.
Norman’s legs quivered as though the strength was pouring out of them. Any second now he knew that he’d drop to his knees with exhaustion. Then . . . Blam-blam! It’s the BIG sleep for Norman Wiscoff . . .
‘Bear left,’ Pamela told him. ‘There’s a track leading . . . leading into the hills by all that machinery.’
‘But we’re running uphill.’ Norman’s breath whistled through his throat. He could hardly inhale.
Still managing to run, he glanced down at his fingers. They were swollen. He couldn’t even see his knuckles, his flesh was so puffed.
Snake venom. This exertion was pushing it through his veins.
His heart seemed to beat uncannily loud. Maybe the toxins were invading the cardiac muscle.
He staggered.
‘What’s wrong?’ Pamela asked.
‘I can’t run anymore.’
‘You’ve got to, Norman.’
‘I know . . . but I can’t . . . My leg’s seizing up. I can’t breathe.’
She’s going to run on and leave me. That realization struck Norman hard. He’d been running for days. He couldn’t carry on.
The moment of reckoning.
Oh, God . . .
But Pamela wasn’t quitting on him yet. ‘In here,’ she shouted.
He could scarcely walk now. Never mind run.
Pamela gripped his arm, then dragged him across a stretch of ground that was covered
with fine stones. They lay so deep and thick that Norman sank up to his ankles in them. They shifted when he tried to lurch forward on his stiffening leg.
He glanced back. Duke was thirty yards away.
The man paused, aimed.
Squeezed the trigger, and—
Click!
Even from where he stood Norman heard the hammer fall on a spent cartridge.
Duke began to reload. After ejecting the empty shell cases from their chambers in a glittering stream onto the ground, he took fresh rounds from his shirt pocket. Began to reload one by one.
He grinned at them. ‘No point in running, folks. Pammy? You might live if you’re real nice to me. Normy? Stop running away like a kid. Come here and take your punishment like a man.’
‘Don’t listen to him,’ Pamela hissed.
She yanked Norman by the arm again and guided him across the carpet of loose stones that were so hard to walk on. Ahead, he saw the crumbling structure of a mine building. There was no roof to speak of. Not much in the way of walls, either. Just a course of bricks about waist high, with a few weathered boards hanging from a timber frame. Through the holes in the walls Norman could make out hunky lumps of machinery that had been by turns sandblasted, then ravaged by rust, and finally crusted white with bird droppings.
Probably was a desirable residence for scorpions too.
Yeah, why not get a scorpion sting on the other leg, Norm? It might even up the snakebite.
‘You can’t run,’ Duke called after them as he coolly reloaded the powerful handgun. ‘Not much of a place to hide.’ He laughed. ‘Unless you figure on shrinking yourselves down to the size of bugs.’
Toiling up the hill behind Duke came Boots.
Oh, great.
Now Boots is gonna watch me weep and beg for my life. Not that Duke’s the kinda guy who favors groveling. I’m still gonna get a bullet in the head.
‘Keep moving!’
Pamela kept urging Norman on as she dragged him through the doorway into the building. The floor was covered with windblown sand. There were a couple of tumbleweeds. The sloughed skin of a snake – a yellow, papery thing. There was even the skeleton of a dog or coyote in the corner.
‘Not much of a place to a hide,’ he panted.
‘If we can’t hide, we’ll fight.’
My God, is she feisty! Norman was impressed.
The Glory Bus Page 35
