I push her aside and she slumps against the wall like a bag of trash. Taking a deep breath first, I jerk back the curtain. The ammunition boxes go in Youssef’s pack and I retrieve the rifle and back out before I need to take another breath. Granny is on her feet and standing in my way. Up close, she’s bigger and uglier than in the shadows. She puts a sweaty, scaled hand on my arm and tries to pull me down. I push it away and try to ease her back, against the wall, but she falls in the aisle and I have to step over her. I can’t understand her screeches as I move toward the front, but I’m sure they’re not nice.
I catch my reflection in the mirror behind the bar and understand why no one gets in my way. I’ve got a rifle in my hand, my hair is matted with a mix of mud and dried blood, there is an ugly red welt on my forehead, a thin splotch of blood that makes the scar on my face stand out, and my shorts and t-shirt are caked with dry red clay. “Don’t worry, this is the way all us Indians look on Saturday night in Desperation Hollow,” I say to the bartender. “You’ve got to control that ugly hag back there before she drives away anymore good looking customers like me.”
Back outside, I sneak along the storefronts and wait until there are no cars in sight before I run across the street. The Nissan is in the same spot and I toss the rifle and pack through the window and hoist myself in. The key doesn’t fit and I panic until I remember it’s for Youssef’s handcuffs. I throw it out the window, dig deeper in my pocket, and pull out the Nissan key. Now the big test. Will this thing actually start? Can it be driven?
The motor kicks in right away. I leave it in park and step on the gas. It revs like there has been no damage. I’m not so lucky with the rest. Only one headlight works and it’s angled high and off to the right. The front end shimmies and I have to aim the steering wheel twenty degrees to the left to go straight. The worse thing is the noise. I’m trying to get out of town unnoticed but the exhaust pipe must have snapped in front of the muffler and it sounds like the truck belongs on a drag strip.
I have to make a right turn to get on the road to North Star but I miscalculate the angle because of the way it steers and nearly broadside an ancient, dirt encrusted, Chevy Impala jammed with teenagers. The driver lays on his horn, then blocks my way while the kids laugh and shout. They’re getting their kicks and I’m getting nervous. Clarence could be anywhere.
I take the rifle, it’s empty but they don’t know, and start to climb out the window. The driver must not like what he sees because when I’m half way out when he makes a U turn and blasts through the intersection. As I watch them go, I see a dark sedan move toward me, then turn and follow the kids out of sight. It’s too dark to be sure, but something tells me it’s an Audi.
The Nissan can’t go over thirty without shaking out of control and I have to fight to keep it out of the ditch but I make it to the gas station intersection just after eleven. Constable Clarence could be waiting, maybe he’s called ahead and they all are. I park the truck behind an empty shack and walk the rest of the way. Tonight’s the night I get some answers.
Chapter 32
They turn the main dorm lights off at eleven but most of the volunteers hang around the lounge area. It’s safer to go in through the front door. Keeping low and sneaking behind the bushes, I leave the rifle under the porch, climb over the railing, and turn the knob. They never bother to lock it and it opens with a loud click. I freeze. If there is anyone in the front room they’ll hear it. No one comes and I wait until my breathing slows and slip in.
Lights are on and voices are coming from the faculty conference room at the end of the hall. I can’t make out the words but there’s shouting and they all seem to be talking at the same time. I dart past the hall to the stairway that leads to the teacher’s and visitor’s rooms. The stairs squeak—I remember from when they locked me up the day I arrived—but I take the chance that they’re all in the meeting and charge up two at a time. I pause at the top. All quiet, no one comes out. So far, so good.
Olson’s room is the third one on the right. I try the knob and it doesn’t move, I could kick the door in but that would make too much noise. The locks are old and flimsy, if I had a credit card I could pop it. I don’t have a credit card but I do have heavy cardboard ammunition boxes. I pull one out of Youssef’s former pack, tear off a piece, fold it in half and wedge it around the door, into the lock. It bends too much and nothing happens.
The conference room voices grow louder and I hear a squeak from the bottom step. Dr. Mason and Rita are standing there, arguing. I need to get in before they come up the steps. I quickly tear a strip from the end of the box where the cardboard is thicker and try again. This time the lock releases and I slip in and quietly shut the door. I hear footsteps moving up the steps and suddenly realize I’ve left the backpack on the floor outside the door. The footsteps stop halfway up and I hear Dr. Mason shout some, not so nice, words at Rita. I open the door, snatch the pack, and shut it again a few seconds before I hear Mason pass and the door slam in the room next to me.
The walls are thin, the floor creaks and Mason’s next door, so I move slowly across the room. There’s nothing on top of the desk, the top drawer has some paper clips and a pencil, and the rest are empty. I run my hands under the socks, underwear, and folded shirts in the dresser drawers and find nothing. When I’m fumbling through the top closet shelf, something heavy and metallic crashes to the tile floor. I freeze, and hold my breath, hoping Mason didn’t hear. When my heart stops thumping, I squeeze inside the closet, shut the door, take a chance and turn on the light. I’m surrounded by a forest of hanging pants, sport coats, and shirts. My head doesn’t fit under the top shelf. Squatting down, I see what fell: a Smith & Wesson semi-automatic .45 Chief’s Special. It finds a home in Youssef’s pack along with the extra clip I find on the shelf.
I’m about to flip the switch and back out, when I notice a shoe box in the corner behind a shiny pair of black loafers. Bingo, finally some luck—inside is my wallet, passport, plane ticket, and Gus’s package. In a larger box in the other corner, I find several large stacks of hundred dollar bills. I don’t know what Olson’s doing with the pistol and the cash, but for now, it’s finders-keepers and my recently acquired backpack is getting heavy.
The closet door swings open. I turn and I’m looking at two things: the barrel of Arnie’s twelve gauge shotgun and the bulb of his high intensity flashlight. I stand and give him a smile. “Okay,” I say.
* * *
We’re in the faculty conference room. I’m sitting at the head of the table but not feeling too comfortable because Arnie has the barrel of his shotgun resting against the back of the chair, poking into my back.
“You look like road kill,” says Rita.
“I’m lucky I wasn’t killed on the road tonight.” I look around for a friendly face but don’t find any. The only people missing from the greeting committee of my first night are Constable Clarence and Mia.
“Clarence is on his way. We’ve only got one student representative,” says Dr. Mason. He looks at Andy. “Mia Olson is unable to be here.”
“She passed out helping Nate finish off his Rum,” says Andy.
“That’s enough. We’ll deal with excessive volunteer drinking and that other discipline problem later,” says Mrs. Selby.
“The other problem is Sammy,” says Andy. “He took the jeep for an unauthorized joy ride.”
“We’ve had quite an argument about what to do with you,” says Dr. Mason. Some wanted to send you back—get you out of the country before you get into any more trouble—but the decision was to hand you over to Constable Clarence to stand trial here.”
“What charges?”
“Today’s are kidnapping a police officer, damaging a police vehicle by gunfire, assaulting an elderly lady in a bar, and stealing a pickup. That’s not counting breaking into Mr. Olson’s room. Clarence also says the shootings of your driver and Timothy are still under investigation. Before today’s escapades, he was planning on bringing you to Tugo for fur
ther questioning.”
“He doesn’t want to question me. He wants to kill me. Get Sammy, he’ll tell you what we found in that pickup.”
“Mr. Phillips is confined to the dorm and we don’t need him here,” says Mrs. Selby.
“Andy, can’t you see what they’re doing? Don’t you believe me?”
He looks at me, takes a deep breath and is about to answer when Constable Clarence and Rolf Olson burst in.
“Cuff her. Take her to the car.” orders Olson. He doesn’t look at all like Mia. He’s short with blond hair going grey and mean little hazel eyes. He works out and is in good shape for his age, although a bit too flabby around the waist.
“Stop right there.” I ignore Arnie’s shotgun and I jump to my feet. “You want to know what I found in his room. My passport, wallet, and plane ticket. Andy was there when his no good daughter stole them from me on the plane.”
“Don’t listen to this nonsense. Let’s get her out. We could use some help, Doctor,” says Olson.
Mason looks at Andy and doesn’t move.
“You want to know what else I found. The package my Uncle sent to me, a handgun and a pile of cash. Got them right here.” I pick up the pack from where I set it on the table.
“That’s my deputy Youssef’s backpack,” says Clarence. “He’s still missing. I want it back. It’s evidence. Let’s move. We’re wasting time.”
Olson and Clarence edge toward me. I slip my arms through the straps, spread my feet, bend my knees, and wait for them to come. I’m not giving up this pack without a fight.
Andy and Rita move between us. “Let’s slow down, hear her out,” says Rita.
“She’s got a point. Everyone please sit down,” says Dr. Mason, joining them.
No one sits. We’re all standing there trying to decide what to do next when the front wall caves in.
Chapter 33
I pull pieces of ceiling tile and shattered boards from my chest. An exposed nail from a fragment of plywood scratches my leg when I try to stand. When I push it away another nail gouges the back of my hand. I’m bleeding but I’m on my feet. A heavy beam has cracked the conference table in half and I see movement under the rubble at one end. Constable Clarence’s head pops up like a gopher. He says something but the ringing in my ears blocks out his words. I do hear the muffled sounds of other explosions and the throb of automatic rifle fire but I can’t tell where it comes from or how far away it is.
Clarence emerges further from his hole and I poke him with a broken two by four to keep him down. I’d like to do more but I’ve got other priorities.
“Andy, where are you? Andy?” I’m shouting but my voice sounds weak, like I’m in another room. “Andy, for god’s sake be safe. Please!”
I see a leg emerge from a heap of ceiling tiles to my left. Now I remember. That’s where Rita, Andy and her dad were standing. I tear away at the rubble, cutting my hand again on a nail. The leg belongs to Rita. Andy is next to her, not moving. My ears are clearing and I can hear shots moving closer. We need to get out fast. I lift Andy, and Rita blindly crawls across the floor toward where the door used to be. Andy blinks and regains his balance and his voice. “Dad. Get my dad.”
I deposit them both next to the broken table. “Wait there. Don’t move.”
I find Dr. Mason under a heavy slab of plywood. His left forearm is ripped open by a jagged metal table brace and a piece of bone is sticking out. He’s awake but not alert. I drag him to the other two. The sharp popping of gunfire is getting closer and I hear more shots coming from the direction of the dormitories.
“This way,” says Rita, no longer in panic mode. “The wine cellar.” She lurches across the room. I help Andy and half drag his dad the same direction. We’re almost to the hall when I remember Mrs. Selby and Arnie.
“Keep them moving,” I say to Rita. “I’ll find you.”
“Down the hall to kitchen—stairway—inside pantry.” Rita’s back in control.
They stagger down the hall and I take out the Glock before going back. I spot Olson and Clarence sitting side-by-side against a collapsed beam. Clarence looks dazed and I try to make sure he stays that way by squeezing off two shots into the rubble in front of him. “Move and I’ll save the attackers the trouble.”
Mrs. Selby was standing to my right at the end of the table and she’s still there. She’s made a cocoon out of ceiling tiles and is lying on her stomach with her hands over her head. “Got to move. Can’t stay there. They’ll kill you,” I scream.
I try to pull her up but she pulls away and digs deeper. I grab her hair and yell in her ear as loud as I can, “Get the fuck up or you’re history!”
It works, but rather than move, she locks me in a death grip hug. She’s strong and I’m trying to prey her arms away, when I see two guys run in. The first has an AK-47. The second looks like he’s about fourteen and has a grenade in one hand and a machete in the other. She still has my arm pined and I can’t get the Glock out in time. In, what feels like slow motion, I watch the guy with the rifle raise the barrel and move it toward me. I should have some parting thoughts but nothing comes. Part of me thinks the roar is the voice of god, but it’s only Arnie’s shotgun fired at pointblank range. It drops the guy in his tracks and gives me time to push Mrs. Selby away and point the Glock.
I don’t want to shoot the kid. With my handgun skill I don’t know if I can even hit him. I only want him to go away so we can escape. “Get out of here, Back off and leave us alone.” Telling him to drop the grenade would be a very bad move.
He starts to move back and is about fifty feet away when Constable Clarence runs at him. “Throw it at them. Kill the girl and I’ll make it worth your while. Do it now.”
The kid is scared and starts to hack at Clarence with the machete. Clarence grabs his arm and they wrestle. The grenade drops to the ground.
I tackle Mrs. Selby, jump on top of her and pull a large slab of plywood over us. Arnie leaps on top of the plywood and is trying to cover himself with tiles when the grenade explodes. I wasn’t sure it would happen, but the dumb kid had the pin out the whole time. One thing for sure, I won’t have Constable Clarence to worry about anymore. Parts of him and the kid are decorating the rubble.
Arnie gets to his feet, then collapses. I look him over until I find the six inch piece of shrapnel sticking out of his left calf. I don’t have time to be gentle, I can hear more gunshots from the front of the house. I pull off my bloody, mud spattered t-shirt, and fold it around the shrapnel so I can get a grip and not get cut, and jerk it out. Next I wrap the t-shirt around his leg and tie it as tight as I can over the wound. I don’t know how he does it, but Arnie doesn’t scream.
We move behind a pile of rubble near the hall. Arnie’s losing a lot of blood. A tourniquet might stop the bleeding but I don’t have anything. “Sorry Mrs. Selby, nothing personal.” I tear open her blouse. She’s back with us and pulls it off. I twist it into a long strip use a stick of wood to wind it, and need something to tie it down. No time for modesty, “Take off your bra,” I tell Mrs. Selby. She doesn’t hesitate and I tie down the tourniquet.
“Down the hall to the kitchen, take the steps inside the pantry to the cellar. Move fast. I’ve got a couple more things to do. Help Arnie if he needs it.”
Arnie pats me on the back. “Okay.” He’s smiling but there are tears in his eyes.
“Okay, back at you, and thanks for saving my life. Better take that shotgun, there may be more lives to save. Follow that topless lady. She’ll get you to Doctor Mason.”
* * *
Olson is still propped against the beam. I pull out the Glock and move toward him.
“Why’d you abandon me in Lagos?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, girl.” He stands and slowly walks away, toward where the front door was, where the shooting’s coming from. He knows I won’t pull the trigger.
I expect to hear an AK-47 mow him down. Instead I hear him shout. “Don’t shoot me. I’m Arrow. Tak
e me to Jeffery. He doesn’t want you to shoot me—I’m Arrow—help me.”
I don’t know what all that means and I don’t have time to think about it. I can smell the kerosene and know what’s going to happen next. First, I have to get up the stairs. The first three steps are victims of the explosion, so I pull myself up by the banister and start on the fourth. I’m on the landing when I hear him.
I see another kid, maybe fifteen. This one has an M16 and he’s spraying the walls, the pictures, and the doors as he walks backward down the hall toward the steps. He’s not very strong and he can’t keep it steady. His shots keep working their way up the walls to the ceiling. He’s got a spider web tattoo on his neck. They must sell them cheap around here.
He almost backs into me. “Be careful or you’ll fall down the stairs.” I yell. I’m about two feet from his ear. He jumps and turns toward me but I kick him in the balls before he can aim. He bends down but keeps the rifle. I kick him again and he drops it. I kick him a third time and he drops too. I don’t want to kill him so I pull him up, strap on his rifle, and march him down the hall.
We stop in front of Dr. Mason’s room. The door is locked but I’m on a roll and kick it too. It pops open and I see Mason’s medical bag on the desk. I rip off the bedspread and throw it, and the bottles of medicine and dressings I find on the closet shelf and in the desk drawers, on the sheet. The M16 kid is doubled up on the floor and I give him another kick to keep him pacified.
I bundle up the sheet and toss it over my shoulder. I’m a shirtless Santa lady with a bag over one shoulder, an M16 over the other, a stolen pack on my back, and a scared kid who wants to kill me and my friends walking in front of me. I don’t want him to follow me so when we get to the stairway, I put down my load, hoist him up and drop him over the railing.
At the bottom of the stairs I walk to where he landed. He’s writhing in agony. I’m pretty sure he has a broken leg. He’s not going anywhere and when they light that kerosene, the fire will get him. “Count your blessings little man I’ve changed my mind, you’re coming with me. I should leave you to roast, but that’s not how we do things in Desperation Hollow.” I adjust my load and drag him toward the kitchen.
Squaw Girl: A Boxer's Battle for Love Page 18
