And he held on.
He thought about climbing up to see what had happened to his rifle. It was lost, however. Even if it got hung up in the rain gutter, I can’t go scrambling down to get it. She saw me.
She saw me.
Beau resigned himself to climbing back down. He took another breath and started inching for the ladder.
This failure stung worse than anything he’d ever felt.
#
1643 hrs
Bryce flattened himself against the wall of the shed. His instinct was to crouch, but that meant facing away from the wall and toward Joanie. He forced himself to present a slimmer profile target. No matter what direction I face there’s no making my head any smaller.
He reached the door. From a distance it looked fine, but up close he saw the padlock hanging off the lock arm, which was swung over to look closed; was not latched. Using the elbow in the sling, he painfully nudged the door open a little wider and slipped inside, pulling it closed behind him.
Inside it was stifling hot and, despite the vent grate, the place stank of exhaust from the generator. The propane tank was enormous and nearly filled the entire space. At the far end, enclosed in a metal case, the generator rumbled and growled. He pulled the six-battery MagLite from his gun belt and clicked it on before moving to the generator hatch to get a look at the control panel. The only controls were an on/off switch, an emergency cut off, and a reset button. If we’re here after sundown, do we want the lights? He didn’t know; he’d never been in a siege before.
Bryce hit the emergency cut off. The device wasn’t high tech enough to send a signal to the company, but at least the darkened restaurant might discourage other potential customers from stopping. As the motor wound down and his ears adjusted to the growing silence he felt a pang of despair creep into his guts. Dark and quiet. That was what we need to slip away. Except, that’s what she needs to slip in as well. I bet that damned rifle of hers has a night scope. Shit, Logan’s got a toy with night vision.
The tank was flush up against the wall. He peeked behind it as best he could with the flashlight but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Not satisfied, but not convinced that she’d set up a bomb, he toyed with the idea of waiting Joanie out right there.
“Come on, Deputy,” he said. “People are counting on you.” He stepped from behind the control box and walked right into Leonard Blackbear and his big, glinting Bowie knife.
Bryce jumped at the sound of gunfire outside. The Big man didn’t flinch.
#
1650 hrs
Lyn hastily stuffed Beau’s iPhone in her pocket as he crept around the building. “You done with that?” he asked, holding out his hand.
“What the hell happened over there? Who was shooting? Is Bryce all right? Did you give him your rifle?”
“My phone.” He stood holding out a badly scratched palm. Blood and something black caked his fingernails. She fished the overpriced toy out of her apron and handed it over.
“I couldn’t get through to anybody.” She kept glancing at the trees, looking for Bryce––or the thing haunting the shadows––but saw nothing. “We’re on our own.”
Lyn tried to figure out what the look on Beau’s face meant. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or sadness or just resignation. Was he seeing things creeping in the shadows, too? Whatever it was, it wasn’t a look she’d ever seen him wear before.
He looked defeated. She could see his jaw flexing, working overtime, grinding away at what was left of his pick. She never saw the remains of one. She wondered if he swallowed them.
If he’s trying to get sympathy he’s out of luck. What was it grampa used to say about sympathy? You can find it between shit and syphilis in the dictionary. She pushed herself up from the ground and brushed the dust off the rear of her skirt. “Where’s Bryce?” she asked.
“Back there,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
“You ass! You left him? Is that what the shooting was? Is he okay?”
“Sorry if I didn’t want to hang around to see him get aerated.” Beau’s slumped shoulders pulled back as he stood up straight. “And another thing, I’m tired of you and your shit. Whether we get out of this or not, you’re fired.”
She stuck a finger in his chest and replied, “Whether or not we get out of this, you’re a cunt.”
Beau slapped Lyn hard across the face, knocking her down. Her sketchbook and the Glock fell out of her pocket. He kicked the book away toward the edge of the lot and reached down to pluck the handgun out of the gravel. “That’s enough out of that mouth. I can see why you’d be friends with the psycho across the highway.” Lyn got on her knees and looked up at her boss. He crouched down in front of her and asked, “Think you ought to say ‘sorry?’” She spit a mouthful of blood in his face. He punched her with a closed fist knocking her flat on her back. Lyn stayed on the gravel this time, rolling over, unwilling to let him see her cry. She felt her upper lip and her fingers came away bloody. Her lip was definitely split and her nose felt broken. Between her own blood, and the bad tippers’ blood and brains, she felt like she’d never be clean again.
“You made me do that,” Beau said. He was panting. “And now, without this, you can forget about acting all high an––” Two handfuls of gravel interrupted his threat. He lurched back, sputtering on the dirt and pebbles in his mouth. She jumped up and followed him, rearing back and swinging the hardest kick she’d thrown since seventh grade soccer. Dropping the gun, he gagged and clutched at his aching balls before falling where he’d knocked her a second earlier.
She picked up the gun and kicked him a second and third time in the stomach for good measure before spitting on him again. She dashed over to where her Moleskine had come to rest next to the dumpster, and retrieved it as well. Dusting off the cover, she replaced the elastic band across the front and embraced it tightly for as long as she could bear to hold her breath. Finally, she walked calmly back over to where Beau lay, gasping for air.
“If you touch me again I’ll kill you. I’ll shoot you in the fucking guts and make you drag your sorry ass out the front door to ask Joanie for help, you pig.” She turned on her heel and stormed into the restaurant.
Inside, Hunter and Luis were engaged in a staring contest. “What happened to you?” Hunter asked. Raylynne gasped and Luis laughed at her visibly broken nose. Letting the door close behind her with a bang and a click, she stuffed the sketchbook in her pocket, strode over to her locker, and grabbed her backpack. Slinging it over her shoulder she slammed the metal door with a loud clang and turned toward Luis who was still laughing. She aimed and said, “See something funny, pussy?” His amusement died abruptly. The feeling she had inside that something had changed in her was becoming as clear to everyone else as the stinging nose on her face.
“You going somewhere, bonita?” he asked.
“I’m going to the ladies room to wash my face and change my clothes. When I get back if you’ve moved from that spot, I’ll shoot you.”
“What if one of us has to pee?” Raylynne asked.
“Just him. The rest of you do whatever you want.”
“That’s not fair––”
“Fair?” she asked, holding up his gun for him to see. “This is mine. I took it. Do you think there’s anything else of yours I can’t take as long as I have this?” Leaning in she said, “Look in my face. Fair has left for the day. Do you think it’s coming back?”
“No.”
“Fuckin’ A.” Lyn stepped away from Luis, feeling a moment’s hesitation at turning her back even though she was mostly certain that the sweet smell drifting up at her was fresh urine staining his pants. She walked briskly around the corner. Everyone watched her in the mirror as she pushed defiantly through the swinging doors leading into the dining room like she had just been promoted to assistant manager.
#
1650 hrs
Bryce struggled to remain calm despite the distinct rifle reports outside: Joanie’s sniper weapon and the more
familiar sound of a thirty-aught hunting rifle. Beau’s gun. He tried not to imagine the worst. He listened, waiting for more sounds while keeping his eyes on the man standing in front of him. No screaming, no more shots. A minute later he heard a deep thump, like someone jumping down from something and walking away. What in God’s name are you doing, Beau? He tried to contain his anxiety and focus on the present situation. “You must be Leonard.”
“What does it matter?”
“Look, I’m not here to start anything. I don’t care why a cook in a roadside diner brings a machete with him to work.” Bryce nodded at the knife in the big man’s hand. “All I want is to make sure that this tank isn’t wired to blow.”
Leonard’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘wired to blow’?”
“I mean,” the woman who’s been shooting the place up is military trained and combat tested. If she didn’t just snap this morning then she’s got a contingency plan to take care of people who try to run out the back. My guess is, when she gets bored of waiting for us to pop up into her crosshairs, she presses the Plan B button and this tank will go up in a big ball of fire taking the restaurant with it.”
“Woman?”
“Yeah. Joanie Myer from across the way. The one you’re all up here to torture. She’s a trained sniper. But I don’t know if she’s also trained in demolitions so Plan B might go off by accident if your cell phone is on the same frequency as her transmitter. If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer you put down the knife and help me take a look.”
Leonard’s hand wavered. “How do I know you’re not messing with me?”
“While you’ve been in here, have you noticed any little red lights that don’t belong on a propane tank? Since I shut down the generator have you heard anything like a beep?”
“I can’t hear shit with you in my ear. Shut up a minute.” Leonard cocked his head to listen, pushing back a black braid to cup a hand behind his ear. Despite his size, if he had two good arms Bryce figured he could have the man disarmed and on the ground after only a bit of a struggle. With a shattered shoulder and an arm in a sling he knew all he would get out of making any sudden moves was split open like a trophy buck. “I don’t hear anything,” Leonard said.
“You mind letting me take a look? Or are we going to keep standing here like this?”
Leonard hesitated a moment, then nodded. But he didn’t lower the knife. “Go ‘head.”
Bryce squatted down and saw exactly what he was talking about. Although he knew little about explosives, he figured what was stuck to the bottom of the tank was enough to ignite its contents. And he knew enough that on a Sunday, there was still enough in the freshly filled tank to take out most of the restaurant, starting with the employee area on the opposite side of the wall where everyone was huddled. “Take a look at this,” he said. Leonard squatted and hissed through his teeth. “No shit,” Bryce agreed.
A black plastic toolbox was stuck underneath the tank, almost invisible in the shadows. He moved his flashlight to get a look at different angles. Normally, Bryce would have thought it just a convenient place to store the tools necessary to service or fine-tune the lines feeding fuel into the restaurant. But he knew that there was no good reason for a toolbox to have a radio receiver glued to the end of it or there for to be wires connecting them. Any fool could see it was a detonator. He wanted to slide the box out, open it, and look at whatever Joanie had left for them. He had no idea how she’d fail-safed the device, however. Opening it seemed like a short road to detonating the contents, which, he could only imagine, were powerful enough to end his days.
“What do we do? Can you disarm it?” Leonard asked.
“Damned if I know how. Do you see a switch?”
“It can’t be that easy. Can it?”
“I doubt it. My guess is, if this is Joanie’s backup plan, then there’s probably also a redun… another backup built into the detonator.” He wiped away the sweat dripping in his eyes and spat. Leonard flinched with the knife and Bryce nearly let go of his bowels. “Jesus! You mind putting that away? You’ve got bigger problems than me.” Leonard looked at the blade, considering it for a moment before stuffing it into the sheath in the back of his checkered chef’s trousers. “Thanks,” Bryce said.
“You bet. So, how do we turn it off without triggering her redundancy measure?”
Bryce blinked rapidly trying to put in context what he’d just heard coming from the machete-wielding American Indian cook who was rumored to be selling dope out of his diner. “We don’t.” Bryce hadn’t ever seen a bomb before, but he’d been sent to counter-terrorist training in Portland by Sheriff Winter, who needed to spend Department of Homeland Security money if he wanted to get more next year. That’s where he’d learned that if an explosive device went off, he needed to call the bomb squad (he thought the State Patrol might have someone who could do that job). Al Qaeda learned from the IRA that a bomb drew first responders, who you could kill with a secondary explosive. Joanie wasn’t Al Qaeda, and this wasn’t Belfast, but Bryce wasn’t willing to bet that she didn’t have a backup device on the other side of the tank or at least a trigger that set this one off if someone tried to shut it down.
“You can stay here if you want,” he told Leonard. “You’re out of sight as long as you keep your head low, or––”
“My ass! There’s a bomb in here.”
“Or, I was about to say, you can follow me inside and we’ll come up with our own Plan B.” Bryce knocked his knuckles against the propane tank making Leonard nearly leap out the shed door.
“Don’t do that, man.”
“Yeah, that probably wasn’t a good idea. Neither is this: I want you to slip out that door as quickly as you can, keeping your back to the wall until you can get around the corner to cover. I’ll be right behind you.”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
Bryce and Leonard studied each other uncertainly for a moment, but neither moved. With his hand on the butt of his gun, Bryce said, “Look, I want you to know that today I have no interest in what goes on day to day in this place, or why you come to work armed. All I want to know is whether it’s a bad idea for me to let you have my back.” Leonard shook his head. Bryce couldn’t tell whether he was saying it was or wasn’t a bad idea. The big man’s face was as unreadable as a sphinx. “I’m going to trust that you’re on my side today. Is that a trust we share?” Leonard nodded. “Okay then. Let’s get out of here and see what fresh hell is going on outside.”
Leonard’s brow furrowed. “Why don’t you go first?”
“Because by the time she’s seen you and taken aim I’ll be stepping out in between you and her shot. That is, unless you want to leave second and be the target. I’ll gladly take the head start.”
“When you put it that way…” Leonard moved for the door. Before he could push it open, Bryce laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Slip out. Don’t fling the door. We’re both better off if she doesn’t see us at all. Got it?” This was Leonard’s big test. If he can be trusted to follow this direction, then maybe he’ll be a good ally to have inside the restaurant when it’s time to get everyone out. The cook nodded. “All right. Let’s go.”
An explosion outside rocked the little shed. Bryce clenched up waiting for the bigger bang to engulf them both.
I’m sorry, Cherie. I tried.
Leonard grabbed him roughly by the shirt and hauled him out the door. “No time to pray!”
#
1653 hrs
Luis looked at the people trapped with him. Everyone was staring his way. Everyone knew Lyn had made him piss in his pants. He pushed himself up and dusted off like he could brush away urine. Like he could brush away the shame he felt for having been put in his place by both a woman, and a fourteen-year-old boy.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Hunter asked. He’d coiled up ready to dive for Luis’s center of gravity as soon as he reached his feet. “Lyn said not to move.”
“Think I gi
ve a shit what she said? I ain’t waiting for her to get back and shoot me because she thinks I scratched my ass. Fuck all y’all.” Luis made another grand rap-video gesture, waving at the others with fingers extended like cocked guns, and started to stalk off toward the door.
“Where do you think you’re going to go?” Raylynne asked. “Whatshername’s out there waiting to shoot us, too.”
“I’m taking my chances down the hill. If I break my leg, it’s still better’n gettin’ shot by either one of these crazy bitches. If you’re smart you’ll come with me.” Luis walked up to Hunter, leaned over, and jerked back his hand like he was going to punch the boy. Hunter didn’t flinch. He waited. “Faggot. I hope your old man bleeds to death.” With his middle finger up, he walked to the back door and kicked it open. It thumped against something outside and slammed shut. Luis leaned in and shoved it open roughly before peeking out to see what he’d hit.
Beau lay unconscious in the gravel, blood trickling from his forehead.
“I quit, puta,” he told the manager and walked off, letting the door slam behind him.
Outside in the sun it felt like nothing was wrong. There was no crazed sniper waiting to blow his brains out. There was no crazed waitress threatening to blow his brains out. There was nothing but him and daylight and freedom. Almost as if he could walk out front, get in his car, and drive home for some endo and a beer. He walked past the dumpsters to the edge of the lot and peered down the sheer rock slide, leading to the trees below. I can do this. Go down on my ass and go slow. Ain’t nothin’ but nothin’.
He sat, dangling his legs over the edge. A few rocks trickled along the slope. He waited for them to kick up larger boulders like he’d seen in cartoons. When they didn’t he knew he was on his way home. Fuckin’ idiots.
Mountain Home Page 12
