On the Run With Bonnie & Clyde

by John Gilmore

  When the two cars reached Kaufman, Ralph slowed to the curb on Main Street, letting Clyde take the lead in the Chrysler. The town was quiet, the roads deserted, shops closed and doors locked. Another block and Clyde turned the corner. He abruptly headed into an alley, his headlights off. Ralph followed slowly, and stopped behind the Chrysler. He rolled down the window as Clyde came to the car. “Let’s go,” he told Ralph, and said to Bonnie, “You see someone, you lay low, and stay down.”

  Minutes passed while Ralph jimmied the shop’s rear door. Out of the corner of his eye Clyde caught a glint of metal, then saw the shadow of a man at the rear of the Buick. In a second, the flashlight beam hit Ralph and Clyde. “We’re spotted!” Clyde said. He drew out his pistol and was about to fire into the air above the shadow, but the flashlight suddenly fell to the ground, the beam jumping. Whoever had been holding the flashlight had dropped it and ran.

  Bonnie was still hunched down on the seat, but sat up and said, “I could see him—it was a watchman. Some kind of uniform.”

  “We won’t have time to get in there,” Clyde told Ralph. “Better get the hell out. You take the Chrysler—” Ralph jumped when a bell started ringing.

  “That’s the town bell,” Clyde said. “Let’s go!”

  What followed was a desperate race to get out of Kaufman. They sped north on the main street only to find it blocked by what looked like a posse—a few men standing in the road with shotguns. Clyde turned, tires screeching in the dirt and gravel, and raced away in the opposite direction—gunshots tailing them.

  In minutes, more armed men appeared on the street. They parked two pickup trucks nose to nose, blocking the road. Soon as Clyde saw the trucks, he skidded into a turn, floored the gas. Ralph drove an about-face so sharp two wheels slid and the car almost tipped to one side. In moments he caught up to Clyde, and followed close behind, the speedometer bouncing at eighty.

  The rain, now heavy, pounded at the dirt road, quickly turning it to mud. A torrent beat at the windshield so hard Bonnie could barely see the road ahead. “It’s gonna flood!” she cried. “We’re headin’ into a swamp!”

  Fishtailing, the Buick suddenly slid to the right, Clyde fighting the skid, but a heavy thump jarred and stalled the car. “We’re in a hole!” he said. The Chrysler veered into the same mud and slid so abruptly the car half-turned around, stalled with steam shooting from the grill. Ralph threw open the door and got out, cursing that the car wouldn’t start again. He slipped, almost fell but grabbed at the rear of the Buick for balance. “Son of a bitch!” he yelled, seeing headlights back on the road. “They’re comin’ after us!”

  “We’re stuck,” Clyde said. “This fucker’s in a hole.”

  “What’re we gonna do? This rain’s rotten.”

  Clyde tried several times to start the car without success. “Gotta get out and find us another car,” he said. “Let’s go,” he said to Bonnie.

  They trudged in the rain and mud, their feet sticking, slopping in the muck of the bottomland. Bonnie pulled off her shoes, saying, “I can’t walk without losin’ my shoes—like I’m in quicksand!”

  “No damn solid ground,” Clyde said, “but we gotta keep goin’. Those fellas are at the cars. We made us a roadblock, but gotta find another damn car.”

  Struggling ankle-deep in the mud, Ralph said, “I see a house way over there. See the light the other side of that field?”

  They reached the house, Bonnie soaked, shaking, wet with mud splattered to her knees. She stood alongside Clyde, breathing hard. With his gun in hand, he rapped on the door. Waited. He rapped again. Another minute and an older man opened the door.

  “Holy lord!” he said, seeing Clyde’s gun. He stepped back, one hand at his chest. “Y’all gonna shoot me? What in the name of heaven y’all wanna shoot me for?”

  “Not here to hurt anyone, sir,” Clyde said. “Just gotta have a car—or a truck or what you’ve got. We gotta get outta here.”

  “I sure hate sayin’ it, son, but there’s no car or truck. I’m out here in a field, so you better go to the road yonder—” Looking at the mud on their legs, and at Bonnie holding her shoes, the man said, “Seein’ you’re on foot, I reckon best I can do for you is offer you a pair of mules.”

  “Mules?” Ralph said. “What’re we gonna do with mules?”

  “They’ll get y’all to the road,” the man said, “less’n you wander out in those woods.”

  “Where’s the mules?” Clyde asked.

  “Two out back. Just own the pair. Two of you get on the bigger one, and they’ll hold you up alright.”

  Bonnie asked, “What do we do with them when we get to the road?”

  “You turn ’em loose, ma’am. They’ll know their way back. Smarter’n most folks, not meanin’ y’all or myself.” She asked if they had names, and the man said, “Bigger one’s Sonny. He’ll take you to the road.” With the rain still falling, Clyde straddled the larger wet mule, and then pulled Bonnie up behind him into a slippery side-saddle position. The mule grunted, chugged forward, its hooves pushing deep into the mud. Ralph was on the smaller mule, squinting in the rain as the mule followed close behind. The farmer called after them, “Hope y’all get where you’re goin’!”

  Ralph grunted, “I think I’m nuts. Never been sittin’ on a mule in my life.”

  “Better than drownin’ in mud,” Bonnie said.

  “Or runnin’ into those hicks,” Clyde said. Bonnie pressed her cheek against his back, her arms locked around him as the mules plodded ahead in the rain, through the mud and past stumps of broken trees.

  Twelve

  They made it to the road, aching and angry. Bonnie’s eyes were closed, Clyde’s wide open, searching for houses and another car. Nothing. Soaked, off the mule’s back and shaking from the cold, Bonnie stroked the big mule’s muzzle, bidding goodbye to the smaller mule as well.

  Staying close to the edge of the road, the three walked for several minutes, finally spotting an old house, no lights showing in the windows. A faded blue coupe sat parked to the side of the house, and Clyde hurried across the road. He forced open the car door, climbed in behind the wheel and in a few moments had the engine running, then backed the car onto the road. Bonnie climbed in, shivering, then Ralph, all three on the front seat. “Are you freezin’, honey?” Clyde asked. She nodded, pressing herself against his side. “We’re gettin’ outta here,” he said.

  Accelerating, the car skidded in the mud, grabbed traction, and belched forward, heading south.

  “Shows no gas,” Clyde said. “Lights don’t work worth shit.”

  As she again removed her shoes, Bonnie said maybe the gauges were broken. “Whole car seems broken,” she said, “and it’s gettin’ into morning soon. A couple hours more before it starts gettin’ light. Maybe we’ll find a fillin’ station.”

  “Not out here,” Ralph said. “We’re gettin’ into Kemp. We’ll find somethin’ there.”

  Shortly, Clyde was driving slowly onto the main street of Kemp. “Somethin’s wrong,” he said. “Somethin’ no damn good.”

  Several men with guns were gathered on the street. They saw the car. “They’re lookin’ right at us,” Ralph said. “They’re yellin’! Hear ’em?”

  Clyde increased his speed as Ralph turned on the seat, looking back. “They’re runnin’,” he said. “Wavin’ at some other guys—”

  “—they’re comin’ after us,” Clyde said, gripping the wheel and flooring the gas pedal. The car raced ahead but the engine seemed to be belching—chugging.

  “Jesus Christ.…” Ralph said. “What the hell’s the matter? These hicks mean business!” He faced front, shaking again. A mile—a mile and a half. The car chugged worse, sputtered, coasted for a distance then died.

  “Bastard’s out of gas,” Clyde said, rolling to a stop against the side of the road. He angrily threw open the door. “Get out! Come on! We gotta get another car. Those sons of bitches’ll be on us.”

  “There are no cars out on any road!�
�� Bonnie cried. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.” She bent down, and pushed her feet back into her muddy shoes. Clyde put an arm around her. “Come on, honey. We don’t wanna be hanged from one of these trees.”

  “No houses—no cars,” Ralph said.

  “Keep off the road,” Clyde told him.

  “I’m freezin’,” Bonnie said. “I think I’m sick....”

  “We gotta get to the other side of these woods,” Clyde said. “We’ll get a car.”

  “They’re comin’ for us,” Ralph said. “They’ll find that car and we’re stuck.”

  “There’s nothin’ anywhere,” Bonnie said.

  Ralph said, “We’re walkin’ targets.”

  “We get way in the woods,” Clyde said, “but if they get their dogs we can’t do much hidin’.”

  Ralph started to speak again, but stopped. They could hear the sound of cars on the road where they’d left the car. One car kept driving on the road in the direction Clyde had been heading.

  “Keep goin’!” Clyde said, pulling Bonnie. “We gotta run!”

  As they hurried, half stumbling, they could hear the sounds of others somewhere in the woods. Then lights—cars had turned against the road’s edge, their headlights shining into the woods. The three kept going, as did those in pursuit. Bonnie said, “I hear water. I can smell it. There’s water here—a creek!” Almost collapsing, she sat on the ground. Ralph knelt down, breathing hard.

  Still standing, Clyde said, “This creek’s runnin’ through here, so we get on the other side of it. Ain’t a good feelin’ waitin’ for them to get dogs! We’ll have a fuckin’ hard time, so let’s get movin’.” Helping Bonnie to her feet, he said, “Come on, baby!” She was shaking.

  “You got any more ammo in your pockets?” Ralph asked.

  “I got mostly nothin’!” Clyde said. “This is a pickle I don’t like.”

  After wading across the creek, the three hiked a distance deeper into the wooded area. They stopped, Bonnie gasping. She sat on the ground again. “I can’t breathe,” she said. Ralph had a handkerchief and handed it to Bonnie. Clyde waved for both to be quiet. He was listening, smelling the air. “I hear those fellas comin’.”

  Ralph said, “I don’t hear ’em.”

  Bonnie listened. “They’re behind us,” she said.

  “Comin’ right on our tail,” Clyde said. They moved a few yards away and crouched behind a fallen log. Clyde checked the clip of his .45. “I got three shots left,” he said.

  Ralph said, “What’re we gonna do?”

  “Shoot what you’ve got over their heads,” Clyde said. “Maybe scare ’em back.”

  Bonnie laughed a little. “They aren’t gonna scare.”

  “What if she’s right?” Ralph said.

  Clyde looked at him. “We stay behind this log, layin’ low. They’re gonna know where we are and be dumpin’ all they got on us.”

  “Oh, God,” Bonnie said, “pretty soon the damn sun’ll be up.”

  Settling in tight behind the log, Clyde told Ralph, “You take a shot above ’em soon as they’re at the creek. We don’t want ’em gettin’ on top of us.”

  Ralph checked his gun again. “Okay—soon as you say.”

  “Don’t hit any of ’em,” Clyde warned. “You don’t want to nail any hick’s brother and get us hanged right here.”

  A fast few minutes and Ralph raised up from behind the log, aimed into the tree across the creek and squeezed off a round.

  The first gunshot from the men thundered into the log. “Stay down!” Clyde said. “Fuckin’ shotgun.”

  More gunfire followed, cutting at the rotten wood above their heads. Clyde returned a shot, Ralph followed with two more. “They’re pluggin’ right at us,” Ralph said. “Gonna blast this fuckin’ log away from between us. They’re spreadin’ out—gettin’ ready for the kill.” He fired again but went flat on the ground, groaning painfully. “I’m hit!” he said. “Son of a bitch!”

  “Where’re you hit?” Clyde asked.

  “Right arm. I’m bleedin’ bad.”

  More shots zinged above them or plunked hard into the log. Clyde crawled to look at Ralph’s arm. He said, “Gone straight through, buddy. Scraped past your side, too. Just pinch those holes shut. I’m gonna make a break and get past these fellas. You both lay low and I’ll get some help—”

  “—no!” Bonnie said. “What help? We can’t even see ’em.”

  “They aren’t gonna nail me,” Clyde said. He kissed her as gunfire stormed above them. “They’re shootin’ for the hell of it. Soon as I’m outta here I’ll get us a car, and they won’t do nothin’ to you ’cause you’ve done nothin’. Now listen, honey, you tell ’em we’ve held you kidnapped—a hostage.” To Ralph he said, “Tell ’em it was me who kidnapped her. Make up a name. They got more guns than us and if they hit me, you see to it they finish me off—or else you do it if you got a shell.” He held Bonnie and said, “You don’t even know us ’cause we kidnapped you. You don’t even know our names. They don’t hear no more shootin’ from us, so they’re comin’ over.”

  He kissed Bonnie. “Do what I told you—you’ll be okay.” Without saying more, Clyde crawled away from the log, through the brush and crouched down until the firing stopped. Men were reloading, and Clyde made a run directly towards the shooters. In seconds, he made his way between the men spreading out, turned south and ran parallel to the road.

  When the firing stopped, Ralph told Bonnie, “You yell out now, ’cause we’ve had it here. Get up and holler at ’em not to shoot ’cause you been kidnapped. You tell ’em whatever you think up to bust you clear of me’n’ Clyde.”

  Bonnie nodded, then slowly raised her hands, reaching above the top of the log, hoping they wouldn’t shoot her. “Don’t shoot no more!” she called out. “Don’t shoot! I’m standin’ up!” She stood quickly with her open hands raised. “Help me! You got these boys—this one’s been hit.” Pointing north, she said, “The other one snuck off that way. I don’t know who they are but all you men have saved me!”

  Two or three started across the creek, their weapons poised. As they approached the log, Bonnie said, “They wouldn’t let me loose! Were gonna use me as a hostage and sell me to white slavers!”

  One of the men looked down at Ralph who said, “I’ve been shot!” The man pushed the muzzle of the shotgun against Ralph’s neck.

  “Shot or not,” he said, “you get on your feet, slow with those hands comin’ up, and leave that gun where it lay.”

  “I can’t move my arm,” Ralph said. “It’s shot through.”

  Another man got hold of Bonnie while a third grabbed Ralph’s gun from the ground. “Where’s the other fella?” he asked. “There were three of you. Where’d he go?”

  “He ran over that way when this one got shot,” she said. “I already thought you’d caught him.” The men looked around at each other. None knew where the third man had disappeared to.

  The man with the shotgun said, “One of you go get Fred and Clem and track that other one. He goes any further like she’s sayin’ he won’t be goin’ nowhere.”

  “He just snuck off and ran that way,” Bonnie said, pointing in the opposite direction Clyde had taken. “They’ve been holdin’ me captive, sayin’ they’d shoot me if I hollered! It’s been terrible! This one that’s been shot tried to let me loose but the other one—he’s the bad one, wouldn’t let me loose. He said he’d shoot my my head off!” She began to cry.

  Thirteen

  With no way of getting to Ralph or Bonnie until the laws had them locked up, and chameleon that he was, Clyde had slithered past the posse and made his way back to an alley in Kemp, shaking from cold and fatigue. He stole the first vehicle he could find, an older gasoline truck, loaded with fuel and ready to roll.

  Fearing they’d soon spot the stolen truck, as soon as he reached the small, half-abandoned community of Peeltown, without delay Clyde ditched the tanker behind a deserted barn, stole a Ford sedan and headed north, pushin
g the gas pedal almost against the floorboard.

  Arriving in Dallas, he made his cautious way to Eagle Ford, and then to his folks’ gas station. He found his younger brother asleep on a couch, and shook him awake. L.C. stared at Clyde for moments, then rubbed his eyes and said, “What the hell you doin’ here? Damn laws’ve been around half a dozen times. Where’s Bonnie?”

  “That’s what I’m here to talk about, brother,” Clyde said. “She isn’t with me ’cause she’s in jail. I reckon they got her in that mousetrap in Kemp, but I figure they’ll be takin’ her and Ralph to Kaufman.”

  “They got Ralph?”

  “Damned near got us all, but I busted loose. I wanted to get Bonnie and Ralph outta there, but the fuckin’ hicks beat me to it. I wanna get word to Bonnie and Ralph about gettin’ them outta there, but I can’t go walkin’ into that jail.”

  “Blanche is out back,” L.C. said. “I’ll get her. She’ll know what to do.”

  “Where’s Mom and Pop?” Clyde asked.

  “They’ve gone across to Dallas. I shouldn’t’ve been sleepin’.”

  “Well, wake up and go get Blanche.”

  Clyde sat on the couch and closed his eyes. His head ached. His legs ached. He realized it was the first time he’d sat still in days. Bonnie wasn’t with him. They’d taken her in. They’d separated them, like some part of one being pulled loose from the rest, and everything left shaking to get back together.

  The back door opened and Blanche hurried in. “Clyde!” she said. “Be careful bein’ here, Clyde. A pair of fat-assed deputies’ve been stickin’ their noses in and outta doors and windows.” L.C. was behind her. “They got Bonnie and Ralph?” she asked.

  “Those bottoms outta Kemp—was a fuckin’ swamp. She’s tellin’ ’em she’s been kidnapped,” Clyde said. “She was gonna tell ’em she don’t even know us—just fellas who nabbed her. They don’t know nothin’ about me or where I’d taken off to, but I want to get ’em out—bust ’em outta that jail—”