by L. T. Ryan
Soon there'd be even more men. Locked and loaded, they'd be ready to take me down. I had a feeling my chances of surviving an encounter alive were zero if Darrow had his way.
Knowing I had to make a move, I pulled the 125cc bike up and tried to start it.
Nothing.
"Come on, don't strand me here."
Tried again. Still nothing.
I set that one against the wall and picked up the smaller bike. It had a full tank of gas and what appeared to be fresh oil. Had someone taken it out recently? The engine turned, but didn't catch. I waited a few seconds, and holding my breath, tried again. It started. Now I had to get out.
If the men heard the small engine rev to life, they made no mention of it. Nor was there reason for them to. I pictured them positioned in front of the garage, shotguns aimed chest-high, ready to open fire the moment the door cleared the opening. I glanced back at the window and considered going out to scout the area. Perhaps the cops had showed up at the crash, and the men returned to straighten things out. The little I knew about Darrow told me he might have pull with the local state police, too. All Linus had to do was make things right by them.
Once again I leaned up against the wall by the window. I remained there for a few seconds, listening. Heard nothing. I poked my head out. Saw nothing. I climbed out, dropped to the ground, and then crawled forward until I had most of the clearing in view. The men weren't in sight. Didn't mean they weren't there, though. Linus had dealt with me enough to know his best option was to take cover and attack from there. I got up and backtracked, went to the rear of the garage, eased around the corner so I could see the highway.
Strobe lights flashed and uniformed personnel wandered the crash site. It wasn't the cops, though. An ambulance and fire truck had arrived.
I still hadn't located Linus and the truck driver. Were they up on the highway, out of sight? Had they gone to get help for Linus's partner? He'd probably managed to stumble out of the woods by this point. Unfortunately, the cropping of trees blocked a stretch of the highway, so I couldn't be sure. But if that's where Linus and the truck driver were, I had a solid chance of getting away.
I returned to the window, started to climb back in, but a thought gave me pause. I needed a distraction. I recalled the gas tanks and oil containers in the other garage. I went into the shed, gathered some supplies, then returned to the bike.
Every second that passed was either a second closer to my escape or death. I had to get out now.
A couple latches on each side secured the garage door. They gave with a bit of resistance, grinding against the metal railing. I stopped, stood back against the wall, listening for movement outside. There was none.
The men weren't inclined to do anything with emergency services on the highway. They weren't the kind of men to give up, either. I was sure they were monitoring the area and were ready to move. Hell, for all I knew, the reinforcements were already there and had surrounded the compound.
I started the bike, then lifted the door a foot and dropped to the ground. The area in front remained deserted. All I needed to do was pass the corner of the building. After that I would be out of range in less than ten seconds, perhaps more if I had to use some evasive maneuvering.
I got to my feet and lifted the door high enough to squeeze through. The bike rolled forward with ease. I had one hand on the handlebar. The other carried my planned distraction, a mix of gas and oil in a container. Some fertilizer thrown in for good measure. I'd dipped a rag in oil to use as a wick. Now I just needed a spark to set it off.
I used an axe on the concrete. It took a couple swings, but the rag caught a spark and slowly burned down. I placed the concoction in the garage and piled anything flammable around it.
"Over there," someone shouted.
A round ricocheted off the siding. A second hit the wall behind me. Sunlight beamed through the newly formed hole.
Dammit.
I'd spent too long setting up my distraction when I should have just gotten the hell out of there.
I shifted the bike in gear and took off. The voices called out from the right, my planned route. Going left would put me in full view of the highway where everyone could spot me. It was a chance I had to take. Emergency personnel had taken cover at the sounds of gunshots. They'd go into full lockdown mode until the police arrived.
Linus emerged from the woods unarmed, a cell phone pressed to his face. On the line with Darrow, I presumed. The truck driver was close behind, running with his shotgun across his body. He halted, lifted the shotgun and aimed at me. Linus called out to him to hold his fire.
An old Toyota pickup truck the color of Georgia clay bounded across the expanse coming around the right of the woods. It stopped to let Linus and the trucker climb into the bed. Stacks of dirt and dust rose as the truck peeled away, headed toward me.
Chapter 42
I dug in and spun the bike toward the expanse away from the highway. I figured if I travelled out five to ten miles using the landscape to my advantage I was bound to come across a road at some point. The bike outmaneuvered the Toyota. They'd have to account for the terrain. Might break an axle if they took on a hill or dip too aggressively. I had to create as much distance as possible, because once we were on asphalt, they could easily top one hundred miles per hour, while I was capped at about fifty.
I pushed full throttle, resisting the urge to look back for the first minute. When I finally tossed a glance over my shoulder, I saw tall piles of dirt heading the same direction. The pickup lingered at the bottom, too far back to make out shapes in the cab.
The explosion rocked the area. The thunderous roar nearly threw me off the bike. A massive fireball rose at least fifty feet in the air, and a plume of black smoke higher than that. What the hell had been in that shed? It was sheer luck that the Toyota was about even with the compound when it blew. They turned hard to the right, sped away from the fire, and from me. For all they knew, there might be a string of explosives set to go off one by one. It bought me time, and I needed every second I could get.
I pushed the bike hard for several minutes, frequently checking behind me. The truck had started toward me again. It appeared they were traveling faster than I had expected. They risked a breakdown. Guess the reward of running me over was worth it. I continued to monitor their location. Every time I looked back, they had gained on me. I had to adjust my strategy.
The terrain looked dodgier a half-mile ahead to the northwest. I changed course in that direction. The welcomed dunes rose and fell like a motionless sea. They would provide the obstacle I needed. And just in time, too. The truck had pulled within a thousand feet of me.
I wove over and through the mounds of dirt, maintaining about forty miles an hour. One misstep and I was done. The truck had tried to follow, but the terrain was packed too tight. They'd breach if they attempted to cross. So they raced along the perimeter, due west. They lost ground with each passing second. Every so often, a shotgun blast rang out, but they were too far away.
Eventually the Toyota's engine faded. I slowed to a stop and scanned the horizon. They were nowhere to be seen. Had they gone back? Would they split up into two or three groups? These guys knew the area well enough that they'd have a good idea of where I'd end up, and could potentially beat me there.
I reconsidered my plan. I had to warn Reese. Linus had come after me while I was driving Reese's car. She could have been with me and they wouldn't have cared. My chances of getting to her back in town were slim. Darrow surely had her under surveillance by now. She was in the same position as me, unable to trust anyone, not even the folks she believed in.
With no phone, my best option was to reach the highway on the other side of the New Mexico town. I could enter from the west, find a phone, and call Reese.
I pushed forward on an altered path. Things would end badly if I was wrong and the truck had maintained its westward trajectory instead of heading back to the crash site like I presumed. Did they care about taking me
down? Or running me off? Did Darrow have any idea of how far I'd go? Exactly what I was capable of? How much was he able to learn about me?
The town rose into view. A thick haze surrounded the perimeter. I slowed down to about twenty miles per hour and circled behind, watching the streets as best I could, on the lookout for the Toyota.
I caught a whiff from a BBQ restaurant. My stomach knotted at the smell of smoked brisket. The sensation of hunger gave way to pain. My muscles ached. Ribs were on fire. I looked up at the chalk-ridden sky. Long thin clouds spanned east to west. I thought about following them clear through New Mexico. Escaping from everything. As long as I was gone, Darrow wouldn't care about me, and he'd leave Reese alone.
But that was a lie.
Plain and simple.
My clothes were covered in blood, and I looked every bit like a man who had been beaten and involved in an accident. It was best to lie low until sunset. I located a spot not too far from town to hide the bike. I wanted to have it available for my return to Texline. It was perfect for navigating the narrow alleys and unfenced yards.
I waited in a thicket of brush. Minutes and hours passed. The sky went from blue to orange to red to purple. Finally, the sun dipped below the town. Its final rays knifed through the creases between buildings.
I covered a quarter-mile on foot. The first residential street I came upon was deserted. Dim streetlights cast shadows of swaying tree branches. The evening air had cooled off considerably, stinging my wounds. I stuck to the sidewalk, headed to the center of town.
At the end of the street was a convenience store and gas station. Walter's. Not a name I'd ever heard. The pumps were empty. One parking spot was occupied by an early eighties blue Datsun with gold wheels. Hadn't seen one of those in years. Probably belonged to the kid behind the register. He didn't glance up when I entered. Probably for the better.
I ducked down an aisle, grabbing a box of bandages, a hat and an 'I heart TX' shirt, where the heart was actually a cutout of the state of Texas colored red. The bathrooms were tucked in between two beer coolers. I resisted the urge to snag a six-pack. Not like the kid would've noticed. I glanced back and saw him hovering over the counter, thumbs bouncing off a handheld gaming system.
The bathroom was dim and dirty and smelled like urine. But the door locked and the sink worked. I took off my shirt, tossed it in the trash. Cold water saturated a bundle of paper towels. I wiped my face, chest and arms down with them, peeling off layers of blood and dirt. Then I stuck my head in the sink, careful not to touch the stained porcelain, and rinsed out my hair. Pinkish water circled the drain, leaving behind a think residue of blood on the sink.
When I was done, I almost looked clean. A few of my wounds seeped fresh blood. I dabbed at them with fresh paper towels, then applied the bandages. Afterward I pulled on the shirt and jammed the hat on my head. Both were on the small side, but they'd do for now.
The kid hadn't moved the entire time. I walked up to him, asked if he had a phone I could use. He pointed over his shoulder at an old yellow phone mounted to the wall.
"Cost anything?"
He shook his head without looking up. "Just go ahead and use it, man."
I placed the cradle on my shoulder and dialed Reese's number.
And waited there while it rang a dozen times, unanswered.
Chapter 43
Crystal River, Florida, 1988
The man swung several times at Jack's head. The first few blows landed before Jack managed to roll over and start deflecting the punches. The guy was weakened, that was obvious. The wounds hadn't killed him, yet.
Jack stared at the shadow in the darkness and estimated where he'd stabbed the guy a few minutes earlier. He threw a punch at the man's midsection. The blow was followed by a howl. Jack struck again. And again. Finally the man fell over, releasing enough of his weight that Jack was able to scoot back out from under the guy.
Jack kept calm and felt along the floor until he located the pistol.
The man stopped groaning and let out a yell.
"I'm gonna kill you, boy."
Jack grasped the pistol around the barrel. It would have been easier to shoot the guy, but that would draw everyone inside. He wouldn't stand a chance against four or five armed men. He could take one down, maybe two if they attacked separately, but his luck would eventually run out. So he held the pistol like he had held the rocks earlier, ready to strike.
The man let out another loud grunt. Jack pushed up to his knees, spun around. The guy weakly threw his arms up. Was he going to strike? Go for Jack's neck? Jack didn't know, didn't care, didn't focus on it. He dropped his right arm and then whipped it up and around. The pistol collided with the guy's nose with a heavy thud.
The man rocked back on his shins. As he rolled forward, Jack struck again, this time landing a blow to the man's cheek and eye. He pulled back and delivered another strike, landing it on the guy's temple. The man collapsed to the side.
Jack had left the guy for dead once. He wouldn't make that mistake again. He shoved the guy forward until the man was on his stomach. Jack positioned himself behind and threaded his left arm around the guy's neck. He hooked his left hand into the crook of his right elbow and squeezed it all inward. The unconscious man put up no resistance. After a few seconds, the guy's body convulsed, and eventually shut down. The weight of the moment pressed hard on Jack as he stared at the fresh corpse.
It didn't last long.
Jack felt no remorse.
Chapter 44
Reese paced the small area between the kitchen table and the couch. Three steps there, four back. Alternating, over and over. She'd wear a hole in the carpet by the time this was over. She knew it.
It'd been all day. Where the hell had he gone? Had they got to him? Had he taken her car and split? It'd been years since she'd first met Jack. She was sure he'd changed over time, but she couldn't imagine him stealing her car and running out on her.
"Where are you?" she muttered while searching through her fridge for the twentieth time as though someone had come in and snuck something new in there.
Her bladder ached. It always did when she was nervous. She didn't want to miss a call because she had answered nature's call, so she held out as long as she could.
She occupied herself in any way possible. A magazine. The weather on TV. But nothing held her interest for more than a minute or two. She stood in front of the window, straining to see approaching headlights that never appeared amid the fading sunset.
There weren't many people left in Texline she could trust. At this point, even those few remaining had given her reason for pause. So she decided against reaching out to Vernon just yet. Sure, he'd released Jack from jail, but he had also arranged to detain him. On Darrow's orders, nonetheless. Certainly wasn't because they had cause to believe Jack was involved in the murder of Ingrid and Herbie.
The heavy rap on the door nearly caused Reese to drop the glass in her hand. She patted her hand over her racing heart, set the drink down and descended the stairs, pausing in front of the door. A brown hat was all she could make out through the small window. She pulled the door open and stared at the state trooper. In her heart she knew he was there to deliver bad news.
"Roberta Weddle?" he said.
She bit her lip, nodded, said nothing.
"Ma'am, do you own a seventies Dodge Challenger?"
"Yessir," she said. Her bottom lip ached where her top teeth had dug into it.
"Your vehicle was involved in a hit and run collision. We know you weren't at the scene. Did you loan your car to anyone?"
She shook her head.
"Are you aware that your car was taken out today? Do you have any idea who might've been driving it?"
"Who was in the other car?" she asked.
He was taken aback, likely wondering why she asked about the other driver. "I'm afraid I can't give that information out."
Nodding, Reese said, "I know who was driving. My cousin. Is he hurt?"
&nb
sp; "He's the party that ran. Both ran, actually."
Reese said nothing. There was no point in telling the man that Jack ran because someone was trying to kill him.
"Do you have a way of getting ahold of your cousin?" the trooper asked.
"What about witnesses?" Reese asked, ignoring the question.
"Ma'am?"
"Someone had to have witnessed the accident, right? I mean, maybe the other car hit my cousin on purpose."
"Why would they do that?"
She'd screwed up by inviting a new line of questioning from the trooper.
"How bad is the damage?"
"Totaled, most likely."
"Christ."
"Back to your cousin, ma'am. We need to find him. It seems he just disappeared." He paused, narrowed his eyes, placed a hand on the door frame. "Your cousin, uh, he's not, uh, mentally challenged in any way, is he?"
Reese forced a smile. "That's debatable."
The trooper reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card. "OK, well you call me the moment you hear from him. OK? And if you have any questions, don't hesitate to call."
She waited in the open doorway for the trooper to leave. He sat in his cruiser for a few minutes, door open, eyes cast downward. Entering something into his computer.
After the trooper pulled away, Reese went upstairs and placed a call.
"Vernon, it's Billie."
"What's going on?" he said. "You sound scared. Plus, you never call me."
