Then Wally had called, though she did hope Miles was okay. He was a sweet kid, a little young and green for her taste, but a good kid.
The windshield wipers were practically useless. She would have to get those fixed, too.
Lightning flashed, a loud crack of thunder. She was just taking Main Street to the police station, when she saw a man walking along the side of the road. He had long dark hair and was carrying something that looked like . . .
But that couldn’t be. She tried to get a better look as she drove, but the road was veering to the east, taking her away from him now. She looked in the rearview mirror but she could only see a burly shape . . . she must’ve mistaken it in the gloom. Who would be carrying an axe at this time of night, and for what purpose . . . to cut down trees and build a dam?
From the size of him, she could imagine it easily, a lumberjack in Shepherd’s Grove, though he didn’t look familiar, not like anyone she’d seen before
Still . . . she thought she’d tell Wally.
~
“Reba! It’s about time. What the hell took you so long?”
“You know something, Wally, I’ve just about had it. I’m tired, stressed out, soaking wet, and I’m hungry and cold. This whole night has worn me down to nothing. So, if you want to stay on my good side, I’d try a different approach.”
“Hey, sure. I’m sorry, Reba. It’s been a crazy night. You want a drink?”
“That sounds lovely.”
“There’s some in my desk in the bottom drawer. Don’t tell anyone.”
“Who am I gonna tell? Dick Van Dyke? I’m pretty sure everyone knows about your stash, Walls.”
He stood looking at her for a long time, his mouth hanging open, the white stubble standing out against his red jowls. His paunch was hanging over his belt like a swollen lip.
Reba was soaking wet from the short jaunt from the car to the entrance, her auburn hair plastered to her thin, pale face. She’d used the closest parking space without using the handicapped spot, and she’d still gotten drenched.
“Anyway, I wanted to tell you—”
“Just stay here in case Miles shows up, or you get any calls. You can catch me in the black and white.”
“The black and white?”
“The patrol car.”
“Just say that then. Don’t try to use police lingo, Wally. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Do you have any other grievances before I go looking for our missing deputy?”
“Actually, yes—”
“If Miles doesn’t come back, or if you don’t hear anything—”
“Wally?”
“What?”
“I’m trying to tell you something . . . There was someone out there, some big guy. And I wasn’t sure, but it looked like he was carrying an axe.”
“What the hell are you talking?”
“I thought I saw a man with an axe.”
“Where did you see him?”
“Just coming up the turnpike. I didn’t get the best look at him, but he was carrying an axe. I thought I should tell you.”
“Huh.” Wally looked at her for a long time.
“Well?”
He rubbed his chin. “Which way was he headed?”
“North, into town.”
“I’ll check it out. You man the switchboard, and call me the minute you hear from Miles. I’ll get Remy on the line and tell him the situation. He’s out with Margaret.”
“Marci.”
“What?”
“Her name is Marci, not Margaret.”
“For God’s sake, who gives a shit? Just stay close to the switchboard. I’ll stay in touch.”
“You’re a real natural leader, Walls. You know that?”
“Yeah, maybe I’ll with the Noble Prize.”
“Nobel.”
“What?”
“Nobel prize, Wally. They don’t hand it out for chivalry. It’s for academics and science, not for saving damsels in distress. ”
“I don’t need a lecture on pronunciation. Just man the board, for Cripes sake!”
“You mean, ‘woman the board’? Or how about ‘lady the board?’”
Wally shook his head, turning red in the cheeks. “This feminism trend is going too far. I think I’ll have a drink before I head out.”
~
The man, if man there was, could be anywhere. For all he knew, Reba was just messing with him, because that was the kind of thing she did. She probably imagined the whole thing in her stressed out-frazzled state.
The wipers going back and forth, the rain pounding on the roof, Wally felt like he was under assault from the heavens. He actually cowered when the thunder boomed, thinking the roof was going to cave in.
He had the spotlight on, the beam splitting through the trees along the roads, but there wasn’t anybody on the road that he could see, which he took as a good sign. He didn’t want to spend the night looking for some character he didn’t even know was out here in the first place. He needed to find Miles. That was priority number one. Everything else could wait. He should take a trip out to the hospital just to make sure everything was all right there, too.
Wally turned the car around and headed toward the turnpike.
~
Boone saw the cop car patrolling, the spotlight on, but stayed out of sight behind the trees along the sidewalks. Once the car disappeared, he could hear it moving closer to the turnpike and driving away.
He had the entire town to himself, neighborhoods along the eastern side of the Miramac, but something else was out here, some loud, rumbling monster making skidding noises as it rounded corners, speakers blaring, the rattle of plastic and metal vibrating under the heavy thump of bass and treble.
~
“Be My Baby,” “Only the Lonely,” “Will You Love Me Tomorrow,” the last being one of his favorites, originally written by Carole King and Gerry Goffin, but made immortal by the Shirelles. He’d always had a thing for the lead singer, Doris Coley. Jesse liked to pretend she was singing it to him, and he’d answer, “Your darn right I’ll always love you, more a treasure and not just a pleasure. I’ll love you tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that . . . ”
Every one of those songs had a haunting, historic melody that turned back time, sending the Dodge Charger all the way back to 1960. Jesse could almost see it transforming into James Dean’s Little Bastard. There just wasn’t music like that anymore. The music today didn’t make him feel the way those particular songs made him feel. When you were drinking, your senses dulled, you needed everything to be a little crisper around the edges, and music was the key.
The song he was ready for now and had always loved because of the vintage, background bass, was The Supremes’ “My World is Empty Without You.” He found it on the disk, heard the opening beat, and Jesse turned it up. He reached for the beer, still sitting in the V of his crotch and took a slug. It was almost empty.
The Charger barreled through the night, spraying rainwater, heading again toward Main Street.
~
As Wally took Mapleton Drive, the headlights cutting through the dark, the rain beating down on the cab, he realized a belt would hit the spot. His nerves could use it. He kept a stainless steel thermos on the passenger floor in case of such emergencies.
This was such an emergency.
He was careful as he reached down to pick it up, keeping one hand on the wheel, his eyes on the road, then placed the thermos in his lap. He uncapped the lid and took a small belt, grimacing. Then he took a large belt, recapping the thermos, and setting it on the passenger seat.
The road dipped slightly as he came upon a large pool of water in the road. He barreled through at 40 mph, sending sprays of water high on either side. It reminded him of the Halifax amusement park two years ago. He, his wife, Regina, and her sister’s kids had enjoyed the log ride most of all. That had been a good day, plenty of sunshine, amusement park popcorn, (always better than movie popcorn, he always thought), and cold s
odas. They’d had a good time. Thinking about it made him wish he could go back because his day, like Reba’s, was growing steadily worse. He’d been downright furious with Miles, then grown fatherly and worried, hoping the stupid kid was okay. Now, he didn’t care what the little bastard was doing, as long as he found him alive. Every scenario ran through his mind: car accident, or God forbid, he’d slipped off the bridge and into the river.
Mainly, he just hoped Miles was all right. He should be getting Remy Spangle on the horn as well, but he wanted to make sure everything was okay at the hospital first.
He was also starting to get a real bad feeling. It was growing in the pit of his gut, wreaking havoc on his bowels. If he didn’t unload a number 2 soon, he was going to have a lot more than a missing deputy on his hands.
Then there was the goddamn rain.
Wally picked up the radio and clicked the button: “Reba? You copy?”
“Comin’ in like . . . crystal ship, sir. Actually th . . . a lie, sir. You’re kinda . . . to hear.”
“Can you be serious for two seconds?”
“Right. Whatcha . . . ot?”
“Nothing yet. I’m coming up on the hospital. Please stand by.”
“Where the . . . am I gonna go? . . . Dairy Queen?”
“Reba?”
“Standing by . . .”
The reception was coming and going again, but at least he could understand her, for the most part.
Wally put the radio back. He slowed the car, steering it though the trees lining the road when he saw the towering structure of the hospital. It was so dark it seemed to take a bite out of the night. He’d always thought it was spectacularly pretty out here, at least during the day, but in the rain, it looked like a haunted mansion.
The lightning flashed, a bright silver blue bolt that lit up the world and blinded him. The biggest, cracking boom Wally had ever heard in his life went off like an atom bomb in the sky. It scared him shitless. He felt the vibration in his bones and teeth.
“Good Lord!” he said.
Every corner and eave of the hospital lit up in a flash, not a single light on. The power had gone off. The backup generator, for whatever reason, was not doing its job. He thought he’d seen several people in the flash, one under a tree moving around, and another on the porch.
He pulled the car to a stop and put it in park, opening the door, and stepped out into the rain. He grabbed the flashlight, shining it on the walk, then moved up the porch steps.
“Everyone okay out here?” he said, but no one replied.
He noticed the body in the wicker chair to his right. The woman had a large wound just under her throat, and Wally had to take a step back.
“Jesus,” he said.
Wally pulled his gun, sweat breaking out across his hairline. The door was open, and he panned the flashlight inside.
“What the hell—” he said, and stepped within. He had a radio on his gun-belt and grabbed it.
“Reba?”
“Right here . . . alls? Did you . . . Miles?” The static came and went.
“No.”
A pause and more static. He wasn’t sure what to say.
“Wally, are . . . all right?”
“Reba, we got a situation here you won’t believe. The hospital . . . Mother of God.”
“Wally?” Static, coming and going. Reba was breaking up. “Wall . . . what’s . . . matter?”
“Reba. The power is out. There are bodies everywhere. I . . . I don’t know how this could have happened. I repeat . . . there are bodies everywhere.”
Pools of blood were visible on the floor, bodies slumped in the hallway. He took several steps and could already smell the fresh, ripe aroma of decomposition. He needed three hands, because he wanted the gun out now more than anything. He didn’t want to let go of the walkie-talkie or the flashlight.
“Reba, did you get all that? You’re cuttin’ out.”
“Yes . . . yes, sir . . . are . . . you sure?”
“Jesus, God. Reba. It’s a slaughterhouse out here. There are . . . ”
“Is Miles there? Is he . . . did you . . . Miles?”
“No. No sign of Miles yet.”
“Sir . . . the man I saw. Did you . . . ind him?”
He’d completely forgotten. But it all came back in an instant, and it made perfect sense. Someone had escaped. Someone had escaped the hospital and made it into town.
With an axe.
“No, Reba. I didn’t find him. But please . . . be careful. Get Remy on the line right away. Or . . . I’ll do it. Jesus Christ, we have a mess here. A shit-storm of a mess. There are people out here who need help. Call the ambulance and get it out here right away. We’ll worry about the bodies later.”
“Wally, st . . . calm. I’ll . . . ake care . . . it.”
There was a teenage girl sitting with her back against the wall, hugging herself and rocking back and forth.
Along the hallway, Wally put the radio back in his holster and pulled out his gun. The girl looked like she was in shock. He knelt and asked her if she was all right, but she didn’t even acknowledge him. He thought it best to leave her alone until the ambulance came.
Wally stood up and made his way to the common room.
~
Boone heard the car coming down the street like the shrill whine of a thousand engines. It was the white noise televisions all over again, only worse.
Boone stood where the turnpike curved to the southeast in front of the police station and Vine Street. The car was coming down Vine Street now, toward the traffic light at the intersection. All Boone saw were two white blazing lights blinding him. It was not a vehicle, but a disrupter of silence, a peace killer. And like all peace killers, it must be destroyed.
The car slowed as it came around the corner at the intersection.
Boone stepped into the road.
~
Jesse wiped his chin after slugging back the last of the beer. Rocky Mountain Lagers were tasty, no doubt about it. When he drained the beer and threw the empty can on the floor, he had to do a double take. He wasn’t sure, but he could’ve sworn someone had just stepped off the curb and into the road, close enough to get clipped by the front of the Charger.
Before he could react, the windshield exploded. Tinkles of glass hit his legs and jacket, rolling to the floor. Glass hit him in the face. His initial reaction pulled his hands off the wheel to protect his eyes, but something knocked the wind out of him, a cold metal wedge driving deep into his chest. A lightning sear of pain blossomed through his entire torso. The blade had cracked his sternum and sunk all the way to his vertebrae. Every breath went out of his body, making it impossible to scream, but his foot, on instinct, slammed down hard on the accelerator, and the Charger clipped a lamppost before veering out into the road and turning up on its side.
Jesse, The Kid, Gabol, was already dead. The car skidded forty feet across the tarmac, showering sparks, while the sound of grinding metal filled the rainy night. It came to a stop in the middle of the turnpike and fell on its hood. The wheels spun.
It was almost like James Dean.
Almost.
~
She’d just finished putting in a call for the ambulance when she heard the screech of grinding metal. Reba stood bolt upright and turned to the windows, facing the Junction 21 Turnpike. She had a good view of it from the police station. The streetlamps were lit in the parking lot, and she could just see the car now upside down in the middle of the road, coming to a stop. She knew that car, had seen it before. It was Jesse Gabol’s. He came into Sunny Side Up with that girl sometimes, getting a piece of their homemade blackberry pie. He was always nice to her. From what she heard, though, he didn’t have the best reputation.
Her eyes widened at the sight. For a second, she froze in place, then her instincts took over and she ran for the door.
But just as her hand reached for the knob, she pulled back. The man she’d seen earlier was walking down the middle of the road toward the
car.
He knelt, reached through the windshield, and made several yanking gestures, like he was trying to pull Jesse out through the windshield. But it wasn’t Jesse he was reaching for. It was the axe. He stood up with it in his hands.
Reba’s eyes widened, and she screamed. The man turned, saw her through the windows, and started toward the police station.
~
“Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod!” Reba said, and hurried to the switchboard. She grabbed the radio and pressed the lever.
“Wally! Come in! Oh, dear God! Jesus! Wally! Are you there?”
Her hands were shaking. Her heart was drumming, not in her chest, but in her throat. She held the radio, looking toward the windows. The man was walking across the parking lot.
“Wally, dear God! Please! Come in!”
There was a rash of static, then Wally’s voice:
“Reba. . . God’s sake! What’s . . . matter?”
“Wally! It’s him! It’s him! I’m . . . staring at him right now. Wally, the man I told you about! He just killed Jesse Gabol. He’s coming toward the police station right now! He’s got an axe, Wally!”
In any other situation, she would’ve run screaming for her life, but getting Wally on the line was vital. He needed to know what was happening.
“Reba, get . . . hell out . . . there! Get the hell out . . . right now! . . . in your car if . . . can and drive . . . Just . . . hell out of there right now!”
“Yes, sir!” she said, and clicked off the radio, dropping it on the desk.
She turned. The man was just outside the door, reaching for the handle.
Reba grabbed her purse and hurried around the desk. She made a quick right, moved down a short hallway, and pushed open the exit door leading to the parking lot behind the building. She stepped outside and let the door close behind her.
The rain was like thunder. She was standing in ankle deep water. The rear lot was flooded.
Boone Page 15
