The Ninth Day

by Jamie Freveletti

  “You see any side roads, you take them. Wish we had another gun.”

  “We’re not winning this race. Any ideas? Can we negotiate? Tell them you’re willing to continue with the shipment?”

  Vanderlock shook his head. “La Valle isn’t going to negotiate with me after I let a load get confiscated. He’ll just shoot me, execution style, which would be merciful by his standards, because he’s known for torture. Besides, I’m not going to let him take you hostage again.”

  In the distance Emma could see the combine working its way through the field to their left, spraying a substance onto the plants from two long poles extending on either side. The road bisecting the fields appeared almost too quickly for Emma to react. She spun the wheel left. The caliber’s front tires turned and the entire car started skidding sideways as it was unable to grip the road. They slid down into a small depression on the edge. After a moment the treads regained their traction and the car moved forward again, flinging dirt from the road up in the air. Emma kept her eyes glued to the path and her foot to the floor. The speedometer jumped back up, moving in a smooth motion. The BMW appeared in the rearview, making the turn with little sideways motion. The Mercedes followed.

  “We need a plan. They’re gaining,” Emma said. Ahead she saw a pickup truck parked on the road. It was pulled to the side, but would leave her little choice but to slow down to avoid hitting it when they squeezed past. It grew larger as they hurtled toward it. Emma saw two large round barrels in the back.

  “You think that truck has a gun rack?” Vanderlock said.

  “Haven’t seen a gun rack in a pickup in years,” Emma said.

  Vanderlock never took his eyes from the side mirror when he answered. “We can only hope this one does, because I have no other idea.” As they drew nearer, Emma could begin to see the impression of lettering on the barrels but she was too far to read it. As they approached she saw a propane tank next to the barrels. Seconds later they were on top of the truck. Emma slammed on the brakes. They slid again, this time straight for the vehicle, creating a cloud of dust from the dirt road that tinted the air around them a dirty yellow color. The moment the car stopped she jumped out, leaving her door open. Vanderlock slammed out of his side. Emma grabbed the pickup’s gate, stepped on the bumper, and flung a leg over the top to pull herself into the open body.

  Both barrels contained common herbicide. Not really flammable, and Emma wrote them off as potential weapons. Next to them sat a twenty-pound propane tank. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Vanderlock enter the truck’s cab. He appeared next to the truck’s tire, holding his pistol.

  “No gun rack. No gun.” He aimed his pistol at the oncoming vehicles and fired.

  The bullet hit the dirt in front of the BMW. The car reacted immediately, turning toward the field, and drove straight into it, disappearing from sight. The Mercedes behind skid to a stop. Vanderlock shot again, and a little puff of flying dirt near the front tires indicated a miss. The car immediately started reversing, accelerating backward. Vanderlock fired again.

  “Out of range,” Vanderlock said.

  He looked into the pickup and spied the propane tank. “If I shoot the tank, will it explode?”

  “No. You’d need a spark. Or incendiary bullets. It would if we threw it on a fire and then shot it.” She jumped back onto the ground. “Let’s go. We don’t have the time to build a fire.” She reached over and grabbed the propane tank by the top, hauling it over the truck’s sidewall. “I’ll bring it.”

  Vanderlock just nodded, keeping his eyes on the road where the two cars were last seen. The Mercedes idled well back and out of range, sitting in the middle of the road, waiting. The BMW remained out of sight, a fact that worried Emma. She half expected it to come crashing from the field at any moment.

  “Come on. Time’s a-wasting,” Vanderlock said. “They’re going to start to use us for target practice.”

  “Back in the car,” Emma said. She tossed the propane tank in the hatch and slammed it closed, slid into the driver’s seat and hit the gas the moment Vanderlock regained his place.

  She drove around the truck and hammered the pedal down as far as it would go. To her left she saw the spraying rods of the combine in the distance. They hurtled down the road. Emma kept flicking looks into the rearview mirror, waiting and dreading the moment when the BMW would appear once again. Vanderlock kept his eyes on the side-view mirror, saying nothing. They sped by bales of hay on the side of the road, spaced in intervals, awaiting pickup. Emma glanced in the mirror. No BMW, no Mercedes, but nowhere to hide, either. They reached another line of hay bales.

  “Brace yourself,” she said. Vanderlock placed a hand on the dashboard. She slammed on the brakes. “Let’s start a fire.”

  Emma scrambled out of the car and ran a few steps behind it to the nearest hay bale. Vanderlock appeared at her side, his pistol still in his hand. She tugged on the twine holding the bale and lifted it. Vanderlock paused an instant, but then shoved his pistol into his waistband and helped her carry the bale to the middle of the road. Emma started to dig in the straw, making a hollow. Vanderlock snagged the propane tank from the back of the car.

  “In the hole?” Vanderlock said. Emma just nodded. She’d hollowed out an area in the bale for the tank. He lowered it into place, twisting it back and forth.

  Emma heard the roar of an engine. The BMW was speeding toward them. Vanderlock aimed and fired, though the car was well out of range.

  “Throw me your lighter,” Emma said. He fished his stick lighter out of his pocket and tossed it to her. Emma flicked it on and held the flame against the hay. Her hand didn’t shake as she thought it might. Vanderlock shot twice more, but she kept her eyes on the hay, waiting for it to ignite. She held the lighter steady and a flame snaked upward.

  “What the hell is that?”

  Emma looked up.

  The BMW idled in the middle of the road about 250 yards from them. The doors were open on either side, and Mono and Raoul stood in front. Both held guns in their hands. Both were pointed at the man who stood between them. It was Oz. His arms and face were covered with masses of angry red sores—so many that it was difficult to tell what he had once looked like. His hands were curled into rigor mortis-like claws, and they, too, were covered in blisters. If he hadn’t been wearing his jeans and the familiar tee shirt, she wouldn’t have recognized him. He kept his head down, staring at the ground. Anguish tugged at her as she looked at him.

  The hale bale continued to burn, the flames spreading.

  “That’s what the disease does,” Emma said. Her voice broke on the word “does.”

  “Let’s get out of here. The propane tank’s going to blow,” Vanderlock said.

  Emma rose slowly. Raoul kept the gun pointed in a straight-arm stance right at Oz’s head. Raoul’s arm, too, was covered in sores, but they hadn’t yet reached his face.

  “You see this?” Raoul yelled. “You come back here, now, or I shoot him.”

  Emma felt rage burble up in her. “You kill him, I’ll never cure you! You’ll die, too, you understand?”

  “Screw your cure! It doesn’t matter. La Valle will kill me if I don’t bring you back.”

  “Let’s go, the tank’s going to blow.” For the first time Emma heard stress in Vanderlock’s voice.

  Raoul swung his arm down and shot at the ground near Oz’s feet. Oz jerked, but kept his head lowered, as if he didn’t care.

  “Let’s move, now!” Vanderlock said.

  “That’s Oz. I won’t let them kill him,” Emma said.

  Vanderlock stepped next to her. “Look at him. Poor bastard would probably rather be dead. The tank is going to blow.”

  “Give me the gun,” Emma said.

  “They’re out of range, let’s go,” Vanderlock said.

  The hay bale flames licked up four feet. They had completed an entire circuit around the propane tank.

  “Give me the gun,” Emma said again.

  “Here.” Vand
erlock shoved the weapon at her. “Now move!”

  Emma snatched the pistol. Vanderlock grabbed her arm and started to pull her back with him to the car. She jerked out of his grasp and broke into a run, heading straight for Oz. She heard Vanderlock yell her name, but she kept going, closing the distance between them. She ran, arms pumping, the gun flashing in front of her as the light hit it.

  One hundred yards in, the tank behind her blew.

  Emma felt a flash of heat and she dove to the dirt, covering her head with her arms. Smoke and fire boiled into the sky, some of it billowing around her. She looked up and saw Raoul stagger back a few steps, shock on his face as he watched the conflagration. Even Oz looked skyward. She flattened on the ground, aimed, and squeezed off a shot. The bullet entered Raoul at the right shoulder, and he screamed incoherently, hunching over in reaction. She turned her attention to Mono, but he was already on the move. He leaped behind the BMW’s open driver’s-side door. Oz turned his head to look, but stayed immobile. He seemed riveted in place. Raoul put his left hand over the wound and raised the gun in his right.

  “Damn it Oz, move!” she yelled. Emma shot Raoul again, this time grazing his right arm. The second shot galvanized Oz into action. He ran at an angle, heading for the field. He took a giant leap from the road into the plants, disappearing inside the foliage.

  Emma was up and running parallel to Oz, heading to the field. Shots peppered the ground near her feet, she assumed from Mono, but she didn’t waste the time looking for the source. She flew, her arms and legs moving in rhythm. She plunged down a small culvert between the field and the road, preparing to plunge into the rows of wheat standing all around her. Off to her left came the noise of the combine, growing louder. It appeared at the end of a row, and stopped. The engine rumbled, but the wheels no longer turned. A man’s face appeared in the cab’s window.

  “Hey, what the hell are you doing there? I could have killed you! Did you set that fire?” He pointed at the smoke from the propane fire. “Get off my property.”

  The farmer’s voice was loaded with fear and anger. He stepped out of the tractor and stared down at her. He wore jeans and a dark tee shirt and stood half in and half out of the cab, with one booted foot on the step. Emma rose. The farmer glanced at the gun in her hand. “Why’re you carrying a gun?”

  Before she could answer, a shot rang out. The farmer’s body was flung backward, and he tumbled down the side of the combine, landing somewhere in the foliage below.

  Emma spun and ran back the way she came, moving onto the asphalt toward the still burning propane. She saw the Caliber on the far side of the bonfire, still in the middle of the road facing her. She sprinted toward it, keeping her eyes on it and trying not to look back for her attackers. When she neared the car, Vanderlock pushed open the door.

  “Get in!”

  She jumped into the car and pulled up her legs. Vanderlock was turning the car in a circle before she could even close the door, and it swung wide with the turn. She managed to get it closed when he straightened out to shoot down the road.

  “Have you seen Oz?” she said.

  “Why is it that every time I’m around you something is exploding?”

  She turned to see Oz, his face and arms a bleeding mass of sores, lying on the backseat.

  Chapter 35

  “Emma Caldridge shot a farmer working his fields. He came upon her by surprise.”

  Banner sat in a hotel room in Kansas City, participating in a conference call with Sumner in Oklahoma and Wiley in Nebraska.

  “Is he dead?” Sumner asked.

  Sheriff Wiley coughed. “No. Bullet missed any major arteries. He’s up and talking.”

  “He say why she shot him?” Banner said.

  “He says she was crouching in his field, a gun in her hand. Claims he damn near ran her over with his tractor. He told her to get off his property, and the next thing he knew he was waking up in the hospital.”

  “Any idea where she is now?” Banner said.

  “Nope. We’re still looking for the black SUV she used at the pharmaceutical company. No luck. We’ll keep you posted. But I gotta tell you, she gets picked up, ain’t nothing you can do. She’s going to get charged.”

  Banner knew this as well. “I hear you, Sheriff. Just do me a favor and continue to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

  “I’ll give it to her, but the FBI won’t. It’s their investigation now, and they want her bad. She’s considered armed and dangerous.”

  Sheriff Wiley rang off and the speaker phone remained quiet so long that Banner thought Sumner had hung up as well. He started when Sumner’s voice came over the line.

  “I don’t believe it. What was she doing crouching in a field?”

  Banner sighed. “I have no idea. But we’ve got another problem. The first responders on the Black Eagles scene have contracted some sort of strange rash. Nothing as dramatic as what we saw at the plane, but we’re all going on the assumption that it’s related, somehow.”

  “Is the CDC on it?”

  Banner nodded, even though he knew that Sumner couldn’t see him. “They are, and still chasing a possible anthrax connection or Ebola-type virus. So far, nothing. They’re running a series of tests to rule out everything from poison ivy to virulent measles. We should know something in twenty-four hours. You have any symptoms?” The phone fell quiet again as Sumner didn’t answer. Banner closed his eyes briefly. He didn’t want to hear what he now thought he might.

  “I have a rash forming on my left hand.”

  Banner exhaled slowly. “You’ll need to come in. The CDC is placing anyone with symptoms into quarantine. They can’t tell if it’s infectious yet.”

  “I can’t afford to be in quarantine. I need to find her. Now more than ever.”

  “It’s not a matter of what you can afford, it’s a matter of public health. You need to report in.” The lack of a response told Banner all he needed to know. Sumner wouldn’t be coming in anytime soon. He tried a different tack. “You, of all people, should do the right thing and report in. You’re a member of the ATD, for God’s sake.”

  No response.

  Banner threw out the one thing he thought would make Sumner agree. “I’ll make you a deal: if you come in I promise to drop everything, get Stromeyer back here, and the two of us will start to look for her. Now will you report in?”

  “You told me Stromeyer’s in the Caribbean somewhere. How long will it take her to get back here?”

  Banner wasn’t sure. Stromeyer wasn’t operating openly in the islands, and he didn’t have instant access to her, as she was maintaining phone silence. Nevertheless, he took a stab at it.

  “Twenty-four hours, max.”

  “Too long.”

  “Listen to me—”

  “—If it was Stromeyer out there, would you come in? Leave the investigation to others?”

  The question caught Banner by surprise. His first thought was “Not on your life,” and he had to clamp his teeth together not to say it. He said what leaped to mind next.

  “There’s a difference. Stromeyer is my business partner and whatever she would be doing would fall under Darkview business and I’d have to address it. Caldridge is not related to you or the ATD at all. Also, I know how skilled and resourceful Stromeyer is. She’d solve the situation on her own, or at least do her best to solve it, and she wouldn’t call on me unless she thought I could add something to the mix. I think Caldridge is the same. You should assume that if she’s not calling you that she doesn’t need you.”

  Banner hated to say the harsh words, but it was true. Caldridge knew Sumner better than anyone else. She had access to him in a way that no one else did. She knew that Sumner would help her in a heartbeat if he could, and the silence from her end spoke volumes. What puzzled Banner is that Sumner knew this as well, yet he continued to place his own future at risk.

  “Tell me the truth, here. What happened on that intercept flight? Why are you insisting on helping Caldridge
when she hasn’t asked for it?”

  “For the same reason you’d help Stromeyer.”

  Banner knew when the game was up. “You’re right,” he conceded. “I would be the same. But I hope that if the situation were reversed you’d give me some good advice as well.”

  “That you would ignore.” Sumner’s voice held a note of humor.

  “Fair enough, but here’s some more. Stay out of the FBI’s way. They won’t appreciate it, and your jurisdiction is too thin to win that pissing contest. What are you planning on doing when you find Caldridge?”

  “I plan on killing that cartel pilot.”

  Chapter 36

  “You two shouldn’t be anywhere near me,” Oz said. Vanderlock kept his eyes on the road, a fact for which Emma was thankful, because he’d taken the Caliber up to ninety miles per hour. Luckily the rural county highway held few cars.

  “We’ve already got it,” Vanderlock said.

  Oz groaned. “What do you mean?”

  “The shipment broke free in the plane. We’re definitely infected,” Emma said.

  “Any sores?”

  “No,” Emma replied.

  “Yes,” Vanderlock said. He held out his right hand, where an angry sore had formed on the heel of his palm.

  Emma sucked in her breath. For a moment she felt as though she’d lost her equilibrium. The blood rushed to her head and she thought she was going to faint. She took a deep breath, keeping her eyes on the road, doing her best to regain her composure.

  “La Valle’s got a tracking device on this car. Can you disarm it?” Emma said to Oz.

  “GPS or radio tracker?” Oz said.

  “I think a cheap radio transmitter,” Vanderlock replied.

  “Do you know where it is?” Oz said.

  “Somewhere on the chassis.”

  “I’ll have to find it first. That will take time.”