by L. T. Vargus
The impact still reverberated in his skull, and he realized that he was now on his hands and knees facing the opposite direction. He’d been knocked into the doorway, so he took advantage and scrambled into the hall.
It was him. One of those snipers from the news — the sinewy one. Luke Foley. Even with the red splotches around his eyes, Tyrone was certain it was him, though he didn’t fully grasp this fact until after he’d clobbered him in the mouth with a fire iron.
The force of the impact spun Luke around, and Tyrone circled his foe like a boxer working the ring, shuffling into position to get a look at the damage he’d done.
To Tyrone’s surprise, Luke’s eyes were open. Clear. Blinking away a little bit of daze. That was it? He’d taken a Mickey Mantle shot in the mouth with a piece of iron.
That blow should have knocked him out. Should have. Tyrone couldn’t help but think of the story on the news, the guy who’d tackled Levi in the Publix parking lot and bashed his head into the blacktop a few times but failed to subdue him. Jesus, these maniacs were indestructible.
Luke spit out shards of teeth, and before Tyrone could react, the fallen figure got to his feet and catapulted out of the room. Indestructible and fast.
Tyrone gave chase for a few steps out of instinct, the fire poker ready to take another stab at amateur dentistry, but then he found himself hesitating just shy of the doorway. A thought descended upon him like a cloud: If he went after this guy, he’d have to kill him. A wanted murderer would be facing the death penalty. He wouldn’t be detained until the police arrived or anything of the sort. Luke Foley would fight to the death right here and now. He was sure of that.
So Tyrone had a choice to make in the next fraction of a second. He could stop now and let the killer go, or he could press the chase, knowing he would have to bludgeon a man to death with his fire poker… or die trying.
His tongue flicked over his lips. Maybe he’d done his part, clubbing him in the face. Maybe he didn’t need to risk his life further, being that the guy would surely leave as fast as possible now.
Or maybe those were excuses, attempts to cover the fact that he didn’t think he could bring himself to go through with it. As awful as this guy was, Tyrone didn’t think he had it in himself to kill him or anyone, to bash away at a human’s head and face until the life force inside was stilled forever.
And then Luke was on him, spilling both of them to the ground, clawing, punching, fingernails raking over his face, thumbs jammed into his cheekbones, seeking his eyeballs. The killer seemed to appear there from nowhere, diving through the doorway. Something animal. Something evil. And it was on him, straddling him above the waist, its weight pressing him into the tile floor, kitty litter crystals gritting into his spine.
The arm holding the fire poker was pinned between them, so Tyrone threw a punch with his free hand, a short left hook that grazed over the front of Luke’s face. He tried to pull his arm back to line up another blow, but Luke managed to get Tyrone’s thumb into his mouth.
The killer bit down with what teeth he had left. Hard. There was a strange snapping sound when the jagged incisors pierced the thick skin at the first knuckle.
Tyrone screamed.
He wrenched his hand around, but the teeth wouldn’t give. They bit down again. Piercing. Penetrating. Driving deeper into the joint. It felt like half of his thumb was about to pull free in some stranger’s mouth.
Amidst flailing and wincing, Tyrone tried to knee Luke in the groin. He shifted his hips. Kneed. Bucked. Kneed again. Over and over, but his knee didn’t find what it was looking for, pounding uselessly into the corded muscle of the killer’s back and legs.
He screamed all the while. Full throated roars and sobs and yips, totally letting go of any control.
Luke’s face was nearly expressionless. Just like the creepy photograph they’d shown so many times on the news. A little tension showed in the lines around his mouth, but his eyes were dead.
Tyrone’s knee finally found the crevice it sought, and a softening of Luke’s posture told Tyrone that he’d hurt him. The killer’s jaw unclenched long enough for Tyrone to free his bloody hand.
He scrambled back, sliding his legs out from under his attacker, favoring the injured paw so his crawl curled awkwardly to the right like a rowboat with one paddle. His chest heaved. Breath and drool and snot and blood mixed in his mouth.
He crab-walked until his back collided with the wall, and he cowered there. He looked down at himself.
The fire poker still clenched in his right hand seemed so small now. Moments before it had felt like an invincible instrument of death. Now? Maybe it would allow him to hold the guy off for a while. A few minutes, perhaps.
The scream of the sirens outside swelled again, each of their voices shrill and excited as they passed, turning mournful as they faded into the distance.
And the killer was up, moving to the window. He parted the blinds with his fingers, angling his shoulders to peer out at the street.
Tyrone stirred, adjusting his feet as though to rise, but Luke spoke up.
“Don’t move.”
Tyrone froze. It felt like he had no choice.
The killer glared at him long enough to take two breaths, slow and even. His eyes were as dead as ever, and Tyrone’s blood surrounded his lips. He stalked toward the frightened figure curled up on the floor. Slowly. With care. Each footstep clattering and scuffing against the tile. The little sounds only served to point out how quiet it had gotten in here. After all the yelling and struggling, the silence was uncomfortable.
The fear finally took hold of Tyrone as he watched the killer draw near. He couldn’t move. The fire poker lay over his chest, his shaky arm holding it there as though it could somehow shield him.
Luke hovered over him now. So close.
Chapter 76
A groan escaped Darger’s lips as she wrapped and tightened the sleeves of her jacket around her injured leg. Another jacket ruined, she thought. She put a little weight on the leg and winced at both the pain and the disgusting sound of blood splooging under her heel.
“Not to mention my boots,” she muttered out loud, earning a sidelong glance from a woman in athletic gear jogging by.
The rhythmic pulse of a helicopter thumped overhead, aiming for the bridge. Loshak would have relayed the news of Levi’s demise to the rest of the team by now. The crew in that chopper now had a singular, dismal task: to search for Levi Foley’s body in the river.
A big black SUV pulled to the curb, and the window rolled down. Loshak leaned across the seat.
“Need a ride?”
Darger staggered across the sidewalk to the Suburban.
As she reached for the door latch, she said, “How do I know you’re not some kind of sicko?”
Loshak peeked over the top of his sunglasses and gave her a wry smile.
“You don’t.”
“Where’s Dawson?” Darger asked, glancing at the empty back seat.
“She wanted to keep an eye on the evacuation, make sure they got everyone out of the building and kept at a safe distance.”
Darger nodded.
“They cleared everyone out pretty quick, all things considered. Bomb squad is going through the place top to bottom with their little robot doohickeys. We found a detonator wedged under the seat in the car parked out back, but just in case the boys had a backup somewhere, we’re taking every precaution.”
Loshak turned into the long drive that led up to the school, passing a line of yellow buses.
“They canceled school, obviously. Postponed the first day indefinitely.”
Some of the kids filing into the buses were jostling one another and joking around. Others looked more grim, perhaps aware of how close they’d come to utter destruction.
“Was it the Jeep?”
“What’s that?”
“The car you found here at the school?”
Loshak shook his head.
“Nah. It’s an old Ford Focus with
Alabama plates. That was what stuck out to me, you know? I’d expect damn near all the cars in a high school lot to be local.”
Something about that bothered her. Ditching the Jeep made sense, of course. Once they’d seen their faces on the news, the brothers would have likely assumed the authorities knew about the car registered in Levi’s name. But the vehicle description had been released yesterday, and so far, no one had reported it abandoned somewhere.
Loshak stopped where Darger’s rental was parked next to the curb. She hopped out, forgetting the wound on her calf until the jolt of hitting the ground sent a new shock of pain through her leg.
“Son of a shitfuck,” she hissed.
Loshak’s gaze dropped to her leg.
“You need to report that so they can quarantine the dog,” Loshak said.
“Yeah. Right. I know,” Darger said, sliding behind the wheel of her car. “After we catch Luke.”
She fired up the ignition and the radio on the dash began to crackle with police chatter.
“10-78. Witness at 301 Gladney has positively identified the SP. Says she got him with a can of pepper spray. Requesting additional units to set up a perimeter around 9th Street and Gladney Court.”
The radio beeped and sizzled.
“Center, 23. Holding position at 9th Street and Gladney Court. 15, you wanna take the 8th Street crossing?”
“This is 15. I’m down the street at 414 Gladney. We’ve got a… well heck… this guy just came stumbling out of his house and says Luke Foley just stole his car. Guy says he tussled with him, knocked out the suspect’s front teeth with a fire poker, but the Foley kid kept at him like a mad dog. Finally got away with the keys and tore out of here a few minutes ago in a gold Lexus. Plate number is Paul-Adam-Frank, Nine-Zero-Zero-Nine.”
Darger typed the cross streets into her phone and then lowered her window, flapping her hand in the air so Loshak would do the same.
“You hear this chatter about a scuffle on Gladney Court?” She had to almost shout over the rumble of the two engines.
“Yeah.”
“That’s not far from where Luke and Levi grew up.”
She knew she didn’t have to spell the rest out for Loshak. Levi was dead, and everything was going terribly wrong for Luke. She had a feeling where he’d be headed.
“Let’s go, then. I have to swing around the other side of the school to pick up Agent Dawson.”
“See you on the other side, partner,” Darger said, before speeding out of the lot.
One brother jumps off a bridge, the other is beat to hell, Darger thought to herself. Where do you go when everything is going wrong?
Home.
Chapter 77
Luke sat in the Jeep, occasionally peeling his lips open to look at the jagged remnants of teeth in the rear view. The swelling around his eyes still blushed that angry shade, all swollen and wrinkled, but it was nothing compared to the dental damage.
These were small prices to pay, he knew. He’d almost paid a higher one. He tried to stop himself from thinking it, but he wondered if his brother had paid that ultimate price. He’d be here by now otherwise, wouldn’t he?
Maybe. Maybe not.
He felt nothing, either way. Felt nothing at all beyond the desire to move forward with things as quickly as possible.
He’d ditched the Lexus six blocks up and walked here. Parked it in the lot outside of an upscale apartment complex with a fountain out front.
He didn’t know why he’d let the man live — the owner of the Lexus, the one who’d busted him in the teeth. Maybe there was some mutual respect there, for someone to fight back like that. Maybe he was just in a hurry, and there was nothing to be gained in taking the time to do it.
It made no difference now. None of it did.
That vinyl smell filled the car, even more than it had in the Focus this morning. Something about the odor cleared these reflective thoughts from his head, refocused him on the future.
He crawled into the backseat and sprawled out the best he could. It had been an early morning, and he’d gotten his ass kicked pretty hard. He’d sleep a while. A little rest would do him good.
He checked the time and let out a deep breath. He’d wait two hours for Levi. Maybe three. And then he’d proceed with the plan, with or without his brother.
Chapter 78
Levi crawled up onto the muddy riverbank. The icy cold of the water seemed to constrict his chest, to hold the muscles around his rib cage so tightly that he wasn’t sure how he managed to breathe or move, though he did both.
He scrabbled up the slope of wet earth, gouging divots of black muck with his fingers. He needed to get away from the water. Far, far away from it. Needed to get onto the flat land, onto the grass, and then he could rest.
His body collapsed before he could get there, the tightened trunk of a torso plopping to the mud. Stiff. Rigid. It slapped the ground like a felled tree in the wetlands, and he laid still.
Something in his left shoulder had broken when he made impact with the water. The collar bone, maybe. He could wiggle the fingers on that hand, but moving the arm itself shot tendrils of pain into his neck and all through the upper arm.
He pushed himself up, propping his weight on the good elbow. The bad arm dangled at his side like a dead eel. He leaned that way, arching his back some, tilting the broken collar bone toward the ground. It seemed to hurt less that way.
His legs churned once more, feet sliding in the muck, his good hand seeking out some solid edge to pull himself up off of the bank.
He found it at last, pulled, feet still working, all of his muscles shaking. There was a moment of vertigo as his bulk shifted onto the new plane, and he was there.
He lay on his back, the grass cold against his wet body. His chest seemed to loosen some, his lungs taking advantage, sucking in deep breaths.
He didn’t know how he’d survived. Didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious or how long he’d been afloat in the river. Minutes? Hours? The gray sky above offered no clues.
If he’d wound up face down, he’d be dead. Drowned. He was pretty sure he’d been out long enough for that. But no. He was here. Wherever here was.
Levi added that to the list of unknowns. He must have floated some way away from the bridge as he could no longer see it. With the way the trees and brush cluttered the hill running up from here, he couldn’t see much.
When his breathing slowed to something reasonable, he listened for a time. He didn’t hear any traffic over the sound of the rushing river, but when he squinted he could make out concrete somewhere up the hill. The mess of branches obscured it to the point that he didn’t know what he was looking at, but concrete meant he was still in the city. That was something.
He lay there for what felt like a long time. Breathing. Blinking. Staring into the heavens. His wet clothes hugged against him, pressing him down with all their weight.
There was much he didn’t know for the moment. The where, why, and how of his situation concealed themselves from him.
But he did know one thing. He knew what he needed to do.
Chapter 79
The radio continued to babble and blip as the various police units relayed information between themselves and dispatch. So far there had been no further sightings of Luke Foley.
Darger balled her fist and slammed it into the steering wheel. Where the fuck was he? He couldn’t just disappear.
She wanted this to be over already.
The image of Levi came to her again, balanced on the edge of the bridge, arms outstretched in a Christ-like pose. But there was nothing Christ-like about Levi Foley or his brother.
Still, some nagging sense of guilt pulled at her. That she hadn’t convinced him not to jump? Or that they hadn’t managed to stop them sooner?
And they still hadn’t. Stopped them. Luke Foley was out there somewhere, prowling the streets.
The turn signal ticked away in a steady rhythm. She was close now. Close to where he’d been sighte
d. Maybe ten blocks from where the boys grew up. She let her foot off the accelerator, coasting down the street with her eyes scanning the sidewalks and yards and parking lots.
For no reason she could discern, her heart began to thud a little faster. A little harder.
He was close. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she did.
Her chest swelled with a feeling of expectation.
She was going to find him and end this once and for all.
Chapter 80
Luke is dreaming.
The desert sprawls before him once more. Indecipherable sand in all directions. Unknowable. Barren.
Machine guns clatter in the distance. The sound is somehow welcome in this place. Familiar. Like an old friend.
He picks a direction and walks like he always does. A random choice. They’re all random choices here. Direction holds no meaning in the sand. It all looks the same.
He grinds his molars together. The tension is unbearable. The dread of what waits where the land meets the horizon. Violence lurks out there. Waits for him to stumble near.
Most of his mind traverses the dreamscape. Not all.
Some part of him remains aware that his body reclines in the backseat of the Jeep. Hands fidgeting on his lap.
Even in sleep, he waits for Levi. For his brother. Waits for any sign of him.
It’s time to finish what they’ve started.
Red rings circle his eyes. He can feel the hot pepper sting of it through the anesthetic of sleep.
In the dream, he climbs a dune, falling forward onto his hands to scramble up it on all fours like a dog. The hot grit of the sand flings everywhere. He squints to keep it out of his eyes.
Something stirs in the real world. A scuffing sound outside the car. Perhaps a rubber sole on concrete. He drifts closer to the surface of consciousness. Listens. But no further sound follows.
He smells the C4 now. Can picture the bricks of it stacked in the trunk. Just waiting to go off. He tries to remember how that image fits into his mission out here in the dream desert.
