“I would have to say no, still, sir,” Tim answered. He sipped on his water.
They looked exasperated. The younger one seemed less able to accept Tim's rejection while Mr. Jordan stared with displeasure at the ill rancher. Barney looked over all the faces, unsure of what to do. No one looked at him, to his own relief.
“Is there nothing we can offer?” Mr. King stammered.
“I'm sorry,” Tim said.
Mr. King looked like he could have gone on a rant at that point, upset by his defeat. Mr. Jordan put a hand on his shoulder and kept his stare on Tim. “That's okay,” he said. “We understand when a deal can't be made. We very much appreciate your time, Mr. Simacean.”
The two businessmen began gathering their jackets and papers, sauntering over to the front door. “I'm sorry, gentlemen,” Tim said to them, standing up so that he could shake their hands as they left.
Mr. Jordan handed the rancher a card. “I'm sure you'll change your mind. Call us when you do.”
“First thing,” Tim said. “Travel safe.” He locked the door behind them.
The old man kind of limped as he began getting himself prepared for a nap. Barney stayed seated where he was around the coffee table. Tim pretended not to take note of him.
“Are you serious, Tim?” Barney asked.
“Like a heart attack.”
-Chapter Eighteen-
Inspection
A handful of days later when the sun was deciding on what warm tone to be as it creeped up past the hills to the east, Tim had another visitor. The rancher yawned as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and worked at unlocking the booth when a government worker pulled off from the highway and approached the ranch. Tim watched as he brought the key toward its respective lock. The man stepped out of his vehicle devoid of an expression with the exception of slight annoyance. He kept that face for the duration of his approach.
“Are you Mr. Simacean?” he addressed Tim just as he figured out how to unlock the booth.
“Yes I am, what can I do to help?” the rancher replied, coughing up morning phlegm.
“My name is Henry Douglas and I'm from the Environmental Protection Agency,” the government worker introduced himself. “I've been passed a couple reports on this thing,” he indicated the angel, “on your property and I'm here to run a couple of very quick, noninvasive tests to make sure that it's, you know, safe for people and the environment.”
“The EPA?” Tim echoed.
“Is that okay?” Mr. Douglas asked.
Tim looked over his shoulder with strain toward the metallic angel for a moment before turning back to Mr. Douglas. He nodded. “Yeah, that's okay,” he answered, squinting in the early morning sun.
The EPA agent went about his work as Tim set up shop and unlocked the facilities. Every now and then the rancher paused for a moment and watched the man. He had some devices that Tim wasn't familiar with connected to power cables running all the way back to Mr. Douglas's van. He seemed to make sure not to actually touch the metal of the angel, shaking his head as he took his readings.
Barney and the crew pulled up in a pickup truck, Gus and Frank sitting in the bed. A suspicious and annoyed expression formed on Barney's face when he saw the EPA van. He got out of his truck without looking away from the working agent, walking to Tim, who had finished setting up the booth.
“What's this about?” he asked, jutting his thumb back at Mr. Douglas.
Tim shrugged at first, but when that didn't seem to satisfy his associate, said, “EPA. He's testing to make sure the soil isn't toxic or something.”
Barney appeared shocked. “What?” he yelled in a whisper. “Does he have a warrant?”
“Barney,” Tim started, “it's not a bust or anything. We're not under arrest. He's just doing a drop-in.”
The younger man snorted in response. He grabbed the gate key from the booth and took his guys to work.
The wall that encircled the entire property was designed to be a sturdy walk-atop wall, much like the Great Wall of China. It was hollow but held up by sturdy scaffolding on the interior. The wall had two narrow staircases that one could use to access the ramparts from the ground. It was practical and safe. The construction crew was banging out the flaws in the place before they were to start an ambitious project to make the inside of the wall a long, hall-like museum. Maybe even a gift shop.
Mr. Douglas seemed to be reaching the end of his inspection, all of his wires and machines packed up in the van. All he had left to do was paperwork. Once he had a good look through his clipboard, the government worker walked to Tim.
“All done?” Tim called out, trying to sound cheerier than normal.
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Douglas replied, glancing down at the clipboard. “It passed for organic toxins and bacteria, but I'm sorry to inform you that your statue here is intensely radioactive.”
“What?” Tim was shocked. “I don't know how that can be, I've been here exposed to it for months!”
“It's a peculiar case, sir,” Mr. Douglas responded, holding his hand out to calm the rancher. “The radiation is isolated to the metal of the angel. It doesn't bleed or leak like normal radiation. The air contains heavy carcinogens at about one tenth of a millimeter from the surface of the metal, and then there's nothing.”
“So,” Tim hummed, running the information over in his mind, “it's not dangerous unless it's touched?”
“Well, I couldn't know for sure without further testing, but that is what it looks like,” Douglas explained. “On the metal's surface, however, the radioactivity is so intense that it would obliterate most organic material on contact.”
The image of the dying cow, burnt in half, slid through Tim's thoughts. The rancher opened his mouth, unsure of how to respond. Of course this was terrible news. Of course he'll be told to shut down the business. He looked to the towering structure, pondering it. Too dangerous?
No.
“As you know, this kind of dangerous material cannot, and I mean CANNOT be exposed to the kind of activity you have going on here. I'd even recommend you move away from the angel yourself, but for now, I am enforcing a ban on commercial activity on this property. If you continue, you could be subject to – ”
“Wait, no, wait,” Tim interrupted. “I can't shutdown. This is my only income!”
“Sir, it is dangerous for anyone to be around here,” Douglas rebutted. “You must place safety as your top priority.”
“It is safe, man,” Tim moaned, gesturing back toward the construction. “We're building a safe wall around the angel so no one can even get near it. If it's not wide enough, we can always build a bigger wall.”
“It's not about that,” Douglas said. “We don't know for certain if it leaks; if there could be radiation in the soil. Maybe even in the water. If there is, it can and will cause long term harm to you and your customers.”
“How am I going to explain this to people? The more fanatic of my customers would force their way in to see the angel, welcome or not. I couldn't stop them,” Tim defended.
“We're not asking you to stop them, just stop welcoming them,” Douglas breathed, worn from this argument. “You must stop commercial activity and mark this area clearly as private property. Place up no trespassing signs. Anyone who breaks the law and gets themselves harmed on your property cannot hold you liable – once you do that.”
With that, Mr. Douglas tore off a copy of his written warning from the clipboard clutched in his fingers and handed it to Tim, who grimaced at it. The agent nodded and then walked back to his van, determined not to bicker anymore. It was likely that he wasn't paid to bicker.
But really! Tim thought. I can't just close up shop. Every cent that Tim owned was wrapped up in building expenses. If he were to cut his income now, he wouldn't even have enough to buy milk in the morning. Wrinkles crawled and cracked their way along Tim's features as he thought about it all, very distraught.
By the end of the day, all
Tim had done was secure very legible “DO NOT TOUCH” signs at every angle around the miracle. He shrugged the rest of the worry off, tossed the government warning and continued about his work.
They'll probably just forget all about me, Tim mused.
-Chapter Nineteen-
The Dead of Night
Business slowed a little bit. Tim assumed that the signs might have discouraged some of the more skittish and paranoid of his visitors. Even a few had comments about the policy, suggesting touching the statue as a joke. Because of this, Tim pulled one of the guys from the crew and had him stand next to the angel and watch over the flock. They took turns while the construction continued in the background. It created an ambiance of tools clanging and things being shuffled or tossed around while people had their photos taken in front of the miracle and prayed.
Four nights later as the old man lay asleep in the pitch dark night, something moved outside. Whatever the culprit was crawled up and over a wire fence with a clatter. The sound repeated twice while Tim's unconscious brain heard the creaking, that resonating clang of metal upon metal. Something in him remembered that the fence was filling in the last remaining gaps where the wall encircling his property had not been constructed yet. He jolted awake. He sat in the dark for a moment, fighting off the successive waves of sleep that had blanketed him all night. Then he realized what was going on.
He almost leapt out of bed but stopped and slowed to a crawl. Whoever was here didn't need to know that he was awake. He pulled on a robe and grabbed the twenty-two that was leaning against the wall beside his closet. He opened his nightstand and grabbed his box of bullets and began loading them into the rifle. He pulled the bolt back and loaded a round into the chamber.
He was outside in no time.
It was stale cold outside, breezeless but brisk. The sky was overcast and starting to tint into the darkest shade of jet blue above the horizon line. Tim didn't stop to check his clock but he could guess that it was somewhere around four-thirty in the morning. He crouched as he walked, keeping low as he pulled himself to the closest stairway onto the wall's ramparts. He praised Barney and his crew for their sturdy handiwork. Nothing creaked or moaned as he made his clumsy, half-awake ascent. He slowed his pace just as his line of sight peaked over the top of the stairs.
For just a moment, Tim relaxed and laughed at himself for being so jumpy when there was nothing to see. He thought he had tricked himself into alertness, but then he saw it. A quick flutter of motion down in the center of the facility. Someone was moving around the angel.
His next instinct tossed the stock of his rifle up against his shoulder as he took aim at the intruders. Almost from instinct, he stopped aiming and watched over his sights. He didn't even know who he was aiming at. Or how many of them there were.
Soon, he noticed that there were three. The longer he sat and waited, the clearer the action became. The intruders moved in a sneaking manner so that they would be harder to detect, but Tim had the advantage of height. All of their movements came across as incriminating. They knew that they were not welcome. Tim just couldn't know for sure how they would react if he found them. If they thought that he might have a gun, perhaps they brought one as well. It terrified Tim. He could be dealing with anything from a couple of bored teenagers looking for a thrill to organized criminals.
He was scared.
The more time he was allowed to invent more and more ideas, the more it worried him and made him shiver much more than the frigid morning air. Even if he had to, he didn't believe he had the heart to shoot back at the trespassers. This is not good, he thought.
What did they want anyway? Could someone really break onto his property and risk being arrested or even shot simply to pray at the miracle? No. Only one explanation remained in the old rancher's head. They were here to steal or harm my property, he decided.
Tim's outrage started building up and converted most of his fear into fury. He was shaking even more now, thinking of dark desires he wished to enact. Determined, he breathed deep breaths. A lot of focus was put into calming himself down and ceasing the trembling. He waited until he was steady and then he pulled the rifle back. Staring down down the sights, he watched.
He really might have shot, too, if the scene hadn't changed pace so suddenly.
Two of the intruders seemed to be busy with some equipment that they had brought in with a duffle bag. Tim could hear the clanging of crowbars and metal objects coming from them, but he didn't watch those two. Instead, he watched the third one who lingered in the back. Standing upright, the lone intruder stared into the angel. Curiously, he reached out and touched the metal.
Everyone jumped when the man released a bloodcurdling scream. Tim dropped down as fast as he could, seeking cover. The screaming man's friends turned to stare at the scene that the rancher peeked over the railing to watch. The victim's hand was gone, now just open space against a smoking stump of arm. From where he watched, Tim could see no blood. The wound must have been cauterized instantly. Instead of rushing over to help their one-handed friend who had now fallen to his knees and wailed, the two handling the equipment started looking around. They thought they were being attacked.
One of the trespassers locked eyes with the hidden rancher.
Both pairs of their eyes shot wide open. The second intruder followed his accomplice's vision and spotted Tim, too. In just a fraction of a moment, all three of them exploded into motion. As he watched them both pull out handguns from their belt line, Tim dove backwards down the stairs. He couldn't see them anymore. He couldn't hear them either. All that resonated in his ears was the draw and release of his own frantic breath. Maybe they hadn't seen him. Deep inside, Tim knew that wasn't true. That meant that they were waiting for him or they were flanking him. Either way, he couldn't stay there.
With a long pull of air, Tim dashed back up the stairs and along the ramparts until he found a pile of cement bags to dive behind. As he ran, he heard it. One crack, like lightning. Then two. Part of the wall behind Tim ripped open and spewed dust. The two intruders opened fire. The shots drowned out any possibility of silence. They shot almost in beat with the pulse of Tim's terrified heartbeat. His senses were overwhelmed. His body actually shook too hard to move. Streaming puffs of cement dust popped out from above and around him. Then there was a break in the firefight. Tim leapt up from his cover, raised his rifle to his shoulder, and opened fire.
His breathing was paced and deliberate. He inhaled as soon as his gun stopped exploding with recoil and then exhaled just before squeezing the trigger. One of the intruders finished reloading and continued firing at the rancher. Expecting Tim to dive back behind cover, the gunman missed with his barrage of lead as Tim strafed slowly to his left. Bullets missed him and exploded into the the support beams behind him as he maintained his breathing. He squeezed off round after round.
The intruder who had difficulty reloading his handgun dove to the ground when Tim shifted his aim from the other intruder to him. A thick and sturdy support beam appeared in the rancher's peripherals as soon as he had run out of ammunition in his gun, behind which he cowered. The shots were sparse now. The intruders were running low on bullets themselves. Tim heard plenty of movement from below once the shooting ceased. He peeked out and watched the one and only standing intruder dash behind cover and out of the property. Tim tried to shoot after him but remembered his gun was empty.
“Where're you going?!” Tim screamed after the fleeing intruder. Fury shook his body as he yelled. He had won. He stood his ground and had made his enemy flee in fear. When he thought his body almost couldn't contain the primal rage that boiled up in his blood, he roared. He let loose a cry packed and shipped with all the bestial anger he could feel. With this, the intruder retreated faster.
Tim's eyes locked on the running man for as long as they could separate him from the blackness his the surroundings. He made his way down the stairs, holding his gun up at the hip toward the two forms on the grou
nd. The man by the angel moaned and cried in pure agony, sounds that the rancher ignored as he came up to the prone shooter. His handgun glinted in the starlight. Tim swung his own rifle onto his back and picked up the gun. One quick magazine release revealed at least two more bullets remaining. He snapped the mag back into place.
“Get up,” he said to the gunman on the ground. He pulled back the hammer of the handgun to demonstrate his seriousness.
The gunman continued to lay.
Tim ducked down close to the form. His gun still pointed at the man's head as he rolled the shooter onto his back. His eyes were open and his mouth slanted in a dimwitted looking grin. Tim knew the intruder was dead. One of the rancher's bullets had blown out a hole in the gunman's throat. For a brief moment, Tim bowed his head in shame.
The stirring and groaning of the surviving intruder cut his gesture short. He stood up and moved to the remaining, wounded man. He kept an aim on the intruder.
“Who are you?” Tim yelled from about ten yards away. His eyes darted from the man's face to his belt and back. He prayed that this guy wasn't scared enough to shoot at him. He probably was scared enough. But at least he didn't do it.
“What do you want?” Tim asked. The cries of pain were all he was answered with. Annoyed when he still got no reply, Tim marched up to the huddled form and bashed it in the side of the face with his bare fist. The injured man was thrown to the ground. His cries were muffled in dirt.
That's where he would have stayed, too, if Tim didn't walk over to the crumpled man and heave him up by his hair. “Who are you?” Tim repeated through gritted teeth. When the man whimpered, Tim hit him again but clutched hard onto his hair so he would stay upright.
The intruder started to laugh. At first, it was small and insane bursts of unsure tittering but then it evolved into a full blown maniacal belly laugh. This creeped Tim out.
A Guardian Angel Page 13
