by J. M. Hayes
“Oh,” the man at the counter said. “I’m sorry.” He typed something into his keyboard and handed her a boarding pass. “Will you need any special assistance with boarding?” He wouldn’t meet her eyes anymore. He didn’t want to look mortality in the face. That had rendered the difference between her passport photo and her current looks something he didn’t want to deal with. As soon as he could be rid of her, she would become invisible to him.
“No,” she said. “I’m having a good day.” Only it wasn’t as good as she’d hoped. Not without Englishman.
“Just ask anyone at the gate, or speak to your flight crew if that changes, Mrs. English. Have a good flight.”
And that was it. His attention was already on the next passenger and all she had to do now was go through airport security and wait for her flight out on the concourse. Judy English was going to Paris, just as she’d always wanted.
That, she remembered, was why they’d gotten divorced. She had always wanted to get out of Kansas. He, once he was back from Vietnam, never wanted to leave it again. He’d lost his sense of belonging, he claimed, when he went overseas, and hadn’t found it until he came home. She couldn’t understand that. It was just a flat, desolate, empty land people were always quitting. Moving away, because you couldn’t survive on a family farm these days, because there weren’t any jobs, because there just wasn’t any good reason to stay. She’d always been sure, if she could only show Englishman the Paris of her imagination, that he would discover the rest of the world wasn’t as horrible as those army bases and that little corner of Southeast Asia he’d experienced. That was all he’d seen, army towns that exploited kids, and a war zone. How could he think anything else?
After the divorce, though, she still hadn’t left for Paris. She’d discovered she couldn’t take Englishman’s daughter away from him. She decided to put off her move from Kansas until Heather was old enough for college. Until about now, actually. Then the other Heather came along and she and Englishman got married again and she’d decided she could spend the rest of her life in Kansas if Englishman would take her to Paris just once. And he’d promised. And he’d probably even intended to do it someday. It was just that she no longer had time to wait.
She had more than an hour before her plane would begin boarding, so she sat on a bench that let her look back through the lobby windows toward the parking lot. Englishman still wasn’t there. She was pretty sure he never would be. And if he didn’t love her enough to grant her this last wish, what was the point in coming home again? It was his home, not hers. She could die as easily half a world away. More easily, maybe, if she had to do it alone.
***
The sheriff found it all pretty confusing. The guy from the Nissan kept insisting it was a human liver, bound somewhere for transplant, that had blown up. He knew it was a liver because they’d somehow knocked it out of the emergency vehicle that was carrying it and a human heart, and they knew all that because the deputy back in Buffalo Springs had told them and it had to be true because he’d been on the verge of taking them in and locking them up until he could find a judge except the deputy had to arrange transport for the liver because of the accident they’d caused even though they weren’t speeding, no matter what he said.
The sheriff didn’t bother trying to straighten them out. He made sure they weren’t hurt, and they weren’t, beyond being shaken up and a bit hard of hearing now, because they’d been so close to the blast.
The sheriff had a hard time making the man understand that he needed to hear exactly what they’d seen, but once the tourist got the idea, he proved eager for an audience.
“Well, like I said. We came crawling out of Buffalo Springs, doing no more than twenty-five till we got to that resume speed sign. About then, along came this little silver car with a sticker from one of those rental companies. Woman was driving it. She must have been doing seventy when she went by and she was waving at us to slow down. Well, I didn’t know what to do. I mean, after our run-in with your deputy, we wanted to get out of this county in the worst way, but I wasn’t going to exceed the speed limit, or even get close to it again until we hit the county line. So here we are, maybe doing all of thirty-five where that sign says the speed limit’s fifty-five and this woman passes us and waves for us to slow back down. Well, I did. And she just kept going faster and faster, and then I saw that liver go flying out her window and bouncing down the road and I though Momma was going to have a heart attack. So, I’m trying to decide what to do about it when damn, if that liver don’t just suddenly disappear in a fireball. Then, bamo, you come barreling out of nowhere and plow into the back of our car, which I admit, was probably our fault on account of we had parked in the middle of the road and I never thought to turn on the emergency flashers or anything. So, you all just put the cuffs on us and take us in, if that’s what you’re planning. We’ll throw ourselves on the mercy of the court, I guess.”
The man didn’t stop there. The sheriff just tuned him out and turned his back and started taking in the scene. The dust and smoke were beginning to clear. Even on a perfect spring day, Kansas was not without a breeze. Elsewhere, people might have called it a steady wind.
There didn’t seem to be any target for a bomb here. And with the way the woman had waved at the couple in the Nissan, it sounded like she’d been trying to warn them away from the blast. Like maybe she knew it was about to go off and tried to dispose of it safely.
Well, safely was a stretch. They were going to have to set up a detour here because there was a hole where the highway used to be. Or most of it. There was a little stretch of cracked pavement on the south side of the road. The rest was missing, like some alien spaceship had stopped off to take a sample before going elsewhere to create crop circles.
Parker was already on her cell phone to Mrs. Kraus, telling her about the need to set up the detour.
“Have her make arrangements for a place for these people to stay, or get them where they want to go while we fix their car,” the sheriff told her. “And I need transportation, or a tow truck to get the squad car out of the ditch.”
Parker passed the information along.
Something low and fast streaked toward them from Buffalo Springs. The sheriff stepped into the road and began waving his arms to slow it down. The little red car glided to a stop inches short of the sheriff’s knees.
“Hey, bro,” Mad Dog said. “Need a ride?”
***
If the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, Kansas, lacking obstacles such as hills, mountains, valleys, lakes, or points of interest, should be a commuter’s dream. There being only the occasional river or stream to contend with, it is theoretically possible to run a highway directly from any point in the state to another—Buffalo Springs to Wichita, for instance.
Theory, however, is seldom translated into reality. Kansas’ highways and byways were laid out with grid-like precision, north and south (as the wind blows) and east and west (as the traveler goes), one virtually every mile, from Missouri to Colorado and Oklahoma to Nebraska. Only later, after cities grew significant enough to warrant it, did Kansans take to the idea of diagonals. These roads, based on risky variations of intersections angled at something other than ninety degrees, run conveniently to and from some population centers. Wichita, for instance, sprouted several diagonals. One, near the airport, goes in the general direction of Buffalo Springs, but sadly stops diagonaling at Nickerson. Still, it’s a useful route for those from Buffalo Springs who want to catch a plane—Wichita being the nearest, and one of the few remaining, airports in the state with real-world connections—and it was widely chosen by the day’s parade of would-be travelers and those who wished to stop them. Judy English, Jud Haines, the Heathers, Janie Jorgenson, Mad Dog and Englishman with Deputy Parker and Hailey, and finally Brad Davis all aimed toward it. Each chose from among a multitude of roads heading east or south to get there.
Brad Davis was driving south on a paved road when he noticed the
truck hidden deep in the row of evergreens. Only the sudden swoosh of tire tracks and the fresh gouges in the ditch indicated something had happened here. Davis was in a hurry, but when a teenage girl jumped into the road and planted herself directly in his path, he hit the brakes.
The truck in the trees was a Chevrolet, a nineties model that might have been in pretty good shape before it went through the ditch and lodged itself in that row of vegetation. It was upright, but from the way the cab was mashed and covered with streaks of rich loam from which bits of grass and clumps of blooming sunflowers hung, it hadn’t been that way while it passed through the ditch.
Davis pulled his car over to the side of the road and got out. “Anybody hurt?” he asked the girl with the high cheekbones and bright blue eyes. He didn’t want to get involved, or be delayed, but what could he do.
A moaning noise he didn’t recognize issued from the truck.
“No,” the girl told him. “We’re fine. That’s just my sister running the battery down.”
He recognized the sound, now. A starter, slow and more labored than it should be.
Another head peered out of the mashed cab. Both heads, he discovered, looked remarkably alike. Twins, he thought.
“We had a blowout,” the girl in the road explained.
“And survived without a bruise, but our dad’s probably gonna kill us when he sees what we’ve done to his truck.” The one still in the pickup supplied this additional information. She did so as she twisted around and pulled herself out through the window. Davis surmised the door wouldn’t open anymore.
“Until he gets around to killing us,” the first one said, “we desperately need to get to the Wichita airport. Can you at least start us in that direction?”
“Well I…” He didn’t have time to come up with a good reason why not because she already had his passenger door open and was crawling in. Her sister joined her in the back and he was suddenly the only one standing foolishly by the road.
“My name’s Heather,” the first one told him. “Heather English, but you can call me One because my sister’s name is Heather, too, or Two, tee-dubya-ohh. If you care, I can explain that on the way.”
Sometimes fate smiled, rewarding Good Samaritans for their acts instead of punishing them. This seemed to be one of those times.
“That’s not necessary,” he said. “You’re the sheriff’s daughters, aren’t you? Mad Dog’s nieces?”
“Should we know you?” the first Heather asked from her spot in the passenger’s seat.
He introduced himself and explained. “We haven’t met, but all of us out at This Old Tepee have heard of you.”
“Can you help us get to Wichita?” One asked.
“That’s where I’m going. But first I’ve got to meet a friend of yours, Supervisor Haines. He’s waiting at an abandoned grain elevator where a town called Harrod used to be. You know where that is?”
“Sure,” the Heather in the front seat told him. “It’s no more than two miles from here and almost on the way. But why would you meet him there?”
“We’re in the middle of one of those limited-time-only business deals. I’ve got to show him how to tie up some loose ends. Get me to Harrod and I’ll take you to the airport,” Davis said.
“You’re a lifesaver,” Two thanked him from the backseat.
He smiled and put the rental car in gear. Maybe, he thought. Maybe not.
***
They had to push the Mini Cooper so Mad Dog could get it to climb out of the ditch on the far side of the crater, then it was a tight fit to crowd Parker in the back with Hailey.
“Get me to Wichita in a hurry,” Englishman had told him. Mad Dog assured his brother he was just the driver and this was just the vehicle for the task.
Englishman slammed the door and grabbed his seat belt. “Let’s go.”
“Just a second.” Mad Dog turned to face the back. “Deputy Parker, if you check in that sack on the floor, you’ll find a pair of leather gloves and a catcher’s mask.”
“Just because I’m gonna let you break the speed limit, doesn’t mean you need racing gloves,” Englishman complained. Clearly he wanted them moving, and now.
“They’re not racing gloves.” Mad Dog swung back, put the Cooper in gear, and chirped the tires as he pulled away from the hole in the highway.
“You mean these,” Parker asked. They were thick leather gauntlets that would extend all the way up to Mad Dog’s biceps.
“Yeah.” With four aboard, the Cooper was a bit sluggish off the line, but the little four-banger came alive as Mad Dog got the rpms up and the supercharger kicked in. “I need you to put those on, please, and the mask.” Mad Dog chirped the tires again when he went into second.
“What for?” Parker had trouble getting her hands all the way into the gloves. The gauntlets reached her armpits.
“In case we have an accident,” Mad Dog told her. “We’re all belted in and this thing’s got all kinds of airbags, but you can’t belt in a wolf.”
“You expect me to hold her?” Parker sounded incredulous.
“Oh no,” Mad Dog reassured her. “She wouldn’t put up with that.”
Hailey wasn’t showing any concern about the gloves or the mask. She had her head out the window near Mad Dog’s ear, devouring the breeze he was turning into a gale.
“What are you doing with that stuff anyway?” Englishman asked, finally allowing himself to pay attention to what was going on in the back seat.
“I keep it with me in case she gets hurt,” Mad Dog replied. “Wolves, they won’t put up with much, even from people they love.”
Mad Dog glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Parker shaking her head. “I don’t expect you to have to use those,” he told her. “But keep your eyes open. If you think we’re going to hit something, grab her.”
“You’re kidding.” Parker had to speak up now, over the growing noise of the wind buffeting through the open windows and the howl of the engine as Mad Dog redlined it for each gear change. Third now, three to go.
“Just for a second,” Mad Dog said. “Probably won’t matter. At the speed we’ll be going, none of us are likely to survive. But I’ll feel better about opening this thing up if you’ll try to protect her.”
“Oh sure then, why not,” Parker shouted.
Mad Dog went into fourth and started easing the windows up. Slow, so Hailey had time to pull her head in. He didn’t want her catching a stray grasshopper at more than a hundred. They’d be able to hear each other, too, and the Mini Cooper could go a little faster if he smoothed out its profile.
“How fast will this thing go?” Englishman asked.
“They come from the factory with an electronic chip that shuts them down a little over 130,” Mad Dog told him. Fifth gear now, and already some serious speed. He turned on the flashers and the headlights. People could see them a little sooner that way and, fortunately, in central Kansas, there would be no sudden curves or hills or valleys to mask their approach.
“I had no idea something this size could go that fast.”
“Faster, maybe,” Mad Dog told him. “First thing I did after I got it broken in was find a shop with a computer geek who could bypass the chip.”
Mad Dog saw his brother glance at the center-dash-mounted speedometer. It was graded all the way to 150. Conservative, Mad Dog thought.
***
Doc parked beside the stuffed buffalo. A young man in a pair of shorts and hiking boots came to meet him.
“Doctor Jones,” the man said, extending a hand. “I’m afraid Mr. Davis is gone. And Michael’s family’s, too, to make arrangements.”
Doc accepted the hand and gave it the requisite brief, firm shake. Kansas men didn’t let other men hold their hands longer than necessary. He struggled to remember this one’s name. He was an assistant producer, the man who’d put such an effort into resurrecting the boy that morning—the one who’d confused the issue because his vigorous CPR pumped all the blood out of the body.
>
“Actually,” Doc explained, “I’m not here about Michael.”
The man raised his eyebrows. “No?”
Sean. Doc remembered, because the man’s name was Irish, like Michael’s. “Sean, I’ve got an unidentified body over at the morgue. I wondered if you were missing any crew members.”
Sean shrugged. “Who knows. Since this morning, people have been drifting in and out. Not that I blame them. This production’s over.”
“Small community like ours,” Doc said, “we don’t get unidentified bodies much. When we do, someone usually misses them right away. That hasn’t happened, so I figure if we got a bunch of strangers out here in this pasture, my body’s most likely one of them.”
“What’s this body look like? You got a picture?”
“Well…” Doc had pictures, but none of them were pleasant to look at or likely to be helpful. “Kid’s face was pretty well ruined when she got thrown from her motorcycle.”
Sean got a sad look on his face. “A blond girl, nineteen, pretty? I guess you might not be able to tell whether she’s pretty anymore. She’d be trim with a good figure—about five six and one twenty with curly blond hair.”
“That all fits,” Doc acknowledged. “Is there anything else that might help me make this a positive ID? Scars, birthmarks, stuff like that?”
“Nothing I know of,” he said. “Except she rides a motorcycle. She’s the only woman on our crew with one. And…”
It was Doc’s turn to make his eyebrows into question marks.
“She might have been high on something.”
Doc nodded. “I found needle tracks on her arm. That sound right?”
“I’m afraid it does.”
“Surprises me,” Doc said, “that you’d keep someone on your crew who was using drugs.”
