Redzone

by William C. Dietz

  James was aware of that, of course . . . which had everything to do with why he had left her behind. Now she knew the truth. It was all about sex and nothing else. She was still in the process of buttoning her blouse when Bruce appeared. His anger was clear to see. “Where is he?”

  “He went out the window,” Monica replied. “Listen, Bruce . . . It isn’t what you think. I . . .”

  “You are a cheap whore,” Heevy said, as he arrived in the apartment. “No, a slut . . . Whores get paid. And you give it away.”

  “You have it all wrong,” Monica objected. “I didn’t want to do it! James threatened me. He said . . .”

  “Shut up,” Heevy said coldly. “Don’t shame yourself any more than you already have. Bruce? This is your moment, son. You know what to do.”

  * * *

  Bruce felt a host of conflicting emotions. Anger at his mother for the way in which she had betrayed his father, and more than that, betrayed him. But there was love, too . . . Because in spite of her faults Monica was his mother. The one person in the house he could trust. Or thought he could trust. Now it was clear that she preferred James to him.

  Bruce brought the Colt .45 up and aimed it at her. Monica’s eyes were wide with fright, tears were streaming down her cheeks, and her hands were extended palms out. “No, please . . .”

  The rest of Monica’s words were lost as a .45 caliber slug hit her chest and slammed her into the wall. She looked surprised, and her body seemed to hang there for a second, before slumping to the floor. That exposed a patch of blood on the wall and the hole that marked the middle of it. “Well done, son,” Heevy said grimly. “You are the one that I was looking for.”

  * * *

  Everything had gone smoothly. Or as smoothly as could be expected given the circumstances. The police were waiting for Hoss in Las Vegas. Once he signed some forms Dawn was given into his custody. And she was an emotional mess. As they made their way out to the police helo port, Hoss was subjected to fits of crying, angry tirades, and impassioned speeches. Dawn insisted that the authorities should let Mickey go. No one listened.

  Therefore, all Lee could do was try to comfort a distraught Dawn during the ride home. Fortunately it was a relatively short trip. And as Lee left the helicopter she could tell that something was wrong. Dozens of mercenaries were stationed around the house—many of whom were using binoculars to scan the surrounding hillsides.

  Bethany came out to escort Dawn inside. That freed Lee to return to her room. She was halfway to the house when she glanced to her right and saw something that shouldn’t have been there. Her truck! In all its faded glory. It was parked on the south side of the house in an area reserved for guests. That brought Lee to a halt. How long had Heevy known about the truck? From day one probably—and she’d been naive enough to think that the vehicle had gone undiscovered. So why reveal it now? Because Heevy wanted her to leave. And did that have something to do with whatever had taken place in her absence? Probably.

  Lee entered the house and followed the stairs to the third floor. She half expected someone to try to stop her, but no one did. So she made her way back to her mother’s room and knocked on the door. The response was a faint, “Come in!”

  Lee opened the door and stepped inside. Shafts of sunlight threw puddles of gold onto the wood floor. Alala was in bed and struggled to sit up. “Cassie! I’m so glad you came.”

  Lee went over to stand next to the bed. “How are you?”

  Alala forced a smile. Her eyes were red as if she’d been crying. “I’ve been better . . . But that doesn’t matter. Did you hear what happened?”

  “No,” Lee said. “Tell me.”

  “I’m not supposed to know,” Alala said. “But Myra told me.”

  “Told you what?”

  “It seems that James and Monica were having an affair! Hiram heard about it from someone in town, and he was furious. So he sent mercenaries to kill James. But James killed them and ran. Then Bruce and Hiram went in and one of them shot Monica.”

  Alala began to sob at that point—and Lee tried to comfort her. Now everything made sense. She’d been sent to Las Vegas to get her out of the way while they killed her brother. And now Heevy was eager to get rid of her. And that explained the truck. “But what about the police?” Lee inquired. “What are they going to do about Monica’s death?”

  Alala used a handkerchief to dab at her eyes. “The town marshal works for Hiram . . . as do his deputies. It’s time for you to leave, Cassie . . . And I mean right now.”

  Lee had to agree. A murder had been committed, but she was powerless to do anything about it. “What about James? Did you talk to him?”

  “Yesterday evening. He said no. Why leave when you’re going to inherit a town? That’s what he said. But that was before they shot Monica. Now he’s on the run. Go home, Cassie . . . And thank you! It was brave of you to come here.”

  It was stupid, given the way Alala planned to use her, but the knowledge that she would never see her mother again brought tears to Lee’s eyes. Alala reached up to thumb them away. “Get out, Cassie. There’s nothing you can accomplish here. Bethany says that all of us are sinners—and I have to admit that she’s right. We made this mess, and we have to live with it.”

  Lee bent over to plant a kiss on her mother’s forehead. Then, with tears trickling down her cheeks, Lee left the room.

  From there it was a short trip down to the second floor and her room. What few belongings she had were in the pack—and she took a moment to check her weapons before returning them to their respective holsters. Lee didn’t think it would be necessary to shoot her way out of the house but figured it was better to be safe rather than sorry.

  With the pack hanging off one shoulder, Lee made her way down to the main floor, where she entered the great room. Heevy was visible at the far end of it where he was talking to Bruce and a man Lee hadn’t met.

  Heevy spotted her, said something to the other, and started her way. They met in the middle of the room. Lee was surprised to see how haggard Heevy appeared. Pale even, as if feeling something, but what? Guilt? Remorse? Fatigue? Or, and the final theory seemed more likely, was Heevy afraid? Not of the law but of retribution? James was on the loose after all . . . And, according to all accounts, he was very good with a long gun. That would explain the mercenaries stationed around the house. “So,” Heevy said, as they faced each other. “You’re leaving.”

  “Yes,” Lee replied. “Thanks for having someone bring my truck around.”

  Heevy’s eyes glittered. Some of the usual braggadocio could be heard in his answer. “You’re welcome.”

  “About my mother,” Lee said. “Take care of her all the way to the end. Do you understand me? Because if you don’t, and I learn of it, you’ll have more to worry about than James. Do we understand each other?”

  Heevy’s pale skin took on a grayish hue. He nodded.

  “Good. I’ll see myself to the door.”

  In spite of the fact that Lee was leaving her mother behind she felt a sense of peace as she left the house. Because even though she didn’t like everything her mother had done, or would do if given the chance, she knew her now. And in some oblique way that made Lee feel better about both of her parents. Each had good qualities and each had flaws. And none of it was her fault.

  Once Lee arrived at the truck it didn’t take long to discover that it had been hot-wired. A toggle switch dangled from two wires, and when she flipped it, the engine roared to life. And the gas tank was half-full. So she threw the pack in the back and got behind the wheel.

  Lee didn’t slow down at the checkpoint; nor did the mercenaries try to stop her. From there it was a straight shot to the Heartbreak Highway and the beginning of the trip home. So she turned the radio on, found some country western music to listen to, and let the warm slipstream buffet her face.

  About three songs later, Lee saw the second security checkpoint up ahead, and knew she’d have to stop. So she braked, came to a stop just short
of the drop bar, and waited for the guard to emerge from the little building. But when the door opened, it was her brother James who stepped out of the hut! There was a big smile on his face as he came over to the truck. “Hi, sis! I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Lee’s first reaction was one of shock. The second was anger. Not only was Alala still intent on sending her son to live in Pacifica—she was using Monica’s death to her own advantage! “Don’t tell me, let me guess,” Lee said. “Mother called you the moment I left.”

  “It was Myra,” James answered lightly. “But what’s the difference?”

  “Did you kill the guard?”

  James looked offended. “No, of course not . . . I tied him to a chair.”

  Lee looked up at the camera mounted on a metal pole. If Heevy wasn’t watching live, he would see the footage soon. And he had a helicopter. “All right, get in . . . They’ll be on us soon.”

  James turned to the guard shack and went back in. As he came out he was carrying a pack and a rifle. When he touched a button Lee heard a whining sound and the bar rose up and out of the way. After placing his gear in the back, James slid in next to her. “This isn’t much of a ride, sis . . . How much money do detectives make?”

  “More than fugitives do,” Lee said pointedly, and let the clutch out. The truck jerked each time she shifted gears. Lee took the rig up to seventy and wondered how much time they had.

  James put an arm on the windowsill. “So what’s the plan?”

  “I want to reach Highway 95 before they catch up with us.”

  “And then?”

  “And then we’ll bail out. Where did you get the rifle anyway?”

  “I charged it to my father while he was yelling at Monica,” James replied. “And the pack too.”

  Lee glanced at him. “You father didn’t just yell at Monica . . . He shot her! Or Bruce did. That isn’t clear.”

  James looked shocked. “No! They wouldn’t.”

  “They did. Your mother . . . our mother told me. She got it from Myra.”

  “B-but why didn’t Myra tell me?”

  “Here’s a guess,” Lee said tightly. “Mother wanted you to hook up with me—and was afraid that you would kill your father. She’s needs him.”

  James was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. “Yeah . . . That fits. She never liked the red zone—and always thought I’d be better off in Pacifica.”

  Lee waited for some mention of Monica, some expression of sorrow regarding his role in her death, but none was forthcoming. That was a disappointment—but Lee didn’t have time to dwell on it. Highway 95 was up ahead, and she knew they were operating on borrowed time. “Okay,” Lee said, as she began to brake. “I’m going to pull over. Take both packs plus your rifle into the rocks next to the railroad track. Find a place to hide and prepare to shoot at the helicopter. But don’t fire unless they do. Understood?”

  James frowned. “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m a police officer . . . And so long as they don’t shoot at us, we’ll leave them alone.”

  “Whatever,” James said, as the truck came to a halt. “I’ll do my part.”

  As James got out of the truck and pulled the gear out, Lee made her way up to the front of the vehicle where she raised the hood. A metal rod was available to prop it up. Once that was accomplished, she poured half a bottle of water onto the hot manifold. Steam billowed up and out from under the hood. Hopefully, their pursuers would see it, assume that the truck had broken down, and focus on that while James took aim at them. Because in spite of what Lee had said earlier—she was confident that Heevy’s thugs would open fire.

  A minute passed and nothing happened. So Lee poured more water onto the engine and wondered if she was wrong. Maybe they wouldn’t come . . . Be patient, Lee told herself. Give the plan some time.

  The steam dissipated and Lee dumped the last of the water on the manifold. That was when she heard the sound of an aircraft engine and looked to the right. Sunlight glinted off the helicopter’s bubble-shaped canopy as it came straight at her and flared into a hover. The aircraft’s starboard side door had been removed and a man with a machine gun was sitting sideways in the passenger seat. As he opened fire she began to run. “Shoot the bastard!” she shouted, as bullets threw up gouts of dirt all around her.

  But the order wasn’t necessary. As Lee arrived at the pile of rocks she heard the crack of a rifle shot and turned to look back. The merc wasn’t strapped in. So when the bullet hit him in the stomach he folded over, and with nothing to keep him aboard, toppled forward. The body and the weapon fell separately—but hit the highway at the same time.

  As luck would have it, that was the moment when a man in a beetle-shaped blue sedan turned off 95 and onto the Heartbreak Highway. The motorist tried to brake but wasn’t fast enough. The front wheels of his car hit the body and rolled over it. He was getting out to see what had occurred when James shot the helicopter’s pilot.

  It was a truly amazing feat of marksmanship. Lee heard the report, saw a jagged hole appear in the canopy, and knew that whatever remained of the slug was unlikely to hit its target. But James knew that too . . . And the second bullet passed through the hole created by the first!

  The response was immediate. With no living hand at the controls, the helicopter rolled over onto its side and fell onto the truck! There was a crash, followed by a loud boom, and pieces of debris fell all around as Lee ducked.

  Then, as she stood, Lee saw a mushroom cloud of orange fire and black smoke rising into the sky. The blue sedan’s driver was staring up at it when Lee approached him. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I need to borrow your car. Please go over to the side of the road. You’ll be safe there—and help will arrive soon.”

  The man had a parrotlike beak and holes where his ears should have been. He looked as if he was about to object to the order when he saw the Glock. It was pointed at the ground but that was sufficient. He raised his hands and backed away.

  As Lee entered the car James came on the run. He was carrying both packs and the rifle. The key was already in the ignition and the motor was running. Doors slammed as James threw things into the backseat and slid in next to her. “Sorry about the truck, sis.”

  “Don’t call me ‘sis,’” Lee replied as she threw the car into reverse. The engine roared, and the car bucked as one of the front tires passed over the merc again. Then it was time to turn the wheel and shift into drive. Lee could see the smoke in the sedan’s rearview mirror as she turned left onto Highway 95.

  “We’re headed east,” James observed calmly. “Last I heard Pacifica was west of here.”

  “Yeah,” Lee said. “And your father knows that. So he’ll send people to cut us off. We’ll find a different ride, spend the night in Las Vegas, and depart for LA from there.”

  “Sounds good,” James said mildly. “Except that the guy who owns this car saw us turn left. So, assuming he shares that with my father’s mercs, they’ll follow us to Las Vegas. Maybe you should have shot him.”

  “And maybe you should shut up,” Lee replied, although the thought had occurred to her. The difference was that she wouldn’t do it and James would.

  But like him or not, Lee knew that James was correct. So it was important to reach Indian Springs quickly and get rid of the sedan before Heevy could mobilize the local cops. Fortunately, the town was no more than twenty minutes away.

  Lee took the car up to seventy and kept it there as they drove through open desert. It was late afternoon by that time and hot. But unlike Lee’s truck the sedan had air-conditioning that actually worked. So Lee felt delightfully cool as James twiddled with the radio until he came across some news. There was no mention of them—but it sounded like the war was heating up. And the Republicans were hoping that Pacifica would side with them.

  That reminded Lee of LA, her job, and the Bonebreaker. She wanted to return to work. Could she convince Kane? And Jenkins? She would do her best. But at the moment there were more pressing proble
ms to deal with. As the car passed a sign that read, INDIAN SPRINGS, 5 MILES, she had to focus on the present. “We’re almost there,” she said. “I’m going to pull over when we cross the next bridge. That will be your opportunity to get rid of the rifle.”

  “Get rid of the rifle?” James inquired. “Why?”

  “Because even though it’s legal to do so, very few people carry rifles,” Lee replied patiently. “And we need to blend in. Besides, the pistol you’re carrying is enough.”

  “You noticed?”

  “Of course I noticed. Now get ready . . . I’m about to pull over.”

  The concrete bridge was no more than a hundred feet long—and one of many that crossed a myriad of dry riverbeds. “Watch for cars,” Lee instructed, as she brought the sedan to a stop.

  James said, “Yes, Mother,” as he opened the door and left it that way. The sudden influx of hot air quickly overwhelmed the air conditioner, as James opened the back, and removed the rifle. Then, after a quick glance in each direction, he went over to stand in front of the rail. There was a distant clatter as the weapon landed on the rocks below. The door slammed as James got in. “I hope you’re happy,” he said sourly. “That was a very nice rifle.”

  Lee chose to ignore his comment as she put her foot on the gas and steered the car onto the highway. The preplague air force base had a new name now—but it was still located just north of Indian Springs. And as they neared town Lee could see the steady stream of planes taking off and landing. Were they flying missions into Arizona? To fight the tecs? Lee would have been willing to put money on it. “Okay,” she said, as they took the first off-ramp. “We’re about to lose the car. So be ready.”

  As was often the case in small communities there were lots of car lots on both sides of the main drag, along with a few stand-alone businesses and some fast-food restaurants. And when Lee spotted a large used-car dealership she pulled in. It was called Fast Eddie’s Automobile Emporium, and there were at least a hundred vehicles lined up next to the mobile home that was Eddie’s office.