Countdown (7 page)

The woman stood up. ‘Hey, it’s a scratch. They’re going to need all the bodies they can get up there.’

‘I’m fine, too,’ said the guy with the broken arm. ‘We all got jobs to do.’

Drew looked at Jasper. ‘Is it broken?’ he asked.

‘Like a two-dollar watch,’ Jasper said.

Drew looked at the guy. ‘Well, we can’t let you be part of the rescue party ’cause of that arm,’ he said. ‘We’ll take you with us, but the best I can do is to let you take notes – if you can write with your left hand,’ he said, noting that it was his right arm that was broken.

‘No problem,’ the volunteer firefighter said. ‘I’m a southpaw.’

‘Good,’ Drew said, slapping him on his good arm. ‘Both of y’all hop in the back here while we move the squad car.’

The five remaining volunteer firefighters, the two police officers and the two EMTs managed to rock and slide the upside-down car to the side of the road and remove it from the highway. Then the firefighters and the cops got in the rescue van, while the EMTs got back in the ambulance with the two injured firefighters, and they headed toward Bishop, sirens blasting away again.

We had an hour. To do what I didn’t know. The fact that Darrell Blanton was dead was pretty much putting a wrench in the works, I can tell you that. I saw this movie once, called, I think,
Weekend at Bernie’s,
where these guys used all kinds of contraptions to make it look like this guy Bernie was still alive when he wasn’t. I supposed I could stand Darrell’s corpse up under the window of suite 214 and get him to wave at his mama. I decided not to share this idea with the rest of the guys. The problem of who killed ol’ Darrell wasn’t bothering me too much at the moment. I really didn’t care. All I cared about were the hostages, and I’d care about them the most even if my wife wasn’t one of ’em. Adding her to the mix just plain threw the thought of Darrell’s killer right out of my mind.

We were a little ahead now. We knew where our people were and where the bad guys were. We could go in guns blazing, but five’d get you ten, and one of our women would get hit by somebody – either them or us. And just because everybody up there was in those positions when Mike was there didn’t mean they were going to stay in those positions. Maybe what I should do – what I should have done at the very beginning – is call in the state guys with their hostage negotiators and SWAT teams and let them do their thing.

Except these guys, these pros, always had an acceptable hostage body count – some formula that figured a certain percentage of loss was to be expected. Well, I didn’t expect it. Not any loss, not on my watch. I was getting my wife back, as were Emmett and Anthony and Will. And Dalton and Mike Reynolds were getting their fiancées back. And we were getting Loretta and June and even Paula out of there as well. Nobody was going to die. Maybe Eunice Blanton, but that was it.

I used my cell phone to call Anthony’s cell. He answered on the first ring. I’d instructed both him and Dalton to turn their ringers off and keep their phones on vibrate. I called Anthony instead of Dalton because with Dalton’s less-than-extensive knowledge of all things electronic he could have just as easily turned his volume up. It wouldn’t be cool for Eunice Blanton to hear a phone ringing in another room.

‘Hello?’ Anthony whispered.

‘Can you hear anything from next door?’ I asked him.

‘A little bit,’ he said. ‘I got one of the glasses out of the bathroom and held it against the wall and I can hear the occasional word, but nobody’s talking much in there. Not even the old bat. I heard her on the phone with you, I’m thinking?’

‘Yeah, I called up there.’

‘Yeah, I figured. We got another hour, huh?’

‘Yeah,’ I said.

‘I’ll keep listening and call you if I hear anything pertinent,’ Anthony said.

‘Roger and out,’ I said.

‘Mama, I feel sick,’ Earl Blanton said, using the hand that wasn’t holding the shotgun to rub his stomach.

Eunice turned to her son then glanced at the former bowls of chocolate Jean had placed around the room. She slapped Earl in the face. ‘You think now’s the time to eat your weight in candy, you idiot!’

‘But, Mama, it was just sittin’ there—’ Earl started.

Eunice slapped him again. Earl said, ‘Ow, Mama!’ and moved his tummy hand to his face. ‘You don’t gotta do that!’

‘Well, if not me, then who? Somebody’s gotta set your stupid Blanton ass straight!’ Eunice turned back to the assembled. ‘See what I gotta put up with?’ she said to no one in particular. To her son, she said, ‘Don’t you even think about getting started on them nuts, you hear me?’

‘But, Mama, they got nigger-toes!’ Earl said, only to see all the hostages look up at him – the white women with shock on their faces while the two black women in the group just glared at him.

‘They got another name?’ he asked in all innocence.

‘Brazil nuts!’ the black deputy said, her teeth clinched.

‘Huh,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know that. Thanks, ma’am.’

Nita just shook her head and turned back around.

There came a groaning from behind the couch and Eunice Blanton swung around, her gun pointed at the noise. It was the boy who’d been about to knock on the door when they burst in. She had no idea why a boy would be coming to an all-girl party, but it had worked out OK.

‘You, deputy,’ Eunice said, brandishing her weapon at Jasmine. ‘See to him.’

Rex Kitchens had a bitch of a headache. Worse than a hangover, he thought. He knew he had a gig to do, the money from which kept him in beer and Buffalo wings, but, feeling around, he noticed he was still wearing his break-away firefighter costume.

He opened one eye and saw that lady, the deputy, who had hired him. ‘Did I fall down?’ he asked her.

‘More or less,’ Jasmine said, helping him to sit up and propping him against the side of the chair in which Dalton’s cousin June sat.

Rex looked up and saw the three Blantons with their guns pointed directly at him.

He grabbed Jasmine’s arm and pulled her down to where she could hear him whisper, ‘They got guns!’

‘Yeah, Rex, they sure do. We’re all being held hostage,’ she said.

‘Me, too?’ he asked.

Jasmine looked at Eunice and Eunice nodded her head. Looking back at Rex, Jasmine said, ‘Yeah, you, too.’

‘Am I still gonna get paid?’ he asked.

Even though the twister had passed, Johnny Mac was still scared shitless. Trees were down all around him. He didn’t know which way would lead back to Aunt Jewel’s house, and he sure as heck didn’t know where Matt and the other boy were. What if they’d been hurt? Maybe he should go looking for them. But he didn’t see how he could get that girl’s bike through all the rubble. Then he looked at the spot where he thought he’d dropped the bike. No bike there. He stood up and walked gingerly toward the spot. His shoes were gone, and they were good ones, too. His first pair of Nikes, with a glow-in-the-dark Nike swirl. His mom had paid a lot of money for them. His mom. He wished she were here now. Actually, no, not really. She’d have a hard time walking. He guessed what he wished was that he was with her. At that party, watching the ladies get drunk and sitting in a corner eating all those appetizers his mom had told him had been ordered. He liked chicken wings and jalapeño poppers. He was like his dad – he liked the hot stuff. Although Dad couldn’t eat that stuff anymore. Mama said bland food was all he could have. Doctor’s orders. He wasn’t sure if that was his dad’s doctor’s orders, or his mom the doctor’s orders.

But none of that musing was getting him out of this mess. He took a few more steps, wincing as he stepped on something sharp. He looked at his foot, still covered in his new Fruit of the Loom socks. The shoes and the socks had been some of the new purchases for going back to school. He doubted if the socks were going to make it. But there was no tear in the sock this time, and no blood coming from a cut on his foot. He’d just have to walk more carefully. Looking steadily at the ground, Johnny Mac took several more steps until he was at the rubble where he thought he’d left the bike. He lifted some branches and saw a strange metal thing he thought might have come from a car – he didn’t want to think about
that
flying through the air so close to him – but didn’t see the bike. Beyond the rubble, and past a few downed trees, he saw what looked like the trail. Gingerly, he headed that way.

Jewel tried to open the door to the shelter but it was stuck. She asked Laurie to help, and between the two of them they managed to dislodge whatever had been pinning down the double doors of the shelter. When they got out, they saw what it was: Jewel’s refrigerator door – with jelly, mustard, mayo and ketchup still in their allotted spaces. Jewel looked up and saw that her house was mostly gone.

Although a shock to her system, she figured it wasn’t all that bad. The house had been her husband’s first wife’s home and she was more than happy to see it gone. But then she sobered: Johnny Mac. Where was he?

‘Where are the boys?’ Laurie Potter asked, anguish in her voice. ‘Matthew said he was going to your house! He wouldn’t lie!’

Jewel just looked at her next-door neighbor. How naive was this woman? Having raised three children – two of them boys – Jewel knew one thing for sure: they lied. Boys lied about anything, while girls lied mostly about boys.

Laurie’s house was more intact than Jewel’s so they went that way, hoping to find a working phone or a cell phone. Jewel had no idea where hers was. But then again, she rarely did, which was a bone of contention between her and Harmon, her husband.

The bedroom wing was missing from Laurie’s house but the living room looked unscathed. Books still sat on the shelves, magazines were still laid on the coffee table and there were toys in a box by the fireplace. They heard a screech of tires and both ran out to the driveway. Bobby Potter came out of his car fast, running up to his wife and grabbing her.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

‘Where’s Miranda?’ Laurie asked, looking for her youngest, Matt’s little sister, owner of the now missing girl’s bike.

Miranda came out of the back seat of the car. ‘Mommy, what’s wrong with our house?’

‘Where’s Matt?’ Bobby asked his wife.

Laurie put her hands to her face and began to cry. Jewel said, ‘My nephew was here – he told me he was going to Matt’s. Matt told Laurie they were coming to my house.’

Bobby nodded. ‘So where are they?’

‘I have no idea,’ Jewel said, feeling the tears begin to sting her eyes.

Bobby Potter was a big man, about six foot three or four, with massive shoulders. A former college-level wrestler, he’d almost made it to the Olympic tryouts but was benched due to a severe inner-ear infection. He hadn’t been on good terms with his ears since.

Bobby patted Jewel on the arm. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘we’ll find the little shits. They think they’ve been in a tornado now, huh? Wait until you two get hold of ’em, huh?’ he said and laughed.

Neither woman laughed back.

Ronnie Jacobs, the pizza delivery guy from Bubba’s Pizza and Pasta, had been on his way to Bishop to deliver a pepperoni and bell pepper extra large. He was playing an old Randy Travis CD of his mom’s, not listening to the radio. If he had had the radio on, he might have realized what he was driving into. As it was, the extreme southeast edge of the twister grabbed his Toyota Celica and flipped it over four times, turning it in circles like a whirling dervish until it came to rest on its roof. Ronnie hung upside down in the driver’s seat, only his safety belt keeping him in place. His hat had fallen off and his hair, which needed to be cut, was hanging straight down. Ronnie didn’t notice. He was out like a light.

M
arge Blanton had been a sad little girl, a sad teenager, and had grown into a sad woman. She’d married her second cousin, Kenny Blanton, when she was sixteen, at her parents’ insistence. She didn’t love Kenny and he really didn’t love her. He just liked her big boobs, and his idea of romance was jumping on her at unexpected times. She lost her first baby when she was four months pregnant; her second was stillborn. Her third pregnancy ended just weeks after it had begun. But the fourth, which had resulted in her beautiful daughter Chandra, had been a success. And only Marge and one other person knew why.

His name was Gary Roberts, and he’d mistakenly come to Blantonville to try to sell vacuum cleaners. Luckily he’d come to Marge’s trailer first and she’d set him straight. Nobody in Blantonville liked door-to-door salesmen. In fact, there was a rumor that a Fuller Brush man had come to town once back in her mama’s day and had never been seen again.

Kenny, Marge’s husband, was at work in the body shop he and some of his cousins owned right outside of Blantonville, so Marge had been alone in the house with Gary Roberts, the vacuum cleaner salesman. It was the first time – maybe ever – that Marge had talked to a man outside of the Blanton clan. And she’d found him fascinating. He’d shown up at ten in the morning; by three that afternoon, after a lovely lunch (Elvis sandwiches – peanut butter and banana – with a Marge flare of added bacon and Lays potato chips), they’d ended up on the built-in sofa of Marge’s single-wide.

When she’d found out she was pregnant, she hadn’t immediately thought it could be Gary’s. She’d just assumed it was Kenny’s, as he had pounced on her many times between her tryst with Gary the vacuum cleaner salesman and her finding out that she was pregnant. As the pregnancy wore on, she’d tried not to get her hopes up – they had been dashed so many times before. But when the baby had been born alive and began to thrive, she’d had to wonder. Was it the fresh genes? How come every pregnancy with her second cousin had failed but one dalliance with an outsider and she bore the perfect child? By the time Chandra was six months old, Marge could see a definite resemblance between her beautiful baby girl and the vacuum cleaner salesman.

Gary had left her his business card, so she had an address. She wrote him the following letter:

Dear Gary,

This may come as a shock to you, but you have given me the greatest joy
in my life – our beautiful daughter, Chandra. She’s six months old and looks just like you! I don’t want to put any pressure on you, but if you are so inclined, please come by and get me and the baby and take us away from here. If I don’t hear from you, I guess that means no.