Tiger's Eye (12 page)

After two more dings, Derek said, “Dang, woman! Why are people always trying to kill you?”

“I don’t know. I’m a very likeable person.”

I crawled toward the back tire and peeked out into the landscape.

Lots of open space.

“What’s the plan?” Derek asked.

“I didn’t have a contingency plan for being shot at.”

“You should always have a plan for that. You’re like a psycho magnet. I’d be packing twenty-four seven if I had your track record.”

“I’ll put it on my to-do list, right after
don’t get killed
.”

The hubcap took a hit as Derek reached for his phone. “Shit, I left my phone in your car.”

“Mine’s in my bag.”

Derek fished my phone out from the bag slung across my back.

“No signal.”

The stack of tires Liberty had perched on was to my left. An antique washing machine sat a few yards from that.

But where was the shooter?

“Derek, do you see anything on your side? Anything to take cover in?”

If it had been a pro—a sharpshooter—we most likely would have been dead already.

“I got a giant Big Boy head, a Coca-Cola sign, and a refrigerator door. There’s a tractor about fifty feet from that.”

I scooted over to see what he was looking at. The shots all seemed to come toward the front of the car. The far side would be our best chance. The refrigerator door was an old Westinghouse, not so different from what was in Birdie’s kitchen. Those things were built like tanks.

Another bullet hit the dirt near my hand.

“Count of three, run for that fridge door. We’ll use it like a shield. Ready?”

Derek nodded. Then he said, “Wait, is it one, two, three then go? Or one, two, then go?”

“One, two, then go.”

I grabbed the back tire with both hands for a second, hoping for a sign, a vision, anything that would penetrate my mind with the truth. I shut my eyes.
Please, Daddy, talk to me!

Not my father, nor his killer, but I did get something.

The white tiger flashed in my mind and unleashed a deafening roar. I saw teeth dripping with saliva, muscles bulging from her throat like a road map, and in that split second, I knew two things.

One (and most urgent), we had to get the hell out of there. Fast.

The other (and most astonishing) was that my mother was somehow sending me her spirit guide.

Chapter 15

“One. Two. Three!”

We scrambled out from under the vehicle and ran in a crouch all the way to the refrigerator door. Derek lifted it by the handle and I ducked behind it just in time.

A shot connected with the metal.

Running with a hundred-pound refrigerator door as a shield is not as easy as it sounds. I would have really loved a pair of Wonder Woman bracelets right then.

“Geez, this thing weighs more than that damn bird!” Derek said.

Liberty! Where the heck was she?

Derek was usually faster than I was, but he was running backward, holding the bulk of the door. I faced front, looking for anything to take cover in. There was the tractor, a snowmobile to the left of that, and one lone oak tree beyond.

I made an executive decision. “Derek, the tractor isn’t too far, just hang on to that door.”

A shot splintered part of the tree and I veered us away from it. The tractor was a gigantic John Deere yellow and
green number, which meant it was big enough to hide behind for the time it would take to check my phone for a signal.

Two more shots sailed into our makeshift shield.

“Are we there yet?” Derek asked, and then he screamed. “Shit! OW! Shit!”

“Oh my God, Derek? Are you shot?”

“Son of a—geez that hurt!”

“Almost there. Hang on!”

The tractor was two steps away. More shots zinged off an empty gas can.

Just as we circled around the machine, Derek screamed again and I heard a crunch.

“Are you hit again? What happened?”

“I wasn’t hit at all. I think I stepped on a nail back there, but that sack of monkey dung just shot my shades off my face!”

Oh no. I looked down. “And I just stepped on them. Damn, we needed those pictures!” I was pretty sure any evidence left on that car would be gone if we ever got out of here alive.

“Forget the pictures! You owe me two hundred fifty bucks, man.”

At that moment, Liberty swooped down, screaming. She soared back up, took a longing look at Derek, and flapped majestically toward the path we had just taken.

“I think she’s trying to buy us some time. Come on!” I said.

Derek scooped up what was left of his spy shades and shoved them into his shirt pocket. I checked my phone again. Still no signal, which didn’t really surprise me.

We were in the middle of nowhere.

I quickly scanned the junkyard. The snowmobile, I noticed, had a smashed front end. In fact, most of the cars around were badly injured in one capacity or another. The tractor, however, seemed in tip-top shape.

“Derek, maybe we can climb in the cab.”

“And then what? That’s probably not bulletproof glass, Lucy,” he said in a Hispanic accent.

Right.

“Maybe there’s a weapon inside. Farmers carry shotguns, right? Give me a boost.”

I slipped my foot into his clasped hands and he hoisted me onto the bulging tire. I squealed like a little girl. “Derek, keys! There are keys in the ignition with an eagle key ring. This must be Scoog’s.”

“Great. You know how to drive one of these things?”

“How hard can it be?”

“You realize it’s an all-glass cab, a one-seater, and probably goes about ten miles an hour, right?”

“If you have a better idea, Negative Nancy, I’m all ears.”

He didn’t.

The nail in Derek’s foot banished any argument about who would drive, so I climbed in and he followed. Then I fired the beast up.

Or tried to.

The engine didn’t turn over.

Tried again. Nothing.

“Stop that! You need to put your foot on the clutch or you’ll flood the engine,” Derek said. “You do know how to drive stick, right?”

“Cinnamon taught me awhile ago. I think I remember.”

Shoot. I didn’t realize it was a manual transmission. There was a long lever that looked like a parking brake. I released that and Derek nearly sailed through the windshield.

“Sorry.”

He glared at me.

“I’ll get it.” It wasn’t like I spent my weekends tilling the fields or attending tractor pulls, although considering how most of my weekends turned out, I may give it a try next time.

A bullet hit something in the back of the machine just as I pushed in the clutch. I stepped on the gas and the tractor jerked forward, then lunged back a few times before I finally found the balance. When I turned the key one last time, the engine rumbled to life.

I bobbed and weaved as I shifted the four-wheeled monstrosity into its highest gear. I figured it was harder to hit a moving target. Derek was scrunched against the door like one of those suction-cup car ornaments.

“Keep an eye on that phone and call Leo as soon as you get a signal.”

“Gee, and I was just going to ride it out and see what happens,” Derek said sarcastically. “I’m in pain here! I plan to call the po-po, the fire department, an ambulance, and the National Guard! Then I’m calling the closest nuthouse to have you evaluated.”

“Oh please, it’s not like you got shot,” I said, glancing at his foot. It was gushing blood. One nail could do all that damage? Thank the Goddess he didn’t have time to
examine it. Derek wasn’t exactly Rambo. Every time he sees his own blood—and I mean a freaking paper cut—he faints. I didn’t want him to notice the horror on my face, so I kept talking as I wiggled my bag off my shoulder and laid it over his feet.

“Besides, you’re the one with the feathered girlfriend. Speaking of which, do you see her?” I chewed my lip, trying desperately to maneuver the tractor away from stray cars, antique lawn mowers, and small rodents. “Hope she doesn’t get hurt.”

Derek moved his head slightly. “I can hear her. But I don’t hear anything else.”

I listened. He was right. The pinging sounds had ceased. At least for the moment.

“Go, Liberty,” I said.

It was a bumpy ride for several minutes as we dodged a ghostly motorcycle, a rotting pontoon boat, and, ahead in the distance, some sort of metal sculpture shaped like a dinosaur. That dinosaur looked familiar.

I searched the recesses of my brain until I recalled a field trip I took as a child to what the teacher called Art in the Park. A local metalworks artist and welder who lived just off the highway welcomed classes to tour his property and his many works of art. It was all made from recycled metal such as wheel rims, bed frames, wrenches, farm equipment, saws—even tractor parts. It made sense now. He must have acquired a lot of the material from Scoog. From what I understood, he was popular with tourists from Chicago’s North Shore and trendy shop owners from Wicker Park, Logan Square, and Boystown.

We must have been close to his property.

Surely he would have a phone.

“Derek, what’s the name of that road?”

He pulled out a small film canister from his back pocket. With one flick, it transformed into an extended single-vision scope, like a ship’s captain might use.

“Does everyone shop at the spy store but me?” Aunt Lolly, I’d learned the hard way, loved that place.

“It’s filled with some cool stuff, let me tell you.” Derek winced in pain as he shifted his weight and angled his body forward. “Looks like Blue Diamond Drive.”

“Do you think the GPS will work on the phone without any network coverage?”

“If it can ping off a satellite, then sure.”

“Give it a try.”

I slowed the tractor down when we reached a dirt road. There were no cars coming as far as I could see and the dinosaur was farther away than I thought. The size had deceived me and I didn’t see a house or even a mailbox nearby.

“The GPS is not zeroing in on us, but it’s giving a map of the area. Looks like whatever was last plugged into it is lingering.”

“Do you see the road anywhere on there?”

“Yep. Looks like we’re about fifteen miles from town, and White Hope snakes around the other side of Blue Diamond.”

The phone beeped the low-battery cry.

“Turn it off. Can’t afford to lose any more juice right now,” I said.

I forged ahead, glancing often at Derek. He looked pale. “There should be a water in my bag. Might be some snacks too.”

The tractor bounced along the dirt road, the hum of the engine the only sound for miles. It was hotter than Hades’ oven inside so I asked Derek to open his window and I did the same. He handed me half the bottle of water and I accepted a sip but gave him the rest. I had no idea how much blood he had lost, but the stench of fear and our own body odor was enough to make anyone pass out at that point. For a moment, I considered tearing directly over to White Hope Road and just driving this behemoth mobile right down the center line, hoping someone would call the cops.

I spotted a domed house, fit for a hobbit, in a thicket of trees. It was flanked by two metal knights.

“Derek, is that an oasis or is that really a house?”

“It’s either a house or we’ve stumbled upon the lost land of Camelot.”

I smiled. “Let’s hope Merlin’s home.”

Chapter 16

The poor man came out of his home looking like aliens had just landed.

I guess it wasn’t every day a tractor pulled into his driveway carrying a local reporter and a photographer who was cursing and bleeding all over the gravel.

I tried to get Derek to wait inside the vehicle, but he refused. Actually, refused is putting it mildly. What he said was, “Are you crazy? Let me guess, you think if I sit here in this heat I’ll melt into a chocolate bunny that you can gobble up? Who-wee.” He rubbed his stomach. “I’m Stacy and I’d love me a chocolate bunny.”

Okay, not only did that make no sense, but I hadn’t eaten a chocolate bunny since I was five, and I was pretty sure that statement was racist.

He was seriously losing coherency. I had to make sure he didn’t inspect his foot.

“Fine, but just stay here, okay? And”—I glanced over my shoulder for emphasis—“keep an eye on this guy.” That might keep him from looking down.