Killerwatt

by Sharon Woods Hopkins

  She turned left, and Cami bounced on to the county road. Although the road was gravel, it wasn’t the firm grey limestone gravel like the surface of their road in Cape County. Instead, this Bollinger County road gravel was boulder-sized, the rocks undoubtedly mined from a local creek. Deep puddles littered the road and there were too many potholes to count.

  Her initial mutterings of displeasure turned to cussing when she heard loud pings and splats from the mud attacking the low-slung Camaro. She hadn’t realized how close to the road surface her car traveled, especially now that she was inching over a rough gravel road like this one. She and Randolph had always driven the four-wheel drive Artmobile on previous visits to Billy Dan’s.

  She was driving so slowly that the speedometer didn’t register, going just fast enough to avoid stalling. Not wanting to ride the clutch, she eased the Camaro forward a little faster. “Sweet mother of God,” she mumbled. “I’ll definitely have to wash the car tomorrow.”

  She prayed that Cami would only need a bath, and not a new oil pan. Rounding a steep curve to the left, she met a dark green truck careening toward her. It swerved across the middle of the road, hogging not only its side of the narrow road, but hers as well. She jerked Cami’s wheel hard to the right to avoid colliding with him. He veered in the opposite direction, causing him to fishtail along the edge of the road and sending a spray of gravel skyward. She accelerated hard, managing to escape the worst of the cascading rocks he left in his wake.

  “Damn,” she cursed as some of the raining gravel bounced off her trunk. “What an idiot.” She cringed, visualizing the damage to the hood and paint.

  In her rear-view mirror, she glared at the back of the offending vehicle speeding away. It wasn’t a truck after all, but an SUV, probably a Ford Explorer, she guessed. A green SUV. She snapped her head around to see if she could catch the license plate number. The SUV was, however, long gone.

  Billy Dan’s driveway came into view ahead on the right. Slowing to make the turn in, she noticed two sets of fresh deep ruts in his driveway. From their appearance and direction, she guessed that the first set of tracks were made by a vehicle entering, followed by another set of ruts made when it left. That SUV had to have been at Billy Dan’s. Her stomach knotted again and her hands grew clammy. Was someone now after Billy Dan, or her?

  Billy Dan’s house wasn’t immediately visible. He’d built his home at least a half mile away on top of a small hill overlooking his lake. He bragged that being well away from the road suited him perfectly. No one could accidentally find his house. One had to be determined to visit Billy Dan to find his house.

  She took a deep breath and eased Cami up the long driveway, dreading an expedition along an even worse path than what the county road was. Billy Dan kept his private lane so well maintained that even after the rain, she was grateful to discover that it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as the county road. She exhaled a sigh of relief. The public road had already taken its toll on Cami. She was loath to add to any more damage to her undercarriage. If the driveway had been bad, she was prepared to stop, park Cami, and hoof it the rest of the way to the house. The driveway was quite smooth. Billy Dan had imported Cape County gravel for his personal lane. She sped toward the compound at the top of the hill.

  Billy Dan referred to his home site as a compound because of the many outbuildings that were nestled close together behind his house. A wide porch surrounded his cozy two-story, cedar-sided cabin. The wood veranda offered a stunning view of the lake. About twenty yards behind the house, stood a modern grey metal-sided building topped with a bright red metal roof. The building was larger than the house. This was Billy Dan’s workshop. In it, he also had storage for his tractor, mowers, and assorted other machinery. He kept all of the equipment in one end, while his shop was at the other, heated with a wood stove, and cooled by a window air conditioner.

  A miniature version of the shop stood next door. Billy Dan used this building exclusively for his fishing gear. Above the entry door to what he called his fishing shed was a hand-lettered sign that warned, “Non-fishermen enter at your own risk,” and which was illustrated with a rendering of a largemouth bass that bore an exaggerated open mouth baring man-killing teeth. Overlooking the buildings stood the turn of the twentieth century cattle barn—a two story wood structure. Its tin, roof glistened in the sunlight Billy Dan didn’t keep cattle any more, and he kept that barn as tidy as the rest of the property.

  Rhetta glanced around, marveling at how the place was as fastidiously groomed as a state park. With the recent state funding cutbacks, Billy Dan’s property was probably in better condition than most of the state parks.

  She jogged up the steps to the porch and rang the doorbell. When no one answered, she rapped on the doorframe and called out, “Billy Dan? Are you here? It’s Rhetta McCarter.” Nobody answered her. After a third unsuccessful attempt to raise Billy Dan, she scurried down the steps.

  Her mind raced. She wasn’t about to try the door. The last time she entered someone’s home unbidden was at Peter’s apartment, and look how well that turned out. Continuing to shout Billy Dan’s name, she sprinted toward the outbuildings.

  The workshop was closed, with no sign of activity. The air conditioner unit, which protruded from the window next to the entry door, was silent. In this heat, Billy Dan wouldn’t be in the shop without cool air. She skipped that door. No sense in checking there.

  The fishing shed door stood ajar. A quick inspection revealed only shelves of neatly organized fishing tackle. No Billy Dan.

  After a search around the barn, she was again disappointed. There was no sight of Billy Dan anywhere. Images of Peter’s body drifted in unbidden. She shook her head to chase the memory off. This was different. Billy Dan wouldn’t be lying dead inside his house. She couldn’t be having that bad a day. He had to be out somewhere on the grounds or at the lake.

  She turned back to investigate the shop. She’d try to get a peek inside. If the Kubota tractor was gone, Billy Dan could be out in the fields mowing, although she doubted that he would mow immediately after a hard rain. The ground was much too muddy. She paused to listen for a tractor that might be chugging nearby. She heard nothing but the eerie calm that descends after a violent storm. There wasn’t even any birdsong, as though the birds weren’t sure they could come out from wherever they’d sheltered during the storm. The entire place was deathly quiet.

  After trying both walk-through doors and the roll-up doors to the workshop and finding them locked, she peered through a window in a side door. There sat the big Kubota parked next to a grader blade, a finish mower, and two or three riding mowers. She craned sideways and spotted a four-wheeler and several small wagons.

  Billy Dan definitely wasn’t mowing.

  She turned away from the building and gazed up at the house, then fixed her eyes on the lake. She remembered his voicemail message that if he didn’t answer the phone, he was fishing. She stared at the water. Around her, the trees were still; no wind rustled the leaves. No crickets or tree frogs sang. She shouted once again, but only half-heartedly. She wanted to turn and leave. Billy Dan was nowhere on the property, of that she was sure. Unless he was in the house, hurt or….

  Rhetta shook the unfinished thought away, afraid of thinking the worst. Then she gathered herself together, remembering the reason she came here. She swallowed hard and turned toward the house. She’d try every door. If she found one unlocked, she’d go in. She couldn’t possibly find another body, could she? What were the odds?

  CHAPTER 35

  After trying the front door knob, then ringing the bell and knocking again, Rhetta eased around to the side of the house, searching for other doors. She tried the door to the breezeway between the house and the garage. Locked. After walking around to the sliding glass basement door, she found it locked as well. No one answered her pounding. Maybe he’s just not home. Maybe I’m over-reacting.

  She cruised around the house and hopped back up on to the porch to
again survey the surroundings. From Billy Dan’s porch, she had a good view of the lake. Strange, how every door on the place was secure with the exception of the fishing shed. That door wasn’t only unlocked, it stood wide open. Billy Dan must’ve gone fishing, yet he was nowhere around his property that she could tell.

  She scanned the grassy slopes surrounding the lake. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. At the foot of the hill below the house, the wooden dock stretched a good 20 feet out over the water, an extension of the stone walkway leading to it. Tied to the dock was Billy Dan’s paddleboat. Nothing unusual there.

  After trotting down the back porch steps, she picked her way along the rock walk to the lake, studying the ground, the grass, the dock, the paddleboat. She stepped gingerly on to the dock and walked to the end of it. The water was so still it didn’t even lap around the pilings. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted Billy Dan’s name again and was shocked to hear her amplified voice bounce back to her. Her “Hello-o-o” skimmed across the water, where it reverberated through the trees on the other side of the lake.

  The clouds scudded off, leaving brilliant late afternoon sunshine in their wake. Rhetta shielded her eyes as she stared westward across the glittering blue water of the lake. She shouted again. “Hello, Billy Dan?” No answer.

  A faint noise, a bumping sound, floated up from the water. Following the sound, she spotted an overturned johnboat in the water close to the edge of the lake. After calling out one more time, she heard another faint thump, as if in response.

  Rhetta exploded into a sprint, shouting Billy Dan’s name as she ran. She drilled her stare on the overturned flat-bottomed boat. Billy Dan had to be underneath it. She was sure of it. For some reason, he couldn’t get out and was answering her shouts by pounding. She pumped her legs to the max.

  About twenty feet from the spot on the shore closest to the boat, a white oak tree root snagged her toe as she flew by, catapulting her face first on to the damp grass. For a second, she couldn’t fathom what had happened until the pain from her ankle shot to her brain. She moaned and cursed at the same time. Propping herself up on her grass-stained elbows, she scrabbled backward enough to free her foot. Her ankle began throbbing. Her right ankle. Her driving foot.

  “Crap, that hurts,” she yelped. She hoisted herself up to her knees, then slowly stood. Her ankle sent a jolt of pain each time her heart beat. She sucked in deep breaths. Her head swiveled toward the boat. She heard the faint thump again. She examined her swelling ankle, daring to touch it. It felt hot and started to swell, and began throbbing as she limped along.

  “Billy Dan, hang on. I’m coming,” she shouted. Another response thump from the boat. “Oww,” she cried when she tried to hurry and pain shot up her leg.

  Reaching the spot on the bank nearest the overturned boat, she shouted again. “I’m here, Billy Dan, hang on.” The boat bobbed upside down and was no farther than ten feet from shore. A muffled moan escaped from under the boat. The groan was followed by a weak tap, tap, tap. “I’m coming out to you,” Rhetta shouted, and dipped her good foot into the water at the shore, where the water was ankle deep. The bank sloped sharply the farther she slogged out toward the boat. Moving carefully so she wouldn’t slip and fall, she slid along the slimy mud bottom. She cried out again from the pain reverberating from her injured ankle.

  By the time she reached the small boat, she was waist-deep in the water. Mud had sucked off the tennis shoe on her injured foot. She didn’t care. This time when she called out to Billy Dan, he answered her with a groan.

  “Billy Dan, it’s Rhetta McCarter. I’m going to get you out from under there, okay?” She didn’t ask him if he was all right. That was a stupid question. If he’d been all right, he wouldn’t have been clinging to the underside of his small fishing boat.

  He mumbled something she didn’t understand, but which she interpreted as a “yes.”

  She didn’t have a clue how to get him out.

  “Where are you hurt?” she shouted.

  Another muffled sound followed by a moan.

  “Can you turn loose of the boat and I’ll push it away?”

  “No,” came the distinct reply.

  Now what?

  She started to tug the boat toward shore. She stopped abruptly when she heard Billy Dan yelp in pain. “No, stop,” he cried.

  All right, go to Plan B. What the hell is plan B?

  She’d never had to rescue someone from under a boat before. Was there a protocol for this?

  “I’m going to push down and try to turn the boat over.”

  “No!” came an even sharper reply.

  Of course not. What was she thinking? Why not? What’s wrong with Billy Dan?

  The only way to know how to free him was to get under the boat with him and see what she was dealing with.

  She ducked down, bobbed her head under the water, and came up alongside him beneath the boat. Although sunlight streamed across the water, underneath the boat was dim. Little light penetrated. She willed her eyes to hurry and adjust to the dark.

  Squinting around to get her bearings, she identified the streaky dark splotches spattering the underside the boat. Blood everywhere. Rhetta inhaled sharply. An upside-down portion of the hinged upholstered seat that normally covered the bait well dangled into the water. The two wooden bench seats, one in the bow and one in the stern, served to hold the little johnboat steady after it had turned over.

  “Billy Dan, oh my God, what happened?” Billy Dan, wedged firmly between the stern seat where he’d been sitting, and the middle seat, didn’t answer. He groaned, his mangled right arm trapped in the bait box. His lower body sloshed in the water. The cover of the bait box dangled, splintered in two. One piece hung loosely into the water, while an enormous shard pierced Billy Dan’s arm, pinning him to the boat. “Dear God, I’ve got to get you out of here!” Frantic, she looked around for something she could use to help Billy Dan.

  She had no idea how to free him.

  CHAPTER 36

  Rhetta ducked back under the water and surfaced on the other side of Billy Dan. She found herself in the small space next to the bait box, inches from the middle seat. Billy Dan was hurt. Hurt too badly to free himself. He clung to the bottom of the boat with his good arm, exhaustion evident. She could easily see that he was barely able to hold on.

  Glancing around, she was unable to determine what had caused his injury or the boat to capsize. She’d save those questions for later. Right now, she had to figure out how to get Billy Dan out from under the boat. She saw that the first thing she had to do was free him from the shard.

  “All right, let’s get you loose.” She began tugging on the wood shard that pinned him to the boat, but stopped quickly when he cried out in pain.

  “I need to figure out which pieces of this thing,” she said, pointing toward the bait box, “that I can remove to free you.” He grunted.

  If she loosened some of the other pieces instead of the one in his arm, she might have enough room to maneuver Billy Dan and free him from his impalement.

  She groaned with the effort of pulling an unwieldy wood slab with one hand, while gripping the rim of the underside of the boat with the other. She turned loose of the boat, grabbed the splintered piece with both hands, and jerked as hard as she could. The piece broke loose and she stumbled backward. Losing her balance, she went under the water again. Flailing and churning forward, she propelled herself back under the boat. The process seemed to take forever, like she was moving in slow motion, caught in a bizarre dream. When she finally surfaced, she sputtered, spitting out muddy water.

  Minutes later, she was able to free him. The moment she loosened Billy Dan’s injured arm, it floated limply in the water. Billy Dan seemed unable to control it. His head lay against his good arm, as he gripped the underside of the boat. His strength had waned and he turned loose of the boat. She feared he was unconscious.

  “Billy Dan, can you hear me?” She was inches from his fac
e. He didn’t respond. His eyes were nearly shut. “Billy Dan, answer me,” she commanded. His eyes fluttered open and he grunted.

  “I’m going to hold on to you and pull you under the boat. Then we’re going to shore.” She’d figured she’d wrap her right arm around his waist and pull him downward to clear the boat.

  “Uh…,” he mumbled faintly and began heaving himself outward. His movement, she quickly saw, was a hindrance.

  “Stay still and let me get a grip on you,” she ordered. She slogged up alongside him and encircled as much of his waist with her right arm as she could reach. Although Billy Dan wasn’t tall, his muscular build made him a lot larger around than she was. Rhetta’s size—barely five feet two and one hundred ten pounds—made her feel like she was grasping a giant.

  “On three,” she said. “Then let go.” She sucked in a deep breath. “One, two, three!” With all her strength, she pulled Billy Dan downward into the water. When she ducked to clear the boat, her painful ankle gave out. She stumbled backward, lost her balance, and tumbled into the water. She also lost Billy Dan.

  When she righted herself, she began panicking. She couldn’t locate him. He hadn’t surfaced. He was still underwater.

  Oh, God, where is he?

  All she saw was muddy water churning all around her. She’d made most of those billowy mud clouds herself. The boat drifted away, a sure sign that Billy Dan was no longer holding on to it.

  She stabbed the water with both hands, searching frantically. She couldn’t find him. Where did he go? How could I lose him in three feet of water?

  She lunged toward the spot she last saw him, but grabbed only muddy lake water. Holding her breath, Rhetta ducked under the surface of the water and spotted him a few feet from her, face down, his limbs floating loosely, and a dark trail of blood oozing from his head. He was floating to the surface, no longer attached to anything. He hit his head. He’s unconscious!

  Sloshing toward him, she circled both arms around his upper torso and propelled him upward until his face cleared the water. Although it felt like she was wading through quicksand, Rhetta managed to hold on to him.