Killerwatt

by Sharon Woods Hopkins

  “Then why didn’t you say Sikeston?”

  She groaned. He has to be provoking me on purpose. Woody isn’t that dense.

  That’s when it hit her. His reluctance had to do with his PTSD. She stole another sideways glance at Woody, hunched over, examining the map. His head glistened with droplets of sweat in spite of the air conditioning. His shirt was soaked with sweat. Woody was a nervous wreck. She prayed he wasn’t working up to an episode. She didn’t have time to deal with it. It was up to her to keep both of them under control. Stay calm.

  She took in a deep breath, and tried to go to her quiet place. She couldn’t find it. She hoped her brain would at least benefit from added oxygen. She inhaled two more times. She willed the oxygen to cleanse her heart, her blood, her brain, go to her nerve endings, and slow her pulse. Each time she let the breath out quickly, in order to dispel the carbon dioxide.

  “Why are you panting?” Woody broke the reverie she’d induced in hopes of keeping calm.

  “I’m not panting. I’m taking cleansing breaths,” Rhetta said.

  “Sounds like panting to me. By the way, it isn’t just your breaths in need of cleansing. That dried mud all over you is getting pretty ripe in this cramped space.”

  In spite of the tension, or maybe because of it, Rhetta giggled. Woody chuckled. Then, they both laughed. Like during a preacher’s sermon in church, even though laughing was inappropriate, neither of them could stop.

  CHAPTER 43

  Woody and Rhetta zoomed past the last Cape Girardeau exit heading southbound. Sikeston lay twenty miles ahead. Woody held the large paper map to within inches of his face, staring intently.

  Woody said, “I don’t have my reading glasses. From what I can tell there’s a Sikeston exit at Highway 62 that says Miner. There’s also one south of Sikeston at the Highway 60 exit that also says Sikeston. Do you know which one we need to take?”

  “We’ll get off at the Miner exit, and go east. See how far it is to Flatt Junction.”

  “Flatt Junction isn’t marked,” Woody said after scanning the map. He began folding it. “I need to get this down to a manageable size.” He folded it over twice more.

  “Flatt Junction should be on Highway 62 just before we get to Bertrand. I looked it up when Randolph called me the night of his accident. We have to turn left on a state road. Do you see a state road marked there? Not a number road, a letter road.” Rhetta referred to the mysterious system Missouri had of identifying its roads. Some state roads had letters while others had numbers, according to a pattern no one could understand.

  A flashing blue light in Rhetta’s rear view mirror caught her attention.

  Woody held the map closer to the glove box light and then he leaned back, holding it at the end of his reach. He squinted and then tilted forward again. “Why didn’t I bring my glasses?” he mumbled. Then, tapping the map, he asked, “Could it be Highway O?”

  “That’s it,” Rhetta said. “How far to O after we get off the interstate?”

  The blue light had now pulled up behind her. The lights had doubled. There were now two flashing blue lights and they were ablaze atop a highway patrol car.

  Rhetta downshifted, pulled over to the shoulder, and stopped. The patrol car pulled in about twenty feet behind her.

  “Looks like you got your wish,” Woody said, closing the glove box.

  “Maybe he’ll help us.” Rhetta kept Cami idling in neutral, her foot on the brake. The officer took his time getting out of his car and making his way to her driver’s side. She rolled her window down before he got there.

  “Officer, I’m glad you’re here,” Rhetta began before he had a chance to recite the customary, Good evening ma’am. Going a little fast there, weren’t you?

  The officer looked surprised. He aimed an excessively bright flashlight beam directly into Rhetta’s face. She squinted.

  “We need you to follow us,” Rhetta said. “It’s an emergency. We’re going to the power substation at Flatt Junction, near Sikeston.”

  Apparently, the police academy didn’t cover scenarios like this. The young officer didn’t answer. He continued beaming the flashlight back and forth between Woody and Rhetta.

  Rhetta shielded her eyes with her hand and craned her neck to look up at the officer studying her. “Officer, we have reason to believe there’s a terrorist attack underway on our power substations. There’s a chance that there’s one last power station left operating in Sikeston. We just left Perryville and that one’s out. Sikeston is the last one in the entire southeast Missouri service area for Inland Electric. We’ve got to stop the terrorists who are doing this. They’ll be heading to Sikeston. I believe we’re ahead of them, but not by very much. We need your help to stop them. Call for backup.”

  The officer shook his head and laughed. “The guys at headquarters told me they’d heard every story in the book, but I’ll bet a day’s wages they never heard this one.” He held out his hand. “Let me have your operator’s license and car’s registration, please.” He kept shaking his head.

  Rhetta grappled around the floor of the back seat for her bag. “I know you’re aware of the power outages,” Rhetta said, determined to make the officer believe her. She snatched the handle on her purse and tugged the bag into her lap. “We know what’s causing them.” She groped through her bag and came out with her wallet. She located her driver’s license. Then she reached over and opened the glove box. After dumping everything from it on to Woody’s lap, she fished through the stack and found the laminated registration card. She presented the wallet and the registration card to the officer.

  “I know you know what’s causing them,” he said. “You just told me. Terrorists. Please remove your operator’s license from the wallet.” His smile disappeared. Rhetta did as he requested.

  Clutching her license and registration in his hand, the officer turned toward his car. He stopped and swiveled back to her. “By the way, I love what you’ve done with the seat coverings.” He pointed to the big blue tarp. He chuckled at his own joke.

  Rhetta fumed until she realized how she must’ve looked to the officer—a muddy mess sitting on a blue tarp in a ’79 Camaro, ranting about terrorists in Cape Girardeau. Undoubtedly, he must’ve thought he’d have a tale to tell his grandchildren. She thought that the better story would have resulted from accompanying her and Woody. From the cop’s attitude, it didn’t seem likely that would happen.

  On his way, he shone the flashlight on his booty, reading while he walked.

  He doesn’t believe me, either.

  Rhetta removed her foot from the brake, threw Cami into first, and shot back on to the highway.

  “Oh, great,” Woody said. “Why did you do that?” He twisted around to look out the rear window.

  “He blew his chance to help us,” Rhetta grumbled, shifting into fourth. The Camaro leapt into the fast lane once more. “We don’t have all night.” Within seconds, she was doing eighty.

  * * *

  Cami was the only vehicle on the southbound side of the divided interstate when they screamed past the Cape Girardeau airport exit. After repeated glances in the mirror, she was disappointed to find that the officer wasn’t following them. “With any luck, that rookie called ahead to have another cop stop us,” Rhetta said. “Maybe we can get them to follow us.”

  Woody didn’t answer.

  Rhetta glanced over to the Cape Girardeau Regional Airport, which sat a quarter mile away in a large field. Normally the control tower and airport compound was well lit and readily visible from the exit. Now, the entire vicinity lay in total darkness, just like the rest of the area.

  Strange. They must not have any backup generators.

  Woody had remained silent throughout the traffic stop. After Rhetta had driven down the road a ways, Woody held up the .22 pistol. He’d found the holster on the floor and had stealthily removed the weapon and concealed it on his lap under the unwieldy map.

  “What were you planning on doing with that?
” Rhetta asked as Woody slid the revolver back into the holster. He opened the glove box and tucked the weapon inside.

  “I thought for a minute there I was going to have to persuade that dumb cop to leave us the heck alone and let us get rolling if he wasn’t going to help.” He shot a look at Rhetta. “I didn’t have to. You took care of the situation yourself.”

  “You were going to do that with an empty .22?”

  “He didn’t know it was empty.”

  “Did you want to get us killed? What if he would’ve drawn his own weapon and fired?”

  “He wouldn’t have, not with me holding a gun on him.”

  Woody wasn’t acting at all like himself. PTSD? Rhetta began rapid deep breathing. Where was that oxygen when she needed it?

  CHAPTER 44

  “Look, there’s power here!” Woody shouted as they raced past the Benton exit. The McTruck stop was ablaze in artificial lighting.

  A quarter mile past the exit, Woody asked, “Shouldn’t you have stopped for gas?”

  “We’re good. Still have a quarter of a tank.” Rhetta desperately hoped she wasn’t lying to Woody. The gas gauge did read one-quarter, and it had always been accurate. Maybe she should’ve stopped for gas. She’d debated that long before Woody had spoken. She decided not to. Their window of time was too narrow to risk stopping for gas. There were no time outs left in this game. She’d have to run with the ball.

  She’d prayed they’d have enough gas to get them another ten miles.

  “Ten more miles, Cami. You can do it,” she whispered.

  “I heard that. Are you going to run out of gas?”

  “No, WE are not going to run out of gas.” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. “We’re coming up to the exit now.”

  Woody unhooked his safety belt and reached for the rifle. When he didn’t refasten his belt, the safety buzzer that Ricky had insisted on installing began its angry notification.

  Rhetta knew better than to advise Woody to buckle up. Neither she nor Woody was sure what vehicle to watch for. Her gut told her that they and a vehicle belonging to whoever was behind this were probably closing in together. If anybody started shooting at them, Woody would need to aim and shoot quickly. He couldn’t waste time unfastening his seat belt.

  Woody checked the rifle. “Ready,” he said, his tone all business. He propped the weapon butt-down alongside him, near the door.

  He ran his free hand over his head.

  A football-sized knot began forming in Rhetta’s stomach. With the football came the sour taste of bile. Her gut, along with the rifle, had locked and loaded.

  Traffic was moderately congested around the exit. The stores and hotels were open for business as usual. People were moving about, seemingly oblivious to the problems their neighbors were experiencing just a few miles north of them. Rhetta followed a pickup truck off the interstate and down the exit ramp. It turned east. As did she. For an instant, she wondered if that truck carried the terrorists.

  “I hope that highway cop sent out an all-points bulletin on me,” Rhetta said, pulling out to pass the truck. “We’ll need help.”

  Woody grunted. “What for?”

  “It’s just you and me and one weapon. Don’t you think having the cops with us would be pretty helpful?”

  “Don’t count on any cops arriving like knights in shining armor to help us. Especially from that dumb rookie who didn’t believe a single word you said.” Woody jerked his thumb in a backward gesture. “That guy probably thinks he’ll look like an idiot if he summons the troops to apprehend you at a remote power substation, and you aren’t there.”

  “But we will be there.” She shot past the truck.

  “He doesn’t believe you. No way.”

  “Thanks a lot, Woody. You’re a real downer, you know that?” She checked her side mirrors. The truck she’d just passed grew smaller and smaller. No other vehicle appeared.

  “I don’t mean to rain on your parade, but I’m realistic. We’re on our own out here, like we’ve been from the beginning.”

  “He’ll have to report that I ran off from a traffic stop. This car is rather distinctive, in case you’ve forgotten. He won’t want me getting away with driving off.”

  “All he’ll do is hold your license and issue you a ticket. You’ll have to go to court and explain to a judge why you drove off. At this point, that cop is irritated at you and could care less.”

  “Dang it, Woody, it’s couldn’t care less. I wish you’d get that expression right.” Rhetta pounded the steering wheel in frustration.

  Woody wiped his head. “Whatever.”

  Then he peered through the windshield and pointed. “There’s Highway O, coming up on your left.”

  By the time he said it, Rhetta had passed the road. She squealed to a stop, did a u-turn in the middle of the road. Through a cloud of dust, she slid a right turn onto O highway. It was an even narrower two-lane road than the one she’d just left.

  “You should’ve told me sooner,” Rhetta lamented.

  Woody ignored her complaint. “How far is the substation from here?” he said, and reached for the rifle.

  “From what I remember, it’s about two or three miles down O. We should be able to spot it easily.”

  She floored the Camaro and rocketed down the dark country road.

  CHAPTER 45

  After six or seven minutes without spotting the substation, Rhetta skidded to a stop. “We should’ve come up on it by now.” Throwing the car into neutral, but without turning off the car, she opened the door and stepped out to survey the area. She’d been able to drive at least sixty along the narrow flat road. According to her quick calculations, five minutes of driving should have put them at, or at least near, the substation.

  Staring through the darkness, she was barely able to discern trees, pastures, and hayfields. She and Woody were far enough out in the Scott County countryside that there were no houses, no buildings of any kind, and especially no substation. She inhaled the sweet smell of newly mown hay. The blue darkness of the night enveloped them. For a moment, she feared that they had ultimately been too late, that the power was off here, too. When her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she spotted a soft glow on the horizon.

  She leapt behind the wheel just as Woody had hand on the door handle. She shifted Cami into first and stepped on the accelerator.

  The momentum knocked Woody back into his seat. “You could warn me before you kill me,” he said, groping for the rifle. “Luckily, I didn’t have the door open.”

  “Hang on,” she said. They topped a small rise. “We’re there.”

  She heard Woody’s sharp intake of breath and saw his body tense.

  Upon arriving at the glowing area she’d seen on the horizon, she identified numerous large rectangular masses enclosed by a chain link fence. The bright oasis was an island in a sea of dark fields. The substation.

  Rhetta sped past it, barely slowing.

  “Why aren’t you stopping?” Woody twisted around to look behind as they flew past.

  “We made it here ahead of them. Let’s find a good place to stash this car. We’ll walk to the substation and surprise them when they arrive.”

  She spotted a turn-off into a field. She slowed and steered carefully across twenty feet of ground with deep tractor ruts into a recently mowed field. The farmer had baled his hay into huge round bales and had stacked them three high along the road. Most cattle farmers preferred the six feet high, seven to eight hundred pound round bales, since they were easier to feed to cattle and could be stored outside all year. They also provided perfect cover.

  Rhetta tucked Cami in close behind the bales. She was sure no one could see the car from the road. She turned off the motor, killed the lights. She and Woody sat a moment in the dark, in silence. She heard Woody breathing softly.

  “Are you ready?” Rhetta whispered.

  “Let’s do this,” Woody answered. He grabbed the rifle and threw open the passenger
door. He sprinted off.

  Rhetta yelped from her injured ankle as she hobbled along after Woody across the uneven field. Woody paused to wait for her. A few more steps put them on the solid paved road.

  The oversized clown sneakers slapped the pavement as Rhetta hoofed it alongside Woody. Eyeing her footwear, Woody said, “Is that another fashion statement?”

  There was enough ambient light glowing from the substation that she was sure that Woody caught her glare this time.

  With nearly 200 feet to go before reaching the substation, Woody pointed to an oncoming SUV topping the rise. Rhetta shouted, “It’s them! Duck!” and launched herself into the road ditch.

  Woody dove in alongside her. A layer of drying mud lined the bottom of the shallow ditch. Rhetta glanced at Woody. He lay on his stomach, chin up, one hand holding his weapon out of the goop. His face was speckled with mud particles. With his other hand, he carefully removed the miraculously unbroken Heineken bottle from under his abdomen. He tossed it aside. Stale beer trickled down his arm.

  Rhetta had flopped in on her belly and plowed through mud and stinking McDonald’s wrappers and a crushed cigarette package. She spit out the package. Seeing it triggered an urge for a smoke.

  Woody grabbed a handful of clay mud and smeared it across his face.

  “Camouflage,” he said.

  When she began to do the same, Woody shook his head. “No need. You’re already covered. All I can see are the whites of your eyes.”

  The SUV slowed when it reached the substation. It pulled in to the gravel drive and turned off its lights, disappearing in the backlight from the substation.

  “They’re here,” Rhetta whispered. Her stomach knotted.

  Woody leapt out of the ditch and ran toward the substation. He’d vanished by the time Rhetta had sprung to her feet and began limping after him. She scurried up the drive and skidded to a stop when she heard shouts followed by gunshots, and witnessed bursts of gunfire coming from two or three different directions. There were too many shots to count. The staccato reports reverberated through the night air, sounding to her like they came from the back of the substation. Near the transformer.

  Throwing herself to the ground again, Rhetta flung her hands over her head. Her heart hammered with the rapidity of machine gun fire. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart thrummed in her chest. Where was Woody? What was happening? Was he okay?