"Pretty good, I think."
"Good. Could you do it now?"
"Are you kidding? There's no room to stand up and swing."
"I know," Peter said, "but it's our best chance. Give it a try at least?"
Cathy looked out the window. The Bronco followed them, two car lengths behind. "I'll try," she said.
Fred Martin was busy wrapping sheets around cans. The line of cars going the other way had finally passed, and Hammond was pulling alongside. Peter tried the braking trick as the slope leveled out, but Hammond was ready. Then another car appeared, facing him, before Hammond could try to bump them, and he fell in behind. The Parkway began to climb again and Peter moved the camper out to the middle of the road to keep Hammond from pulling up beside them. He watched for an opportunity to pass the Airstream, but none presented itself.
"About a mile to the overlook now," he said, after a minute. "I'll yell when it's in sight; that's when you start heaving sheets. I don't know how many you'll get time for, but the faster you land one, the better our chances will be. Then everybody hang on tight, we'll be making some fast turns. Cathy, I've got to stay ahead of Hammond. If he starts inching right or left, let me know."
"He's moving to the left now."
Peter swung the camper to the left and Hammond, blocked out, hung back. A few minutes later, he tried the right but Cathy was able to warn Peter in time for him to move the camper that way.
She waited in the back next to the window. Fred Martin moved the ungainly sheet bombs to the rear, then knelt beside her.
"Okay," Peter called. "Now!"
Fred opened the window and Cathy stood up, leaning out of the opening. The Bronco was so close, she could see Hammond's face. She couldn't see a gun in his hand and prayed there wasn't one he could easily grab. Stuck out the window, she felt as vulnerable and exposed as a wooden duck in a shooting gallery. She picked up the awkward sheet-wrapped parcel.
Her first toss landed squarely on the hood of the Bronco. Unfortunately, the corners of the sheet remained pinned so, instead of flapping onto the windshield, the whole thing sat there a moment, then slid off the side. Fred was already handing her a second missile. She gathered herself and threw again. The second try missed entirely.
She sagged with discouragement. Danny had pulled himself onto his knees so he could see what was going on; his knuckles, holding onto a corner of the sink, were white with the effort. He reached out with his other hand and put it on her arm. "This one's gonna make it," he said, and oddly, she felt he was giving her strength and determination.
She took a third missile from Fred; every muscle strained as she prepared to throw it. It didn't land on the hood. If Hammond hadn't swung the Bronco to his right at that very moment, trying to avoid her throw, it wouldn't have touched the vehicle at all. But his swerve coincided with the curve she put on the package and it hit his windshield. The sheet spread out, flapping in the wind like a gigantic, drunk butterfly. The cans rolled off the Bronco on either side. That was all they saw.
The camper swung suddenly, sharply to the left and Cathy, still kneeling, was dumped on her side. She slid along the floor until her back was brought up sharply against something solid but yielding. An arm went around her to keep her from rolling any more and she realized Danny was holding onto her.
The camper continued to veer sharply to the left, circling around the overlook drive so, when they came out of it, they were turned around and heading back in the direction of Skyeville.
"Now pray we don't meet any other obstructions," Peter said grimly as he steered the van back onto the Parkway. "We might beat Hammond to the exit. Add a prayer that there's plenty of civilization not far from the exit while you're at it."
As they drove away, they heard a crunch and the scrape of metal. Fred, who'd braced himself on the side of the van and hadn't been tossed around, looked out the back.
"The sheet's still over his windshield, and he just drove the Bronco over those low posts on the side of the road. I don't think he'll be coming after us for a good while."
Cathy hadn't heard better news in days. Still spread across the floor of the camper, she let loose a hoot of pure joy and hopped up and kissed everybody in sight. Fred grinned shyly when she hugged and kissed him. Peter was driving so she had to be content with a safe peck on his bristly cheek. Mrs. Martin was nearly as thrilled as Cathy herself and hugged her as best she could while encumbered by the seat belt.
Danny picked himself up off the floor, and wore, astonishingly, the beginnings of a grin. His smile was rusty from disuse, but did nice things for his face. Cathy hugged him enthusiastically and kissed both cheeks. It felt a bit like kissing the business end of a scrub brush, but she was too happy to care.
Her exuberance finally wore to a happy glow, and she sank against the side of the cabinets. "Mrs. Martin, could I have one of those sandwiches you mentioned?" she asked.
"Of course, dear, help yourself. No drinks to go with it now, I'm afraid."
"It was worth it,:" she answered, poking among the contents of the icebox.
"I'll have something, too," Peter chimed in, as he pulled the camper off the Parkway at Skyeville. He turned onto the crossroad, and a sign soon informed them they were five miles from the town proper.
They shared the contents of the icebox, somewhat meager for five people, but it made a satisfying victory feast. Danny ate half a sandwich, but, when she offered him more, he declined, saying he'd had enough.
His face assumed its usual reserve, but he waited until they were finished eating before saying anything more. "You were saying something earlier?" he asked to Cathy.
"Oh Lord, yes. Danny, do you remember Bobby ever saying anything about a mobile home?"
His eyebrows rose with surprise before his face went blanker, yet with introspective concentration. "He worked on a few campers," he said slowly. "I remember he thought they were pretty neat, the way everything was so small, yet fit so well... Wait, yeah, that's it. It was a few months ago, he was talking about fixing one up. Seems he knew where he could get an old one and thought it'd be great for a vacation, what with the baby and all. But it wasn't a camper like this, it was one of those Airstr— Oh, God." His thinking apparatus wasn't well-oiled, but it worked. "Is that it? But we don't know where it is." He said it with a kind of stretched agony, as though he fought both hope and disappointment.
"I do know," Cathy told him, head propped in her hands. "I've known for more than a week now and, if I hadn't had such a one-track mind, all of this could have been avoided."
"Don't blame yourself," Peter advised from the front. "I looked at the damn thing, too, and it never registered with me, either."
Danny looked at her again. She was getting better at reading him; he was trying to hide the mixture of emotions wracking him and she could identify them all.
Last night, she'd asked him for his trust, unsure whether it would be given, but positive, perhaps arrogantly, she'd a right to it. The situation was reversed now and he wouldn't ask; having betrayed her trust once, he knew he had no claim on it. But he wanted it, and had a faint hope, in the face of the odds, she might offer it anyway.
As her silence stretched out, that faint hope died, replaced by unhappy acceptance. Cathy didn't even know how she could tell. His well-practiced face didn't betray the change by even a flicker. But it was there and she knew it as surely as she knew she couldn't stand the pain it was causing.
"Ike Hudson's junkyard," she said slowly, looking at the floor. "I knew it was there all the time—I knew it!—but I never even looked at that damned trailer in the corner. It never occurred to me. God, I feel like an idiot."
She gathered her courage and looked up again. He watched her still, no change apparent in his solemn, dark eyes. But it was there, she felt it and was intimidated by it. Be careful what you ask for, someone had once told her, you might get it. Perhaps she should have heeded the warning better and remembered that Danny didn't do things by halves.
The
y were pulling into Skyeville, a wide spot in the road, lined with a few sad, struggling stores. The police station wasn't difficult to locate. Peter didn't even have to stop and ask directions. A small sign directed them to the Police/Fire/Ambulance headquarters as well as the Town Hall.
The way had been prepared for them. When Peter gave his name to the officer on duty at the front desk, the man all but shot out of his chair. He led them along a short corridor, knocked on an office door, and escorted them in without waiting for a reply. Tom Dunning was in the room, looking the worse from a long night, but his face lit with relief and gladness when he saw them at the door.
Peter was holding Cathy up and Fred and Emily Martin stood on either side of Danny, performing the same function for him. Chairs were found for them; Peter gave a quick summary of their activities of the last twenty-four hours, then demanded Danny and Cathy be taken to the nearest hospital—with a guard. The police weren't happy about it. They didn't want to let any of them out of sight without further explanation, but it was obvious Peter wasn't exaggerating Danny's need for medical attention.
The hospital was twelve miles away in the next town. They were taken in a police car which received considerable respect even without the blue light shining. At the emergency room of a building that barely looked big enough to qualify as a hospital, Danny was loaded onto a gurney and hustled away; Cathy found herself in a wheelchair, being rolled down the hall.
It didn't take her long to decide there was a lot to be said for small-town hospitals. She was treated with a sympathetic, friendly care that won her gratitude and appreciation. Only one doctor was on duty, and Cathy had to wait while he treated Danny, but several nurses made her comfortable and talked to her during the interval. The wait was even longer than it might have been, she found out later, because the doctor took a good look at Danny and then, shaken and furious, sought Peter for an explanation of the young man's condition.
By the time he finished sewing the boy's cuts and treating his other injuries, he'd calmed down considerably. He wasn't amused by the state of Cathy's feet, however, and told her so. Among the various medications she was given, there must have been a sedative. By the time he actually got to work on her, she was so sleepy, she barely knew what was going on and didn't have the energy to argue.
She roused later when they brought her a tray of food. She ate it without much attention. Brief awareness came when she was taken for an X-ray, and it dawned on her they planned to keep her overnight at least. She was too relaxed to worry or protest, though, and fell into a long dreamless sleep.
She didn't come fully awake until the next morning, when she was roused by a lab technician who wanted a sample of everything detachable and was prepared to poke holes to get it. A hell of a way to wake up, she decided irritably, but forgave all when a nurse brought a towel and helped her into the shower. They even found shampoo for her, and ten minutes under a stream of hot water made her feel life might be worth living again.
Another doctor dropped in and looked at her chart, her feet, and the window outside her room, then informed her that, as it seemed likely she'd live, she needn't take up their bed space any longer, just to try to stay off her feet for a while. More welcome yet, Peter came into the room on his heels. He'd had some rest himself. A butterfly bandage covered the cut on his cheek, and his normal impeccable grooming was back in place. If she hadn't loved him already, he would've earned it when he brought out her overnight case, which he'd rescued from the Hargrove Inn. He'd even found the shoes she'd been forced to abandon.
Before leaving the hospital, they were allowed to look in on Danny. Like Cathy, he'd been roused for breakfast and donations, but he was still groggy and fell back asleep before they left. His condition, they were told, was good, and he'd probably be released the next day. The policeman who'd been on guard outside her door accompanied them to lunch at a cafeteria, then said goodbye at the station.
They spent an exhausting afternoon with the police, had dinner at a nearby restaurant, and went back to the hospital to visit Danny again. He was awake this time and recovering enough to complain about the food, the treatment, and the necessity of spending another night. His reluctance to stay might have become a problem but for a young, pretty nurse who set to work with a combination of ruthless charm and firm wit that had the boy wrapped around her fingers in under ten minutes.
"I wonder if they teach that technique in nursing school?" Cathy asked Peter as they left.
"I doubt it; I think it's a God-given talent."
They shared a room that night at a nice, safe Ramada Inn not far from the Parkway.
After breakfast the next morning—two eggs, bacon, English Muffin, orange juice, and two cups of fresh, hot coffee—Cathy finally began to think once again about the mundane details of daily living. "I've been AWOL so long, I wonder if I still have a job?" she mused aloud.
"You do," Peter assured her. "I talked to your editor and explained the situation to him. He did ask me tell you you'd better warm up your dictionary and get your eyes checked, but you're excused from work until you're fully recovered. He also said to tell you it had better be one hell of a story."
It turned out Peter had been taking care of all sorts of practical details. She'd already noticed he was driving her car, having recovered the keys from her pocketbook, which he found on the floor of the abandoned Olds. He'd made his peace with the rental company, straightened his own work schedule, rearranged court appearances, said goodbye to the Martins and gotten a list of damages from them, talked to Danny's mother and convinced her she needn't come up. They'd collect Danny and bring him home.
To be safe, Peter arranged to have her car towed home and he rented another one, since Hammond would recognize hers. They picked up Danny at the hospital, a procedure delayed by a dispute between patient and nurse about whether or not he'd ride to the door in a wheelchair. Unfortunately, she wasn't the same nurse as the previous night; this one was also young and cute, but she had the charm of a drill instructor and a will that was equal to Danny at his most stubborn. It was stalemate when Cathy and Peter arrived, with the nurse insisting he'd leave in the wheelchair and Danny equally firm that he'd walk out or stay right where he was.
Peter settled the dispute by having Danny sign some kind of waiver, presumably stating that if he fell and killed himself, it was his own damnfool fault and he wouldn't blame the hospital. So Danny won the argument and the enmity of the nurse, but he walked out of the hospital. Cathy and Peter stayed near him in case he needed help, but he didn't. Aside from his fading bruises and his exaggerated thinness, he looked well: washed, shaved, and wearing clean clothes. He walked straight with a barely noticeable limp.
They packed him in the back seat of the rented black Lumina and headed home. Lunch caused a fifteen minute debate, with Peter maintaining that his diet, and hence his body, had been totally ruined for the last few days, and he wanted a decent meal. Danny maintained that, after being nearly starved to death, then subjected to two days' worth of hospital food, he had a right to a McDonald's hamburger. Cathy kept her mouth shut, refused to take sides, and waited to see who'd win. The starvation argument carried the day, and Danny got his hamburger, but Peter was also satisfied when they found a place with a salad bar and whole wheat buns as an option.
Later in the afternoon, they stopped for gas and drinks at a service station. Cathy bought coffee for herself and Peter while he pumped gas, then she took time to use the ladies' room. It was located on the far side of the building, out of sight of the gas pumps where the car was parked.
She finished and was heading back to the car, when something prodded her back, and a soft, dreadfully familiar voice said, "Keep your mouth shut, sweetheart, and do as you're told if you don't want to get hurt."
-34-
Thursday
She froze. The day was hot, but Cathy shivered. Horror hung over her like an icicle dripping cold beads down her back.
"Good," the voice said behind her. "Stay very
quiet. Now, let's get something straight. You're not going to yell or attract attention, because, if you do, I'll have to shoot your buddies to keep them from following us. I'm sure you don't want that to happen."
She shook her head, then felt an ominous and ridiculous tickling in the back of her nose. "I'm... I'm going to... sneeze."
"Do it quiet," Hammond ordered.
She did her best to comply. "Can I get a tissue out of my pocketbook?"
"Yes, but no tricks."
He watched her pull a wad of tissues out. There were other loose items, including copies of the release papers from the hospital for both herself and Danny. She pulled one out along with the tissues and held it in the same hand. Hammond moved around so he could watch what she was doing, then he looked around nervously. She wiped with the tissue, balled it up and dropped it, freeing the other paper along with it. It wasn't much, but she could think of nothing else.
"In the car," he directed when she was done. He pointed at a gray Ford parked a few feet away. She slid into the passenger side. Hammond locked the door and got behind the wheel.
No laughter or amusement lit the beautiful face now; his clean-cut features were stiff with controlled anger. She held her purse on her lap, clutching it with both hands like a security blanket. A small spasm of nausea assailed her. He didn't say anything right away, but started the car and pulled out of the service station. She was too frozen with fear to even turn around to see if Peter was watching or had missed her.
Hammond pulled the car out onto the highway and, after a few miles, a small light grew in his face. Once or twice he glanced at her, and the sight seemed to please him. He appeared to relax, but she wasn't fooled into thinking him any less dangerous when he smiled.
She knew she needed to think, to work out some plan, but shock and fear seemed to have taken control of her brain. It refused to function. She stared out through the windshield, watching the landscape pass. They weren't far from the city, but no sign appeared yet. On one side of the road, a cow pasture speckled with black and white Holsteins spread back to a row of hills. A barn and silo rose near the horizon, half a mile or so off the road. On the right, heavy woods almost butted the roadside, which was lined by a thin row of wildflowers: deep blue chicory, black-eyed susans, and Queen Anne's lace, just beginning to bloom.
A Question of Fire Page 25