And the flames were climbing the wall beside him, now.
They didn't have more than a minute or two if they were going to get out of there alive!
Calligan lunged-and David charged into the lunge.
He took the knife in his shoulder, but his adrenaline was up now, and he didn't even feel it. He body-slammed Calligan into the wall; grabbed both his shoulders and slammed his head up sideways into the filing cabinets. Calligan's eyes rolled up into his head, and David let him fall.
He pulled the knife out of his shoulder with one hand while he kicked the door open. The flimsy lock didn't hold past the second kick.
Now the flames covered the back wall entirely.
He took the two steps he needed to reach Jennie, thanking all the gods that she was tiny, then slung her fireman-style across his good shoulder, as blood poured from the wound in his other shoulder, soaking his shirt.
As he turned, he took a fraction of a second to look for the artifacts, knowing that Jennie would ask after them, remembering that she had said they were important. But there wasn't anything anywhere in sight, and he had no time, no time left at all-
He plunged through the door, stumbled down the stairs, and staggered across the bare, sandy ground-the office was going to go up at any moment, and they needed some cover, quick-
There. He spotted a pile of bags of sand for concrete and tumbled around in back of them, dropping Jennie as soon as they were behind them and falling to his knees-
He pulled her further into safety, then took a quick, nervous peek around the edge.
Just as that whole corner of the lot went up.
Jee-ZUS!
He fell back as the ground beneath him shook, momentarily blinded and deafened.
But by the time he could see again, the fire department, half the cops in Tulsa, and everyone in the neighborhood were converging on the site, sirens and people screaming.
"No, sir," Jennie said politely to the cop, while the paramedic bandaged David's shoulder. "We don't know what happened. David and I were delivering the divorce and protective orders from my client, Toni Calligan. You can check that with the Women's Shelter yourself. Mr. Calligan wasn't happy about it, but-" she shrugged. "He threw us out."
David had stalled the cops just long enough to think of a story they might believe. "She's being polite, officer," David put in, grimacing a little with pain. "Mr. Calligan told us to go to hell and went berserk, and threw us out of the office. Threw Jennie, literally, and she landed on the steps and got knocked out cold. Then for some reason he assaulted me with a letter opener. You get a look at Mrs; Calligan, you'll see what I mean; that bastard was a psycho. That poor lady's black and blue."
"It all checks, lieutenant," one of the other cops said, radio to his ear. "His wife's got a protective order on him and she's turning in evidence on him in the bomb case out here." The lieutenant gave David a sharp look; he returned one as bland and innocent as a baby calf.
"Honest to god, I don't know what the hell happened after he went after me," David said, still wide-eyed. "I got out after he stabbed me and he locked the door; I figured he might be going after a.gun or something, so I picked up Jennie off the steps, slung her over my shoulder, and got the hell out. I got just past that pile of sandbags, when the whole place went up."
Not too bad a story for one built as hastily as this one; it accounted for his stab wound and Jennie's goose egg.
Right now all he wanted was for the cops to let them loose. He had the feeling that by the time Toni Calligan finished making her statements and the cops finished searching Calligan's home office, they'd find more than enough to make them overlook a few minor discrepancies in his story.
He wanted to get to a hospital and get a pain-scrip for this shoulder. Then he wanted to go home.
He didn't want to think about what he'd seen, in the moment before the office went up like a demo from Industrial Light and Magic. . . .
A whole swarm of the Little People, grinning like fiends, dragging Calligan, kicking and screaming, behind them.
Jennie listened to David's improvised story with a feeling of awe. Damn! If he can make up things like that out of nowhere, he's going to be a hell of a partner! I never could do convincing fibs!
The police lieutenant gave them another one of those looks, after spending a good ten minutes trying to shake their story, but finally sighed. "All right," he said. "You and Ms. Talldeer can go. Just don't leave town."
David visibly summoned the rags of his dignity. "Officer," he said, earnestly, "Ms. Talldeer is making me her partner. The last thing I want to do is leave town!"
He dragged himself to his feet with the sympathetic help of the paramedic. Jennie stood up with care for her aching head, and they both headed for the car where Mooncrow waited for them. Thank god he's all right.
Apparently the fire hadn't actually been visible from outside; Mooncrow told David and the police that he hadn't known there was anything wrong until the explosion itself. David evidently believed him.
Good thing, too. He wasn't anywhere near ready to hear what had really happened.
"I don't suppose you saved the artifacts, did you?" Jennie asked, sotto voce, as they neared the car. She was wistful, but not at all hopeful.
" 'Fraid not, babe," he replied, apologetically. "I didn't see anything, and I didn't have time to look. Getting you out was a lot more important."
She sighed. "Well, it's better destroyed than in a museum, in Calligan's hands, or with some private collector." Then she brightened. "I just realized-we did this! We took care of everything! Calligan-he had the Evil One's spirit-bundle, and with that gone, we even took care of that part of the mess!"
No point in getting any more elaborate than that. Not yet, anyway.
She stopped, just at the car door, and turned toward him. She felt a glow of pride and happiness that not even the headache from her concussion could dim. "We did this, David! I could never have done this without you and Mooncrow!"
He flushed with pleasure, and flushed even more when she stood on tiptoe to kiss him, a kiss that lasted so long that Mooncrow finally called them back to their surroundings by clearing his throat ostentatiously.
"Much as I enjoy seeing you two enjoy yourselves. . . ."
They separated, reluctantly, and climbed into the car. "Your turn to drive, Little Old Man," David said, getting into the backseat with Jennie and putting his good arm around her shoulders. "We're walking wounded, remember?"
"Certainly, sah," Mooncrow drawled, in an excellent imitation of an impeccably English chauffeur. "And what are your directions?"
"We need a doc to look at us both-" Jennie began. "The paramedic said we needed to go to the emergency room-"
Mooncrow turned to glare at her. "I have enough friends at the Indian Hospital to get someone to do a house call," he said acidly. "What kind of a grandfather do you think I am?"
David laughed. "A contrary Little Old Man," he replied.
"All right, I know what you're waiting for. 'Home, James, and don't spare the horses!' "
"Veddy good, sah," Mooncrow replied with immense dignity and a twinkle in his eye, once more assuming his chauffeur persona. "Veddy, veddy good."
But he didn't immediately put the car in motion. Instead, he reached over the back of the seat and dropped a long bundle across Jennie's knees.
"A friend of ours wanted you to have this," he said, as the wrappings fell open.
David raised an eyebrow in surprise. It was a pipe, a very old pipe. It could have been the twin of the one lost in Calligan's office.
And Jennie, cool, unflappable Jennie, just stared at it, looking as stunned as if someone had just hit her in the back of the head with a two-by-four.
_author's note
I am not an expert on Native American religions. I hope that I have not offended any Native Americans with my depiction of Jennie Talldeer and her grandfather. This book was intended as entertainment; I have an extensive library and many trustw
orthy sources to ensure that it is as accurate as may be, but it is not to be taken seriously, not to be taken as reality. I am not portraying reality, or attempting to.
I have tried to be as accurate and honest as I can, within the realm of storytelling. My chief source for this story was The Osages: Children of the Middle Waters, by John Joseph Mathews, himself an Osage and a graduate of both the Universities of Oklahoma and Oxford, England. This book and many more in the "Civilization of the American Indian" series are available from the University of Oklahoma Press. I highly recommend them.
I am not a guru, shaman, Grand High Pooh-Bah, Guardian, Mistress of the Martian Arts, Avatar, Cosmic Earth Mother, or any incarnation of the same. I have no lock on Immortal Wisdom, and in my experience, anyone who claims to, has his eye on your money (granted, I do too, but only insofar as entertaining you enough to buy my next book). To confuse me with what I write is as fallacious as confusing a truck driver with his Peterbilt.
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Sacred Ground Page 36