“Floor it!” Jacques shouted.
But Parker didn’t need prompting.
Chapter 100
A fast-moving mass of black clouds rolled in from the sea. It changed the quality of light. It was now as if someone had brought down a dark lampshade over a naked bulb.
At the side of my eye, I saw Jacques jerking his chin forward.
“Step on it, man,” he grumbled, “or let me get back at the wheel.”
“Can it, kid,” Parker said.
Jacques Tremblay’s attitude clearly irritated him.
“So you’ve been travelling around a lot, eh?” Parker slammed his knee against Jacques’ knee. “Bought this truck and that camper, eh? Where’d you get the money from, huh, Jacques?”
No response.
“I mean Syron Lake’s too small not to know everybody’s business. And everybody knows your uncle died broke. Some guy named Wilfred Owens said he won the house you used to live in from Eric in a poker game.”
Jacques scowled and stared ahead.
“So what would your uncle have us believe?” Parker continued while keeping his eyes on the road. “That he breached that tailing pond for free? He didn’t mention anything about any payment on that video.”
Jacques clenched his jaw.
“Give it up, kiddo. Tell us–”
“Shut up,” Jacques shouted into Parker’s ear. “Shut your bloody trap. Just shut up!”
Parker jerked his head back and glared at Jacques. As he took his eyes off the road, the pickup veered into the opposite lane, hurtling toward an oncoming car.
“Paul, look out,” I shouted.
The other car blared its horn. Tires screeched. Parker swung out of the way at the last minute.
We drove on in silence for the next few minutes.
“That’s a bearer of bad news if I ever saw one,” Parker said, casting a glance at the massive, dark cloud just ahead.
He checked the rear view mirror.
“Worse news,” he said.
Jacques peered into the rear view and I swiveled my head, wincing as I did. I was sure I had whiplash.
In the distance, a black sedan came charging down the road.
In an instant, large drops began pounding on the roof and pelting against the windshield of the truck.
Parker switched on the wipers and slowed down.
“Floor it,” Jacques yelled.
“You want us to get killed?” Parker shouted. “It’s bloody raining!”
“You prefer to be done in by those creeps?”
The sedan, which made no allowance for the slick road, was racing up to us.
A turn-off lay ahead.
“We’ll never make it to the airport at this rate,” Parker said. “We need to get off the highway and hope we can find a good place to ambush them.”
I didn’t know about the two males beside me, but I was literally shaking. This was taking me back to where I didn’t ever want to return: to those horrible moments when the explosion of the gun rang out; people scampering; Dromel falling; me dashing to bear him up by the shoulder; the two of us hurtling through the crowd; darting behind buildings and tumbling into a canal….
Violence and death hung in the air and I could barely handle it. I was a writer, an otherwise mousey girl who thought I could use my keyboard instead of a sword to fight for justice for my neighbors, and for the environment. I didn’t sign up for all of this.
“I don’t want to die out here,” I said to no one in particular.
Parker cut sharply into the narrow side road. The truck crunched gravel and bounced along over potholes.
The rain came down so hard, now, it was difficult to see even with the wipers on the highest speed.
Parker leaned forward and squinted.
“There’s something up ahead,” he said.
He drove into an overgrown yard and rolled up beside a long building made of rusting corrugated metal sheets. Half of the roof was missing and one side of what should have been a double door seemed to be just barely hanging on by its hinges.
Parker drove around to the back and stopped.
“Jacques, you come with me,” he said, popping open the door. “Stella, take to the wheel, just in case.”
Parker jumped out into the rain and dragged Jacques out with him before he could protest.
I unbuckled my seat belt and slid over into the driver’s seat. I hit the door locks and listened for the reassuring click. Gripping the steering wheel, I leaned forward to see through the rain that lashed the windscreen as fat drops drummed the roof and windows.
I was grateful the handbrake was up. My legs were trembling so violently, I knew I couldn’t keep a steady hold on the brake pedal.
Oh God, please don’t let me die out here.
I tried to think, but my mind went blank and all I was aware of was the hard curve of the steering wheel in my palms, the paleness of my knuckles, the sound of the rubber of the wipers scraping against the windscreen, and the pounding of the rain on the roof.
Pounding. There was pounding on the driver’s side of the truck. I turned and saw the shape of a head outside the window in the pouring rain.
My heart jackhammered.
The figure pressed up against the glass with cupped hands, and I recognized the features.
I switched off the locks. The door swung open and Parker hurled himself in, almost landing on top of me as I scuttled away.
He slammed the door shut and released the hand break.
“You okay?” he said.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get out of this. I promise.”
He sped to the front of the building, where Jacques held the one remaining side of the door open.
Parker drove into the cavernous structure and steered the truck past empty crates and massive heaps of rusting machinery parts. We went to the far end of the building and stopped behind a tall pile of wooden pallets and metal drums.
The rain clattering onto the metal roof and siding was almost deafening.
“Stay at the wheel,” Parker shouted. “We’re guarding the door. We’ll get them if they try to come in.”
Parker jumped out and I was alone again in the vehicle.
If the men did find us and attacked, the truck was our only hope of escaping. And what if I froze again as Parker and Jacques were trying to get in? They’d be easy targets for these ruthless killers. They’d be shot in the back while banging on the glass for me to open the door. I decided to leave the locks off.
I squeezed my eyes shut and braced for whatever hell was to descend upon us. But that would do nobody any good, I thought. I forced myself to open my eyes and stay alert.
Above the roar of the rain on the metal, I thought I heard something. The engine of a car. Wheels crushing gravel. I told myself I was imagining things; my mind was playing tricks on me. It would be impossible to discern those sounds with the rain pounding so hard and the wind rushing through the half-covered roof.
“Hey, God, get us out of this place safely — please!” I whispered.
I hadn’t been anywhere near anything resembling organized religion since leaving the high school run by nuns in Trinidad. They had taught me to pray, and if there ever was a fitting occasion to resume the practice, this was it.
Bang!
That was not my imagination.
That was real.
But could the explosion have been just thunder?
I thought I heard crashing noises, then fo
otsteps — running closer and closer toward me.
As I turned to look out the back, the driver’s door flung open. A hand reached in the cab and grabbed me by the arm.
Some unfriendly hand was trying to drag me out of the truck.
I held onto the steering wheel and screamed.
A stranger, a young man about my age, came into full view. He gripped my wrists and tried to tear my hands off the steering wheel.
“No, no, no,” I screamed.
His fingernails dug into the tender veins just below my wrists. Pain shot up my arm and I released my grip.
The man pulled me out of the seat. My head slammed against the door frame as he tried to drag me out. The blow shot needles of pain into my brain and down my spine.
The man got a better hold of me, and his strong arms wrapped around my chest.
He held me so tight, I could hardly breathe. I felt as if he was cracking my ribs. I wriggled and yelled. But he clamped his hand over my mouth and carried my writhing body around to the front of the pile of pallets.
Over to the left, Parker wrestled another man to his knees and in slid his arm around his neck. The man bucked and flailed to get out of the chokehold.
Further off, Jacques crouched and darted behind a stack of metal drums. The long-haired man got up on his toes and peered from the other side.
“Young,” the man holding me shouted past my ear. “He’s behind the drums.”
I swung my head left and right and managed to budge enough from his clamp-like hold to get my teeth around his thumb. I bit down as hard as I could. I had a sickening feeling as enamel met flesh and bone.
The man yelped and pulled away his hand from my face, loosening his grip around my chest at the same time. I felt myself falling and I bent my left elbow. I flung myself in toward my attacker, aiming for the testicles.
I hit my target, then hit the ground, smashing my elbow. Above my groans, I heard a blood-curdling scream and the man dropped to his knees, clutching his groin.
Parker, too, was now on the ground. He was flat on his back, holding the black and silver gun above his head, while the other man straddled his waist and tried to wrest the gun away.
A short length of metal pipe was in a pile of garbage just within my reach. I stretched out my hand and grabbed it. It was heavier than I’d imagined, but all the better.
I rolled away from my attacker, who was still on his knees. I got to my feet and swung the pipe toward his head, as if taking a wild swipe at a cricket ball. My palms stung as the pipe reverberated on impact. The man’s body jerked and collapsed. Streaks of red flowed down the side of his face.
Bang!
The explosion came from behind me. I spun around to Parker’s direction in time to see the man who’d been on top of him come crashing down onto his chest. The body knocked the gun out of Parker’s hand.
Bang! Bang!
The new explosions came from over to my left. Jacques was nowhere in view, but his voice cried out and a pile of drums came cascading down.
The man with the long hair held up his gun and turned his attention to Parker, who struggled to get out from under the body that had fallen on him.
The long-haired man strode across to Parker’s gun and kicked it away.
Parker crawled from under the body. He was on his hands knees, apparently disoriented, and struggling to get up.
The long-haired man took a shooting stance and aimed straight for Parker’s head.
“Paul!” I screamed.
Bang!
I dropped to my knees.
I let go of the metal pipe and buried my face in my hands.
“No!” I cried.
My entire body trembled.
Footsteps. Footsteps came running toward me.
A hand rested on my shoulder. A voice I didn’t recognize said, softly, “It’s all over now.”
PART IV
Chapter 101
I opened my eyes and found myself lying in a bed, in an unfamiliar, white room that was bare except for a night stand with a lamp. Dull light filtered through a fading, blue curtain, suggesting it was either close to dusk or just past dawn. I wore some kind of loose-fitting, gray gown that ended around my knees.
I had no idea how I’d gotten there or whether hours or days had passed since my last memory…that horrible sight of Parker struggling to his knees with the long-haired man pointing a gun directly at his head.
I sat up abruptly, and as I did, I found myself unable to move my neck. It was trapped in a brace. I flung the covers off and swung my legs to the side of the bed.
No, that wasn’t the last of it. Something else happened.
The effort to rise made my head spin. I felt my brain throbbing against my skull.
After a soft rap, the door creaked open and a young man poked in his head.
“You okay in there, miss?”
“Who are you?”
“Special Agent Ito.”
“Special what? Where am I?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“How did I get here? What day is it? Where’s–”
“It’s still Tuesday. And you should take it easy. The doctor said you had a blackout.”
“Which doctor?”
“The one who cleared you to be brought here from the hospital. He came by and checked on you again about an hour ago.”
“You still haven’t explained where I am, yet.”
“Please wait a moment. I’ll tell them you’re up.”
He closed the door and his footsteps retreated. The room fell absolutely silent. I wanted answers to my questions but felt little motivation, now, to rise off the bed and cross the floor to get to the door. I sat motionless and stared at the knob.
A short while later, another rap sounded and the knob turned. The door opened again and two men in suits entered.
Then Parker walked in.
I sprang to my feet, rushed over to him, and flung my arms around him.
“Paul!” I cried, burying my face in his chest.
My head spun, my body trembled, and my legs were of no use. Tears ran down my cheeks as his strong arms wrapped around me and bore me up.
“It’s okay, Stella,” he whispered into my ear. “The nightmare’s over.”
The memory came flooding back to me. The deafening explosion…someone touching me on the shoulder…I look up and the long-haired man is down on the ground, bleeding…and Parker is being helped to his feet by strangers.
I felt suddenly embarrassed at my reaction, and at the intimacy of the embrace. I pulled my arms away, backed off, and dropped down on my buttocks on the bed.
Parker’s face was swollen. The left eye, blackened and puffy, almost closed in on itself. A red circle at the right side of his lip formed where the blood had clotted under his skin.
“Jacques,” I said. “Is he–”
“He’s in the hospital. Took a bullet in his shoulder.”
“Is he going to be alright?”
“He’s in stable condition. The doctors said he should be back to his old self in no time, fortunately. Or maybe, in his case, that’s not such a fortunate thing.”
“Paul, that man with the long hair. I’m almost positive he was there when Ben was shot.”
“Highly likely. We should find out before long. You did one of those men in pretty badly. He was treated at the hospital, too, but he’ll survive. He’ll be questioned soon.”
“I saw three of them.”
“The other two are dead.”
The other men in the room whispered to each other. I recognized the slimmer one with a neat haircut; he had chased us all the way to the airport parking lot. I looked at Parker and raised my eyebrows.
“How are you doing, Ms Jacob?” the slim man said.
He smiled and spoke in a mellow tone, but I felt wary of this former pursuer. I bit my lower lip and stared at him.
“Can we get you anything?”
I shook my head.
“She’ll be fine.” Parker nudged his chin toward the door. The two men left, quietly shutting the door behind them.
“FBI,” Parker said. “All of them. The Bureau have been onto us since we landed.”
“You mean they followed us all the way?”
“They lost us when we left the airport, but picked up our trail today. Remember that roadblock last night?”
“The one because of the teenage drag racers who crashed?”
Parker nodded.“I found out there was no accident. It was a set-up by the FBI to snag us. Except, it seems the rookie cop that I got out and spoke with apparently didn't get the memo about bringing us in. Still, it worked to slow us down enough that the fibbies could eventually catch up with us.”
“So they were the ones who shot the long-haired man?”
Parker nodded.
“But why were FBI agents following us?
Parker raised his shoulders and splayed his fingers. “I spoke on the phone with someone from the Bureau who’ll be here soon. Hopefully he’ll fill us in.”
Chapter 102
Spike Simmons switched off the microcassette player and placed it next to the video camera, which he had already looked at. He sat with Parker and me at a table in the kitchen of the house. A small television on the counter provided somewhat comforting background noise as it indicated that a world outside existed where life went on as normal.
“How’d you get your hands on this?” Simmons said.
“The night he was shot,” I said, “Benoit Dromel told me where he hid this recording and asked me to secure it. He’d told the prime minister he’d made it. He was scared that Peabody was somehow behind his shooting and might find and destroy the recording.”
Run, Girl, Run: A Thriller Page 41