“What’s with your neck? Keith done that?”
Hazel touched the shallow slash. “No. It was an accident.”
Atkins climbed aboard. “Where’s Micah?”
“Let’s get moving and we’ll talk. Give me a hand with this.” She disconnected the power and removed bolts locking the freezer to the deck chocks, passing dock lines beneath it. “I need to load it in the truck.” She lowered the block from the boom. She could feel Atkins watching her even as she stared down, concentrating on securing the lines. He started to speak when Hammon stumbled out of the cabin with Gary behind him. Atkins raised his rifle and Hazel pushed it down. “Leave him be. He’s harmless.”
Hammon looked from Atkins to Hazel in bewilderment.
“I’m leaving,” she whispered.
Hammon flinched as the sky flashed blue-white. “But…you can’t go.”
Hazel turned away. She couldn’t bear seeing the pain in his eyes. “I have to. Don’t stop me, and don’t follow me.” Her throat tightened. “I don’t want to see you again, ever.”
“You can’t go,” Hammon choked, stepping between her and the freezer. Sparkles of white shot over the trees.
Gary looked uncomfortably from Hazel to the freezer. “Zap, just let her go.”
He didn’t move. Atkins raised his rifle, taking aim at Hammon’s heart. “I’d listen to your friend there.”
Hazel grabbed the barrel, pointing it away. She turned to Atkins, eyes damp. “Please, don’t. Let’s just load the truck and go.”
The air resonated with thumps, and brilliant flares of color reflected off the water. Hammon’s eyes flickered from Hazel to nothing. “But…” He stared into the darkness. “I told her…” He reached for Hazel’s hand. “Please…”
She pulled back, shaking her head as the sky burned red.
Atkins said, “Back off, son. Now ain’t the time.”
Hammon looked at the freezer, the lines beneath it forming slings, then he stared into nothing, color draining from his face. “No…” He turned to Hazel as she blinked back tears. “Annabel says…” Dread reflected in his face. “When you were talking to Micah, you weren’t on the phone, were you?”
“NO!” she cried, trying to pull him back as he lifted the lid.
“Holy shit.” Gary staggered backwards. Atkins pulled his baseball cap off, shaking his head. “I was afraid of that…”
Eyes closed, head resting on a box of Popsicles, surrounded by daylilies and wild roses, Micah looked almost tranquil. Hazel fell to her knees beside the freezer, trembling as the sky erupted in color.
“He said he was fine.” A sob escaped her lips, tears welled up, and she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the agonizing memory. “He wouldn’t listen to me! I tried to…I couldn’t stop the blood.”
She couldn’t hold it together anymore as she remembered Micah laughing. Just a little hole, he’d said, nothing serious. But under his back, warmth pulsed from him. She could still see the lightning cracking overhead, illuminating the darkness spreading over the cockpit as she cradled him across her lap. She begged him to get up; she couldn’t lift him. She tried to call 911, shielding her phone to keep it from shorting in the torrential rain, but the signal was too weak to complete the connection. The cockpit was slippery with blood, but Micah didn’t see it. He grinned, squeezing her hand weakly. His touch was ice, the chill running like a current between them. She couldn’t find where to put pressure, and she couldn’t stop the bleeding. Micah leaned back across her legs and closed his eyes, a lazy, relaxed smile drifting across his face. She knew he was dying, and she was dying with him; her heart was being crushed, and she was helpless to hold him back. His blood ran through her fingers, running until his heart stopped while she held him, rocking him, begging him not to leave her, screaming in anguish as rain pounded down, draining through the scuppers, washing the cockpit clean, leaving her there alone with that sickening emptiness.
“Hazel…?” Hammon said, pulling her violently back to the present. There was no more denying the awful reality or the crushing helplessness she’d been blocking. A cascade of stars shot overhead, showering fading trails across the water. She stared at Hammon, tears streaming down her face.
“Just let me go!” she shouted. She knew she was only lashing out in pain, but she also knew if she broke down now, if she ran to him and buried herself in his arms, she’d never resurface. It wasn’t over yet. There was still too much to do. She stroked Micah’s icy cheek, then closed and latched the lid.
“Hazel…” Hammon said.
“Stay away from me, Otto,” she said through clenched teeth. “You’ll live longer that way.”
She started the winch. The freezer rose into the air, lit by the backdrop of crackling red stars, and Atkins guided the boom across to the trailer. She lowered the freezer, and Atkins unhooked the block, swinging the boom back and closing the trailer. Glock in her right hand, dart gun in the left, Hazel climbed off Revenge, and Hammon scrambled clumsily ahead, blocking her path. She wiped her eyes, trying to rub away the stinging.
“Otto, get out of my way. I’m leaving and I don’t want you following me.”
Hammon blinked, eyes flickering from her to emptiness and back, and he stiffened as the air shook and thumped. “I won’t let you go.”
Gary tried to pull him back. “Stop, Zap. You’re playing with lightning, and you’re too dense to see it.”
Overhead, the sky echoed with explosions.
“I’m sorry.” Hazel raised the Glock.
“Shit!” Gary ducked. Hammon winced but stood fast, resisting Gary’s efforts to pull him clear. Hazel fired three rapid shots, and the Dakota settled lower as three tires deflated. She turned to Atkins. “Let’s go.”
They started toward RoadKill, freezing as a figure bolted out from behind the cab, out of breath, gun raised.
“Joe!” Hazel gasped. How did he get there? He must have tailed Atkins. She’d planned to face Joe, but she wasn’t ready yet; this was too soon. Hammon grabbed her and pulled her against him.
“That’s the guy I took the dart gun from. He’s got a sea monster on his arm.”
“Jesus H. Christ.” Atkins raised his rifle. “Who in hell didn’t get an invitation to this damn funeral?”
“You two again.” Joe looked from Atkins to Hammon with disgust. “You, drop the gun, and you, give me Hazel.”
“Like hell,” Atkins said, advancing.
“Last warning,” Joe said.
“Likewise,” Atkins replied, remaining steady.
Joe let out a sigh and lowered his gun and raised his left hand in what appeared to be surrender, then sprayed Atkins with a small canister. Atkins doubled over, eyes squeezed shut, gasping and coughing convulsively.
“It’s pepper spray,” Joe said, pistol raised and aimed toward Hammon. “He’ll live. Give me Hazel and you will too.”
Hammon moved around her and acted as a shield. “You’ll have to shoot me first.”
“Fine by me, sport.” Joe advanced, sights on Hammon.
Hazel pushed Hammon aside and leveled the Day-Glo Glock at Joe. She was furious that her hand was unsteady, furious that she felt so emotional. She couldn’t afford to be, not now.
“Why, Joe?” She was shaking, and tears streamed down her cheeks despite her anger. Still blinded and coughing uncontrollably, Atkins struggled to stand.
“Haze, settle down,” Joe said with the same patient tone he’d used when she was little. “You’re upset.”
“Upset?!” She almost laughed in spite of everything, and strangely that helped her regain some composure. “You’re working with Stevenson! You’re damned right I’m upset!”
He didn’t even trying to deny it. “There’s more to it than you understand.”
“Then explain it to me, Joe. Help me understand why you’d betray us.” She stepped toward him, gun no longer trembling. “Explain to me why Micah had to DIE!”
Joe’s gun dropped ever so slightly. “Micah’s dead?”
Hearing him say that only seemed to drive home the truth she’d been trying to block, and all the pain and rage she’d held back. Hazel took a deep breath, steadying herself. She planted her feet the same way Joe taught her so many years ago, and she pulled the trigger. A stunned look crossed his face as he went down.
“Yes, Joe. Micah is dead.”
She turned to find herself looking at three shocked faces. Hammon’s mouth hung open but no sound came out; Gary’s eyes were on her, wide with horror as he yanked at Hammon’s arm, trying to drag him back; Atkins was still on the ground coughing uncontrollably, leaking profusely from his eyes, nose, and mouth, but beneath that Hazel could still see the shock in his expression.
Beyond the trees the sky erupted in a finale of colors and noise. Hazel bolted to RoadKill; she had to get away from there. She started the truck, released the brakes, and put it into gear. She didn’t look back.
IT’S ALL MY FAULT
Hammon watched the Kenworth disappear into the night, and he knew he’d failed. He fell back against the wounded Dodge and screamed. Nothing in particular, just screamed. And continued screaming until Gary tried to grab him.
“Christ, Zap, hold it down!”
Hammon howled, swinging blindly, striking out at Gary as every ounce of frustration boiled over.
“Stop it!” Annabel shouted. “What the hell are you doing?”
Fist raised, he froze, then staggered backwards.
“Don’t you get it? Micah got shot helping me! They were safe. They weren’t supposed to turn back.” He sank to the ground beside the Dakota. “I should be dead, not Micah. If I was dead, things would be better.”
“I’m not so sure,” Annabel said. “Once you’re dead you wouldn’t be able to help.”
“She doesn’t want my help; I’m useless.” He banged his head against the door. He needed to feel something, anything, beside the sick emptiness sucking him under.
“That isn’t helping,” Annabel snapped, fading slightly with each impact.
“Don’t start that shit.” Gary grabbed his arm, dragging him clear of the Dodge. “There’s enough dents already. And stop being stupid. When she shot that guy…” He gave a queasy glance at the body on the ground then circled to the other side of the Dodge. “She was protecting you.”
Hacking, Atkins struggled to his feet and joined Gary. “He’s right. If you still got a pulse, that little girl must like you. And trust me, she don’t like most people.”
Gary turned to Atkins. “Who are you? Who,” he pointed toward Joe, “was that? Who’s she got in the trailer? Would someone please tell me what the fuck’s going on?” He paused, looking everything over. “On second thought, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know, I just want to leave.”
“You!” Hammon sprang to his feet, clutching Atkins by the shirt. “You were helping her! You know where she’s going!”
Atkins rubbed his tearing eyes. “Sorry, son. I wish I did. She never got round to telling me. I don’t think she knows anymore.” Atkins looked over the Dakota. “And unless you got three spares, we ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
“We’ve got to find her.” Hammon limped between the dock and the pickup. “She needs help.”
“Why us? Why not call the cops?” Gary pulled his phone from his pocket.
“You can’t!” Hammon jumped him, grappling frantically to pry the phone from Gary’s hand.
“Why in hell not? What’s wrong with you? There’s a dead guy right there…that girl’s driving around with a corpse in a freezer, for God’s sake, she’s got some other bastard knocked out…god only knows what she’s got planned for him, and I’d put money on it before this night’s over she’ll be hunting down Stevenson. Any sane person…” His voice faded as he looked from Hammon to Atkins. “Well, I’m calling nine-one-one.”
“And you’ll tell the cops what, exactly?” said Atkins, picking up his rifle.
“You really think you’re helping her?” Gary shook his head in disgust. “Count me out. Soon as I figure a way to get out of here, I’m gone. You two can have fun chasing that lethal pile of PMS around. This is none of my business, and I don’t want it to be.” He regarded his disabled truck in disgust. “I wonder how the dead guy got here?”
Atkins shrugged. “I can ask, but he ain’t gonna…” He looked back. “What the fuck?”
Hammon turned and studied the empty ground. Joe was gone, gun and all.
“But he was dead…” Gary wondered. “Where…”
Across the lot an engine roared and lights flared as the yellow Chevelle screeched out, never slowing as the taillights disappeared around the bend.
“But she shot him,” Gary said. “We saw her shoot him. And that wasn’t the dart gun.”
“Kevlar,” Hammon said. “Stevenson was wearing a vest when he got shot.”
Atkins nodded grimly. “Likely. Joe’d know better than anyone the risk of just walkin’ up to Hazel.”
Hammon stared at the dark road. She was out there alone, with the sea-monster guy close behind. He had to warn her. He dialed the last number she’d called him from, but he knew she wouldn’t answer. Of course not. Why would she? He had no idea where she went and no way to track her. He only knew he’d sell his soul to save her.
“I’d say that’s your best option,” Annabel said. “Hell’s officially frozen over. Summon the Evil One; beat some answers out of him.”
Hammon pushed his glasses up and stared at the phone in his shaking hand. Seven years ago he’d called Stevenson. It destroyed his life. He lost everything.
“And now he’s destroying her life. You have to stop him,” Annabel said.
Hammon took a deep breath, swallowed, and entered Stevenson’s number. His finger hesitated over the “send” key. Hitting it would be equivalent to signing a contract in blood. But the consequences of not doing it were far worse, and with every second the distance between him and Hazel grew. He pressed down, waiting that eternity for the connection to go through when, as though supernaturally summoned, cool white high beams rounded the corner and the black Mercedes glided up beside the Dakota. Stevenson climbed out, took a drag from his cigarette, and flipped it to the side.
“He truly is evil incarnate,” Annabel said in awe.
Stevenson glanced at his ringing phone and silenced it. He regarded Gary, Atkins, and Hammon, the expression on his bruised face grim.
“Where’s Hazel? Where’s Joe?” He turned to Hammon. “And what the hell are you doing here?”
“Stay in control,” Annabel whispered.
Hammon stood frozen. Since that fateful call seven years back, he hadn’t uttered a single word to Stevenson. Hatred, fear, and anger seethed inside his brain, heating the mercury, itching, burning, reminding him of all he wanted to forget. Stevenson was there—
“Stay in control,” Annabel repeated.
—looking for Hazel.
“Stay in control!” Annabel shouted as Hammon lunged, toppling Stevenson backwards and landing several good swings into his Kevlar-armored gut before Gary dragged him off, kicking and flailing.
“Lemme go!” he screamed. “Hazel’s right, he sent Joe to get her! Why else is he here?”
Stevenson climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. “You’re absolutely right.” He scanned the lot and the docks. “Now, where is she?”
“Gone!” Hammon snarled. Stevenson was a dead end; the Evil One had no more idea where she went than the rest of them. “She’s gone,” he repeated, his last desperate hope shattered.
Stevenson looked from Hammon’s scraped-up face and blood-stained clothes to the mangled Dakota, and he broke into a broad grin. “I take it she’s upset. Amazing. You two actually managed to find each other, almost without my help, yet I’m betting neither of you know what this is really about.”
“I know she’s in trouble, and I know you have something to do with it.”
“True. Then again, Hazel, by definition, IS trouble. You’ll have to be more specific.”
Hammon glared at Stevenson. “Micah’s dead.”
Stevenson’s smile vanished. “Dead?”
“Shot,” Hammon said, his voice breaking. He turned to Atkins. “Last night they met with you but someone followed…I ran him off the road so they could get away. They were supposed to keep going.” Hammon sagged against Gary, the weight of the memory bearing down on him. “They weren’t supposed to turn back to help me.”
Stevenson grabbed him by the collar. “Who followed them?”
“She’s gone.” Hammon turned to Annabel. “I don’t know where.”
Stevenson shook him roughly. “Who followed them? What did he look like?”
“I don’t know,” Hammon moaned. “It was dark, and there was lightning…lots of lightning, and he was beating the crap out of me. He smiled a lot like, one of those TV news people.”
Atkins stepped forward. “Wha’d he drive?”
“Ford Three-fifty pickup, blue, Jersey plates.”
“Boat prop on the trailer hitch, right?”
Hammon nodded excitedly. “Yeah!”
“Son’vabitch!” Atkins hacked. “I know where she’s headed.”
Hope rose in Hammon. “Then we can find her! We’ll take his car.” Hammon shoved Stevenson away and limped to the driver’s door, only to find it locked. Stevenson hit the unlock for the trunk and removed a rifle. Atkins aimed his barrel at Stevenson’s head, fixed a watery eye on him, and spat at his feet.
“You heard the kid,” Atkins said. “We’re takin’ your car, whether I got to shoot you to do it or not.”
“Keys,” Hammon said. “Tell him to give us the keys.”
“You heard’m. Keys.”
“I thought so,” Stevenson replied. “You were helping them. Very noble of you.”
Atkins spat again. “Go to hell.”
“Later. First we need to find Hazel.” He handed Hammon the rifle. “I trust you remember how to use it.”
A bitter taste rose in Hammon’s throat as he lifted his old competition Anschutz, feeling the balance. He took aim at Stevenson. “I want to know what’s going on.”
Last Exit in New Jersey Page 31