Twilight

by Kristen Heitzmann

  The man gave a slow jerk behind him. Cal glanced at the barn. Something quivered his nostrils. Gasoline. It didn’t fit. The old barn stood black and gray, patches of dirty paint and rusty tin on rotting wood. It was too long deserted to carry smells unless …

  “The case.” The punk lowered the gun and held out his other arm.

  “Not until I see that Laurie’s safe.”

  The man sneered. “Once you turn over the goods, you can go get her.”

  Cal shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  The punk raised his gun to face level. Cal looked from the barrel to the icy blue eyes behind. If Laurie was dead it didn’t much matter what he did now. But if she lived, if she was just inside …

  “Okay.” He set the case down and stepped aside.

  “Open it.”

  Cal stooped and worked the heavy latch. For a moment he thought it had locked, and he fumbled with it, tension wrapping his stomach tighter than the bands inside a golf ball. Then it sprang open catching his thumb knuckle. Leave it to Mildred. He pulled the lid open to display Cissy’s neat packaging.

  The punk looked down briefly enough to keep Cal from lunging for the gun. “Put it in the car.” He indicated a Mustang with rental plates, Cal noticed, tucked within a ragged fringe of apple trees gone wild.

  Cal guessed as soon as his back was turned he’d feel the bullets. But he bent and closed the suitcase, just as the punk swung his foot. Cal caught it in the chest and sprawled. A bang and scattering of shot enveloped him. Ray. He tried to holler, but the punk opened fire on the jeep, and Cal rolled wielding the suitcase like a shield. One bullet from the punk could end it, but Ray had his full attention. Cal got to his knees, swung the suitcase into the back of the man’s knees, but with too little force.

  The man whipped the butt of the gun into Cal’s head and landed a kick to his chest. Cal fell backward expecting the shot. The punk must have spent his ammunition. He wrenched the suitcase from his grasp, turned, and ran for the car. The engine roared. Another man ran from the barn, and just behind him Cal heard the sudden whoosh of flame. The car raced out of the trees and took off in a cloud of dust.

  Cal scrambled to his feet as the barn began to blaze. Ray lumbered in holding his bleeding bicep with thick fingers. Cal registered his presence and condition even as he stared at the flames climbing the barn wall. Sweat started down his back. He gripped Ray. “Can you drive?”

  Ray nodded.

  Cal shoved the jeep keys into Ray’s bloody hand. “Get Danson out of the shed!” It was no use calling fire support. The barn would be gone before any vehicle reached it. Trusting Ray would go, Cal ran, his chest heaving as the flames reached up one wall and around the side, devouring the rotten wood. He stopped at the door, his feet one with the frozen ground, impotent stumps. His fists clenched at his hips. The air around him flashed orange; the screams echoed in his mind as the shakes took over.

  “No!” Grabbing his ears, he lowered his head and threw himself at the door. The wood shattered around him, and he staggered through, assessing the situation. The back end of the bar n was engulfed; the loft, an inferno; the smoke, a demon host dancing to the flames.

  “Laurie!” He gripped a post and crouched to see. “Laurie!” He choked.

  Dropping to his knees, he searched low, crawling and groping. His elbow banged into something. Liquid sloshed over his sleeve as the gasoline can tumbled over and gushed. Fresh flames burst around him. Cal rolled, yanked his coat off, and heaved it as it, too, burst into flame.

  He gagged on the gasoline fumes, pulled off his flannel shirt, and tied it around his mouth and nose. This was insane! They’d intended to burn it all along. Laurie was dead. They’d find her charred body and maybe his too. It was a perfect setup. A murder and a double suicide. Or a double murder and a suicide. Either way, the crazy clown is to blame.

  Squeezing under the sagging stall, he searched with hands and eyes, then swung over the side and searched the next. A burning section of roof crashed into the loft and cascades of sparks lit the floor.

  He stared at the growing destruction. If he didn’t win his way to the back now, there would be nothing left there to search. He fought thoughts of failure and futility. If he gave in, if he doubted … He hoped Reggie was on his knees because it would take nothing short of a miracle to pull this one off. In fact if ever there was a time to pray …

  He got to his feet. Help me, God! And ran. With a thud, his leg sank through the floor. He fought to free it, but more boards gave way and Cal started to fall. Clinging with his elbows, he caught a knee on the edge just as the loft broke free and plunged down. Flames exploded around him. Cal lost his hold and dropped.

  Just like before, with Ashley Trainor. He utters a prayer, even thinks a prayer—and boom, failure. Thanks again, Big Man.

  The drop wasn’t deep. Just under his own height—a hog shelter? For a moment, he crouched in the darkness beneath the roar of flames above, his senses straining, adrenaline pumping.

  There was probably an outside exit down there where the animals were let in and out. But just now his business was not escape. He had to find Laurie, and every second made that less and less possible. He reached up and gripped the flooring.

  Then he heard it. The muffled cry. He spun and yanked the shirt free from his mouth. “Laurie!”

  It hadn’t sounded far off. Over to the right, under the floor like himself. Was his mind playing tricks? Did he imagine what he wanted to hear, what he wanted so much, he conjured it now as he’d conjured other things, dreams, wishes? His chest heaved with choppy breaths as he hurried in the direction the sound had come.

  The floor was uneven, shrinking the space to four feet high or less as it rose, probably a natural bowl they’d built over to save digging. After the brilliance of the flames, the darkness beneath was dense. He dropped down and crawled, feeling about in a semi-circle with each move forward.

  His hands found her before his eyes did. She was warm, and she moved when he touched her. She turned her face, emitting a muffled whimper. She was alive. God, she’s alive. God had heard … and answered.

  Feeling for the nylon cord that bound her wrists behind her back, he cut it free with his pocketknife. In his head the seconds ticked. They were at base level. The best air was down low, and the thrust of the fire upward. But would the floor hold when the roof went? He cut her ankles free.

  Laurie yanked at the gag in her mouth with a sob and lunged for him, trembling so hard he had to work to keep his balance on his knees. “It’s all right.” He held her tight, only half convinced himself.

  Her frantic fingers dug into his skin. “The children!”

  “They’re safe.” He eased her away. “But we’re not. The fire’s above us. It’s venting through that patchy roof. But the whole thing could collapse any time.” He shook out the gag and, though she balked, tied it again over her mouth and nose. “Come on.”

  They needed to reach the outer wall where they’d have some protection and possibly find a way out. He guessed that they were roughly centered, though he wasn’t sure now which way they were heading. The only light came from the hole he’d broken through, some sort of a trapdoor, he guessed. The rest of the space was dark. He didn’t want to think of the smoke also sullying their vision.

  Smoke rises, but it crept, too. Any opening, like the crack under a door, the hole in the barn floor would admit it. And it was as deadly and swiftly debilitating as the flames. More so. Flames you could avoid. The smoke was insidious.

  Okay, God. One more time. I need your help. Keeping Laurie against him, he rose to a crouch and pushed on. The sudden roar of the fire above told him another part of the structure had collapsed. So far the floor above them held, but his panic grew. They had minutes, maybe seconds, before— He shook the thought away with a physical effort. He had to trust in God.

  Reaching out, he groped forward until he touched stone, rough crumbling stone. His breath expelled in a loud rush. The wall. Now if only
there was an opening … But which way? He tried to get his bearings. The outlet would be at either side or the back. Three choices. He kicked himself for not assessing the structure before he ran in. Mistake number one.

  He pulled Laurie close as a crash shook the floor and flames licked the hole in the center. The sweat ran down his back as he yanked her by the arm, crawling three-legged now as the ground rose, shrinking the space. His head grazed the floorboards.

  Behind him, Laurie cried out and gripped her leg, her face screwed up in pain. Fire glow glinted off the jagged edge of sheet metal protruding from the ground. Cal hadn’t seen it, had crawled past it with no warning for her. Now he looked from her to the flames gaining hold of the floor.

  He pulled the flannel shirt from his face and tied it around her knee. “Wait here.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll be back.” No sense in both of them groping for the way out when he was less and less certain there even was one. Maybe this farmer had a crawl space, not a hog shelter. Maybe there was no way out, no way except through the flames above. A shudder crawled his spine.

  Help me, God. Don’t give up now. I can’t do it without you. He crept forward, his back brushing the floorboards. The heat of it scorched him. It was ready to flash. What he wouldn’t give for turnout gear instead of the T-shirt he was down to. He shook his head. Not that even that would be any good in flashover. Only God could save you then.

  As He had once? He didn’t consider last time God’s work. More like the devil himself. God didn’t save a man like him and leave a helpless child. God didn’t—Cal expelled his breath. What would he know? God could do whatever He chose.

  Cal groped around a scattering of broken rocks. Reggie’d said God had a purpose. The night he spoke of Paul on the road to Damascus, he’d told Cal God had a time and purpose for everything. Even if Cal couldn’t come close to understanding, he just had to accept. In Reggie’s words, God didn’t owe him an explanation.

  Okay, God. Do whatever you need to. Change me. Take me. Whatever you want. Just let me get Laurie out safe.

  The thought of her sent a surge of adrenaline. He fought the panic, straining to see as he groped, and felt a sudden rush of relief. Cracks of daylight showed through the warped storm door slanting above the small chute just wide enough to admit two hogs side by side. He hurried into the chute. With his shoulder, he pressed against the door. It held fast.

  He groped back along the wall until he found the loose rocks, grabbed one up and crawled back. Feeling along the seam between the door flaps, he found the metal latch, gripped the rock, and swung. It cut into his palm as he smashed it again and again against the rusted metal. He dropped the rock and thrust his shoulder once more into the door. The latch snapped, and the door swung free.

  He’d known the risk. It was the same as opening a window. It formed a chimney, a channel, but it was their one chance. Behind him, Laurie screamed as the center of the floor dropped like a flaming curtain to the ground, trapping them both between the sag and the wall.

  Cal plunged back as gasoline fumes flew like glowing specters. Sweat stung his eyes and soaked his chest and back. His skin blistered as he dropped lower beneath the flaming edge of flooring and soldier-crawled even as Laurie dragged herself toward him.

  They met, gripped arms. Overhead, Cal heard a wrenching and jerked his head up. Through the gaps of fallen flooring, he saw the main beam from the roof break free. He shoved Laurie into the wall and ducked as the beam splintered the sagging floor above him, crashing through and driving him into the dirt.

  Laurie’s screams sounded small, childlike. She was trapped in the chairs, caged by their legs. Her ponytails hung limp. Come on, baby. Two more feet. We can buddy-breathe my air. Only two more feet … Then she was gone and there was darkness.

  Cal felt so alone it hurt. This was death, hell even. The awful void swallowed him in silence. God. God! But he was alone, the need in him his only awareness. A need so acute it overtook fear and want and any other human emotion. A void so empty he lost all sense of himself. He’d never known loneliness before, never seen darkness. A cry burst from him, but there were no sound waves to carry it. His thoughts dissolved.

  Then a hand reached out from nowhere, a hand punctured at the wrist, an arm roped with muscle, and a calloused palm. It pulled him from the darkness in spite of the wound. Pain sliced up his side as consciousness rushed in. He opened his eyes and spit dirt. His nostrils sucked the acrid air, his skin burned. He welcomed the pain, gasping with relief.

  Laurie bent low, her tears wetting his cheek as he lay muddled. “Cal?” She shook him.

  Groaning, he raised his face from the ground. Fresh pain, sharp and insistent, shot through his side as he rose to his elbows and saw the end of the beam less than a foot from his body, new flames licking it. It could have crushed him, but it hadn’t. A lightning bolt? Thank God he wasn’t blinded. He wasn’t making sense. This was no time to ponder theology. They had to get out.

  Swallowing the pain, he rolled out from under the debris that had struck him. But not the beam. The beam had missed. How? Why? He couldn’t ponder it. They had to move. He had to make them move, or next time he might not be so lucky. Lucky? Was it luck, or God? Whose wounded hand had he gripped? He dragged his knees up underneath him and pushed Laurie. “Go.”

  Laurie dragged herself under the last edge of flooring and into the small chute that led to the storm door. Cal crawled behind. Eight feet, six feet, two … He saw the tiny hand reach out to him. No! He shook away the thought. They were going to make it. This time they were going to make it.

  Laurie gripped the frame and pulled herself out. He staggered up behind her, grabbed her hand, and together they stumbled toward the apple grove and collapsed. He lay, sucking air into his lungs in sharp gasps. His head throbbed, his ribs were knives in his side, and the cold air stung the burns on his back and legs, but they were out of it.

  Laurie’s cheekbone was bruised, and she had abrasions on her face, hands, and arms. The ends of her hair were singed, and she was red-faced and sooty, but he didn’t see any serious burns. The worst was her knee, which bled right through the shirt as she rolled and fixed her eyes on the fury of flames, shuddering when the barn skeleton collapsed.

  He laid a hand to her cheek, and she turned. Tear streaks ran through the soot and filth on her face, and her lips were cracked and bleeding. He couldn’t tell if she was in shock or just scared and exhausted. But it was clear she didn’t have much left to run on.

  He assessed their predicament. The fire posed little danger to them. Once it consumed the combustible gasoline-treated wood, it should peter out on the frozen gravel surrounding the barn. But they had no shelter, inadequate clothing, no first aid without the jeep, and they were dependent on Ray finding his way back. Cal looked up. The clouds were low, and in these temperatures they wouldn’t get far on foot, injured and depleted as they were.

  His thoughts were already getting fuzzy. Too many blows to the head, and he could guess at other damage. If he had Annie … Where was she? She would find them, but no, she was with Mildred and the children, at the cabin miles and miles away. He shivered, his T-shirt little better than nothing.

  “You’re freezing.” Laurie’s voice broke into his thoughts.

  He wiped the grime from his eyes. “I’m okay.” But he wasn’t. The pain and fuzziness were growing. And one thing he knew, Ray was terrible with direction.

  18

  A MAN’S VERY HIGHEST MOMENT IS,

  I HAVE NO DOUBT AT ALL, WHEN HE KNEELS

  IN THE DUST, AND BEATS HIS BREAST, AND

  TELLS ALL THE SINS OF HIS LIFE.

  Oscar Wilde

  LAURIE STARED AT CAL. It was sinking in that he was there, that this was real. And as that understanding dawned, she realized with acute sensation how close to death they’d been. She shook uncontrollably. “I thought you were killed. When that beam fell …” The thought brought a sudden ache to her chest. He could have been. One
foot to the left and he would have been.

  His voice rasped, “I thought they’d killed you already.” He winced and lay back against a narrow trunk.

  He’d thought she was dead? “But you came in after me.”

  “I have a hero complex.” He pressed a hand to his side.

  Hero complex. Her own words. She’d meant it as an insult, but what if he didn’t? What if he hadn’t been driven to save her at all costs? “You are a hero, Cal.” She covered the hand that held his side with her own. “Is it bad?”

  “Bad enough.” He faced her squarely. “Laurie …”

  “Don’t talk. It’s hurting you.” Her own knee was throbbing, shooting pain down her shin. His injuries were much worse, gashes and swelling on the side of his head, burns and abrasions, and something worse with his side. She fought panic. What if he was …

  “Listen.”

  “No.” She put a hand to his lips. “Later.” She moved close to warm him.

  He drew a shallow breath. “I don’t know what’ll happen later. There’s something I want to tell you.” He slowly raised one knee and shifted his hip with a groan, then settled. “Eight months ago there was a fire. An old B-and-B on Wilton Street.”

  “Cal.” Why was he forcing it? Was he in shock, delirious?

  “They were doing a remodel. Had everything blocked up. Scaffolding … debris. They were careless.”

  His chest tightened under her hand as he spoke, more she guessed from tension than pain. But he kept on. “They were replacing the electrical, but something went haywire, literally. Once it started, the place took off like”—his voice grated—“nothing I’d seen before. We thought we had everyone out …”

  Laurie’s diaphragm seized as she guessed what was coming. Did she want to hear, to know what had changed Cal, damaged him? Why was he telling her now, when he’d just done what no one else could have, would have, done?