by Bobby Cole
“Am I? I’m just cold and wet.” He tried to sound calm. He knew that the longer this lasted, the greater the chance they wouldn’t make it.
“I’ll keep you warm,” she replied and hugged him as hard as she could.
“Lord, help us,” he prayed in a whispered voice. He readjusted his fifty-pound passenger and started off again in search of the Little Buck Field.
Elizabeth was running for her life…and she knew it. She had run nonstop for twenty minutes when she slipped and fell face-first into the mud. Her knees and hands were skinned, her clothes were soaking wet with mud, and her legs were aching. Although she jogged three or four times a week, panic began to overwhelm and exhaust her. Not knowing what to do or where to go, she had stayed on the road because the moon lit the way. Her lungs were burning, and her right side ached. Standing back up, she looked east and thought she saw red lights heading away from her. She stared. The lights vanished. Were those really car lights? A chill ran up her spine. Elizabeth started running in the direction of the lights she prayed that she saw.
“Please, God, help me,” she said aloud, “and please, God, help Tanner, please let him be…let him be all right.”
Every now and then she passed one of the shooting houses lining the road. They were very ominous and resembled miniature prison guard towers. She had been hunting with her dad once and had sat in one very similar to these. But tonight, the moon shadows made them creepy. She was worn out and couldn’t go much farther. Not wanting to hide in the woods, she decided the next shooting house would be her refuge. There it was, fifteen feet or so off the ground, wooden, about four feet square and almost tall enough to stand up in. It was old but appeared to be in better shape than some of the others she passed.
She stood at the base thinking. She was too tired to run any farther. This made sense. Before she started climbing the ladder, she shook it to see if it would hold her. Quickly she climbed up and cracked the door. As soon as the door opened, there was a loud shriek and a blur of something big flying by her head. She screamed, “Oh, God!” as she slipped from the ladder. She hit the ground with a thud. Her right ankle immediately began throbbing. With exasperation, she made a fist and pounded the earth a couple of times.
An owl or a hawk, that’s what it was, she thought as she climbed back up and eased the door open again, ducking as she stuck in her head. All was silent. She quickly crawled in and shut the door. She ran her hands up and down the edge of the door until she found the latch and hooked it. She stared out the eight-inch-wide opening but couldn’t see anyone coming. She then eased down to the floor and pulled her legs underneath her. She loosened the laces of her right shoe and started to shake uncontrollably. She sobbed silently.
R.C. was hauling ass. His blues were flashing, but he’d turned off the siren in a vain attempt to hear what Tanner was saying. His mind was racing even faster than he was driving.
“R.C., what’s your twenty?” Martha asked calmly.
“I’m on Seventeen headed south. Just passed the Kendalls’ farm. Where’s the ambulance?”
“They just crossed the interstate headed your way. You should see their lights in about five minutes.”
“Yes’m,” he replied, trying to keep both hands on the steering wheel as much as possible.
“Ollie’s on his way here—expect him to radio you any minute.”
“Let me get him transferred to the EMTs, and then I’ll tell Ollie what I know.”
“Ten-four. I dispatched Larson to take the Tillmans to the hospital.”
“I’m guessin’ they’ll airlift him to Tuscaloosa or UAB.”
“Dear Lord…is he that bad, R.C.?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“R.C.…Ollie wants you to come here as soon as possible.”
“Ten-four.”
Ollie had gotten the call just after crawling in bed and turning off the lights. His wife never woke up. Jackie was used to this sort of thing. Ollie told Martha he would be right there and to make some fresh coffee. Driving to the office, he listened to the police radio, resisting the urge to question R.C. He could tell he had his hands full. If R.C. got too distracted, somebody could get killed. Ollie switched on the blues in his tan Expedition and punched the gas. What a night, he thought.
“I see them up ahead. I’m pullin’ over!”
“Ten-four, R.C. Hold on.” Twenty seconds passed. “They’ve got a visual on you, too.”
“I’ll radio as soon as they have him!”
“Ten-four, Unit Three.”
The ambulance did a quick U-turn and stopped next to R.C.’s cruiser. Within seconds, the EMTs jumped out, opened the back doors, and slid out the gurney. It automatically opened, and they rolled it next to the rear quarter panel of the car. R.C. opened the back door but didn’t know what to do next. He was anxious to help but was at a loss. The two EMTs were very professional. They had seen it all.
“I don’t know what all’s wrong with him. I think he’s been beat up. I knew I could get him out of there faster than y’all could get there,” R.C. said hopefully.
“You did good, R.C.,” said the female EMT, reaching for Tanner’s wrist. The male EMT shined a light in Tanner’s eyes, checking for dilation. The EMTs looked at each other and nodded in agreement.
“Let’s roll!” the woman said and then grabbed Tanner under his arms. “R.C., hold his head.”
R.C. helped the EMTs make certain the gurney straps were tight. Then he looked at his hands, casually wiped the blood on his pants, and asked, “Do you think he needs airlifting?”
“I don’t know. Once they clean him up and X-ray him, then they can tell,” the male EMT replied with a grunt as they lifted the gurney into the unit. The female EMT jumped in the back, and the guy slammed the doors.
“That’s Tanner Tillman…you know, from the football team?”
“No way?” he said, surprised. “Well, he’s in good hands now!”
R.C. looked in through the side window and saw the EMT placing an oxygen mask on Tanner’s blood-covered face. As the ambulance raced off, R.C. stood watching, listening.
“Three to Base,” R.C. finally called in.
“Go ahead, R.C.,” Martha replied.
“Is the sheriff there yet?”
“He’s walking in the door.”
R.C. dropped the car in gear and headed straight for the sheriff’s office. He had driven about a mile when the radio crackled.
“Base to Unit Three.”
“Unit Three.”
“What happened out there, R.C.?”
“Chief, I don’t know. I was ridin’ the roads near that camp and turned on the Dummy Line and about three miles down there were two vehicles but no people. I got out to check on things and found Tanner at the edge of the road.”
“What do you think happened to him…what’s your gut sayin’?”
“I think he got the crap beat out of him in a fight.”
“Not some kind of an accident?”
“No. This was on purpose.”
“Was anyone else there? What was the other vehicle?”
“I didn’t see anyone. The other truck looked familiar, but I can’t place it. I left so fast I didn’t look at the plates—sorry,” he added quickly.
“What’s your ETA?”
“Five minutes.”
“Hurry up,” the sheriff said, then stood.
Ollie poured himself a cup of coffee. Cream, three sugars. Martha was on the phone with the hospital. Ollie walked to his desk and sat down to look at a county map. His eyes drifted to the massive wilderness bordering the camp. Could these incidents be related? He planned to quiz R.C. and then go to the hospital to see the kid for himself.
R.C. ran in and plopped down in the chair in front of the sheriff’s desk. He was obviously proud of himself.
“Hey, Chief,” R.C. said, expecting accolades.
“R.C., do you think these, well, these two incidents are or could be related?”
“Tanner probably go
t into a fight over some girl or the baseball game, but if that’s what it was, the fight got way ugly. He had the crap beat out of him.”
“High school fights don’t get that brutal.” Ollie sipped his coffee. R.C. shrugged, then nodded tentatively in agreement.
They both looked up when they heard someone running down the hall. Martha rushed into the room with a panicked look on her face.
“Ollie, Tanner Tillman’s mother just told me that Tanner had a date tonight with Elizabeth Beasley…she’s asking where the Beasley girl is.”’
Ollie and Martha wheeled to R.C. His eyes got wide and he jumped up.
“Holy shit! That’s what he was trying to say…Elizabeth! She’s out there! I’m on my way!” R.C. yelled, racing down the hall.
Ollie grabbed his cowboy hat as he ran toward the door. “Who else is on duty tonight?” he asked, holding the door open.
“Larson and Shug,” Martha quickly responded.
“Have them meet me wherever R.C. is saying this happened. I’m on my way. Radio R.C. to slow down long enough for me to catch up. Tell them both no sirens, just lights.”
“Yes sir, Chief!” Martha replied. As soon as the door closed, she lit another cigarette.
Standing silently along the creek’s edge, Reese listened for his prey. His shortcut through the woods had worked. He was about half a mile from the Dummy Line. He could hear a vehicle speeding east. That has be Johnny Lee’s killer and his kid. He musta seen Tiny and Sweat and they flushed him back my way. If I coulda been here a few minutes earlier, I’da killed him as he drove by—just like shootin’ a rabbit. The killer had nowhere to run. There were only two ways out, and they were blocked. This guy’s screwed and payback’s comin’. Reese smiled at the thought.
Reese flipped open the phone, found Tiny’s number, and hit Send.
Beep-beep. No response.
Beep-beep. Again no response.
“Dammit,” he said aloud. Tiny never remembers to carry his phone. Hell, the lardass couldn’t even remember to turn it on. He drives me crazy. I gotta do all the thinkin’. I hate incompetence. Off to his right a pack of coyotes started howling.
Poaching and drinking while driving were Reese’s favorite pastimes, and most of the time he combined them. It had been several years since Reese had been poaching on this property. The timber was a bit bigger now, but he knew where he was and where he was going.
I’ll kill the kid first—that’ll really punish him—and then I’ll steal his truck, Reese thought. After everybody was back at Johnny Lee’s trailer, he could send Tiny to hide the truck until they could either paint it or fence it in Meridian. They’d have to get their story together and say Sweat shot Johnny Lee by accident as they were loading up to go turkey hunting. Nobody ever got convicted—or even charged—in a hunting accident. That made sense. Plus, they had the trump card—the killer’s old lady. That guaranteed cooperation. After they inflicted all sorts of pain and suffering on him and the woman, they’d simply shoot both of them between the eyes.
Reese knew to temper his revenge with caution. They needed to get out of here before daylight. He glanced at his fake Rolex and smiled; it was not quite 2:21 a.m. Time was on his side.
The shooting house was filthy. It was full of leaves, spider webs, and what appeared to be some sort of a nest in the far corner. Elizabeth felt around, hoping to find something useful. All she discovered was a hunting magazine, two empty Mountain Dew cans, an empty rifle cartridge, and one unopened can of what she thought was pork and beans. A swivel chair was in the opposite corner. She tried it but was more comfortable on the floor, with her foot elevated.
Slowly and silently she looked out the small opening again. Nothing, but she could hear a four-wheeler not too far off. She settled back down and wondered about Tanner. He fought for me and I ran. I had to, she told herself. It was killing her. She prayed that he was OK. She wanted to go home.
Suddenly she had an idea. She eased up on her knees to take another look down the road. The coast was clear. She took off her fleece jacket, then took off her shirt and tied one of the long sleeves into a knot at the wrist. She slid the can of beans into the arm. She twisted the shirt until it was tight, then put back on her fleece jacket, and zipped it up tight. I’m gonna fight like hell…like Tanner did, she thought, as she brushed her hair behind her ears and let out a deep breath.
She settled in to wait. After several minutes, she could hear someone walking on the road. On her knees, she peeked but couldn’t see him yet. Her heart was racing as she clenched her weapon. A little more than a hundred yards away, she began to see his outline coming toward her. Every few feet, he shined a small flashlight on the ground. She watched until he was almost to her when she realized that he was following her footprints. She wanted to scream. How could I be so stupid? She was cornered.
She watched him walk by without so much as looking up, and then suddenly he stopped. He flashed his light around on the ground, turned around, and backtracked a few steps. Then he quickly flashed the light up at the deer stand. She ducked down, hitting one of the empty cans.
In the moment of silence after the can rattled, she could hear the four-wheeler coming closer. Who’s that? Is someone gonna help me?
“Hey, little girl…you got a real man comin’ up to see you…not some schoolboy!” he said, licking his lips.
Elizabeth huddled in the corner of the shooting house and prayed.
“You’ll never be the same after me. You’ll throw rocks at all them college boys after you’ve had a little of this!” he said and snickered as he approached the shooting house. His sadistic laughter and lewd comments made her hyperventilate.
Suddenly she felt the structure shake. She couldn’t see who was shaking the shooting house but saw the fat guy with the pistol drive up on a four-wheeler. She let out a bloodcurdling scream. The shooting house rocked more and more as the goon climbed higher. Then the door shook, but it didn’t open immediately.
“Sweat…is that the girl up there?” the fat guy called as he slowed to a stop.
“Yeah, man, but you’re gonna hafta let me bring her down there for you. This ladder ain’t gonna hold yo big ass!” Sweat said with a laugh.
Elizabeth curled into a ball, praying the latch would hold.
“Leave her alone, man. I can’t let you hurt her!” Tiny hollered up at Sweat.
“Shut the hell up!” Sweat said as he worked his hand between the door and the frame.
“I’m serious, man. I ain’t gonna let you hurt her,” Tiny replied, climbing off the four-wheeler.
“You and whose army’s gonna stop me?” Sweat answered as he splintered the plywood door with his hands. He threw the pieces to the ground and, like Jack Nicholson’s character in The Shining, stuck his head inside, smiled, and said, “Heeeeerrrrreeeee’s Johnny!”
WHACK! The sound of the can smacking Sweat’s nose could be heard a hundred yards away.
Sweat rocked back, dazed, then slipped off the ladder. When he hit the ground, he bit off the tip of his tongue.
Elizabeth rushed down what was left of the ladder. She climbed as low as she could and jumped. Landing on her good foot, she rolled as she had learned in cheerleading camp.
Sweat reached out and caught her as she stood up. He slapped her as hard as he could, knocking her down. Then he kicked her in the ribs. The salty taste of his blood was making him crazy.
Tiny jumped on Sweat’s back. Sweat stumbled, but he still had Elizabeth solidly by the jacket. Sweat was dazed and confused and covered in his own blood.
“Let her go!” Tiny screamed, trying to hold on to Sweat.
“Get off me, you fat bastard. I’ll kill you, too! You sumbitch!” Sweat yelled as he struggled to stand.
Elizabeth was screaming, trying to pull herself free. Tiny was choking Sweat with his weight and grip around his neck. Sweat was not letting go of either one of them. They finally fell in a pile. Tiny landed squarely on Sweat. Elizabeth screamed in terror. They all lay i
n the road for several seconds. Elizabeth was trapped but was scrambling to regain position. As Sweat got to his knees, Elizabeth suddenly stood. He still had a grip on the bottom of her fleece but not her right arm.
WHACK! She hit him again in the side of the head, breaking a cheekbone and stunning him. As she slipped from his grip, her jacket ripped and came off. With her ankle throbbing, she ran the best she could. Her strides became a one-legged hop, but nevertheless she was getting away. And she still had her weapon. Elizabeth continued down the Dummy Line, never looking back.
Sweat watched her run while he fought with Tiny. Now that he didn’t have to hold the girl, he rolled Tiny on his back and punched him several times as hard as he could. Tiny simply curled into a giant fetal position and tried to absorb the beating.
Sweat finally got to his feet. He was wet all over. By the four-wheeler’s headlights, he could see that it was blood. His hands hurt, part of his tongue was gone, and his face was on fire. Every heartbeat sent flashes of pain through his face. He looked at his hands, down the road toward the girl, then down at Tiny. Then he kicked the crap out of Tiny one more time.
“You stupid asshole!” he growled. He spat a gob of blood on Tiny, wiped his face with his shirtsleeve, and then staggered after the girl.
After only twenty-five yards, Sweat stopped. He bent over and placed his hands on his knees. He had swallowed a large amount of blood and was about to puke. She’s a fighter. I like that. He had been able to catch that skinny boy by surprise. That was his trademark. He wasn’t expecting her to attack him, catch him off balance. What the hell did she hit me with? It felt like a brick. Bitch broke my nose.
Standing quietly in the moonlight, Sweat could see her limping down the road. She’s hurt. He smiled at the thought, blood trickling down his chin. He spat hard. She’d be easy to catch now.
Sweat turned and stared at Tiny moaning and unable to get up. “What the hell’s your problem, man? I don’t want to hurt you. We’re partners, dude, but you was way out of line. Ain’t nobody gonna keep me away from a taste of that sweet stuff.”