The delivery van sped down the road and stopped.
I ran and opened the back. Bud threw a box of flares out the open door, followed by an aerosol can and a bottle of vegetable oil.
“What are you doing?” I yelled.
He jumped down and ran to Rod. “You get his feet.”
We carried him into the van and set him down. “Get rid of anything like to explode in heat. Just throw it out the back.”
He jumped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “And get off all your clothes that’s not natural.”
“What?” I grabbed the back door and barely got it shut before the van moved.
“Anythin’ that’s not cotton or wool or natural-type cloth. Take ’em off you and Rod both.”
“Why?”
“There’s no time, Lillian. Just do it.”
He drove straight into the grow.
“Where are you going?” I yelled.
He didn’t answer. Instead he increased our speed.
I struggled to keep Rod steady as we plowed through the marijuana plants. “We’re going the wrong way.”
“It’s too late. The creek is our only chance.”
“What do you mean it’s too late? It can’t be too late.”
“Judgin’ offa what I saw when I went for the van, we only got minutes. It’s blowin’ up real bad.” He quickly glanced back. “I told you to get those clothes off. Anythin’ polyester is gonna melt.”
I must have wasted several seconds in blind terror. The thought of a heat so intense that your clothing melts will do that do a person. But all I remember is whipping off my KJAY polo shirt and being grateful my bra was cotton. Fortunately Rod’s clothes are all so nice that most everything he wears is a natural fiber.
“Get his watch too,” Bud yelled. “The metal will burn into him.”
I removed the watch, then put it in my gear bag with the digital camera. The Mace and some other flammable things went out the window. I tried to keep pressure on Rod’s wound, but it was hard with the van jostling around so much. Then all at once the van stopped. Bud peered out the windshield. He looked both ways, then appeared to decide something.
“Hold on,” he shouted.
He hit the gas and then the road dipped. I held Rod down. He moaned as a box of doughnuts flew into the air and spread chocolate glazed with sprinkles everywhere. The van stopped and Bud shut off the engine.
I tried to see out the windshield. “Where are we?”
“The creek.” Bud jumped out of his seat. He tossed a metallic bundle at me. “Open that up and lay it down on the floor.” He began tearing through the contents of the van. “I’m not gonna lie to you, this is bad. I was countin’ on the creek bein’ a firebreak, but it’s hardly flowin’. Best we can do is park down in the creek bed and pray there’s enough water to keep the temperature down.”
The bundle was a fire shelter, or a shake-and-bake as Bell had called it. I ripped the red cord and opened the plastic bag. The metallic fabric was folded like an accordion. The two handles were labeled RIGHT and LEFT.
“I saw a temporary dam.” I grasped each handle and pulled while shaking the fabric out. “We could drive up there. There’s tons of water on the other side.”
“It’s no good. The trees start up again. If we get hit by a fallin’ branch, we’ll be dead for sure, don’t matter how much water there is.”
I laid the small tent on the floor of the van and straightened it. “But is there going to be enough water here?”
Bud didn’t answer.
“Bud?” I yelled.
“I don’t know what to say, Little Sister. It’s real bad.” He gestured to the tent. “Best thing is you and Rod get in here.”
Only two of us were going to fit. We got Rod safely inside and then I said, “Have you trained with one of these before?”
“Yes, and you gots to remember to try and keep your hands—”
A gust rocked the van. The roaring sound got louder and I cut him off. “Get inside with Rod. I won’t do it right and we’ll both die anyway.” I pulled out my Swiss army knife and opened the blade. “That’s the only way it’s going to work.”
I jumped out the back and slammed the door shut. My eyes and lungs burned, but I ran straight up the shallow creek bed. Through the smoke and wind I saw something dark. I ran straight at it. I stabbed the thick vinyl with all my strength. A small hole opened.
I heard a freight train coming behind me. I raised the knife and pounded it down over and over again in a frenzy. The world around me brightened in shades of orange and red. I felt the center start to give. I brought the blade down in one fluid motion, then ripped it toward me.
The dam broke. A wave knocked me flat on my back as everything exploded.
TWENTY-THREE
Friday, 5:41 p.m.
I held my breath. I slid headfirst with the current and slipped under the van’s submerged back bumper. I grabbed a tire to stop myself. I opened my eyes and tried to see through the flowing water. Blurry streaks of orange glowed all around the edges of the rocking van.
My lungs ached. I had to breathe. I tried to look up, but the van’s underside was an indistinguishable dark mess. I reached up. My hand touched strange shapes, sharp edges, and then finally air. I rose up and found the air pocket running up into the engine. I pushed, trying to squeeze my head past the front axle. I opened my lips and sucked in the beautiful, foul air.
I held my breath and lowered back down. I opened my eyes again underwater. I could see a tire moving back and forth as the winds battered the van.
I held my breath as long as I could, and then scrambled up to take another breath. How long would I have to do this? How long could I do this?
I heard a terrible explosion followed by another and another. A gust like a tornado must have hit the van. The seven-thousand-pound vehicle jerked to the right. The two left tires lifted, but then fell back to the creek bed.
Finally the van’s movements slowed and then went still. I was later told that the blowup lasted eight minutes. For me, it felt like eight hours. I waited as long as I could, and then allowed the current to take me below the front bumper. I lifted my head and took a breath. The hot air burned my throat and lungs. I coughed and took another breath. I tried to sit up, but the higher I got, the hotter the air became. I sank back down so just my head rose out of the water. I took short, shallow breaths. The water flowed around me making gentle trickling sounds like on a nature CD.
I stayed like that. My eyes stung, but I could see. The marijuana field was a scorched memory. Random hot spots still burned, but most of the crop had been reduced to ashes by the intense heat. Beyond that, a burning forest heaved black smoke into the sky. The core structure of each tree was still visible, but flames filled out the branches instead of pine needles. Occasionally a tree would collapse and there’d be a thunderous crash.
The other side of the creek was completely untouched. With the water flowing at its normal levels, the natural firebreak had held.
The temperature slowly dropped to the point where I could sit up. The light from the still-burning trees shimmered on the dark surface of the water, so at first I didn’t recognize movement. When I did finally realize something was walking up the shallow edge of the creek bed, I had a goofy thought that it was probably a Ter-rill Mountain slender salamander. All the flames and light were behind it, so the animal appeared as a black silhouette. It stopped roughly five yards from me and stared.
The cougar didn’t look angry or frightened. Maybe that’s why I was so calm. Nothing in its manner suggested pride in the triumph of survival, and if events had played out differently, I doubted the animal would have wasted time feeling sorry for itself. It simply was alive, and one day it would be dead, just like the trees, and the salamanders, and Jessica, and me.
Something crashed in the van behind us. The cougar leapt up and ran off into the brush on the safe side of the creek.
The chopper found us fairly quickly. Dennis and Callum had given
the authorities the coordinates of the grow, so they knew exactly where to look.
Bud was able to stop crying long enough to signal them. I had expected some emotion from the old codger, but not for Bud to completely break down when he saw I was alive.
As visibility increased, I saw another reason the fire hadn’t spread across the creek: a line of fire retardant had been dropped onto the land there. The van had survived fairly well. Its body was charred on one side, but the water and humidity in the air had deflected the worst of the flame front. Bud’s proper use of the fire shelter had protected him and Rod from the superheated air. None of us had burns.
For the second time in twelve hours I was airlifted to the Bakersfield Medical Center. Rod was taken straight into surgery to remove the bullet. Bud and I were examined and released. We went to the surgery waiting room and found Callum and Leanore already there.
Each jumped up. Leanore hugged me while crying. Callum awkwardly patted me on the back while trying to hide that his eyes were wet. He then admonished me for destroying the live truck. It had been left up on the dirt road and, without the benefit of the creek, was a burnt-out shell.
My cotton gear bag had survived in the doughnut truck. I gave Callum the digital camera. “I recorded everything, including their confessions, but there’s no picture and the camera was exposed to insanely high temperatures.”
“We’ll get something.” He looked at the camera instead of me. “Good job getting tape . . . and the whole not-dying thing.”
We waited a little longer and then Lucero arrived.
“They found the Fitzgeralds and Bedolla.” He took a seat next to Callum. “I guess Bedolla realized they weren’t going to make it and they all detoured to a house nearby with a weird name.”
“Bonny Hazel?” I said.
“That’s it. Place was empty, but they broke in and rode out the fire in the basement with a bunch of lizards.”
I laughed. “They’re salamanders.”
“Whatever they are, I’m sure they’d never turn on each other as fast as the three humans who were down there with them.”
Bud grinned. “No honor among thieves, take my word for it.”
Something in his tone got Lucero’s attention—such as maybe Bud had a little too much experience with thieves—but Lucero let it go. “Bedolla is already trying to cut a deal. Says how he got into trouble flipping houses and needed cash, but the Fitzgeralds were really behind everything.”
Callum took out a cell phone. “Is this on the record? Can I go with this?”
Lucero straightened. “No. It’s not on the record.”
“Okay. Calm down. I won’t use it.”
Lucero’s eyes narrowed. “Then who are you calling?”
“Nobody. I have to check on a thing.” Callum walked down the hall and out of earshot.
Lucero watched him. “He’s going with it, isn’t he?”
Leanore offered him some of her vending-machine pretzels. “You have to say ‘off-the-record’ before you start talking.”
“Cheer up,” I said. “I may have audio of the Fitzgeralds and Bedolla confessing.”
He frowned at me while chewing. “Why don’t I already have it?”
“You’ll have to talk with Callum. He’s in charge of it now.”
Lucero jumped up and ran after Callum.
Leanore finished her pretzels, then went to get coffee for everyone from the cafeteria. I scooted down to the seat next to Bud and took the envelope out of my rear pocket. “Here. It got wet when I was in the creek, but it should still be good.”
“What’s this?” He looked at the runny ink on the outside of the envelope. “Does this say Otto’s Pawn? They been closed for five years now.” He pulled the soggy bills out. “Well, I was never one to turn down money, but what did I do to deserve this?”
“It’s yours. It’s the money I got for selling your TV and stuff thirteen years ago.”
He stared at me for a second, then erupted into whoops of laughter. “Little Sister, you are growin’ up if you’re payin’ off your debts.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “That’s why I make a habit of owin’ money all over town.”
He placed the envelope on my leg. “But all the same, this is yours.”
“No, I want to pay you back.”
A man in scrubs came through a pair of double doors and walked toward the waiting area. I had to pick up the envelope so I could stand.
“You did, Little Sister, and I thank you for it.” Bud stood too. “This here’s a gift, from me to you.”
The doctor said Rod was out of surgery and improving. I went to see him, but he was still unconscious. He was so pale. His chest hardly rose and fell with each breath. I started crying and decided it was time to leave.
I stopped and checked on Bell. She was awake and feeling better. When I told her the Elizabeth mayor had been the one shooting at us, she laughed. It hurt her broken ribs, but she couldn’t help it.
I laughed too, harder than I can remember laughing in a long time. Maybe it was because I’d just been crying over Rod, and this was the pendulum swinging the other direction, but the entire mess seemed hysterical to me.
“If you think that’s funny,” I said, “wait until I tell you why Mayor Fitzgerald didn’t want manpower wasted defending the nature preserve.”
“Why?”
“She didn’t want the firefighters to accidentally discover her pot farm.”
We both laughed again. I actually had tears in my eyes.
Bell did too, but they were from pain. “Oh, this is cruel of you.”
I wiped my eyes. “You’re right. I should let you rest.” I got up to go.
She gestured to the muted TV mounted on the wall. Images from the fire were playing on a cable news channel. “You and Rod are going to be big news. You could parlay this into a fantastic new job somewhere.”
“I have a fantastic job right here.”
The laughter faded a little from her eyes. “For how long? Most stations your size already have reporters shooting their own material. How long before one-man bands come to Bakersfield?”
“Probably not long.” I tried to smile. “Sometimes I wonder if I might be able to transition over to the assignment desk, but I’d die in a desk job.”
“I used to think that too.” She raised her knee a few inches under the blanket. “You may have noticed I have a limp.”
I shrugged, not wanting to make her feel self-conscious. “Before I busted my knee, I worked on an engine crew. I was like you. I couldn’t imagine leaving the field, but then life happens and we adjust.”
“I’m not good at adjusting.”
She smiled. “You might surprise yourself.”
I went home to shower and change clothes. Even if I hadn’t been in a hurry to return to the hospital and check on Rod, I wouldn’t have slept. I was too nervous and keyed up. I showered, put on clean clothes, brushed my teeth, and started to feel like a human being again.
I passed the bed where my things had haphazardly been tossed on the quilt. The envelope stuck out from the pocket of my jeans. I stood for a few moments looking down, then called the IO. He called back ten minutes later with the address.
The house was in Oleander, an older neighborhood near downtown. It was almost midnight and most of the houses on the tree-lined street were dark. I parked Rod’s Prius and walked up the front steps. The lights were on so I didn’t hesitate to knock.
A woman pulled back the curtain from a window near the door. I tried to speak loudly so she could hear me through the glass. “I’m here to see Brad. He should be expecting me.”
The curtain fell back into place and the door opened. Jessica’s brother stood in the doorway. He wore sweatpants and a T-shirt.
“I’m sorry for the late hour,” I said.
Brad Egan looked even more tired than this morning. “It’s okay. The IO said you were very insistent, so I figure it’s important.”
“There’s something you’re goin
g to find out about Jessica and I wanted to be the one to tell you.”
He gestured for me to come in.
I hesitated. I didn’t want to run into Jessica’s father. I may have matured to the point where I could hide some of my feelings, but holding my tongue around a man who hits his daughter was not going to happen. On the other hand, it seemed unlikely that Brad would conduct a sensitive conversation on his aunt’s porch at midnight.
I stepped inside the cottage-style house from the 1930s. It smelled normal. Not gross, and not overly sweet with air freshener as if they were hiding something.
Brad introduced me to his aunt, then shut the door behind me. “I already got a couple calls from friends still in Elizabeth saying there are all kind of rumors about the Fitzgeralds and Jessica.”
His aunt tightened a terry-cloth robe. “Would you like some coffee?”
I said yes because I didn’t know what else to say. We all went to the kitchen. It had been remodeled in the 1980s. The oak cabinets and tile counters clashed with the older style of the rest of the house.
Brad and I sat at the kind of small two-person table you can buy at Wal-Mart, or Target, or any other number of stores. The aunt poured two mugs of coffee and set them down in front of us. She wasn’t very old, probably early fifties, and it reminded me how much older Brad looked than his real age.
“I’m sure the police will be here tomorrow to talk to you about Jessica.” I looked from the aunt to Brad. “They’re going to tell you she was farming marijuana with the Fitzgeralds and Arnaldo Bedolla, and that Byrdie murdered her.”
I watched his face expand as the shock of the news hit him.
The aunt made some noises and started for the door. “I should wake your father up.”
Brad shook his head. “He won’t care.”
She stopped in the doorway and turned around. “She was his daughter.” She left before Brad could say anything else.
“I know this all sounds bad,” I continued. “And you probably think it confirms every bad thought you’ve ever had about Jessica, but you’re wrong. Your sister wasn’t the person you think she was.”
His lips collapsed into thin, angry lines. “How would you know?”
Hot, Shot, and Bothered Page 28