Mojave Desert, California, January 1, 2000
Godson was floating blind in a black sea, feeling safe and comfortable. Dark. And warm. Mmmm. It’s nice here. I think I’ll stay a while.
19
Home Town Story
Betsy tried not to be upset as she watched her mom and the pretty boy holding each other. So she’s hugging him now, no big deal. He’s the hero, after all. When her mother had hugged her, Betsy tried to lose herself in that touch. Wasn’t this what she had wanted, to know that she was safe and loved? It was. She knew it was. And every time she came close to feeling it, Will got in the way.
“So, what was that all about?” Brian asked, waving a hand at the gorge.
“I don’t know.“ Will replied, not taking his eyes off Jeannie. “And I honestly don’t care. We should go. I like to think the threats I threw in Mondani’s face made a lasting impression, but I don’t trust the prick.”
They made their way to the Corvair. Will pointed to the news van. “You guys should get going too. No telling when more of those black helicopters are going to reappear.”
“It’s been a slice,” Ravi said, heading for the van.
Brian faced Jeannie and Will. He appeared both troubled and relieved. “You two are part of the most sensational story I’ve ever covered. I still don’t know what to make of you.”
Will grinned. “Frankly, I don’t think we do either. I think Jeannie and I should find a place where we can start thinking about the future, and not the past.”
Brian seemed on the verge of more questions, but Ravi shouted his name and he just shrugged. “No offense, but I hope we never meet again.”
Jeannie gave Brian a smile that gave him an instant, raging hard-on. His face beaming red with embarrassment, he turned and limped to the news van.
Betsy watched as Brian and Ravi went back down the road they had all followed, backtracking to pick up Sheriff Johnson. She was pissed. Even now the conversation was all Jeannie and Will. She was standing right there and it was as if she didn’t exist. Her mother had shown her a perfunctory display of emotion and then nothing. She reached under her T-shirt, feeling the J-frame revolver tucked in the waistband of her sweatpants.
Will opened the door of the Corvair for Jeannie and closed it when she was seated.
“Don’t keep me waiting,” she said, looking up at him.
He looked down and grinned. “Okay. I won’t.”
Will turned and saw Betsy standing in front of the car.
“Betsy, honey, get in the car,” Jeannie said.
Betsy took a step closer to Will. She raised her arm and then she was pointing the Smith & Wesson at his head.
Jeannie tried to get out of the car, but Will kept his weight against the door. He didn’t like the look in Betsy’s eyes, and didn’t want Jeannie walking into a stray bullet. Looking over the roof of the Corvair, he saw that the news van had stopped. Its rear doors were open, and Ravi was pointing the camera in their direction. He realized with a start that he was unarmed.
“Betsy, sweetheart, put down the gun.” Jeannie sounded more angry than afraid. “Will just saved your life. Why would you want to hurt him?” The window was rolled down, and she reached out to take Will’s hand.
“I don’t want to hurt him,” Betsy said. “I want to hurt you. I want to give back just a little of the hell my life has been. You denied me the love I wanted and needed. Now I’m going to deny you the love you want and need.”
Will looked down into Jeannie’s eyes, still holding her hand. He could see she thought there was a way out of this without anyone getting hurt. He wished he could explain to her why things weren’t going to work out that way, but he knew he didn’t have the time. He didn’t even think he’d have time to tell her how much he loved her, but he tried.
Jeannie was trying to read the expression on Will’s face, the meaning in his eyes. He opened his mouth, and from the shape of the lips she loved so much she was sure he was going to say I love you, but all she heard was a flat bang. She looked at Betsy. Her daughter was watching Will with what appeared to be delight. Jeannie turned back to Will. He was still looking at her, but his eyes were empty now, and there was something on her face, running into her eyes. She wiped a hand across her brow and saw tiny smears of red on her fingers. Red droplets were soaking into her white shirt. She looked up at Will again. As he fell beside the car she saw the wound on the right side of his head and the blood spilling out of it.
Betsy couldn’t believe she’d actually had the guts to do what she had just done. Part of her was freaking out, but mostly she felt a cold satisfaction as the pretty-boy crumpled to the ground, blood oozing out of his head in weak spurts.
Jeannie slid across the front seat with her breath catching in her throat. She stepped out of the driver’s door, stumbled and almost fell. She went to Betsy and pulled the gun out of her daughter’s limp hand. She was enraged by the half-smile on Betsy’s face. She raised the gun, pressing the barrel into the soft flesh beneath her daughter’s jaw.
As if stepping through a door into another reality, Betsy’s mood shifted radically when she felt the gun against her skin and saw the look on her mother’s face. She didn’t know why she had done what she had done. It was supposed to make her feel better, so much better, and it only made her feel worse. She didn’t know why she hated her mother so much when all she really wanted, even now, was her mother’s love. And she didn’t know if her mother was going to kill her or not. The span of time between her shooting Will and her mother turning the gun on her was only a few seconds, but it seemed to last much longer. She looked into her mother’s blue eyes and saw a dark madness there, saw a face that conveyed her own darkest thoughts. She was now terribly afraid.
Jeannie’s hand shook. She dropped the gun, fingers splayed as if it had burned her, and then she slapped Betsy’s face. “Go away,” she said. “I don’t hate you, I never could. But I can’t love you now. Not after this.” She pushed by Betsy and went to Will.
He was lying on his side. She had no idea how much blood he had lost; each drop that struck the ground seemed to be soaked up by the dry earth. Jeannie looked for something to wrap Will’s head with when Brian appeared beside her, opening a small first-aid kit and taking out bandages and a roll of gauze.
“Aw hell,” Brian said, “I don’t know what to do. It looks like the bullet went in but didn’t come out the other side.”
“Stop the bleeding,” Jeannie said. She was about to cry, but knew if she started she probably wouldn’t be able to stop. She had to forget her own fear and be strong for Will, just as he’d been strong for her. “Just stop the bleeding. Then help me get him into the car.”
Brian worked quickly. Jeannie was supporting Will’s head as gently as she could while Brian unwound the gauze. Ravi set the camera on the ground and kneeled beside Brian, holding strips of tape to secure the gauze.
Betsy walked away from them, passing by the Oldsmobile she had driven here. She went to John Godson’s Thunderbird. No one paid any attention to her.
“If nothing else goes wrong,” Brian said, as a strange, nearly inaudible whistle filled the air around them, “We should be able to get Will to a hospital.”
The Action Team 3 news van was at the center of a yellow-orange fireball that erupted with enough force to tear the van in half and scatter flaming, smoking pieces of metal and rubber through the air. Hidden from the concussion of the blast behind the Corvair that was rocking on its shocks, Jeannie, Brian, and Ravi watched streamers of fire pass overhead.
* * *
Moments earlier, Tupper had been enhancing the picture and sound coming from Ravi’s camera, grateful that the reporter had left the live feed open. When they heard a shot and saw Will fall he said, “This was . . . unexpected,” thoroughly shaken by what he had just seen.
“An absolute tragedy,” Mondani sneered, breaking into a grin as he faced Dolan. “Scramble the helicopters. I want the escapees detained and returned to custody.�
��
“You can’t do that,” Tupper blurted.
“Oh, but I can,” Mondani said. “The only thing keeping me from pulling your obese form out of that chair was William Hill’s threats against me. Now it appears he won’t be able to make good on those threats.”
“William Hill may not be hurt as badly as you think,” Tupper said, staring thoughtfully at the monitor. The screen was dark. Ravi had turned off the camera.
Mondani cocked an eyebrow. “I believe he took a bullet to the brain. That isn’t something one can shrug off like a case of conjunctivitis.”
“True,” Tupper replied. “But the bullet struck him in the area where he had already sustained damage as an infant. Hill’s brain has had a great deal of experience in recovering from trauma. It wouldn’t surprise me if he survived this.”
Mondani shook his head. Tupper was suggesting the impossible. “Mr. Dolan?” Mondani said. “Send out the helicopters. Now.” Dolan turned to another console, putting on a headset as he contacted the pilots and ordered them to the heliport. Mondani gave Tupper a look, daring him to speak again.
Tupper’s eyes remained on the screen. “I told you, you can’t send the helicopters up.”
“We’ll see about that. We—”
Dolan interrupted. “He’s right sir. The pilots are reporting none of the birds will fly. We have maintenance on the problem now.” He paused, listening, and then his lips tightened and he said, “Someone or something has shut down the flight computers on the helicopters. It may be a virus, or maybe we’re being bitten by the Y2K bug. Only a full diagnostic will tell.”
Mondani glared at Tupper, his nostrils flaring. Tupper peeked over his shoulder, his eyes wide with guilt, and then turned back to the screen.
Mondani poked Dolan in the chest with a finger. “Rip the damnable computers out of the helicopters then. Surely our pilots can fly without them?”
Dolan looked at his shoes, then at his boss. “Actually, that would take some time. The computers are hard-wired into every system on each bird.”
Mondani seethed, inhaling loudly through his nose, his eyes bugging out. “All right, then. Roll out the widebodies.”
There was a faint snort, as if Tupper were laughing through his nose behind Mondani’s back. Mondani raised an eyebrow, waiting for Dolan’s reply.
Dolan spoke reluctantly. “The, um, autoport doors are locked. Along with every other exit from Compound West.”
Mondani’s head twitched. “No.”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Dolan explained. “Everything is locked down, and none of the doors are accepting cards or keys.”
“No.”
“All security systems are on-line and appear to be operating normally, but the systems are reacting as if a code red security alert is in progress. Every exit is locked. The computer is not accepting any passwords. I can’t get into the system and stand down the alert.”
Mondani turned slowly, looking at the dark screen of the monitor. “Do we have anything that can be used to stop them from getting away, Mr. Dolan?”
Dolan thought hard a moment, the expression on his face one that seemed to reflect not consternation but constipation. “Well, we have LARs. Low Altitude Rockets.”
Tupper raised his head, startled. “We do?”
“Do we?” Mondani asked.
“Fancy mortars, actually.” Dolan explained smugly. “They go up and then come down, with a fair amount of accuracy.”
“Mr. Dolan?” Mondani seemed perplexed, and he forced a smile. The Security Officer gave the doctor an inquiring look. “Why aren’t the LARs flying yet? I want the road ahead of them so full of craters those cars have nowhere to go.”
* * *
“Suffering shit!” Brian cried, looking at the remains of his van.
Jeannie was bewildered. “What was that?”
Ravi muttered as he examined the video camera. Something had struck and shattered the lens cover and the lens. He set the camera down gently and then pushed a button. A cassette was ejected and he slipped it into his shirt pocket.
A large slab of rock halfway between the van and the Corvair disintegrated in a thunderous roar.
Godson’s white convertible accelerated by them. Betsy was taking the road that ran alongside the gorge beyond the ruined bridge. The windshield was blown out and the top was down, and her long black hair streamed behind her shining waves.
“What’s your kid doing?” Brian asked.
Jeannie didn’t have the energy or the time to spare worrying about Betsy. Will was the one who needed her now. Wrenching open the passenger door, Jeannie scrambled into the Corvair. Once she was behind the wheel she helped Brian and Ravi drag Will across the wide front seat. “I’m getting out of here,” she said. “I’m taking Will someplace safe.”
Ravi was looking into the Oldsmobile parked a few feet from the end of the bridge. He saw the keys in the ignition and called to Brian. ”Here’s our ride.”
Brian made sure both of Will’s feet were tucked in safely and then slammed the door shut. He disappeared for a moment and then he was reaching into the car and setting something on the dashboard. It was the gun Betsy had used to shoot Will.
“Get rid of that thing,” Jeannie said. Her voice was full of loathing.
“I can’t do that,” Brian replied. “For the time being you may as well be a woman traveling alone and you might need it. Now go.”
Jeannie watched Brian run to the Oldsmobile. When he and Ravi were inside, they went back down the mountain, presumably to pick up the cop. She started the engine, forcing her thoughts away from poor Carlos. Will was still alive. Will was all that mattered. She put the car in gear and took the road going north along the edge of the gorge. Tupper had told them there was another bridge farther on, and roads less traveled.
* * *
Mondani glowered at Dolan. They had lost the cameraman’s video feed, but another satellite had come into range and Tupper had patched into it. The image made the landscape and cars traveling it seem like toys, but it would do. Mondani was wondering why the escapees were still alive. “I thought you said these weapons had some semblance of accuracy?”
“Yes, sir,” Dolan stammered, “They do.” He yammered into his headset and said, “The next LARs should take out sizable portions of the road.”
* * *
Betsy had little feeling for anything remaining inside her, so her surprise was mild when she looked in the rear-view mirror and saw a shape rise up in the back seat. The barrel of a gun caressed her cheek and she recognized the face in the mirror. It was the tough babe who’d tried to get it on with her mom.
“Hey, sweet thing,” Stella said.
Betsy didn’t say a thing. Despite the heat of the day she felt chilled and utterly alone, and her solitary life had never been a concern until now.
Behind the Thunderbird the Corvair was jolted by the uneven road. Jeannie was worried that Will might get hurt even more with every bump. When she saw Stella climbing into the convertible’s front seat beside Betsy she looked at the revolver on the dashboard. A fireball rose up out of the road behind her and she flinched.
Stella slid into the passenger seat, grimaced when she realized she was sitting on something, and held up a Ziploc bag of bloody meat strips. “Jesus Christ,” she said, tossing the bag out of the car. There was an explosion on the road behind them. Stella looked back and saw Jeannie behind the wheel of the Corvair. She leaned close to Betsy, who was nothing but a scared little rabbit just like her mother, and said, “You are going to pull over and call your mommy for help. Get her over here.”
“Why?” Betsy said listlessly, looking at Stella a moment and ignoring the gun.
With an incredulous laugh Stella said, “Why? Because I’m holding the gun and I’ll kill you right here if you don’t do as I say.”
Betsy was about to tell Stella to go ahead and shoot, she didn’t care anymore, when an unanswered question came to mind. “What does my mother have that I don’t?”
Ready to crack wise, Stella gave Betsy a look and paused. The kid had everything her mother had. And Jeannie’s daughter was younger, stronger, firmer. She was still a child, one who could hopefully be easily manipulated, and easily dominated. God, Stella thought, the possibilities were endless.
Jeannie kept up her pursuit of the Thunderbird as another explosion occurred on the road behind her, this one closer than the last. She considered using gun on the dashboard to shoot at Stella, but she was afraid she’d hit Betsy. Despite her fury over the girl’s actions, Betsy was still her daughter, and she wasn’t going to let Stella, the last vestige of the Compound still following them, keep screwing with them. She’d had enough. She accelerated to within a car’s length of the Thunderbird.
That bitch may be a brunette for the time being, Stella thought, but she’s still thinking like a blonde. Stella could take out Jeannie, and now that the bitch was right behind her it would be easy pickings. She turned took aim with her weapon. Betsy reached out and gave her a shove, and Stella’s shot went over Jeannie’s head.
“Don’t hurt my mother,” Betsy said. There was fire in her voice, just a little. Her mother was all she had in the world, and Betsy realized more than ever she wanted her mother’s love again. It had been there for her all along and she prayed it was still there.
“For fuck sake,” Stella said, blowing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. “Screw with me again and I’ll shoot you, sweetie.” She started climbing into the back seat. One clear shot at Jeannie and she would have little Betsy all to herself. As she climbed up over the front seat she felt a terrific jolt.
Betsy saw what Stella was trying to do. When Stella was halfway over the front seat she stomped on the gas pedal and steered the convertible into a wedge of tilted asphalt on the old road. The accelerating Thunderbird hit it, went up on two wheels, and Stella was momentarily airborne.
Made in the U.S.A.: The 10th Anniversary Edition Page 44