by Gordon Brown
‘The police and fire won’t make any odds. The suits are way beyond them.’
‘Station twenty. I just hope they’re on call.’
‘What?’
‘Station twenty. A couple of friends.’
‘What are you on about?’
‘I chose this place because it’s in station twenty’s area. I have some friends who work there.’
‘Station twenty?’
‘The local fire station.’
Sirens are closing in.
‘And they know about us?’
‘Kind of.’
I’m at a loss. Charlie has put his own kids on the line for me with the ropiest of ‘outs’ if things go wrong.
‘You know the suits will search for us?’
‘I’m counting on it.’
‘Then what?’
‘Trust in friends.’
The fire is starting to die down. The noise is falling away. I can hear some voices where there had only been a din before.
Water starts to flow in from above. In seconds the hole starts to fill with it as the hoses are turned on the fire.
‘We need to get out. We’ll drown.’ Charlie nods and pushes the blanket away. We’re faced with a metal ceiling.
The floor of the priest hole has fallen and sealed us in tight.
Chapter 37
‘The trailer has collapsed on us!’
Stating the obvious is not a trait I admire in Charlie.
The water is running through a small gap between the trailer floor and the earth. Only the narrowness of the entry has prevented the hole filling with water already.
‘Dig at the opposite end from the water,’ Charlie shouts.
‘But the trailer might be sitting there.’
‘Yes, and if we dig where the water is it’ll flood in and we’ll drown quicker.’
I reach up and start to pull away at the earth. It comes free in clumps. Charlie squeezes in next to me and starts to claw. We hit metal and need to start again further along. This time my hand breaks through. The fire is all but out above.
I start to widen the space. I am kneeling and beneath me the water is up to my waist. Charlie is stronger than me. I push him forward. I take up the rear. He tears into the earth. I reach up and help with one hand.
Water cascades down the opposite wall. The fire is out. Why are they still pumping?
The gap is now big enough to stick a head through. The water is up to my chest and I can feel the icy cold drawing away my strength. We’re losing this battle.
‘Charlie, faster.’ A useless thing to say. He’s burrowing like a mad mole. The earth may be damp but it’s still hard to shift. Each handful has to be pulled free and thrown into the rising water and this takes time. Time we don’t have.
I reach over, grab at the dirt and pull. My hand yanks away a few ounces and I slam my fist in frustration. ‘This isn’t working. We won’t get out in time.’
I wade across the hole to where the water is pouring in and reach up. Charlie turns to see what I am doing and shouts. ‘Stop!’
I grab the edge where the water is flowing hardest and pull. The mud falls away, turning the water into a torrent.
‘Jesus, Craig, don’t!’
I grab another two handfuls and pull down. The water cascades into my face. I fight against the flow to grab some more and succeed. I dig deep – burying my fingers up to the third knuckle. My bandaged finger screams at me. I ignore it.
I close my fingers as much as I can and lean back – putting all my weight on both hands. Pressing my feet against the wall of the hole, I pull. A large slab of mud slides free. I fall back into the water and I’m engulfed.
The mask is ripped from my face.
The surface of the water recedes as I fall to the bottom of the hole. My head is spinning. My nose fills with filthy liquid. My eyes sting. There can only be four feet of water but I can’t tell up from down. I push and my head rams the metal roof. There’s no space left for air.
Charlie is behind me. I grab his hand and push him to the point where the water is coming in. He slides past me and I follow. My lungs are already burning.
I see light in the corner and Charlie seems to be climbing. I hold onto his leg. He raises it, then he’s yanked from my grip. I push forward trying to find the edge of the hole. The mud is slippy and my mind starts to fog as the lack of air bites.
A hand grabs my wrist. I grab back, holding tight. I’m yanked up and, as my head breaks through the surface, I suck in air – just keep sucking.
Another hand takes my arm and I’m pulled out of the hole. I emerge from under the wreck of the trailer.
Charlie is lying next to me. Two firemen are slouched beside us. Both are rubbing their upper arms. I might have lost a lot of weight but it took effort to pull me from the hole.
Charlie spits up brown water and I join him. He grasps the hand of the nearest fireman. ‘Thanks.’
‘Always digging you out of a hole. Always.’ The fireman’s accent is thick with New York.
Charlie turns to me. ‘Craig, meet Ryan. Ryan, meet Craig.’
Ryan reaches over and shakes my hand. ‘You ex-army as well?’
I nod.
‘I thought you guys were supposed to be saving our skins,’ he says.
‘You’re the ones with the dangerous job,’ I say. ‘They gave me a gun when the going got tough. They give you an axe and a hard hat.’
He smiles at his colleague and heads for the fire engine.
‘Who are the men in black?’ asks Ryan.
‘Bad men,’ says Charlie. ‘They want to talk to us and we’re not in the mood for a chat. Understand?’
‘Perfectly.’
He signals to the paramedic, who jogs over, bag in hand. ‘Both for the hospital I think.’
‘The guys over there say they’re in charge,’ says the para. ‘They want to talk to the survivors.’
‘See the fire still raging in the trailer?’ says Ryan. The paramedic looks at the trailer. A small line of smoke is drifting into the sky. The aluminum shell is burnt black. There are no flames.
The paramedic looks back.
‘Smoke,’ says Ryan. ‘While there’s smoke, I’m in charge. If they want to discuss it then fine, but in the meantime get these two to hospital.’
Three suits start to walk over. Ryan points the para to the ambulance and stands up. ‘Hospital.’
He walks towards the suits, meeting them as they reach halfway. Voices start to rise and Ryan stands like a human roadblock, hat under arm, legs slightly apart.
One of the suits tries to walk round him. Ryan reaches out and blocks him. The suit tries to free himself. A second suit intervenes.
The firemen who are rolling up the hoses drop what they’re doing and walk over. They take up positions either side of Ryan. Six of them in a line, facing down the suits. There must be another twenty suits standing next to a clutch of black SUVs but they don’t move. To be fair, neither would I.
The paramedic signals for the ambulance to back up, and Charlie and I are stretchered into the back. As the door shuts, Ryan turns, giving us a thumbs up. Next to him, Tina and Gary wave. The ambulance sets off. I lie back for a few moments as we bump over the rough ground and, as we enter civilization again, I turn to Charlie. ‘Who the hell is Ryan?’
Charlie smiles. ‘My ex-wife’s first husband. Tina and Gary’s father.’
‘I thought you said they were your kids?’
‘Kind of. When I married Susan they moved in with me, but they’re really Ryan’s.’
‘Susan?’
‘My ex-wife.’
‘And her ex-husband is on our side?’
‘Yip.’
‘Did he know what was going on?’
‘Probably. He’s still close with the kids.’
Whatever familiarity I saw in the kids was coincidental.
‘And you get on with your ex-wife’s ex?’
‘You know what they say. The enemy of my enemy is
my friend.’
This time I smile.
The paramedic steps into the cab to talk to the driver. I tap Charlie on the shoulder. ‘Ryan might be our savior at a fire but ten will get you twenty that the suits will be camped out at the hospital.’
‘And?’
‘Time to ask this taxi to drop us off.’
‘And how do we do that?’
‘Next set of lights.’
‘Are you up to it?’
I’m not. ‘Yes.’
The ambulance isn’t on the siren. We’re hardly emergency material. As we slow down I sit up. Through the gap into the cab I see an approaching set of lights as they flick to red.
‘Now.’
We slip from the stretchers. I grab the handle to the back door, swing it open and jump out. Charlie follows, pushing the door shut as he hits the road.
The couple in the car behind stare wide-eyed. The ambulance accelerates on the green, before slamming to a halt.
We jog to the sidewalk, walk into a diner and head for the washrooms. I turn as we enter. The paramedic is out on the street – scanning – trying to find us. I walk on.
The washroom is empty.
‘What now?’ says Charlie.
‘Tropicana Field tonight. After that I don’t care.’
‘They’ll be over the place like a rash. They know what you can do and now they know where you are, it won’t take long to put two and two together.’
‘I’m still going.’
‘It won’t solve anything. In fact, it’ll make it worse.’
‘Worse. How the hell can it be worse? My wife’s dead. I’ve no job. No cash. I’m being hunted to be used as some sort of fucking assassin. How can it be worse?’
‘You could be caught. They’d have you back on the happy juice in no time. Maybe one more gig and then a bullet in the head. That’s worse.’
‘And what do I do instead? Run?’
‘I’ve got some money. We skip the country and find somewhere to let things cool.’
‘Charlie, much as I like you, I’m not going to retire to some tropical paradise with you. What about your kids? Are you just going to leave them? And then there’s the fact that you killed my wife.’
He looks away. A low blow and I know it. Charlie no more killed my wife than he killed Sharon.
‘Look,’ I continue. ‘Let me have one crack at this tonight. Then I’m done. Anyway, nothing might happen. It took the combined expertise of Pfizer and the US government to find a way to trigger me. Even then it went south in a big way. What’s the odds that anything will happen?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Tonight and then I’m with you. You don’t even have to come to the game. I’ll fly solo.’
‘Sure you will. You can hardly stand as it is. You might feel a bit better than you did but you’re a country mile from being right.’
‘I’ll make it.’
‘Not without me.’
‘Ok, so are you out or in?’
Charlie sits on the washroom’s only sink. The door opens and a man in a jogging suit walks in.
‘Can you give us a minute?’ The man looks me up and down as I speak to him.
‘I need to use the toilet.’
I step forward. ‘Can you give us a minute.’
He looks at me. He backs out.
‘Scary,’ says Charlie. ‘And you think nothing is going to happen tonight?’
‘We’d better move. The guy might report us.’
‘We need to change out of these clothes.’
‘You any friends left you haven’t used up yet?’
Charlie shakes his head. ‘But I know where we can get a fresh set of clothes and hang out until tonight.’
He pushes up from the sink. ‘I just need to lose some of the water I swallowed.’
I exit the washroom and wait until he’s finished relieving himself. There’s no sign of the ambulance. The man who had entered the washroom is standing talking to the waitress. He’s pointing in my direction.
Charlie walks out and we leave the diner with two pairs of eyes burning holes in our backs.
Charlie waves down a taxi. ‘The Village Motel, 4100 East Hillsborough.’
The taxi driver gives us the once-over and decides we’re not carrying the plague.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask.
Charlie closes his eyes and stretches. ‘My home from home for these last few weeks. You’ll love it.’
The taxi driver settles into the journey.
I don’t.
Chapter 38
The Village Motel sits next to a used-car lot in a dodgier end of town. On the opposite corner sits another used-car lot. We are in sub-two-grand-auto land. The motel is a collection of mismatched buildings. Charlie pays off the taxi driver with a wet twenty.
‘Nice,’ I say.
‘Don’t knock it. Very reasonable. Clean, and the owner is very discreet.’
We walk to the back of the complex. As we enter the room I find myself in a spacious, well-kept bedroom. The bathroom is off to the right and a wire-meshed window looks out the back onto a small road. I look through the window. Four men in hard hats are chatting as they stroll by.
‘Okay, so I was wrong. It seems quite nice. Who has first dibs on the shower?’
Charlie doesn’t answer and walks into the bathroom.
I lift a newspaper from a pile, placing it on the chair next to the vanity table. I’m still soaked through but I’ll wait until Charlie is finished before stripping off – I don’t have anything to change into and hanging around in another man’s bedroom in my birthday suit just feels wrong.
When I hear the shower kick in I walk over and switch on the TV. I take a minute to locate the remote and jig it around until I find the local news channel. A dark-haired stunner is giving the gossip and intelligence the once-over. A car smash on the 275, an emergency landing at Tampa International, a child abduction – all in all, a normal day in wonderland.
The sports reporter is introduced to preview the upcoming game with the Red Sox. There’s no mention of the senator, but the Barenaked Ladies will be playing a gig after the game.
The shower stops.
The newsreader picks up on the next story. ‘And now for some breaking news. Police are anxious to interview a Mr Craig McIntyre in connection with a fire near Lettuce Lake Park.’
My military snapshot sits on the newsreader’s shoulder as she speaks.
‘The fire engulfed an illegal trailer, and, in a police statement, we are informed that loss of life was only avoided by the swift action of the Fire Department. If you see Craig McIntyre, please call the number on the screen or contact your local police station. The police are advising not to approach him.
‘And now to the story of a dog that wanted to fly…’
I realize that the bathroom door is open and Charlie has taken in the news.
‘Look on the bright side. You weren’t mentioned,’ I say.
Towel wrapped around his waist, Charlie nods at the statement as he crosses to sit on the bed. ‘You’ll never get into the stadium now the police are looking for you.’
I stand up. ‘Let me take a shower and think on that.’
I close the door and wind up the hot water. Once it starts to pour I grab Charlie’s shower gel. I get to work on my still-thin arms. Thirty seconds in I jump from the shower, grab a towel and stick my head out of the door.
‘It was an old photo,’ I say, dripping on the carpet. ‘They used an old photo on the TV.’
Charlie is pulling on a pair of pants and looks up. ‘So they did.’
‘Well do you think I look like myself?’
The photo was of a lean but muscled man, a hint of a five o’clock shadow, dark curly hair and bright eyes. Not a drug-ravaged skeleton with a shiny pate and eyes with a sheen of dust over them.
‘Strange that,’ says Charlie.
‘They won’t have new photos of me. I don’t remember them taking any. Although I was so out
of it they could have put me in a movie and I wouldn’t have noticed.’
‘I can’t see the point in using the old photo.’
I nod in agreement, drip back to the shower and try to clean out the dirt. Teeth brushed (fingers only – I draw the line at using someone else’s toothbrush). A rough shave (chin and head) and I feel a touch more human.
‘What about clothes?’ I say as I hang out the bathroom door again.
Charlie hands me a stack. I retire to realize that we’re not the same height, width or mass. The jeans are too baggy. The T-shirt is voluminous and I skip the boxers – preferring to go commando. My shoes will do once they’ve dried out, and Charlie’s socks will suffice.
I take the belt on the jeans to the last hole. Even then I’m a yard shy. A few minutes with a fork, and the belt holds the trousers up. They are flying at half-mast. The T-shirt hangs like a kaftan but the look isn’t that bad. With my new baldness I have an air of rebellion about me.
‘Nice.’ Charlie laughs as I re-enter the room.
‘Food?’
‘On its way. The wonders of pizza delivery.’
The TV is still on but the sound is down.
‘So, to tonight.’
Charlie sighs. ‘Craig, is it really worth it?’
‘I’m not having a debate. I’m going. Full stop.’
He shrugs. ‘I don’t think it’ll be hard getting close to the stadium but it will be a bitch getting in. If these guys are half as connected as we have seen so far they’ll be fully loaded when it comes to tech. Face-recognition software, mobile CCTV, access to city-wide cameras, maybe even aerial reconnaissance.’
‘Come on Charlie, I’m not the leader of the resistance.’
‘Are you sure?’
He reaches into the pile of newspapers and throws me a USA Today from the day after my escape. It details the carnage at the theater. In the intervening weeks I hadn’t been ready to view my handiwork.
Thirteen dead, fifty-two in hospital – a riot with no reason is how it is described. The two on stage had been the President-in-waiting for Nigeria and his rival for the role. Twenty years as enemies – the event at the theater had been a symbolic burying of the hatchet. Neither had died but both were hospitalized.
I sit back. ‘Hell.’