Death Glitch

by Ken Douglas

  “ Thanks.”

  “ You’re shaking,” he said.

  “ No, I’m not.” She didn’t shake. She was as cool as they came. God didn’t make anybody cooler than her.

  “ Yes, you are.”

  She held her hand up in front of her face, expected it to be rock steady, but it wasn’t.

  “ You’re right. That’s not like me.”

  A shadow passed over her. She looked up, that chopper was still up there. Hovering. The black man was looking skyward as well. He pulled a set of miniature binoculars from one of his large jacket pockets.

  “ Birdwatching’s a hobby.” He put the binoculars to his eyes, said, “Not good.”

  “ You think?” she said.

  “ Man up there’s got a gun and they ain’t police.”

  “ You’re right, not good.”

  Lila could tell the helicopter wasn’t military, more like the kind the TV traffic reporters used. It was high enough that under ordinary circumstances, she wouldn’t have given it much thought. She could hear it, but she lived close to the airport and was used to planes and helicopters. Anybody who lived near RNO automatically blocked out those kinds of sounds, but now those whirling blades were beating a thundering tattoo through her brain.

  The helicopter did a three sixty, banking, like the passenger was watching them.

  “ What kind of gun?”

  “ Say again,” the black man said.

  “ You know, what kind of gun did you see up there?”

  “ Mac 10.”

  “ Shit.”

  “ You piss anybody off lately?” he said.

  “ Maybe, you?”

  “ Once upon a time there were some bad people might’ve wanted me dead. Not anymore.”

  “ They’re here for me.” Lila sighed. “I think they’ll wait till you leave. You should go.” She reached into her coat, pulled the Glock from the shoulder holster, but kept it concealed from the men in the chopper, however the man next to her saw it. She figured he’d hightail it on out of there pretty quick.

  “ You really think they’ll let me go?”

  “ Don’t know, maybe.”

  “ They know you got the piece?”

  “ Maybe.”

  “ So maybe it ain’t gonna be a surprise. Maybe they’re expecting you to pop a few caps at ’em.”

  “ Maybe.”

  “ Okay, Katie, shake my hand, like you’re telling me goodbye. Then I’m gonna walk on over to my rig, climb in my cab and while they’re focused on you, I’m gonna blow the motherfuckers outta the sky.”

  “ My name’s Lila.”

  “ Sorry, you reminded me of someone.” He smiled down at her, held his hand out. “Shake my hand, now.”

  She grabbed his big hand, squeezed tight.

  “ It’ll be okay, Lila.” He released her hand.

  “ Sure.” She watched him sort of shuffle back to his truck, get in and as if on cue the helicopter dropped from the sky. Apparently she’d been wrong about them letting him go. Mansfield probably had told them not to leave any witnesses.

  She dove behind her car, expecting automatic fire from the helicopter, but instead she heard one gunshot, she turned toward the sound of it, saw the old black man standing next to his truck, with a rifle pointing skyward.

  Lila looked up. The chopper was stationary, but it wasn’t. It seemed locked in place, but the body was whirling around, like the blade was still, driving the body below it. Did he get the pilot? Was he dead? Wounded? Could the gunman control the plane?

  And as if in answer to her unspoken questions, the chopper stopped it’s ring around the rosy craziness and started climbing, backwards. After only a few seconds that felt like an eon, the flying machine stopped its climb, was stationary and hovering, like a praying mantis about to strike. Then, like a dive bombing mosquito, it started downward, hungry for blood. It seemed to be heading straight for her.

  Lila brought the gun up, was about to pull the trigger when the chopper banked into a clockwise circle, still coming down, but just above the treetops it leveled of, continuing to circle, but unlike the last time it circled above her, this time she had the sense that the machine was out of control. It rose up about a hundred feet, started spinning around again, then headed down. It looked like it was going to crash into the trees, but at the last second up again it went, back into a clockwise circle. Then it banked left, flying sideways. Buzzing like a wounded dragonfly.

  Again Lila thought it was going into the trees, but again the pilot managed to pull it up before impact. For a fraction of an instant it looked like he was going to save the chopper. It stopped in place, looking like those countless traffic helicopters she’d seen on television. She could almost imagine the passenger holding a camera instead of a Mac 10, reporting that the highway was free and clear, save for a semi and a sports car parked on the side of the road.

  She wondered what was going on up there. If there really was a gunman, as the black man had said. She had only his word on it, but she believed him. From her position behind the Jag, she looked over at him as he fired another round and the chopper immediately started downward, heading straight for the man with the rifle and this time she knew there would be no pulling up, it was going crash.

  And it did, slamming into the black man’s semi, disintegrating into an exploding ball of heat, fire, flying metal and glass. It was as if a volcano had erupted next to her. The heat of the blast was scorching, the sound deafening, like she was in the middle of sonic boom caught on fire and the fire was sucking the oxygen right out of the air.

  Had she not instinctively dropped behind her Jag, she’d’ve been killed, of that she had no doubt. She got up, ears ringing, fighting to get a breath. She was about to move away from the burning mess, when she thought of the man. Surely he was as dead as the men in that chopper, but she had to know for sure. He’d saved her life, she couldn’t walk away from that.

  Staying low, because the air seemed better closer to the ground, with an arm wrapped in front of her face, she moved from behind the passenger side of the car, surprised to see the big man face down on the ground in front of the driver’s side door, his back covered in blood. He must have run and taken a flying leap as she was ducking behind the car, which would be going up in flames any second if she didn’t move it.

  She dropped to the ground next her savior and he was her savior, she knew that to be true. The men in the chopper had come for her. Old Mansfield Wayne had sold her out. It was the only thing that made sense. She hadn’t seen the gun, but anybody who could shoot the way the bleeding man on the ground could, who acted so fast, so calmly in a crisis, was a truth teller when it came to men in helicopters wielding Mac 10s.

  She reached for his neck, put a couple fingers on a carotid, felt a pulse.

  He groaned.

  “ Hey, can you hear me?” She couldn’t hear the sound of her voice. His ears had to be ringing, too. If she couldn’t hear herself, he couldn’t hear her either. She knew moving him was dangerous, but if she didn’t get him out of here pronto, he’d die.

  She didn’t know if she could lift him into the car without his help. She lowered her mouth to his ear, shouted, hoping he could hear her through the deafening ringing.

  “ I need you to stand up, only for a second. I’m going to use a fireman’s carry to try and get you into my car. Do you understand me?”

  He moved his hand. Good enough, she’d take that for a yes.

  “ I’m going to roll you onto your back.” She grimaced, because she knew it was going to hurt him, but she had no choice. She grabbed him by a shoulder, flipped him over. With him on his back, she fisted his field jacket by his upper chest and pulled him up into a sitting position, then with a strength she didn’t know she possessed-and she worked out, was in shape-she got up and pulled him to his feet. He put an arm on her shoulder, struggled to hold on as she wrapped an arm around his waist.

  With her free hand, she grasped his wrist and raised his right hand
above his head as she knelt in front of him and pulled him onto her shoulders, by bringing his arm around her neck and over her shoulder. Now the big man’s legs were dangling over one of her shoulders, his head over the other. She moved her arm from around his waist, bringing it to the back of his knees as she stood up.

  He was heavy, but she was strong.

  She moved around to the passenger side of the Jag, thankful the top was down and she dumped him like a sack of potatoes into the passenger seat. She hoped there were no broken bones, hoped she hadn’t hurt him too badly, as she hurried around to the driver’s side of the car.

  Once in, she started the car and pulled away from the burning semi. About a quarter mile away, she did a Y turn, pointed the Jag west, hit the accelerator, shifted into second at thirty, clutched and slammed the stick into third at sixty as she flew by the ball of flame that was the helicopter and the big man’s truck.

  She hoped this guy could hold on till she got to Medford, because they were in the middle of nowhere now, no hospital to be found and she wouldn’t be looking for one in Yreka. He was going to have to make it till they got to Medford, lots of hospitals there. Izzy Eisenhower was there, too. And there was no doubt in Lila’s mind that Mansfield Wayne had betrayed her and that pissed her off.

  He must have decided if he turned to his behind the scenes, black ops contacts that he could get his hands on Eisenhower for a whole lot less than the five million he was offering her.

  The man had a chance to be young again and he was looking to do it on the cheap and apparently that meant getting rid of her. Fifteen minutes ago she was willingly doing his bidding, but he’d double-crossed her. Now she had a new mission in life. Save Izzy Eisenhower and send Mansfield Wayne straight to Hell.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Izzy came out of a dream fog, checked the clock. Three fifteen. She hadn’t been asleep long and she hadn’t slept for over twenty-four hours before she’d hit the bed, but she felt as rested as if she’d been under the covers all the night long and halfway into the day.

  She sat up, decided she didn’t need to drink the wine after all and that she didn’t need a workout. Apparently, all she’d really needed was a few hours rest. That and a shower. However, she was mindful of what the girl at the desk had said. She should use the green towels provided at the indoor pool and she should wipe the bathroom down. Good advice, because she had her own reasons for not wanting to leave any traces of her stay behind.

  Under the covers. Whoops, she’d promised she’d sleep on top of them, but somehow during her slumber she’d kicked her shoes off, pulled back the covers and slipped between the sheets. She didn’t remember doing it, but she did remember how cozy she’d felt. Odd.

  “ Hunter.” She looked around the room, didn’t see the dog, till he came in from the living room part of the suite. “There you are.” She smiled. “You gonna be good while I go and get some towels?”

  She expected a woof response, because the dog was smarter than any animal had a right to be, but he only stared at her.

  “ Come on, not gonna talk?”

  Silence.

  Then it hit her.

  “ Right, no dogs allowed.” He couldn’t know that, could he? Maybe, he was one smart dog. “Okay,” she slipped a shoe on, “I’m gonna be right back.” She put on the other shoe, left the room, headed down the hallway to the lobby and the pool off to the right.

  At the lobby, she saw the girl who’d checked her in.

  “ Hello, Emily,” Izzy waved at the girl.

  “ Uh, hello.” She offered Izzy a forced looking half smile.

  “ Something wrong?”

  “ No.”

  “ I’m just gonna get those towels from the pool.”

  “ Okay.”

  Izzy used her key card to get into the pool, smiled as she entered the warm room. There were children frolicking in the pool, adults in the Jacuzzi. The humidity was almost tropical. Too bad she didn’t have a bathing suit, she’d’ve loved to get in the water, do a couple laps, soak in the Jacuzzi, feel safe.

  She picked up a couple towels, headed back to her room. Back in the reception, she waved at Emily, who gave her a little wave back. Izzy met her eyes, saw fear and she wondered if Emily had been speaking in the past tense when she said she’d been in an abusive relationship, because right now she was giving off the aura of a battered woman. She wanted to ask the girl if there was anything she could do, but she had her own problems and they were pressing.

  Back in her room, she decided to check the news before she took the shower. She flipped through the channels, found Nick Nesbitt anchoring his daily CNN report. She had the sound off, was about to turn it up, when her granddaughter’s picture flashed on the screen.

  She gasped, dropped the remote. She gasped again when she realized it wasn’t Amy, because the eyes were brown, not blue like Amy’s. As she’d feared earlier, somebody knew exactly what had happened to her, knew enough to fake a photo of Amy, to change the eye color. She was in more trouble then she’d thought and she’d thought she was in trouble deep.

  She had to get out of here, get on the road. But to where, she didn’t have a clue.

  Lila had been driving hard, driving fast for the past three-quarters of an hour. A couple miles past the flaming wrecks, she stopped, got out, made the man in her passenger seat as comfortable as she could, raised the ragtop.

  “ Shit,” she muttered. With everything that had been going on-the helicopter crashing into the semi, the wounded man who’d shot it down-her adrenaline had been sparking on overdrive, the only thing she could think about was the task at hand. Now that she was safely away, she saw the damage to her car. The back of the Jag looked like it had been through a war. It was covered with dings, divots and scratches where debris from the explosion had hit it. One of the taillights was broken.

  “ Someone’s going to pay.” She wasn’t muttering now. She was mad.

  Back in the car, she got back on the road, keeping the speed at a constant eighty-five, till she got to McCloud, where she slowed to fifty-five through the small town, then back up to eighty-five.

  She passed two logging trucks as if they were standing still just before she came to Highway 5, the freeway that went from the Mexican border in Southern California all they way through the Golden State to Oregon, Washington and Canada beyond. Which was where she’d be heading if she were Izzy Eisenhower. Lots of space to get lost in up there.

  On the freeway, she had to hold her speed down to seventy-five, because unlike the two lane highway she’d just turned off of, it was crawling with cars and trucks and well monitored by the Highway Patrol and the last thing she wanted was to get pulled over. Even if all kinds of government bad guys weren’t after her-and right now being paranoid seemed appropriate-she’d have a hard time explaining the bloody man riding shotgun.

  She was hungry, wanted to stop at Micky D’s in Yreka, but she kept on. At the Oregon border, the speed limit dropped to fifty-five and she slowed to sixty-five as she started up toward the Siskiyou Pass.

  “ So, have you taken me prisoner?”

  “ You’re awake.” She sighed. “I didn’t know if you were going to make it.”

  “ Take more than a little explosion to take me out.”

  “ Tough guy, huh?”

  “ Been called that once or twice.”

  “ How’s your hearing?”

  “ Okay, I covered my ears as I dove away.”

  “ Been in a situation like that before?” Lila said.

  “ Two tours in Vietnam when I was a kid. Some things you don’t forget.”

  “ Okay, so you’re hearing okay. I just got mine back. For a while there I thought I might be permanently deaf. Ears are still ringing, though.”

  “ That’ll stop.”

  “ So, how are you?”

  “ Beaten up, back hurts.” He shifted in his seat. “But I’ll be okay.”

  “ Awful bloody.”

  “ Something hit me just before I h
it the ground, metal, glass, I don’t know. Punched me like there was no tomorrow.” He reached a hand behind his back, under his field jacket, pulled it back out. “Nothing there. Cut me though. Bleeding has stopped, so it’s not bad. I’m guessing it was a metal fragment, big enough to knock me down and out and bounced off. That’s good, though. If it would’ve been smaller or if it would’ve been glass, it would’ve penetrated and that would’ve been bad.”

  “ Sorry about your rig.” She moved into the fast lane, passed a couple trucks.

  “ Yeah, that’s a bummer.” He winced. It hurt more than he was letting on. “Lucky I was traveling empty. No paperwork about destroyed cargo.”

  “ But you lost your truck.”

  “ That’s gonna be hard to explain, but I’ll figure something out. Maybe I stopped because the engine sounded funny. Helicopter hits my truck. Good Samaritan picks me up, takes me to a hospital.”

  “ How come you didn’t call 911.”

  “ No phone.”

  “ How come we didn’t stop in Yreka?”

  “ We didn’t?”

  “ Behind us, we’re in Oregon now.”

  “ Really? You didn’t head straight to the nearest hospital?” He winced again. “You are in trouble.” He looked out the window. “Yeah, we’re in Oregon, sure enough.”

  “ You shot that helicopter out of the sky. That was pretty cool. You were pretty cool.” She was at the top of the pass now, passing several trucks which had pulled off in the brake test area. “But what I don’t understand is why?”

  “ Actually, I shot the pilot. His passenger had a Mac 10. In my experience guys with Mac 10s in low flying helicopters don’t take prisoners.”

  “ But is wasn’t your fight.”

  “ Anytime there’s a damsel in distress, it’s my fight.”

  She glanced over at him and he hit her with a smile so real it was as if she’d been smacked by a ray of sunshine.

  “ I’m Black,” he said.

  “ No shit,” she said.

  “ It’s my name.” He laughed. It came from his belly. “Last time I introduced myself that way to a young lady, who said what you just did, ‘No shit,’ it changed my life. She was a gunslinging girl in trouble, too.”