Earthquake Games

by Bonnie Ramthun

  “Gun!” she shouted as loud as she could, over the groaning waves of the Tesla machine. It felt like her head was going to burst open. Rosen blurred into a speed he’d only hinted at before and took Jacob Mitchell to the sand with bone-crunching force. Someone dropped to her side and knelt on Bennett’s right arm. Eileen caught a glimpse of gray hair and an elderly, kindly, frightened female face. She looked at Scott, who was lying in the sand with Alan Baxter and someone else on him, a tall man with dark blond hair.

  “Come on!” screamed the dark blond guy, and Eileen realized he was screaming at Joe Tanner and the other man. They were standing in front of the Tesla machine and looking at the console, clearly trying to figure it out.

  Alan Baxter got up from Scott’s chest and ran at the Tesla machine like he was sixteen and on the football team. He dropped his shoulder and hit the battery crate with enough force to snap the cables and send the little crate tumbling over. Alan tumbled over in the sand and lay still.

  The hum stopped. The air shimmered like a pan of boiling water. The crystal globe slowed in its cage of wire and metal. Silence came back.

  “I never thought of that,” Joe said into the silence.

  “Did we get it in time?” The gray-haired woman next to Eileen was sobbing. “Did we?”

  “We won’t know until we can get to a television,” Joe said. “I don’t know.”

  “It didn’t go very long,” Alan said, sitting up in the sand. His hair stood up wildly and he was very pale.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jacob Mitchell snarled. His face was caked with sand and he spit a few times to clear his mouth. Rosen held an arm twisted up behind him and he grimaced in pain. “You’ll all go to jail for interfering with a top-secret project. You have no authority to do this!”

  “Authority,” Rosen said with satisfaction, “is on the way.”

  “And you won’t be using this machine any time soon,” Joe said. “Paris?”

  The dark blond-haired man tossed Joe a tire jack from the Humvee. Joe caught it with both hands and used the momentum to swing the jack into the lovely crystal globe caught inside the wires of the Tesla machine. Every line of his body went into the effort and for a moment he was something more than human. He looked like an angel, the kind who spears devils and throws them down into hell.

  “No!” Mitchell shouted as the jack made a very satisfying noise. The globe shattered with a musical, echoing sound, and glass flew into the air. Joe struck again and wires and metal spools cracked like china plates. Joe took two more hits and the wooden platform itself splintered and threw wood fragments across the sand.

  “My turn,” said the tall man who’d gone to the Tesla machine with Joe. Joe handed him the jack and the man made two direct hits, his face wrinkled with effort. The interior of the bigger spools held two fragile onion-shaped metal devices mounted on a labyrinth of bracing. They collapsed into shards of metal. Something black and greasy ran into the sand. A thin sheaf of papers fluttered out from the main console and several landed in the grease.

  Joe took the jack back but he had little to do. He took a couple of good whacks at the twisted metal pieces. The machine was destroyed. Crystal fragments and shards of metal sparkled in the morning sun. He set the jack handle on the sand and leaned against it nonchalantly, like an Englishman with a cane.

  “Hi, baby,” he said to Eileen, winking.

  “Hey there,” she said, laughing. “You must be the cavalry.”

  “No that would be Lucy,” Joe said. “Let me introduce my friends. This is Paris Linsley, Marcia Fowler, Daniel Grantham, and of course you know old-what’s-his-name.”

  “Alamosa Deputy Rosen,” Rosen said with a hint of satisfaction. “You are under arrest, Mr. Mitchell. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

  “Don’t give me that bullshit,” Mitchell shouted angrily. “You had no right to destroy my machine. You can’t arrest me.”

  “Oh yes, we can,” Eileen said. Bennett coughed weakly underneath her. She belatedly remembered Scott. “Is he okay?”

  “He’s breathing,” Paris said. “His eyes are rolled up in his head, but there’s no blood on his mouth. He hasn’t punctured a lung or anything. How did you know he had body armor on?”

  “He had it on the last time he tried to shoot me,” Eileen said absently. She looked at the woman Joe had named Marcia Fowler, kneeling on Bennett’s arm. “Can you hold his arm down for a minute?”

  “As long as he stays passed out, I can,” Marcia said nervously.

  Eileen got to her feet and stretched her arms to the sky. She wanted to run in circles, shout with crazed laughter, throw up on the sand. She was alive.

  “Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you?” Rosen asked.

  “We’re both fine,” Eileen said. “I know who killed Leetsdale.”

  “And Krista?” Rosen asked levelly. Alan, sitting in the sand near Joe and the other man, Daniel Grantham, looked at Eileen.

  For a moment there was only Alan Baxter for Eileen, only his tired face in her vision. He looked at her with sadness and love and acceptance. If she arrested him for the murder of Krista Lewis he wouldn’t fight, he wouldn’t argue. He’d go into Gonzalez’s prison cell and wait quietly and when his DNA came back negative for the hair found on Krista’s body, he would disappear from Eileen’s life forever. He’d never stop loving her, she knew. But that would be a betrayal that could never be healed.

  Thank goodness he hadn’t done it, then. Eileen felt herself grinning like a fool.

  “Yes,” she said. “I do know.”

  25

  Great Sand Dunes, Latitude 37.47.50, Longitude 105.33.20, San Luis Valley, Colorado

  “Hey, cool!” Joe shouted. He still hadn’t gotten over the Tesla machine’s enormous sound. “Just like Agatha Christie!” He took on a phony English accent. “You may be wondering why I’ve gathered you here today.” His voice dropped back to normal tones. “Someone here did it, right?”

  “That’s right,” Eileen said, her beautiful face glowing. When Paris gunned Babe over the dune crest, Joe had eyes for no one but Eileen. There she’d stood, pale as death, hands in the air. Joe nearly broke the plan by heading for the creep that was holding a gun on her. He saw the Tesla machine as Paris skidded Babe to a stop, and he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. Sure enough, Rosen was right. Eileen could take care of herself.

  Daniel Grantham stirred nervously. Joe looked at him, then saw Marcia and Alan Baxter and even Paris Linsley looking apprehensive. He remembered, suddenly, that each one of them was in the San Luis Valley the night Krista Lewis was murdered. Any one of them could have done it.

  “So?” Rosen asked, as though he were sitting comfortably at a desk instead of kneeling in the Great Sand Dunes holding Jacob Mitchell’s arms behind his back. Rosen’s short black hair was as unruffled as always, but great dark patches stained the back of his shirt and armpits. Joe knew he, too, had sweated through his deodorant and his shirt. The sun was already turning the sand into an early morning oven.

  “Krista found this spot while Mitchell and his goons were setting up for the Colorado earthquake. She found this place because she was researching ground water contamination in Medano Creek. Right, Mr. Mitchell?”

  “That’s right,” he said, his face calm again. “We escorted her out of the area. And that’s all we did—”

  “That night, someone followed her tracks and raped her and killed her. Then the murderer cut two slices of skin from her shoulder and arm, two flaps of skin. Why?”

  “To make her look like a UFO abduction,” Marcia said.

  “That was the red herring, wasn’t it?” Eileen said with a twinkle. Joe pressed his lips together to keep from laughing out loud. She was enjoying this as much as he was.

  “What do you mean?” Paris asked.

  “I didn’t know until I saw Bennett in action. He got his little chew sticks out, right before they set off the earthquake machine. I watched you bite th
em. You’re a biter, Bennett. You like to bite things.”

  There was a vast and echoing silence in the cup of sand. Joe’s internal laughter died.

  “He bit her,” Alan Baxter said in a choking whisper.

  “He bit her,” Eileen said. “Then he cut the bitten skin from her body to keep anyone from matching the bite marks to his teeth.”

  “What a story,” Mitchell said, his brow furrowed. “Ridiculous.”

  “That son of a bitch,” Alan said.

  “We have a pubic hair from her body,” Eileen said. Joe was watching her face and not Mitchell’s. She wasn’t angry or sad. She was implacable, as stony as a blind marble statue holding the scales of justice. “Bennett used a condom when he raped her and he cut her skin off where he bit her. He stripped her naked and brushed her off. But he left one little hair. Just one little hair. And that’s all we need. Bennett is under arrest for the rape and murder of Krista Lewis.”

  For a moment there was no sound at all, just the blue sky above them and the sand below them and the pieces of the Tesla machine twinkling in the sun. Joe could smell greasy oil and sweat and underneath it all the smell of the dunes, uncaring about what these little creatures were doing on its great tan hide. Marcia still knelt on Bennett’s arm and Paris was kneeling astride the prone body of Scott. Daniel stood at Joe’s side and Alan Baxter sat on the sand next to them. Eileen and Rosen and Mitchell stood a few feet away and Babe stood beyond them, her big front wheels nearly buried in the sand.

  “No,” Mitchell said, twisting forward in Rosen’s grasp. His eyes were narrowed to tiny slits like slices of hell. “It can’t be. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t!”

  Joe saw Alan suddenly rise to his feet and bolt forward. Joe couldn’t move fast enough as Marcia went flying off the body of Bennett, the man who appeared to be completely unconscious but who was shamming, he was faking it. Joe should never have left Marcia alone with him.

  Bennett had another gun. He had been carrying two just like Eileen always did. It was in his grasp and he was aiming at Eileen. Joe saw Rosen shove Mitchell into the sand with a shout and start to reach for his own gun but it was going to be far too late.

  Alan Baxter slammed into Bennett’s side, his arms low and reaching for the little pistol. A single shot snapped in the air, an unimportant sounding crack. Bennett went down and didn’t get off another shot. Eileen had his gun arm and she jerked and twisted, and Joe clearly heard the sound of bones popping. Bennett shrieked, a thin high whistle of a sound.

  Marcia was screaming, her arms around Bennett’s kicking legs. Paris was shouting something, still holding Scott’s arms. He wisely wasn’t going to leave Scott. Joe fell across Bennett’s back, jostling Eileen, before Marcia lost her grip on Bennett’s flailing feet. Rosen was cuffing Mitchell with lightning speed, ignoring Mitchell’s muffled screams as he pressed the man’s face into the sand.

  Someone else was screaming. It was Eileen, her voice high and thin and breathless. She clicked the safety on Bennett’s gun and threw it toward Rosen and fell to her knees beside Alan Baxter.

  There was a great spreading pool of red beneath him. The hungry sand soaked it up as fast as it spilled from his body.

  “Daddy,” Eileen said in a broken voice.

  “Can’t breathe,” Alan whispered, his eyes looking into the empty blue sky.

  Joe put his arms around Bennett and bodily picked him up. The man’s broken arm flopped in a horrible way as Joe staggered away from Eileen and Alan. He fell down with Bennett underneath him and heard the breath leave the other man in a pained whistle. He didn’t care if he killed him. Joe’s vision was blurred with rage.

  Paris Linsley sprinted past. Joe turned his head to see Daniel Grantham on top of Scott. Paris threw open Babe’s door and lunged inside. He fell out of the Humvee with the cooler. His face was sweaty and his hair flopped over his forehead. He threw open the lid and threw things out of the cooler. Chicken and potato salad flew into the air. He ran back past Joe with two plastic bags, which once held chicken, in his hands.

  He fell to his knees beside Alan Baxter. Joe twisted on top of Bennett so he could see. Paris elbowed Eileen roughly aside. She let him shove her out of the way. She knelt, her face puffy and flooded with tears, and twisted her hands together. Alan turned his head slowly to look at Paris. Alan’s lips were stained with frothy red blood, and he was deadly pale. The right side of Alan’s chest was covered with bright red bubbles. Paris put one plastic bag against Alan’s chest and rolled him on his side to put the other on his back. Alan groaned.

  “It went right through you,” Paris said loudly. “It’s a Kevlar-piercing round and it didn’t mushroom, all right? You’re shot through the lung but you’re going to live through this, all right? You’re losing blood but I’m going to take care of that. Don’t die on me, mister, you’re not going to die if you don’t want to.”

  “Don’t want to,” Alan mouthed, and Paris gave him a sunny smile.

  “That’s right, pal,” he said. “Lady, hold these bags against his shoulder here while I get the first-aid kit. His back, that’s the exit wound and that’s the biggest one. The shot didn’t hit any arteries but we’ve got to keep his lung from collapsing. This is what we call a sucking chest wound, and we can deal with it. Put a lot of pressure on it.”

  Someone dropped to the sand near Joe, and he turned his eyes to see Rosen holding a roll of duct tape from the Humm-V. Bennett, still squirming weakly, shrieked again as they bound his arms to his sides with duct tape. The injured arm was roughly splinted and Bennett couldn’t move. Joe appreciated Rosen’s detachment in caring for Bennett’s injury. Joe didn’t care if Bennett’s arm came completely off. Rosen was trotting toward Scott when Sheriff Gonzalez’s Humm-V hauled itself over the horizon and, blessedly, the helicopter followed.

  “We need to get this man to a hospital,” Paris shouted as Fred and Gonzalez got out. Fred looked with dismay at Alan Baxter and the duct-tape bound Bennett, still groaning.

  “This guy needs to go, too. He’s unconscious and his breathing’s bad,” Daniel Grantham said reluctantly.

  “They all have to go. I need to go in the helicopter with the prisoners, Paris,” Rosen said crisply. “And Eileen will be going with Alan. Can you—”

  “Of course,” Paris said. “The sheriff and I are the only ones who can drive out of here. Eileen, keep the pressure on the bandage and keep him flat for the shock. Get some warm blankets around him. That’s all you can do until you get him to the hospital.” He stood up as the helicopter crew came down the slope of sand. The captain had been reprogrammed to be on their side now, evidently. His crew carried stretcher boards for Bennett and Alan. Joe breathed a sigh of relief as they competently loaded the injured men on the stretchers. It was nice to be on the side of the good guys again.

  Eileen held the pressure bandage on Alan as they carried him to the helicopter. She didn’t look at Joe as they loaded Alan in. In seconds the blades were throwing up sand as the helicopter rose into the air. The big machine turned directly above them, and for a moment Joe caught a glimpse of Eileen’s face, white and strained, at the side window. She was looking right at him. Then the helicopter accelerated into the sky and was gone.

  The silence seemed huge. Marcia made a harsh little sound. She was weeping.

  “He’s going to survive,” Paris said to her. “And it’s not your fault.”

  Marcia held her hands over her face, still on her knees in the sand. Joe dropped into the sand next to her and put his arms around her. Paris packed his first-aid supplies back in his big green box. Daniel came over to help.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?” Fred Nguyen asked.

  “I’m fine,” Marcia said underneath her hands. “I’m a little upset, that’s all.”

  “Where will they take them?” Joe asked Gonzalez.

  “To Pueblo, that’s the nearest trauma center,” Gonzalez said. “We’ll go right there.”

  “What happened to the Tesla machine?” F
red asked.

  “Somebody bumped into it and it got broken,” Joe said. Fred regarded him in silence.

  “I see,” he said finally. “We have to pack up what’s here, then we’ll head out.” He regarded the shards of the Tesla machine and shook his head slowly back and forth.

  “I’d like to get to Pueblo,” Marcia said, putting her hands down. Her face was tear-stained but calm.

  “Me, too,” Joe said.

  “Yes,” Daniel said. They all looked at Paris.

  “Of course,” Paris said. He stood up with the first-aid box in his hands. Joe helped Marcia to her feet. Daniel dusted his hands off. They looked at Fred Nguyen and Sheriff Gonzalez, who looked back at them. Both men looked furious.

  “You should have waited for us,” Gonzalez said.

  “There’d be about a million people dead if we had,” Joe said. “I hope there aren’t a million people dead right now.”

  “Babe has AM and FM radio,” Paris said. “And we’re not getting closer to Pueblo just standing here.”

  Marcia stood for a moment more, looking at the bright red sand where Alan Baxter had bled. She stepped forward and kicked sand over the stain with savage little movements. Tears ran down her face.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  North of the Great Sand Dunes, Colorado

  Alan was unconscious, his face sweaty and gray. The big gauze pads that she was holding over the plastic bags were slowly soaking through with blood. If they didn’t get to a hospital soon, she believed he was going to die. She looked at the front of the helicopter but there was no point in asking for more speed. She could hear the engines herself and they were shrieking at full power.

  The helicopter was crowded. Rosen sat next to Mitchell and Scott, who had also been bound with duct tape. Mitchell was still trying to shout orders and arguments but Eileen couldn’t understand what he was saying. Rosen had pressed a length of duct tape over his mouth shortly after takeoff.