by Sala, Sharon
Wade was shooting at the killer, but the boat was moving out of range. All of a sudden Justin shouted, “Use this!” and tossed a rifle at Wade.
He caught it and spun, took aim at the big engine on the back of the boat and fired, then fired again.
The explosion sent birds into flight. Gators were sliding into the water as flames shot skyward. The river was on fire.
Justin was already circling the boat. He pulled up beside Tate as Wade leaned over the side and pulled Nola’s lifeless body out of Tate’s arms. Moments later Tate was in the boat with them and Wade was on his knees performing CPR.
“Let me! Let me!” Tate yelled, and took over breathing for her as Wade did chest compressions.
They worked silently and in perfect unison while time seemed to stop. One minute passed into another and another, and when she finally gasped and then choked and coughed and began spitting up water, Tate rolled her onto her side.
“Thank you, Jesus,” he mumbled, and then rocked back on his heels and kept thumping her back, helping her cough up the water she had swallowed.
“She’s gonna make it!” Justin yelled, and then let out a whoop.
Wade was still on his knees and considered it a proper position for a moment of silent thanks.
She coughed again and again, until at last she drew breath without a struggle. When she finally opened her eyes, Tate took his own first easy breath.
“Tate?”
“I’m here, baby.”
“...saved me,” she mumbled.
Tate began checking her body for gunshot wounds or broken bones, but he found nothing. Her danger was going to be infection and pneumonia. The river was toxic, and she’d had a big drink.
“The boat blew up,” Wade said.
“Did you see the body?” Tate asked.
“No, but I saw the gators.”
Tate looked up at Justin.
“Take us past the wreckage for a look, then get us back to Queens Crossing as fast as you can.”
“Is she gonna be okay?” Justin asked.
“God, I hope so,” Tate said as he picked her up and settled her into his lap, then put his jacket around her and held her close.
Nola was cognizant of two things: Tate had found her, and she was safe. Beyond that, she asked for nothing. The stench of burning fuel was in her nose as they cruised past the site of the explosion, but she wouldn’t look. She didn’t need to. He was dead, and that was all that mattered.
Tate scanned the surface of the water and the shoreline with a steady eye. If there was even a piece of the killer left, he wanted it. It would be physical proof this bloody chase was over.
Wade pointed to a piece of the boat as it floated past them. Gator Bait. The boat had been aptly named.
A gator swam away as they passed. It appeared the man had died in the explosion and the gators had gotten what was left.
“Justin! Take it back!” Tate yelled.
Justin waved an okay, circled the boat and headed home.
Nola couldn’t quit shaking, but she was holding on to Tate’s shirt with both hands. When the wind began to tear through her hair, she turned her face to his chest and closed her eyes.
* * *
Hershel never knew how he got there, but when he came to he was on the shore, lying half in and half out of the water. He was in more pain than he’d ever felt in his life. When he touched a hand to his cheek and came away with pieces of skin stuck to his fingers, he gagged. The stench of burning fuel and scorched flesh was in his nose, and his eyes burned almost as much as his face. As he rolled over, he saw the fire out in the water and another boat a hundred yards downstream, and just like that, memory surfaced.
“Oh, my God, oh, my God,” he mumbled, and began crawling on his belly out of the water, up into the grass and into the woods.
He didn’t move so much as a muscle until the sound of the outboard motor had completely disappeared. Added to that, his head was throbbing and he couldn’t blink without wanting to throw up.
You have a concussion, Hershel. It’s a miracle you’re even alive. You’ve got to get back to your truck and run. They know who you are. You waited too long. I told you. I told you to stop, but you wouldn’t listen.
“God in heaven, Louise, stop talking. Just shut the hell up. I don’t even know where the truck is from here.”
You have to go upriver to find the truck, because you were coming downriver in the boat.
Hershel shuddered. For once Louise was actually making sense. He tried to stand up, but when he did, everything went black.
* * *
The next time he came to, the sun was only a couple of hours from setting. He dragged himself upright, and began the long and painful journey back to where he’d left the truck. Every step he took was in pain, every breath he drew an agony and what was left of the right side of his face was in shreds. At least he was on the right side of the river.
He couldn’t go back to the motor home, and once they began looking into his life, they would know everything, but he couldn’t let that matter. What he needed now was time, and a place to heal.
* * *
Wade made a call from the river, requesting an ambulance at the dock, and when they arrived there were several news crews with it. Once again Nola Landry had made the news. As they were loading her up on a gurney, the reporters descended.
“What about the Stormchaser? Did you kill him? Did he get away again?”
“This is yours,” Tate said to Wade. “I’m going in the ambulance with Nola. Come get me later.”
They loaded up and left the scene as Wade began fielding the reporters’ questions.
“What happened to the Stormchaser?” someone yelled out.
He went into agent mode and answered as briefly as possible without giving anything away.
“The boat he was in blew up as he was making his escape.”
“How did that happen?”
“He was shooting at us. We returned fire.”
“Did you recover the body? Do you know his identity?”
“We did not recover the body and at this point have not made a positive identification, although that will come in time.”
“Why didn’t you look for the body?”
Wade frowned. “We did look, but there were alligators in the water around the wreck, and we had Miss Landry’s welfare to consider. She was unconscious and had stopped breathing when we pulled her out of the water. She was resuscitated on scene and transported here.”
“Who’s the man with you?”
They were pointing at Justin Beaudine.
“He’s the real hero of the moment,” Wade said. “He’s the man you need to be talking to. If it wasn’t for his help, we would never have been able to catch up to the killer or save Miss Landry.”
When the crews began focusing their attention on Justin, Wade waved and grinned. Justin looked a little nervous but willingly answered their questions.
Everybody deserves their fifteen minutes of fame, Wade thought, and headed to the hospital.
* * *
Nola came to again in the ambulance and mistook the siren for the roar of the outboard motor and the straps holding her onto the gurney as the cords she’d been bound with, and began fighting to get free.
A paramedic was trying to calm her as Tate quickly grabbed her hands.
“Nola! You’re okay. You’re on the way to the hospital, baby.”
She heard his voice but couldn’t see him.
“Tate?”
“I’m here,” he said, and leaned over from behind her so she could see his face.
“Is he dead?”
“We think so.”
She moaned. “But you don’t know?”
Like her, he l
onged for proof.
“Not yet. The boat he was in blew up. There was fire, and gators all over the place. I don’t see how anyone could live through it.”
“He was crazy like you said. He was intending to take me back to where he made a mistake by leaving me alive. He kept talking to someone named Louise, like he could hear her voice and was having an argument with her. His name is Hershel, but he said he was Billy Carter at the gym.”
“Nola, honey, that’s great. We’ll find out all the details soon enough, but right now, you’re the one I’m worried about.”
When the ambulance took a sharp turn to the left, she moaned as the gurney shifted with it.
“My chest hurts...hard to breathe.”
“We did CPR.”
Her eyes widened as his meaning sank in.
“Was I dead? I didn’t see any light. I didn’t see Mama anywhere.”
“That’s because it wasn’t your time to go. Just relax, Nola. Listen, the siren’s winding down. We must be there.”
When the ambulance stopped and the doors flew open, they rolled her out so fast Tate had to run to catch up.
Doctor Tuttle was on duty when they came in, and he was visibly shaken to see that the patient was Nola. The paramedics briefed the staff and then left her to them.
“Tate! What on earth! They just said drowning patient,” the doctor said as Tate followed them into the examining room.
“It’s a long story, Doc, but she was in the river, and when we pulled her out, she wasn’t breathing.”
“Nola, can you hear me? Can you tell me where you hurt?” Tuttle asked.
She opened her eyes. “Arm hurts. Chest hurts. Hurts to breathe.”
“Those stitches will have to be redone,” Tuttle said as he eyed the ripped flesh of her arm, and then he began issuing orders to the staff. “Clean up this wound, and be thorough. She was in the floodwater. Prepare for stitches. I want a picture of her lungs. Get a portable x-ray here, STAT.”
Nola closed her eyes. There was too much going on to deal with, and all she wanted to do was sleep. But the moment she closed her eyes, they popped open again.
“Tate? Where’s Tate?”
“I’m here,” he said, and patted her foot beneath the sheet. “Just lie still. You’re going to be fine.”
Someone was swabbing her arm, bringing fresh tears to her eyes, and her voice was thready when she asked, “Will you be here when I wake up?”
“Always.”
She was beginning to shake. “I’m cold,” she mumbled.
Doc Tuttle brushed a hand across her forehead.
“She’s going into shock. Start an IV.”
It was the last thing she heard as she realized Tate was there. It was safe to give up control.
* * *
Hershel found the truck after dark just by walking along the shore until he saw the dark hood gleaming in the moonlight.
The pain was his only companion, because Louise had been silent ever since she’d told him how to find the truck, and he was wondering if it was possible for her to die twice. She never had been as strong as he was, but he’d stayed with her through their ordeal, right to the bitter end and beyond. The only reason he could think of to explain why she would abandon him in his hour of need was if she had died again.
When he finally crawled into the cab and reached for the key, his heart nearly stopped. It wasn’t in the ignition. Then he remembered putting it in his pocket and wondered if, by some miracle, it was still there. He patted his pocket, and when he felt the bulge of keys beneath his fingers, he started sobbing with relief.
The truck started, but at first he didn’t hear it. It was only after he felt the vibration and put it in gear that he knew it was running. He didn’t know whether it was a temporary thing from the explosion, or if he’d truly lost his hearing, but it scared him. He turned the radio up as loud as it would go just to reassure himself he wasn’t deaf, and drove out of the cove and back onto the old blacktop, then headed east, putting as much distance between him and Queens Crossing as he could manage.
When he saw a highway sign indicating a road that would take him in to Jackson, Mississippi, he took it. His whole body was shaking, and he couldn’t focus on one thing long enough to have a complete thought. His only plan was to drive until he found a city, then a hospital. They took in indigents without IDs and good sense. He knew how to blend in. He’d been crazy after Louise died, but he knew how to act. He knew what they looked for.
* * *
Twice during the night he had to pull over and throw up. The second time he stripped out of his uniform and into the oldest clothes he had in the truck, pulled out all of his identification papers, fake ones and real, and set the whole lot on fire on the side of the road.
The mere sight of more flames made him weak in the knees, and he was sobbing uncontrollably from the pain in his body.
Once that was done, he removed the license tag from his truck, flung it into a nearby field and put the stolen one back on. Satisfied he’d done all he could to protect himself, he locked himself inside the truck and went to sleep. If he died, then so much the better. If he woke up, then he would keep driving. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all he had.
A couple of hours later a truck driver honked loud and long as he passed Hershel’s pickup parked on the side of the highway. Hershel woke abruptly, his heart pounding, and realized he’d just pissed in his pants.
“Oh, Lord, Lord, just let me die,” he moaned.
He began digging through the glove box and the console, looking for painkillers, and when he finally found some, he took a handful and chewed them up like candy. The taste was horrible, and he’d taken at least twice the recommended dosage, but he was past caution. Once he got them swallowed, he started the truck and pulled back out onto the highway.
When he crossed the city limits of Jackson, Mississippi, it was just before 5:00 a.m. The traffic was just beginning to build, with early morning workers heading to their jobs. He followed the signs to the nearest hospital and parked in the back of the lot.
“Oh, my God,” had become his mantra, and he kept saying it over and over to keep from screaming as he emptied his pockets, leaving what money he had on him in the console and the keys in the ignition. Having it stolen was the fastest way to remove the last trace of where he’d gone.
When he got out and started walking toward the Emergency Room entrance, he began to stumble and stagger. He made it just inside the doors before stumbling again, and this time he went down, unconscious.
He woke up screaming some time later, as the doctors and nurses were cleaning the burns on his face and arm.
“Stop...oh, my God, stop!” he cried, begging and grabbing at their hands. Then he heard a voice.
“My name is Doctor Hudson. You’re in a hospital. Can you tell me your name? Do you know what happened to you?”
Hershel could only see clearly from one eye, and he turned his head toward the man’s voice.
“My name is Phil. I think something started a fire. Maybe a crack pipe. I can’t remember.”
“Do you do drugs, Phil?”
The side of his face suddenly felt as if it was on fire. He screamed again.
“I’m sorry, Phil. We have to remove the dead skin off your face before it can begin to heal properly.”
“Can’t you give me something for the pain?” he begged.
“Do you take drugs, Phil?”
“No, no, never.”
“But you said a crack pipe.”
Even in the midst of the pain, he was already playing into his new persona.
“Not mine,” he said, and then moaned. “The guy in the alley beside me.”
“Where do you live?” the doctor asked as they continued to work.
“
Nowhere. I have no home.”
“You’re homeless?”
“Homeless,” Hershel muttered.
“Phil! What’s your last name,” the doctor asked.
Hershel closed his eyes and didn’t answer.
“Doctor, I think he passed out,” a nurse said.
“It’s just as well, poor bastard. This is going to leave one hell of a scar.”
* * *
Don Benton was being released from the hospital. He was packing his things when he overheard a conversation between two nurses about Tate’s heroic rescue of Nola Landry. It was yet another reminder that the son he’d rejected had grown into a man of integrity and courage.
He hailed one of the nurses who quickly came running. Being a doctor, as well as a patient, in the local hospital had its perks.
“Which room is Nola Landry in?” he asked.
“She’s down the hall in 217.”
“How is she doing? Is she up to visitors?”
“I’m sorry, Doctor Benton, but I don’t know her status. I can find out for you.”
“Never mind. I’ll check in on her myself before I leave. Thank you for the information.”
“You’re welcome. When you’re ready to leave, call the nurses’ station and we’ll take you down.”
He felt a little unsteady on his feet as he headed down the hall, and he was nervous about seeing her, because he was going to ask a favor. He wanted her to intercede with Tate on his behalf. When he reached the door he didn’t bother to knock, then realized that he should have.
When Tate looked up and saw his father coming in the door, he frowned. The bastard never did know when to quit. Without saying a word, he got up and pushed his father back out into the hall, and then closed the door behind them. Nola was asleep, and he intended to leave her that way.
Don wasn’t happy. He’d hoped to see Nola alone, but he should have realized that might not be easy.
Tate met his father’s gaze unflinchingly.
“What?”
His son’s lack of emotion was unsettling. Don didn’t quite know how to begin.
“Uh, I heard about what happened and wanted to see how she was doing.”
“She’s alive.”