They shot Socrates.
She clenched her jaw, red lines inching into her vision. For all she knew, they'd shot Louis, too, but more likely he was sitting in handcuffs in the back of a police car. The fucking bastards had no conscience in their phony war. But what should she do? Drive in guns blazing because they'd shot – she gritted her teeth – probably killed her dog? Risk it all when they might not even find anything incriminating?
One possibility occurred to her. It was a Hail Mary, but it offered her a small chance of making an informed decision.
Thalma punched in the number for the Breton County Sheriff's Department. A woman answered. Thalma asked to speak to the sheriff, and was predictably told he was unavailable. Thalma told her it was an emergency, a "matter of life and death," and left her number.
A minute later, as Thalma was nearing her utility building, her phone rang.
"Yes," she said.
"Thalma," said Sheriff Martson, sounding both tired and wary.
"Are you at my house?"
"No." She heard what sounded like a heavy exhalation. "So you know what's happening there?"
"I just got a call from Louis."
"We're not part of that operation. Our department didn't feel it was warranted based on the testimony of those five men. The DEA thought otherwise, and got a judge to agree."
"Do you know what's going on there now?" She swallowed a hard lump of despair. "Louis said they shot my dog."
"I'm listening to the city P.D. band – they're assisting. I heard your dog was shot. No word on if it was fatal. I'm sorry."
"What else?"
"All I can tell you is that they have earth-moving and demolition equipment onsite."
"They won't find anything."
The sheriff didn't respond.
"If they did," said Thalma, "it would be planted."
"My advice is to come to my department, wait it out here. If there's any impropriety, you can contest that in court."
Thalma hesitated, shaking her head. "I'll come in if you tell me they haven't found anything so far."
"I can't tell you that."
Thalma turned into her utility building lot, clicking the bay door opener. As she drove into the building, she heard another click – this one inside her head. The sound of a gun safety switching off. The feds would not be leaving without enough evidence to put them away, whatever that took. The sheriff had all but confirmed that.
"Thalma," he said. "They have an army out there."
"I know. Thanks, Sheriff. You're a good guy."
Thalma ended the call, coming to a stop beside the Federal Express truck and her grey armored van. She thanked the gods of luck that she'd decided to move the van closer to home. Now it was a question of how it would perform against the Bearcat MRAPs. As far as she knew, none of the police or government agency versions of those vehicles retained machine guns or cannons. If they had, she wouldn't stand much of a chance. If they hadn't, her fifty caliber machine gun and grenade launchers and state of the art remote targeting system would give her the advantage. Whether it would be enough to free Louis and retrieve Socrates remained to be seen. But she wouldn't be leaving without them, whatever it took.
Inside the van, Thalma started the engine and activated the weapons systems. The song she'd been listening to last – the Doors' Moonlight Drive – blared on the speakers. Everything showed up onscreen as "locked and loaded": three hundred rounds of fifty plus twenty HE grenades. She removed a Glock G40 from beneath the front seat and an M-14 from a rack behind the seat.
She burst out of the building, door descending behind her, and pointed the van toward her property. A discordant symphony of scenarios played her head – so many possibilities that it seemed almost pointless to plan ahead. Everything from killing everyone to just rolling in, grabbing Louis and Socrates, and racing for the hills.
Let's swim to the Moon
Let's climb through the tide
You reach your hand to hold me
But I can't be your guide
Right, thought Thalma. No guide, as usual. She flicked off the stereo. The sound of crunching gravel was even creepier than the song.
She turned onto her driveway, and the house rolled into view. Two Bearcats and four police cars were parked in front of the house, while a Blackhawk helicopter fluttered overhead. Louis sat in the front yard, hands behind his back, his long hair falling to his chest as he slumped forward. A dark shape sprawled on the ground beside him. Socrates! As heartbreaking as it was, it was the best scenario she could've imagined.
The helicopter dipped its head forward, starting in her direction. Thalma placed the crosshairs on the base of the rotor, and selected three burst. She thumbed the fire control on the screen's base. The helicopter kept coming. She pressed fire again. The helicopter lurched sideways as if kicked, and dropped twenty meters in a heartbeat into the roof of a barn, spewing chunks of the blade. As the helicopter careened off the roof for another twenty-foot drop, men in black SWAT regalia swarmed out of her house, whipping up their rifles.
Gunning the motor, Thalma popped a three-round burst into their midst. Two men dropped, while the others scrambled behind a Bearcat. Thalma directed bursts at the doorway, the front windows, and back to the men behind the armored vehicle in quick succession as she charged in at full throttle. She raked the front windows with two more bursts as she swung the van around and skidded to a stop between Louis and Socrates and the Bearcats.
Thalma leaped across the seats and out the passenger door, urging herself to lightning speed. Louis was on his feet, hands handcuffed behind his back, heading for the door. She brushed by him and hoisted Socrates in her arms. He's still warm. She glimpsed rifles rising as she charged back to the van, tossing the unconscious dog on top of Louis and hearing his pained gasps as she clawed her way over both of them to the driver's seat.
The ALON windshield and driver-side windows resembled the surface of the Moon as a barrage of .223 rounds peppered the van. Thalma knocked the shift lever into reverse and spun the van backwards and around - roaring off toward the rear of the property in a cloud of gravel and dust while M4 rounds slapped the back and sides of the van like a vicious hail storm.
Thalma glanced from the rearview mirror - DEA agents and Breton police were scrambling into their vehicles - and then to Louis, whose flushed face looked like someone had thrown splotches of red paint on a white canvass.
"Dude," he gasped.
"Please don't call me that."
Louis shifted Socrates in his arms with a labored grunt. "They shot him."
"I know."
"I'm not sure he's alive, Thal."
"He's alive."
They'd reached the end of her back driveway by the woods with all police vehicles in pursuit. They would need to be stopped.
Thalma slowed the van, targeting the front tires of the lead armored vehicle. Run-flat tires. She moved the crosshairs to the windshield. She knew the Bearcat windows and body was designed to withstand .50 caliber impacts. The rounds would break through after a few bursts, but then she'd have to repeat that for the other Bearcat and the four police cars. Too much time.
She switched to HE grenades. Right now while the vehicles were all together. She launched ten of the twenty in and around the approaching vehicles. The explosions struck like multiple thunderclaps. Two police cruisers blew onto their sides. The lead Bearcat bounced once and came to a stop. The second Bearcat lurched around and continued coming on. Thalma dropped two grenades on its hood. The windshield and the cab blew inward. The armored vehicle drifted off the driveway and slammed into a tree. As the smoke cleared, no vehicle was moving. Thalma gunned the gas and they flew off down the intersecting dirt road.
Her cell rang. It sounded like a muttering cricket after all the gunfire and explosions. She recognized the number. She supposed she owed it to him to answer.
"Sheriff," she said.
"God damn you, Thalma," Sheriff Martson snarled. "That's blood on my hands!"<
br />
"Nothing to do with you, Sheriff. They came prepared for war, and they got one."
The first words that entered her head. She opened the window and tossed the cell into the cornfield. She wondered if she would've remembered to do that without his call. The sheriff was performing some great services for her despite himself.
"Where are we going?" Louis asked.
Thalma glanced at him, not allowing herself to focus on the dog smothering his slim body.
"The utility building just beyond the property," she said. "We'll switch to the Fed Express truck."
The next mile passed with excruciating slowness. Thalma kept her eyes forward when she wasn't glancing at the rearview mirror. So far nothing but empty gravel road stretched behind her. Just a few more seconds.
They crossed the road at one hundred miles per hour, and Thalma used just enough brake to roll into the building as the bay door lifted. Thalma jumped out and unlocked the Fed Express truck's rear door before awkwardly hefting her one hundred and thirty pound dog off Louis, who helped her carry him to the back of the mail truck. She placed her face next to his nose, and inhaled a thin stream of warm, meaty air. Her spirits soared.
"He's still breathing," she said. "I'm only seeing a wound to the shoulder."
"Yeah – just one trigger-happy cop. I got out there as fast as I could and wrapped Socrates up. Luckily, he didn't fight me. Lost a lot of blood, though."
Thalma pulled the assault knife from her calf-holster and handed it to him.
"Trim your hair and beard as fast as you can."
While Louis hacked away at his hair, Thalma grabbed her standard cordless impact wrench from the tool case mounted on the wall, and ducked under the truck. Two bolts, and part of the exhaust slid free, exposing a case bearing the contents of her safes that she'd stuck in there earlier. She ignored the cash and gold, removing the bag that now held only a pinch of LSD 35.
"What the fuck," said Louis, watching her as he opened the bag. "Thalma, this is not a time to get high!"
"I have no choice."
She stuck two fingers in the white powder and then snorted it off. She replaced the case in the storage compartment.
"Let's go," she said. "You drive."
Thalma hopped in back and closed the truck door as Louis started the engine.
"Where to?" Louis called to her.
"West to northern California. Highway 81 to 80 West."
The truck lurched forward through the opening door. Thalma kneeled beside Socrates, stroking his head, willing the drug to take effect. She'd healed Paul Murphy. Now she would heal her pugnacious companion.
They'd gone a few miles when an approaching siren made her jump.
"It's an ambulance." Louis yelled to her in a shaky voice. He slowed and pulled over as an ambulance trailed by a police car zoomed by. Thalma closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath as Louis guided the truck back onto the road. Unless someone spotted the blue van entering the utility building – highly unlikely – the odds of anyone being interested in a FedEx van seemed remote.
The shards of light from the cab started to expand into rainbow-colored swaths. Time slowed to a more leisurely, peaceful pace. Her fears retreated to a quiet place – still present, but muted to a mere murmur. She was in control now. Yes, she thought.
She leaned over Socrates, eyes narrowed in concentration. His dark fur grew transparent, revealing thin spider webs of red-grey light branching out from dimly pulsing grey-red orbs. Near his shoulder a sprinkling of individual lights flickered on and off like shorting Christmas tree lights. She placed her hands on his body and mentally shoved her own energy downward. This time she noticed thick red beams of light emerging from her palms suffusing the orbs. In that instant she felt the full extent of Socrates' weakness: it sucked her energy greedily, like a cold winter night drawing the heat from a small campfire. This was going to cost her everything she had.
She opened herself up, pouring all her strength into the still body. The orbs glowed red and pumped their light outward until the webs of energy shone red as well, and the scattered pinpricks of light grew plant-like offshoots that connected to each other and branched out to join the network of channeled energy.
Socrates whimpered.
"Good boy," she said. Then she dropped to the floor.
Watching in the rearview mirror, Louis felt his heart clench.
"Thalma!" he cried. "Are you all right?"
She raised one limp hand in reply. Louis exhaled. He wasn't sure what she was doing, but it had obviously drained her. Or maybe she was just tripping out on the LSD. He felt he was tripping out himself. Very little of the last hour or so – especially Thalma's fiery entrance and departure – seemed real to him. He'd rarely liked violence in books or movies, and he liked it even less in person. Still, it had seemed strangely abstract. He'd seen blood on Socrates' shoulder and he'd glimpsed two men falling backwards with holes in their chests – and then just a lot of gunfire and explosions.
And the ambulance blasting by.
Louis bit the inside of his lip with nearly enough force to draw blood. People had died, no doubt about that. People had died because of him. Well, okay, maybe the causality wasn't so clear-cut. It wasn't as if he'd made that army of cops descend on the farm - nor did he make Thalma barrel in with guns blazing - but he was part of the reason she'd done that, and he had chosen a life where armed conflict with police or others was a constant possibility.
Louis stroked the patchy stubble on his face, already missing his beard – something solid to grab onto, like a hairy security blanket. He looked like he'd stuck his head under a lawnmower, with all the cuts on his face and the uneven lengths of hair. He hardly recognized himself.
Only fitting, he thought. Because right now I hardly recognize my life.
Chapter 12
KIVA BEACH'S SANDY SHORE stretched around the sapphire blue waters of Lake Tahoe, glowing a golden brown in the late-afternoon.
"I can't believe how few people use this beach," said Louis. "Do they know something we don't?"
"The water's really cold? And it's almost October?"
Louis laughed. "Maybe that's it."
He stretched out his legs and curled his toes in the warm sand. Though they were nearing the end of September, it was sixty-seven degrees and sailboats dotted the lake. Socrates sprawled on the sand a few feet away, regarding the huge expanse of water with skeptical eyes.
"Are you missing South Dakota?" Thalma asked.
"I miss the wind – especially the north wind. The eight months of winter. And all those flat, treeless fields." His grin contracted as he looked at her. "I actually do miss the farm. That place was cool."
"Yeah," Thalma sighed.
"Anyway, you know what they say." He reached across and entwined his fingers into hers. "Home is where the heart is."
"Ah, gee." But Thalma smiled and squeezed his fingers.
"Mrs. McDowell," said Louis.
"Mr. McDowell."
"Too bad we really aren't married."
"Is it?"
When Louis didn't respond, Thalma held up her left hand, the one carat diamond ring on her ring finger glinting in the mid-afternoon sun. She eyed the gold band on Louis's ring finger.
"In the eyes of the law, we are husband and wife."
"Just like we're legally Theresa and Logan McDowell." Louis's smile held a slight sour edge. "Not that I'm complaining. I'm living in a four thousand square foot house on three acres overlooking one of the most beautiful lakes I've ever seen – with the most beautiful woman I've ever known."
Thalma covered her faint blush with a smile. "Life can be tough."
"Yeah. Sometimes I almost forget we're wanted fugitives." The sour edge grew sharper in his smile. "Top ten on the FBI's most-wanted list."
Socrates lunged to his feet, chasing a Canadian goose into the air. Thalma brought him to heel with a sharp "No!"
"That's never going away," said Louis. "God, what my parents must t
hink. They thought it was bad enough when I dropped out of college."
"I know. I wouldn't even want to guess what my mom is thinking."
"Will we ever talk to or see our parents again?"
"Yes. They'll be watching them pretty close right now, but they'll ease up in a year or two. We could figure something out." She glanced at him. "Assuming we want to."
"I might not have had any immediate plans, but of course now that I can't see them...." He gave an awkward shrug. "Still, the two most important beings are right here with me, so I'm a happy man."
"I didn't know you felt that way about Socrates." She leaned over and kissed his bare shoulder. "That's sweet."
"I was talking about you and Mark."
Thalma grunted and tossed a handful of sand on his back. They both broke out laughing.
"You know, I never even asked," said Louis. "Is Mark gay?"
"'Ish'."
"I don't know whether to be relieved or afraid."
Thalma cuddled up against him.
"You know what I miss? Your long, beautiful hair."
"You and me both."
She ran the back of her hand along his clean-shaven face. "Your beard, not so much. Such a handsome man under all that fur."
He snared her hand and kissed it. She leaned in and their lips met.
"Mmm," she said. "Too bad this is a public beach."
"I doubt anyone would even see us."
"Socrates would. I don't know if you ever noticed, but he's kind of a prude."
"He's just not all that happy about another male slobbering all over you."
Thalma laughed. Socrates came bounding over from the shore, shaking off water. Louis shielded his face.
Later, they walked arm in arm along the beach as ahead the sun nestled in tree-studded mountains beneath a feathery halo of pinkish-orange clouds.
"So beautiful," Thalma murmured.
"You do realize we're walking off into the sunset," said Louis.
She gave a low laugh. "I hadn't thought of that."
"Lucky you're the one person I wouldn't mind living out a cliché with."
He hugged her closer. Thalma felt herself melting against him. If only, she thought. But then she smiled.
One Rule - No Rules Page 21