CHAPTER 28
The Iceman sat on the couch, furious, the unfairness choking his mind.
He'd never had a chance, not from when he was a child. They'd always picked on him, victimized him, tortured him. And now they'd hunt him down like a dog.
Kill him or put him in a cage.
"Motherfuckers," he said, knuckles pressed into his teeth.
"Motherfuckers." When he closed his eyes, he could see opalescent white curtains blowing away from huge open windows, overlooking a city somewhere, a city with yellow buildings covered with light.
When he opened his eyes, he saw a rotting shag rug on the floor of a double-wide with aluminum walls. The yellow-haired girl had put a prepackaged ham-and-cheese in the microwave, and he could smell the cheap cheddar bubbling.
They'd set him up. They knew he'd done the others. The knowledge had come on him when he saw the deputies coming back, the knowledge had blown up into rage, and the gun had come up and had gone off.
He had to run now. Alaska. The Yukon. Up in the mountains.
0.2
He worked it out. The cops would call on every outlying farm and house in Ojibway County. They'd be carrying automatic weapons, wearing flak jackets. If he holed up, he wouldn't have a chance: they would simply knock on every door, look in every room in every house, until they found him.
He wouldn't wait. The storm could work for him. He could cut cross-country on the sled, along the network of Menomin Flowage snowmobile trails. He knew a guy named Bloom down at Flambeau Crossing. Bloom was a recluse, lived alone, raised retrievers and trained cutting horses. He had an almost-new four-by-four. If he could make it that far-and it was a long ride, especially with the storm-he could take Bloom's truck and ID, head out Highway 8 to Minnesota, then take the interstate through the Dakotas into Canada.
And if he stuck the horse trainer's body in a snowdrift behind the barn, and unloaded enough feed to keep the animals quiet, it'd be several days before the cops started looking for Bloom and his truck.
By then...
He jumped off the couch, fists in his pants pockets, working the road map through his head. He could dump the truck somewhere in the Canadian wilderness, somewhere it wouldn't be found until spring. Then catch a bus. He'd be gone.
"Where'n the fuck are they?" he shouted at the yellowhaired girl.
"Should be here," she said calmly.
He needed Rosie and Mark to get back. Needed the gas from the truck if he was going to make the run down to Flambeau Crossing.
The yellow-haired girl had put the ham-and-cheese in the microwave and then she'd gone back to her bedroom and started changing.
Longjohns, thick socks, a sweater.
Got out her snowmobile suit, her pac boots, began to go through her stuff.
Took pictures. Pictures of her mom, her brother and sister, found a photo of her father, flipped it facedown on the floor without a second look.
She took a small gold-filled cross on a gold chain, the chain broken.
She put it all in her purse. She could stuff the purse inside her snowmobile suit.
Helper had told her about the cops. There had been nothing he could do about it. They were right on top of him. She could feel the sense of entrapment, the anger. She patted him on the shoulder, held his head, then offered him food and went to pack.
She heard the watch chiming, then the ding of the microwave. She carried her stuff to. the kitchen, dumped it on a chair, took the ham-and-cheese out of the oven. The package was hot, and she juggled it onto a plate. She'd put a cup of coffee in with the ham-and-cheese, but it wasn't quite ready yet. She punched it for another minute and called, "Come and get it."
Her mom used to say that a long time ago. She sometimes couldn't quite remember her face. She could remember the voice, though, whining, as often as not, but sometimes cheerful: Come and get it.
The phone rang, and without thinking she reached over and picked it up.
"Hello?"
The Iceman looked at her from the couch.
Rosie spoke, her voice a harsh, excited whisper. "Ginny don't look at Duane, okay? Don't look at him. Just listen.
Duane just killed two cops and all those other people. There are cops all around the house. You gotta get out so they can come in and get him. When Duane's in the bathroom or something, whenever you get a chance, just go right out the front door and run down the driveway.
Don't put a coat on or anything, just run. Okay? Now say something like 'Where the heck are you?"
" "Where the heck are you?" the yellow-haired girl said automatically.
She turned to look at Duane.
"Tell him we're still downtown and we wanted to know about the roads out there. Now say something about the Oft roads."
Well, they're a mess. It's snowing like crazy," the yellow-haired girl said. "The drive's filling up, and a plow came by a little while ago and plowed us in."
The Iceman was off the couch, whispering. "Tell her we T'T need them to come out. I gotta have the gas. Don't tell them I'm here."
She put a finger to her lips, then went back to the phone.
"I really kind of need you out here," she said.
Rosie caught on. "Is he listening?"
'Yes.
"Okay. Tell him we'll be out in a while. And when you get a chance, you run for it. Okay?"
"Okay."
"God bless you," Rosie said. "Run for it, honey."
The yellow-haired girl nodded. Duane was focused on her, fists in his pockets. "Sure, I will," she said.
CHAPTER 29
The snow was getting heavier and the thin daylight was fading fast.
Climpt was a -dark lump in the snow to his left, unmoving.
Lucas had settled behind a tree, the pine scent a delicate accent on the wind. And they waited.
Five minutes gone since Carr had called on the radio: Okay, the kid knows, she's gonna make a break for it.
Everybody hold your fire.
A man moved along the edge of the woods opposite Lucas, and then another man, behind him, both carrying long arms. They settled in, watching the door.
The radio kept burping in Lucas' ear: John, you set?
I'm set.
I don't think there's any way he could get out this end-the storm windows got outside fasteners.
Can't see shit out back. Where's Gene and Lucas?
Lucas: "I'm in the trees about even with the front door.
Gene's looking at the back." A shadow crossed the curtain over the glass viewport in the front door, stayed there.
Lucas went back to the radio: "Heads up. Somebody's at the front door."
But nobody moving fast, he thought, heart sinking. The kid wasn't running. The porch light came on, throwing a circle of illumination across the dark yard. Climpt stood up, looked at him. Lucas said, "Watch the back, watch the back, could be a decoy."
Climpt lifted a-hand and Lucas turned back to the trailer home. A crack of brilliant white light appeared at the door, then the large bulk of a man and a struggling child.
"Hold it, hold it!" Helper screamed. He pushed through the storm door to the concrete-block stoop, crouched behind the yellow-haired girl.
He had one arm around her neck, another hand at her head. "I got a gun in her ear. Shoot me and she dies. She fuckin' dies. I got my thumb on the hammer."
Lucas waved Climpt over and Climpt half-walked, halfcrawled through the snow, using the trees to screen himself from the mobile home.
"What the fuck?." he grunted.
Helper and the girl were in the porch light, dressed in snowmobile suits. Helper was wearing a helmet. I wanna talk to Carr," he screamed. "I want him up here."
Carr, on the radio: Lucas? What do you think?
Lucas ducked behind a tree, spoke as softly as he could.
"Talk to him. But stay out of sight. Get one of the guys on the other side to yell back to him that you're on the way.
He can't see us-we're only about thirty feet away."
"I wanna talk to Carr," Helper screamed. He jerked the girl to the left, toward his snowmobile, nearly pulling her off her feet.
A few seconds later a voice came from the forest on the other side: "Take it easy, Duane, Shelly's coming in. He's coming in from the road. Take it easy."
Helper swiveled toward the voice. "You motherfuckers, the hammer's backyou shoot me and the gun'll blow her brains all over the fuckin' lot!"
"Take it easy."
Carr, on the radio: Lucas, I'm walking up the driveway.
What do I tell him?
"Ask him what he wants. He'll want a truck or something , some way to get out."
Then what?
"Basically, if we get up against it, let him have it. Try to trade it for the kid. If we can get him away from the kid for a second, Gene's got one of your M- 16s and he'll take him out. We just need a second."
What if he wants to keep the girl?
"I'd say let them go. I don't think he's figured out the tracking beacon yet. If the feds have another one, we could stick it in the truck, if that's what he wants."
The feds: We got another one.
Carr: I can see the light from the porch, I'm moving off to the side.
Lucas turned to Climpt. "How good are you with that rifle?"
"Real good," Climpt said.
"If he didn't have the gun on the girl, could you hit him in the head?"
"Yeah."
"With pressure?"
"Fuck pressure. Without pressure, I could hit him in one eye or the other, your choice. This way you might have to settle for somewhere in the face. You think I oughta..."
"When Shelly starts talking to him, I'm going to stand up, let him see me. I'm going to talk. You put your sights on his head, and if he pokes that gun at me, you take it off."
Climpt stared at him, suddenly sounded less sure. "I don't know, man.
What if the kid's still in the way or..."
"We're gonna have a problem if he takes her," Lucas said. "I'd say it's fifty-fifty that he kills her, but even if he just dumps her somewhere, in this storm, she could be in trouble. She'd have a better hance with you shooting."
Climpt stared at him for a moment, then gave a jerky nod. "Okay."
Lucas looked at him and grinned. "Don't hang fire, huh?
Just do it. I don't want him shooting me in the nuts or something."
Climpt said nothing; stared at his gun.
Lucas called Carr: "Shelly, where are you?"
I'm fifty feet down the driveway, sitting in the snow. I'm gonna yell up there now. "When you're talking to him, I'm gonna let him see me.
I'll be talking to him, too."
What for? _. "Gene and I are working on something. Don't worry about it, just..."
Helper bellowed down the driveway, "Where in the fuck is Carr?"
"Duane..
." Carr called from the growing darkness. "This is Shelly Carr. Let the little girl go and I'll come get you personally. You won't be hurt, I guarantee."
"Hey, fuck that!" Helper shouted back. "I want a truck up here and I want it in five minutes. I want it parked right here, and I want the guy who drives it to walk away. I won't touch him. But I don't want anybody else around it. I'll be watching from the house. When I come back out with the kid, I'll have the gun in her ear, and if there's anybody around the truck, I'll drop the hammer."
As Helper was talking, Lucas slid away to his right, then stood up.
Carr shouted, "Duane, if you hurt her, you'll die one second later."
Helper laughed, a wild sound, weirdly sharp in the driving snow.
"You're gonna kill me anyway, don't shit me, Shelly. If you don't kill me, you'll be digging ditches next year instead of being sheriff. So get me the fuckin' truck."
Helper backed toward the house, dragging the girl with him. She hadn't said a word, and Lucas could see her hair shining oddly yellow in the porch light. He remembered her from the school, the little girl who'd watched him in the hallway, the one with the summer dress and thin shoulders. "Duane.
Lucas called. He shuffled forward. He knew he must be almost invisible in the darkness, away from the light. "This is Davenport.
We got feds out here, we got people from other agencies. We wouldn't hurt you, Duane, if you let the girl go."
Helper turned, peered at him. Lucas lifted his hands over his head, spread them, palms forward, took three more steps. "Davenport?"
"We won't..."
"Get away from me, man, or I swear to Christ I'll blow -her brains all over the fuckin' yard, I... get away... " His voice rose to a near-hysterical pitch, but the gun never left the yellow-haired girl's head. Lucas could feel her staring at him, passive, on the edge of death, helpless. "All right, all right." Lucas backed away, backed away. "I'm going, but think about it."
"You'll get the truck," Carr shouted from the dark. "We got the truck coming in. Duane-for God's sake don't hurt the girl."
Helper and the girl backed up to the ' door. The girl reached behind him, found the doorknob, pushed it, and Helper backed through, the pistol shining weakly silver in the porch light.
The feds, on the radio: Got a beacon on the truck. Carr: Get it up here.
Get it up here. The feds: It's rolling now. Carr: Davenport-what the hell were you doing? "I was trying to get him to point the gun at me," Lucas said. "Gene was holding on his head with the M- 16. If he'd taken the muzzle away from the girl, we'd of had him."
Good Lord. Where's that truck? On the way. The Suburban turned up the driveway, stopped with its headlights reaching toward the mobile home. The truck door slammed, the sound muffled by the snow, then it rolled forward again, its high lights on. It stopped where Helper had indicated, and Shelly Carr crawled down from the driver's seat, squared his shoulders as if waiting for a bullet, and walked back down the driveway. "Idiot," Climpt said just behind Lucas' ear. "Takes some guts," Lucas said. "And if we get Helper, it sure as shit wraps up the next election. Here they come."
The door opened again and Helper pushed through, his arm again wrapped around the squirming girl's neck. His free hand was bare, holding the revolver, his thumb arched as it would be if the hammer were cocked.
The girl was carrying a gas can and what might have been aquarium tubing.
"What are they doing?" Climpt asked. He had the rifle up, following Helper's head through the sights.
The radio: Girl's got a syphon.
Helper -was talking to. her.
"Keep tracking him," Lucas said. They, couldn't hear the words, but they could hear the rhythm of them. She unscrewed the gas cap on the truck, dropped it in the snow, stuck the tube in the gas tank, and pushed it down. She put the other end in the open top of the gas can, then squeezed a black bulb on the tube.
"Taking gas," Climpt said, and a moment later a vagrant wisp of gasoline odor mixed with the pine scent.
"He's going out on the snowmobile," Lucas said. "He's getting gas for it."
Without that kid," Climpt muttered, tracking Helper with the rifle.
ucas jabbed the radio: "He's taking gas out of the truck. I think he's going to refuel his snowmobile and take off. Gene and I left our sleds back a way, we better go get them."
Carr: One of you better wait there until I get somebody up that side of the house.
Lucas said to Climpt: "How're you doing? Gettin' shaky?"
"Just a bit," Climpt admitted. His eyebrowsWere clogged with snow, his face wet.
"You head back to the sled, let me take the' rifle," Lucas said.
"Where does it shoot?"
"Put it right over his ear," Climpt said. He held on Helper for another second, then said, "Ready?"
'Yeah.
Climpt handed him the rifle. Lucas put the front sight on Helper's helmet, right where his ear should be. He held it.WE there, his cone of vision narrowing to nothing. He couldn't see the top of the girl's head, although it was only inches from Helper's ear. He could only infer its position.
; "Come in as soon as you hear him start that machine.
You can ride me back for the other," Lucas said, speaking around the black plastic stock. The stock was icy cold on his check, but he kept the sight on Helper's ear. "Can't be more than a couple hundred feet."
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