Daddy's Girl (25 page)

N
at had to work quickly. She drove farther up the road until she found a break in the evergreens, then pulled the car onto high ground, using the trees on the right as cover from the guardhouse. She opened the glove compartment and ransacked it. Old Trident gum pieces, loose CDs, two condoms, a tube of Bath & Body hand cream, and a pack of matches fell onto the passenger seat.

Bingo
. But she needed a few more items. She got out of the car and started looking. It was dark but she pulled out the penlight and cast it around the side of the road. Gravel, melting snow, and mud appeared in the penlight’s circle of moonshade, but no luck. She kept looking, then saw a large grayish rock. She kicked it hard with her foot, once, then again. She succeeded only in shifting it slightly, which meant it would do fine. She got down on all fours and clawed at the snow around the rock until she finally unseated it, then lifted it up with a tiny grunt and hurried back to the car as fast as she could.

She retrieved her purse, with the construction file still in it, and slung it over her shoulder, then picked up the rock, edged out of the driver’s seat with it, and set it on the floor of the car. She gathered all the stray branches, old leaves, and sticks she could find, stuffed them in the passenger seat, then took the manila folder from the construction file and set it in the middle of the sticks. She struck a match and lit the folder, which caught fire quickly. Then the kindling began to flame, too.

Last, she assessed the condition of the field. Much of the snow had melted, but the ground was still cold enough to stay firm. Dark gray smoke filled the car. Fire warmed her face. It was time. She steeled her nerves and got her target in sight. Near the prison, off by itself, sat the row of white propane tanks, next to one of the construction trailers. She felt her heart thudding in her chest. The propane tanks were too far from the road to endanger the houses on the street and too far from the prison building to endanger it, either. She was taking a page from Graf’s book. If he could create chaos, so could she.

She double-checked that the emergency brake was engaged, then rolled the heavy rock onto the gas pedal. The engine gunned in angry response and the tires spun in protest, spraying mud, wet snow, and gravel. She counted to three and released the emergency brake, and the Neon took off like a shot, heading downhill for the propane tanks. The car zoomed into the field at speed, with orange flames leaping from its windows. The guard ran out of the guardhouse, but he was too late. In the next minute, the Neon smashed into the propane tanks, knocking over the tall white tanks like so many bowling pins.

KABOOM! KABOOM! The tanks exploded with a deafening blast, sending a geyser of orange flame shooting into the night. Sparks flew skyward like fireworks. Bits of metal spiraled into the air. Smoke billowed from the flames. KABOOM!

Nat hid behind the trees. Emergency sirens erupted from the prison. Floodlights sprang to life and blasted cones of light on the perimeter fences. The guard came running to the fire. Two marshals leapt from the dark sedan in the parking lot. C.O.s poured from the prison. The scene looked every bit the bedlam of the prison riot. But Nat couldn’t make her next move yet.

Suddenly, she heard shouts behind her and turned. Front doors were opening in the houses on the other side of the street. Residents were stepping outside to see what was going on. A middle-aged couple hurried down their front walk and across the street.

“Look!” Nat said, pointing. She kept her face to the fire. “The propane tanks exploded at the prison!”

“My goodness gracious!” The woman wrapped a blue quilted coat closer around her and looked down the hill, orange flames dancing in her hooded eyes. Her graying husband came up behind her in a long parka, and she turned to him. “George, shouldn’t we get our propane tanks checked?”

“Nah, they don’t spontaneously combust, honey.”

“Then what causes that?”

“God only knows,” Nat answered, fake-watching as other neighbors walked toward her and the older couple, beginning to collect in the street. When would the police come? What was taking so long? She couldn’t risk being spotted. Her hair was so bright it glowed in the dark. She couldn’t wait another minute. She started to walk toward the field and ignored the new shouts behind her.

“Hey, wait!” a man’s voice yelled. “That blonde! I just saw her near a car when I took out the trash.”

No!
Nat heard a scuffing noise behind her, and turned just as an angry middle-aged man grabbed her jacket.

“Get back here. What were you doing anyway?”

“Lemme go!” Nat wrenched herself free and took off down the hill. She couldn’t let anybody stop her now. Not after she’d come this far.

“Stop!” the man shouted, chasing her downhill toward the prison. In the next minute she heard the blare of distant sirens. She ran as fast as she could across the field, her feet churning in mud and snow, barely ahead of the man.

“Stop right there! I’m calling the police!”

Nat screamed, as suddenly her collar got yanked back, throttling her. The man grabbed her, jerked her backward off her feet, and threw her to the wet snow. Her head hit the cold ground and she lay almost choking as the man stood over her. She kicked him in the leg as hard as she could.

“Ow!” the man doubled over and crumpled to the snow, and Nat scrambled to her feet and started running. The sirens grew louder, closer. Police. Fire. Help was on the way. The blaze raged at the propane tanks, burning into the sky around the blackening shell of the Neon. She raced past the heat and toward the prison while all hell broke loose.

More C.O.s streamed outside the prison. The SWAT team ran at the fire with portable extinguishers. The Neon blazed away. The air smelled like burning rubber. Everybody shouted warnings and directions and ran this way and that. In the emergency, nobody noticed the little blonde streaking for the prison entrance.

Nat kept running. In the next minute, she saw a trio of state police cars zooming down the road from the right. They tore around the curve and drove up the prison driveway. Two yellow fire trucks powered right behind them, their red lights flashing and sirens screaming. She bolted to the prison entrance. Floodlights blasted the driveway around the entrance, and she recognized the familiar figure of a woman C.O. Tanisa. Nat ran to intercept her.

“Tanisa, it’s me, Angus’s friend!” she shouted over the din, grabbing Tanisa’s arms. “Williams is going to escape tonight! Graf’s behind it and Machik, too!”

“You?” Tanisa’s eyes focused on her face in astonishment, then outrage. “You shot Barb Saunders!”

“No, I didn’t! It was Richards, he’s—”

“You killed that trooper!” Tanisa shrieked, about to punch her, but Nat bolted away. Tanisa called to another C.O., “Stop her! Catch that blonde!”

Nat darted ahead in the melee. Police cars pulled up, their sirens screaming. Uniformed troopers leapt from the cars. Firefighters in heavy canvas coats jumped from the fire trucks and unrolled hoses. People hurried in all directions, a stricken crowd.

Nat bolted for the entrance in the mob scene but noticed a uniformed cop on the other side of the crowd, also running to the entrance. She caught a glimpse of the side of his face. She recognized the face and the cornrows. He had on a gray uniform but he wasn’t a trooper.

It was Mark Parrat, the pickup driver. The man in Houlihan’s and probably in the ski mask, too. She was about to scream when she got tackled from behind by a pair of strong arms. Before she knew what was happening, she was falling face first to the hard, wet driveway with someone on her back. Her forehead exploded in pain.

“You’re not so smart after all, huh, professor?” a man said in Nat’s ear.

Just before she lost consciousness.

W
ake up!” a man was saying. “You’re fine, kid. Walk it off, walk it off.”

Who let my father in?

“Wake up! Come on, I didn’t hit you that hard.”

Nat felt someone patting her cheek. Her forehead thundered, her ears rang. The tunnel. The escape. She flashed on Saunders, bleeding on the floor. She heard herself say, “It’s under the floor.”

“Wake up, professor. You’re gonna be fine.”

Nat opened her eyes. She found herself flat on her back on the prison driveway. Noise surrounded her. Firefighters, cops, and C.O.s ran and shouted. Shadows shifted everywhere around her. One face hovered above her, his features clear in the floodlights. Trooper Mundy.

“Good morning, professor. Now that you’re awake, you’re under arrest.”

“No, please, listen.” Nat felt herself hoisted to her feet. She fought the fog in her head. Warm blood ran down her face. She struggled to stand on wobbly knees. “There’s a tunnel under the floor. They were gonna get Williams out tonight. Parrat is here. He’s gonna—”

“You’re coming with me.”

“Trooper, just check it! There’s a tunnel under the floor! I started the fire to stop them! I messed up their plans! Parrat is going to get Williams out!”

“
You
started the fire? You’re a disgrace!” Mundy thundered, pulling her through the crowd. “I stuck up for you with Duffy. You made a fool outta me.”

“He’s wearing a fake cop outfit!” Nat writhed in Mundy’s grip, pummeling his arms, using every ounce of strength to get back to the entrance. “He killed the trooper! He shot Barb!”

“Fake cops now? You’ve lost your mind.”

“No, I swear, Graf is in on it, with Machik and—”

“I heard you called my office, asking for me, pretending you were a man. I don’t know your deal, but you’re effin’ crazy!”

Mundy kept pulling Nat away, but she couldn’t let this happen. God only knew what Parrat was doing now. She would lose her chance. Williams would go free. She couldn’t make Mundy listen. She couldn’t make anybody listen. Not her students, not her family, not her father. She felt a wellspring of anger bubble to the surface. Rage that had been building her whole life, spontaneously combusting. Gnat. Book smart. Why couldn’t she make anybody hear her?

“WILL YOU ALL LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE?” Nat screamed at the top of her lungs, so loud that her voice broke. She felt like the mouse that roared. “PARRAT IS GOING TO GET WILLIAMS OUT! THERE’S A TUNNEL UNDER THE FLOOR! SAUNDERS DIED FOR IT! I’LL SHOW IT TO YOU!”

Suddenly the
pop pop pop
of automatic gunfire crackled from the prison like an electrical current. The crowd exploded into movement. Cops and C.O.s ran for the prison from all directions.

“That’s Parrat! He’s inside!” Nat shouted amid the melee, and Mundy’s eyes looked bewildered, then furious.

“I cannot effin’ believe this!” he shouted, then he picked Nat up, threw her over his shoulders like a sack, and carted her to an empty police cruiser. He opened the back door and started to shove her into the backseat.

“No, lemme go, you gotta listen!” Nat writhed but she was losing the battle. Mundy stuffed her into the backseat, and when the car door almost slammed on her, she summoned all her courage and kicked him in the shins. Mundy hopped back for a split second, and she seized the moment to jump out of the car and take off toward the prison entrance. The trooper ran after her and clamped his hand on her arm.

“Don’t you ever
stop
?” he asked, exasperated, and just then a shout came from the front of the prison. The crowd edged backward, suddenly hushed. Nat was too short to see anything, and Mundy shoved her behind his broad back, but she peeked out.

And witnessed a nightmare.

S
ay hello to the warden, everybody!” shouted a brawny inmate. He emerged from the prison and appeared in the spotlight, pressing a black Glock to his hostage’s temple. The inmate’s dark eyes were slits, his mouth a scarred sneer. It had to be Richard Williams, his malevolence evident even in his T-shirt and blue scrubs. Williams shouted, “Don’t nobody move a muscle, or Mr. Warden McCoy’s gonna get his head shot clean off, right in front of y’all.”

Nat watched, aghast. Warden McCoy, in a tie and jacket, had gone grim with fear. His blue eyes stayed glued to the gun at his temple. His mouth stretched in a grimace. Williams used the warden’s body as a human shield, wrapping a tattooed arm around the other man’s torso and walking him along in front of himself. The C.O.s, police, and firefighters on the driveway froze, a tableau of law enforcement personnel rendered instantly impotent. The car fire raged in the background.

“Now, here’s what’s gonna happen, folks. Ya’ll’s gonna stay cool. Me and my boys, we gonna take a little walk down to our car. If our driver gets hurt, or one of us gets hurt, these good people goin’
down
.” Williams pushed McCoy ahead of him down the driveway. A black sedan with an ADT security badge on the door idled halfway up the driveway. It couldn’t get closer because of the fire trucks. The crowd of cops and C.O.s stood paralyzed, a captive audience to the thug’s little show.

Williams continued. “We already lef’ you one body, a C.O. who let me outta my cell. Don’t make me leave you any more. We don’t want no more heroes tonight.”

There was a new commotion at the entrance to the prison, and suddenly, someone else emerged from the doorway, behind Williams and Warden McCoy. It was Parrat, the pickup driver. He walked out in his fake-cop uniform, his gun to the soft cheek of another hostage. Nat gasped when she caught a glimpse of his victim.

Tanisa. The C.O.’s mouth stayed grimly closed, but her eyes had gone still with fright. The C.O.s in the crowd stood riveted when they saw her. Parrat had Tanisa’s arms pinned behind her back and he shoved her in front of him, The two of them walked closely behind Williams and the warden, like a horrifying parade.

A C.O. in the crowd shouted, “Let her be!”

Parrat didn’t respond, but Tanisa did. “Shoot him!” she hollered, her voice ringing clear and strong.

“Bitch, shut up!” Parrat shouted, shoving his gun into Tanisa’s ear. Nat felt her heart cry out.

Williams walked on, with McCoy in front, saying, “Now, now. Folks, stay cool, calm, and collected. Everything’s gonna be all right. Just stay cool. We got one more comin’ with us, then we outta here.”

Nat looked at the prison entrance. Another figure was walking outside with a hostage. Graf stepped into the spotlight in his C.O. uniform, his eyes cold as gunmetal and his revolver trained on Machik. A ripple of shock shot through the crowd at the sight.

A C.O. called out, “You’re scum, Joe! You’re
worse
than scum!”

Graf ignored him, and Nat was the only one not surprised at his treachery. The only trick was that Graf had Machik as a hostage. But that fit in, too. No one knew Machik was in on the conspiracy except for Graf and her. In effect, Graf was smuggling out a confederate, right under everyone’s noses.

A second C.O. shouted, “You won’t get away with it, Joe!”

Mundy stirred, and when he did, Nat felt something hit her hand. She looked down. There was a bulge in the back of Mundy’s jacket, around his belt.
A gun.

“Very good job, folks,” Williams was saying. Warden McCoy looked terrified, the gun boring into his temple. “Y’all doin’ a very good job, and I’m mighty proud of you. Don’t nobody do nothin’ stupid and we all gonna be all right.”

Nat eyed the crowd. Nobody was moving. They couldn’t take the chance. Williams was getting away. The warden’s brow sweated in the lights. Anyone’s movement could trigger the murder of the warden and Tanisa. Nat couldn’t be seen behind Mundy’s back. She was too short, and for once, it was an advantage. She had to do something. She stayed perfectly still except for her hand, which she slipped under the back of Mundy’s jacket. If the trooper felt anything, he was too smart to let it show. The unfolding scene was proving her right. He must be letting her take it. She reached the handle of the gun and pulled. But it didn’t come.

“Me and my friends gonna take these good people wit’ us.” Williams’s voice grew closer. He must have been directly in front of Mundy. “We gonna drop ’em off, good as new, when we’re clear. So stay cool and nobody gets hurt.”

Nat tried the gun again but it didn’t move. Was it stuck? No. It must have been in a holster. Her fingers found some kind of latch over the gun handle. She fumbled and felt a snap, unfastened it, and finally slid the gun free. It was warm from Mundy’s body heat, and its barrel caught the dark light.

Okay, I’m not shooting anybody. The teachers can’t do everything around here.

Nat took the gun and eased it slowly under Mundy’s right hand, and she felt an almost physical tingle when he accepted it from her, betraying no movement.

Williams was saying, “Y’all stay—”

Suddenly Mundy swung his arm up and fired the gun. It exploded in an earsplitting
pop pop pop
, setting off a horrifying fusillade. The shooting happened in a sickening blur. A red hole exploded in Williams’s temple. He crumpled. The attack startled Parrat, and Tanisa turned and elbowed him. He fell away and was instantly cut down by the cops in the crowd, his body spinning with the impact of the bullets.

Graf aimed for Mundy, but flew backward when he was shot himself, his gun spraying bullets. One hit Machik in the head and he went down, dropping on the spot. The crowd surged forward, almost knocking Nat over. She let them rush past, squeezing her eyes shut against what she had just seen. She couldn’t believe that it had happened.

She half-stumbled and half-walked away, breathing in fresh air. She bent over and leaned on the huge, cold bumper of one of the fire trucks, praying to keep nausea at bay. In the next minute, she felt a large hand on her shoulder and turned around. It was Mundy, slipping the gun back into its holster.

“You okay, professor?” he asked.

“More or less.” Nat smiled shakily. She couldn’t believe it was finally over. “Okay, less.”

“You did nice work. You got guts. Sorry I gave you such a hard time.”

“S’okay.” Nat didn’t say I-told-you-so. It didn’t feel like a victory after so much carnage.

“You wanna show me that tunnel?” Mundy threw a comforting arm around her shoulder.

Nat nodded, wiping away a tear that came from nowhere.