Immortality (53 page)

“Artie...” It was a soft whisper. “Artie....”

Suzy! She was still on the ground, curled on her side. He looked at her and felt the rage drain from him, leaving only black shoals of despair. What had he done? How had he let this happen to her? He dropped the gun.

“Oh, baby,” he moaned.

He lifted her into his arms. The blood of their attackers was soaked into his hands. He glanced over at the two animals to make sure neither was moving. They both looked very dead.

“It hurts, Artie. He kept kicking me.” She swallowed with difficulty. “It hurts to breathe.”

“Just relax. I’m going to get you to a doctor. Just hang on baby. It’ll be all right.”

“They wanted the locket and I said no. I’m sorry. I should have given it to them...”

She was trying to cry but couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs. Her left eye was starting to puff up. Artie swallowed back his own tears and forced an unconvincing smile onto his face.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m worried about the baby.”

Artie bundled Suzy in a coat and blanket. It was heartbreaking to take his eyes from her, but he had to collect what was needed to get her safely to help. He had no illusions about how difficult it would be hiking through miles of forest at night, and then down a highway which might be deserted. He retrieved his gun and then found a flashlight. He pulled his coat and shoulder holster from the tent, and then hastily wrestled them on; then stuffed the coat’s pockets with ammo and extra batteries. He tied a bandana around the wound on his forehead to stem the flow of blood.

Suzy was unconscious when he returned to her. Her breathing had a normal rhythm but was raspy. Artie was stunned. A flood of adrenaline washed through him leaving a numbing cold in its wake. He hoisted Suzy up into his arms. Soon he was hiking as fast as he could – his legs working, the flashlight bouncing erratically over the path. In the wavering light, he repeatedly lost his footing. Soon, his skull was throbbing, sapping his strength. His arms were tired. He had to rest. At the base of a hill, he sat down on a huge stone with Suzy in his lap.

Blood from his head wound dripped onto Suzy’s cheek. The image filled him with despair. Please God, don’t let her die. He pushed himself off the stone and began moving again. The darkness was claustrophobic. His head was throbbing so hard that he couldn’t focus his eyes. Artie stumbled badly, keeping himself and Suzy off the rocky ground by jamming his shoulder into a large tree. He felt a piece of his shoulder scraped raw. He tried to take another step. His legs gave out. He dropped to his knees, managing to shield Suzy from any impact. His strength was failing as the pain in his head grew even worse. He tried to get up with her in his arms but couldn’t. The pain in his head took all his senses and scrambled them. He sat panting until he could almost see again. It was miles to the nearest town. He knew what he had to do, but the idea was breaking his heart. He started sobbing. He knew he had to leave Suzy here and go find help. Doing this was their only chance, but how could he abandon her? What if she woke up alone in the woods?

“Baby... I can’t carry you. You have to stay here... okay?”

There was no response. Her breathing was getting worse. The rasp was more pronounced and the rhythm had become irregular.

“Forgive me,” he said.

Artie bundled her as best he could. He kissed her lips. He moved a few strands of hair from her eyes. They should have opened, but didn’t. He pulled himself up using a small tree and started running. He stumbled to the ground a few yards from her.

“God, damn you!” he screamed.

He beat his fists into the ground cursing God again and again until exhausted. His fists were throbbing and covered in bits of dirt. His face was cold with tears. He lifted himself up. He took a step and then looked back at Suzy. He couldn’t do this. He just couldn’t do this. He went back to her and picked her up, draping her over his shoulder. He’d find the strength to carry her out of the woods or die with her in this darkness.

Artie felt like hours had passed. The temperature was freezing. He was soaked with sweat. Each breath drew a deepening cold inside his throat and lungs. The flashlight beam played across an endless depth of woods. With every weakened step, he wondered if he had made a fatal decision. If he’d been strong enough to leave Suzy, he might have been back to her with help by now. He looked ahead into the murky blackness of the forest. Something was there. He switched off the flashlight. The glow of the I64 line trickled through the bushes and tree trunks.

Artie stopped at the shoulder of the highway. He heard no traffic. He needed to rest for a moment. His head ached so badly that he was seeing spots. He looked down at Suzy. Her breathing was a little stronger. He’d allowed himself too many breaks already and vowed this would be the last until he found help.

With Suzy lying on the grassy shoulder, Artie staggered out to the middle of the I64 roadway. He looked east then west. He had no idea in which direction to head. He remembered they’d passed a gas station twenty minutes before Quade had dropped them off. If Quade had been driving at sixty miles per hour, then the station could be twenty miles away. At that distance it may as well have been on another planet. He looked in the other direction. He had no idea what was up ahead. There could be a truck stop a mile off or nothing for fifty miles. He had no choice. He couldn’t gamble with Suzy’s life. He returned to the highway’s shoulder, gently gathered Suzy up into his arms, and started walking east.

The sound of fast moving tires and engine caught Artie’s attention. Someone was coming. He turned in the direction of the sound. He couldn’t see any headlights but the sound was unmistakable and growing louder. He took a few steps out into the roadway. The sound roared past him, but no car. He looked across the highway to the free side of the I64 line just in time to see a pair of taillights recede into the night. Only state police drove in those lanes.

Sarah sped through the darkness heading west at a hundred-ten miles per hour. She was nearing the far western end of her patrol loop. The headlights of her cruiser moved along the curves, turning road signs into glowing slates that whisked past. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around the wheel. Her knuckles were white but not from driving. She barely paid attention to the road. Her mind was on what she’d found in her locker. It was a death threat: a photograph with no words, only the image of her and Ralph with a gun sight drawn over Ralph’s torso. The meaning was obvious. Leave or they were going to start hurting her, and they were going to do it through the things she loved. The picture was stuffed into her shirt pocket. She could feel it pressing against her chest. She glanced at Ralph who was curled on the seat next to her. His latest toy, a Frisbee, was under one of his paws.

Sarah looked back to the road. A large brown shape jumped out of the darkness in front of her. She stomped on the brakes. The car’s tires pumped as the anti-lock system tried to prevent a skid. There was a thud. Her bumper hit the animal as it disappeared from view. The tires broke into a skid of burning rubber.

“No!” she screamed.

A tire blew. The car swung madly. Sarah cut the wheel to the left into the skid. Fishtailing, over-correcting, she finally got the cruiser to a smoking stop in the middle of the highway. She could still hear the screech of the tires slowly fading in her mind like an emotional echo.

The I64 floodlights buzzed. Their wash illuminated the fence and part of the road with a sodium yellow light. The pair of tire tracks stretched for a hundred yards. There was a faint smell of burnt rubber. Sarah felt nauseous. The baby deer was seriously injured. Its hind legs were crumpled. She had spent the last few minutes walking between the animal and her car in aborted decisions. The front of the cruiser was smashed but drivable. She’d radioed for roadside assistance and had got the silent treatment except for a prank offer to go halves on the venison. She made her decision. She had to fix the tire herself and drive back to the station in the damaged cruiser – and she had to put the animal out of its pain. Hurting the deer was her fault. The cruiser was far enough down the highway from the baby deer so that Ralph couldn’t see what she was about to do. She opened the trunk and took out an M16 rifle.

By the time she got back to the deer, its eyes were closed and its breathing was uneven. She pulled back on the rifle bolt and released it, driving a shell into the chamber. In response to the sound, the deer tried to raise its head but managed only a few inches. Sarah sniffled. Her eyes filled. She put the stock up against her cheek, took aim and squeezed off a round. There was a loud crack. The report echoed down the roadway. She felt like her heart had been torn out by the explosive sound. Sarah closed her eyes.

The noise of an approaching car emerged from the emptiness. Sarah knew it had to be Bobby Williams. She opened her eyes in time to see his headlights drifting to the far right, giving her a wide berth. His speed didn’t drop. Bobby roared past her at over a hundred miles per hour. Sarah looked down at the deer. She held her breath, gripped the animal by its front hooves, and started tugging. The body was heavy and took some effort to drag it off the road.

An urgent call came over the radio while Sarah was replacing the flat. She heard the report over the portable clipped to her belt. The dispatcher was issuing a jumper alert with civilian injuries. She finished changing the tire with reckless speed, left the bad wheel on the shoulder, slammed the door and floored it. The speedometer climbed effortlessly to a hundred-forty. A helicopter had spotted the heat signature of two people trying to jump the fence near Esker’s Pond.

In eight minutes Sarah had reached the scene. Three other cruisers were already there. The helicopter was circling. Its spotlight was moving over the area. Floodlights from the fence were spaced out more than at other parts of the line and not as bright as they should have been. Sarah saw a man carrying the body of woman in his arms. The helo’s beam wandered through the tree line to probe for a possible ambush. Bobby Williams used a bullhorn to order the perp to stop advancing. Four other cops had weapons aimed at the man. Both Hendrix and Collins had M16s. The other two cops had nine-millimeter automatics.

Several car spotlights crisscrossed the scene but none of them were on the perp. Sarah flicked on her spotlight. The guy looked funny. Something was definitely wrong with him. He was moving oddly, not drunk, but his legs seemed rubbery. Was he hurt? There was something dark on his face that could have been blood. Sarah caught a glint of metal in the spotlight. A long heavy object was under his open coat, something shaped like a revolver.

“Possible gun,” she yelled. “Left-side concealed holster.”

Sarah’s nerves were raw. She knew they were all running with the same emotional high octane in their guts. It was a mix of fear and adrenaline. She held her spotlight on the guy.

“Put the woman down slowly and then lie face down on the road with your arms out. Do it now!”

Bobby William’s amplified voice sounded like god. The perp kept moving in this weaving kind of approach toward the fence. He was yelling something. Sarah couldn’t make out his words. She heard him say something like wife and Suzy. The guy’s shirt was ripped but his clothing appeared expensive and new. He had a gang colored bandana which looked bloodstained wrapped around his forehead. He didn’t seem to be aware of the gun, if that’s what it was, under his coat.

Sarah glanced at Hendrix and Roy Burton. Both of them were known to be heavily into the crossing-for-dollars game. They were tight and dangerous like a pair of wolves. Hendrix was six-four and heavily muscled. Roy Burton was of average build with a potbelly and a receding hairline. It was Roy who was the nastier of the two. Rumor had it they were suck-buddies with Captain Dupont.

“This guy looks sick,” said Hendrix.

“Probably loaded with plague,” mumbled Roy Burton.

“Keep it cool,” ordered Bobby Williams.

Sarah squinted into the light. That
was
blood on the perp’s face. The guy looked like he’d been beaten.

“I think he’s hurt,” yelled Sarah.

“Hurt, my ass,” sneered Hendrix. “Look at ’em slanty eyes, Roy. We’ve got ourselves a mixed breed gook gangster.”

The radio squelched off, “Ten-ten copy... Sergeant Andrews is en route. First on scene is in charge until arrival.”

That meant Bobby Williams was the officer in charge. Sarah felt relieved, then Bobby started to go down the written list of conditions required to invoke special order Twelve-Eighteen; the standing order to shoot anyone who tried to break quarantine.

“The procedure calls for a warning shot to be fired,” said Bobby Williams.

Sarah knew the protocol was designed like a fail-safe that controlled the use of nuclear weapons. There was supposed to be no room for personal interpretation; but the use of a warning shot seemed crazy, just as likely to get a perp to fire back as give up. Maybe the idea behind the order really was to get the perp to do something stupid so they could kill him? Without warning, Hendrix fired a shot in the air.

“There’s your warning shot, Bobby-boy,” said Hendrix.

Sarah was stunned. They weren’t going to do it! They couldn’t. This guy was no threat to the line. He had no tools, no wire cutters. There wasn’t a chance of him getting across a double barrier of razor wire.

“I’m getting hungry,” said Roy Burton. “Let’s blow this chink up and get some Kentucky Fried.”

A pair of Humvees pulled to a stop. Sarah recognized this scene was racing completely out of control. A half dozen weekend warriors piled out of the Humvees. They were dressed in camouflage and carrying M16s. The men greeted each other by first names. Sarah had no idea who they were. The atmosphere was turning into a drunken deer hunt. There were now eight military assault rifles pointed at one possibly injured man.

“Volunteers to go arrest this perp?” asked Bobby Williams.