Judas Burning (35 page)

“I’m a fast study.”

J.D. checked the clip and handed the gun to Tucker. “The safety’s on. Click it off. Point and pull the trigger. Aim for the chest; it’s easier to hit than the head.”

Tucker got the balance of the gun in his hand. “Do you really think we’re going to have to shoot her?”

“I’d rather you shoot her than the other way around.”

Tucker grinned. “Put that way, I guess I agree with you.”

“By the way, I’m deputizing you.”

“If I weren’t so afraid, I’d think this was really cool.”

“Stay afraid,” J.D. said. “It might keep you alive. Now let’s go.

Eustace finished the last knot on the ropes that held the lone surviving vigilante. In the last few minutes, Camille’s demeanor had changed drastically. At first she’d been animated, but now her eyes were glazing over and her breathing was becoming shallow. Standing up, he lightly grasped her shoulders. “You ready?”

“Sure,” she said, and her teeth were chattering.

Eustace considered a gag for the man but decided he didn’t have time. He’d already confiscated cell phones and weapons. Now he was headed into town to deal with Vivian himself.

He took her hand and led her to the Mercedes. Once she was in the passenger seat, he got behind the wheel.

“What about me taking you over to visit that minister woman?” he asked.

“What are you going to do to Mother and Father?”

Eustace was beyond lying, even to protect Camille. She needed to know from the outset. “I’m going to kill them.”

Camille didn’t say anything. She stared into the darkness, her hands gripping each other.

“If I kill them, you’ll be free of them forever.”

Camille turned to him. Her hand floated over to touch his thigh. “But I am free of them. Don’t you understand? After tonight I’m free of them. For the rest of my life.”

Eustace looked out the side mirror at the camp, illuminated against the black sky and the canopy of tree limbs. He loved his home and the river and Camille. Those things were the price he’d have to pay if he leveled justice against Vivian and Calvin. He could pay it. He could live in an eight-by-eight cell. But Camille would be left alone, and he didn’t think she could endure that.

“Let’s head into town,” Eustace said. “We’ll find J.D. and tell him what’s happened.” He stepped on the gas and pulled out onto the dirt road that would take them to Jexville.

Before heading into town, Dixon swung by her house on the off chance that Zander had gone there looking for her. She saw his bicycle leaned against a tree before she saw him hunkered down against the wall in a corner of the front porch. The depth of relief that she felt was unexpected. She thought about her mother, and how often Marilyn had suffered anxiety at Dixon’s hands.

In the beginning it had been daredevil kid stuff. Diving off bridges into the river, climbing water towers to spray-paint initials, driving too fast, drinking. All normal teenage pranks; all anxiety-provoking incidents for parents. When Dixon had gone into journalism, Marilyn had been unreasonably angry. At last, Dixon understood why. Sitting back on the sidelines was the worst job in the world, especially for the parent of a child who seemed determined to self-destruct.

“Zander.” She called to him as she walked up to the front steps. She’d left the headlights of the truck on so she could see.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, with a hint of accusation in his voice.

“I know. I went to your aunt’s house looking for you.”

“Is my father dead?”

Dixon didn’t have an answer. “We can call the prison. We can ask.” She unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. She didn’t wait for him to follow but went to the telephone. She dialed, and as she was explaining who she was and why she’d called, she heard Zander coming down the hall. He stopped in the kitchen doorway, uncertain what to do.

After a two-minute conversation she hung up. She wasn’t going to get any information, but she knew someone who could.

“We’ll get the sheriff to call,” she said, picking up her keys from the table. “They’ll tell J.D. what they won’t tell us.”

On the way to the sheriff’s office, Eustace saw the J.D.s cruiser parked three blocks from the Holberts’ house. It looked as if J.D. were a step ahead of him. He wondered, though, if J.D. knew what he was dealing with. Beside him, Camille seemed to have slipped beneath the weight of her own thoughts.

“I want you to stay here,” he told her as he pulled behind the patrol car.

Camille stared out the window, and he wondered if she saw the man’s face disintegrating from the blast of the shotgun. Violence was like a leech, hooking into the brain and sucking out everything else.

“Camille.” He touched her thigh.

She didn’t respond, and he felt a desperate need to put the car in drive and rush out of town. To just keep driving until he found a place with warm sun and a gentle breeze and moving water. The past couldn’t be undone, though. And J.D. was in danger because of Eustace’s lies. He had to get to Vivian before she got to J.D.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said and leaned over to kiss her cool cheek. He got out and walked around to her side, holding the sight of her deep in his mind. He opened the trunk of the Mercedes and took out the shotgun. He’d also brought a hunting rifle, two .38-caliber pistols, and the weapons he’d taken from the vigilantes. More firepower than he’d ever need, but he hadn’t wanted to leave the guns at the camp. They were evidence.

He closed the trunk, hefted the shotgun, and began walking. Tonight it would be finished, one way or the other.

Dixon ran up the courthouse steps, trusting that Zander would follow. Her footsteps echoed hollowly. When she burst into the sheriff’s office, Waymon looked up and frowned.

“Is J.D. still at the Holberts’?” she asked.

Waymon nodded, and looked past Dixon as Zander entered. He was worried and didn’t care who knew it. “I can’t raise him on the radio, and he’s turned his cell phone off.”

“Waymon, I need you to do something for me,” Dixon said. “This is Zander Jones. His father is an inmate in Parchman. There was an accident this evening. Could you call and check on Willard Jones for me?”

“I’m a little busy.”

Dixon reached across the desk and touched his hand. “This is a personal favor for me. J.D. would want you to do it. Like I did the photographs at the crime scene for him,” she said. “One phone call. It won’t take long.”

Waymon got a pencil from the desk drawer. “Okay, tell me the name again.”

Thirty seconds later Dixon was out the door and headed for her truck and the Holberts’ house. Zander had remained behind with Waymon.

Her throat constricted when she saw J.D.’s cruiser and Camille’s Mercedes. She pulled behind them and got out. The Mercedes was unlocked and empty. If Camille were visiting her parents, she could become a hostage. Had she come here after she and Eustace were attacked?

Dixon hesitated. She had to find Tucker without putting herself in a position where she might have to be rescued.

She started down the sidewalk at a run. As she drew closer to the house, she slowed. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself or in anyway thwart J.D.’s plans. She stopped at the next-door-neighbor’s driveway. The Holberts’ house was dark.

She stepped off the walk and behind a thick oak. She felt an arm circle her throat and tried to scream, but a hand was clamped over her mouth.

“Hush!” J.D. whispered fiercely into her ear.

She nodded, and he released her. It took her a moment to get her heart rate down.

“Where’s Tucker?” She kept her voice to a soft whisper.

“Watching the back.” He tapped her shoulder softly. “Vivian is inside. We don’t know if she has hostages or not, so we’re trying not to spook her.”

“What are you going to do?”

J.D. shifted slightly. “I want you to get out of here and call Waymon. Tell him to call Cooney, Ray, Mark, Graham, and Justin. No one else. Tell them to come and park down the street. Bring weapons and move in quietly. Can you do that?”

“Sure,” Dixon said.

“If Calvin or Beatrice is in there injured, I can’t wait much longer. I was hoping Vivian would come out on her own.”

“As soon as I get out of hearing, I’ll call.” Dixon said. She had begun to back out of the foliage when she felt J.D.’s fingers grip her arm. She froze and looked toward the house. Eustace Mills was coming around from the far side of the house toward the front porch, a shotgun in his hand.

“Shit!” J.D. said as he drew his own weapon.

Eustace didn’t bother with the doorbell. He pounded on the door with his fist. “Open up, Vivian.”

He knew J.D. was somewhere close and would try to intervene. Eustace had to do what he was going to do fast. When no one answered the door, he used his good foot to kick it. The wood splintered around the lock, and the door flew back, slamming the wall so hard it almost bounced shut. He caught it with his free hand and flung it wide.

“Vivian! You can come out, or I’m coming to get you. I know you killed those girls.”

He sensed movement behind him. It would be J.D. or one of his deputies. Eustace didn’t bother to look. “Vivian, I’m coming in to get you. This is what you always wanted. Kill me if you can.”

“Eustace.”

Eustace ignored J.D.’s voice. He stepped into the darkened house. Vivian wasn’t making a sound. He took two steps and stopped to listen. He heard something scraping or tapping against the hardwood floor, but he didn’t know where it was coming from. He’d never been in the Holbert home. Had never been invited and wouldn’t have gone if he had been. He’d always suspected the worst of Vivian and Calvin, and now he knew it was true. They’d used their own child, their own flesh and blood, in ways that were incomprehensible.

He pushed a door open with the gun barrel. His eyes had adjusted to the dark, but even so, he couldn’t see into some of the corners. Vivian might be standing fifteen feet away and he wouldn’t know it.

The scraping sound came again and he took another few steps into the room, trying to locate where it was coming from and what was.

“Vivian?”

He never saw her or the knife. The blade arced through the air and struck his arm with so much force it penetrated to the bone. Wrenching away, he swung at her with the barrel of the gun and struck only air. The force of his swing threw him off balance, and he stumbled. She was on him then. She leapt on his back and brought the knife down toward his chest, but the angle of the blow deflected the blade. Using all of his strength, he threw himself backwards. He and Vivian struck the wall together.