Lamp Black: Second Edition, Disaster, Preparedness, Survival, Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 2) (50 page)

Law enforcement vehicles also carried useful supplies in their trunks, but Pete wasn’t interested in dealing with a dead body, so whatever was in the trunk would stay in the trunk. He did, however, find another set of handcuffs, and a detailed county map book. He used the cuffs to secure Roy’s already cuffed hands to the restraint eye-bolt sticking up between the cruiser’s back cushions. It made him feel better to know that Roy would not be able to move around in the back of the cruiser.

Pete grabbed the map book and said, “I’ll be back in a couple of hours, so you stay put until I return.” Pete closed the cruiser’s doors and started to walk away. Roy yelled, “You can’t leave me like this. It’s not right. Hey, I’m talking to you?”

Pete stopped and returned to the cruiser. He looked at Roy and said, “Would you like some company? I can bring Deputy Morales up here to sit with you.” Roy didn’t answer, so Pete said, “I thought so,” as he closed the door and walked away after slapping the cruiser’s roof with his hand.

Bonnie stirred when Pete opened the truck’s door. “Did I hear screaming?” she asked.

“Probably a little, but he’s fine. No blood was spilled, which is more than I can say for his victims. I’ve got all the information I need, but we have to make a little side trip before we rest for the night. Are you up to it?”

“A side trip?” said Bonnie. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“I knew you wouldn’t, but I can’t walk away from this, Bonnie. That guy is full of lies, and I have a feeling things aren’t right at his house. Can you help me navigate there? I found this in the cruiser. It
should help,” said Pete, as he handed the spiral-bound, map book to Bonnie.

Bonnie climbed over the seat and settled in the front. She thumbed through the map book and said, “I’ve seen map books like these. Realtors use them. What’s the address?”

Pete pulled up his sleeve and she copied the address on to the front of the map book. “Got it,” she said, and went to the index to look up the correct page. As she searched for the house, Pete started the truck and drove up to the road. He paused at the top and waited for Bonnie to give him a directional cue. “Turn right,” she said, “and take a left at the next intersection. It doesn’t look that far away. What are your plans? I know you’re not just going to walk right up to the front door and start knocking.”

Pete didn’t have a plan, but he was working on one. “No,” he answered. He wasn’t planning to walk up to the front door and knock, but he also wasn’t in the mood to play around. As quickly and cleanly as possible, he wanted to enter the house, find it empty, and leave Roy sitting in the cruiser for the rest of his miserable life. But everything really depended on the house; where it was located, how it was built, and what he found inside. “I’m working on a plan,” finished Pete.

It would be nice if the house were set back in the woods, so he could use concealment when he approached it, but he doubted that would be the case. Practically the entire countryside around them was either short crop or pasture land. There were very few trees and bushes away from water, be it free flowing or intermittent.

Bonnie directed Pete down the street, and then pointed to where Roy’s house was supposed to sit. Not wanting to park in front of the house, Pete drove past without even touching his brakes. He could see very little through the darkness, but the mailboxes were spread very far apart, which meant the homes were also spread far apart. He drove a mile down the road, found a place to turn around, and stopped the truck. With a flashlight in hand, Pete got out of the truck and opened
the truck’s interior fuse box. He quickly identified and removed the fuse for the truck’s interior dome lights, and then dropped the fuse in a cup holder.

When the interior lights went out, Bonnie asked, “Why’d you do that?”

“I pulled the fuse because I don’t want the lights coming on when I open the door,” said Pete. He climbed back in and pulled the door shut. “Here’s my plan . . . I’m going to pull onto the shoulder just past his neighbor’s mailbox. I’ll get out, recon the house, and then signal you for a pick up,” said Pete. He killed the headlights and sat while his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Bonnie said nothing, so Pete began to drive slowly forward. “There . . . see those trees over there?”

“Pete, I don’t see anything. It’s too dark out. Turn on the headlights,” said Bonnie.

“No, Bonnie. No lights. Not yet, anyway. There’s a stand of cedar just over there,” he gestured with a tilt of his head. “I’m going to make my way over to them and see what I can see at Roy’s. I’ll have my flashlight with me, so watch for a signal.” Pete stopped the truck and set the parking brake.

“What signal?”

“I’m getting to that. The signals are, two long holds, of five seconds each, to get your attention. Then, using your flashlight, point it towards my light and turn it off and on once, just to let me know you’re ready. Then, I’ll shine one of two signals. If I shine three quick flashes, like this,” said Pete, as he demonstrated the signal with his flashlight, “It means I want you to go to Roy’s mailbox and wait for me with the engine running. If you see three long flashes, like this, then I want you to drive up Roy’s driveway and park as close as you can to the house. Can you do that?”

“I think so. Three quick flashes . . . mailbox. Three long flashes . . . drive up to the house. Pete?”

“Yes,”

“Why don’t we just use your radios?”

“I don’t feel like digging them out of the back, we don’t have the time. The lights will work well enough. I just need you to stay alert. Keep your eyes open, and your pistol handy. If there’s an emergency, just fire a shot into the air and I’ll come running,” said Pete.

“But it’s not safe to shoot into the air,” said Bonnie.

Pete sighed and said, “I know, but under the circumstances, your safety is more important, so if you feel threatened in any way, just fire off a shot and I’ll come running.” Bonnie nodded and Pete continued, “And stay in the truck . . . with the doors locked,” added Pete, as he leaned over and gave Bonnie a kiss on the lips. “I love you. I’ll see you in a couple of minutes.”

Surprised by the kiss, Bonnie said, “I love you too,” and she slid into the driver’s seat when Pete opened the door and stepped out. Bonnie rolled down the window and squealed when Pete suddenly reappeared. “Pete, don’t do that. You scared the crap out of me!”

“Sorry,” he said with a smile. “I just wanted to say . . . try to keep your foot off the brakes. I’ll be back ASAP.” Pete pulled a bandana over his nose and disappeared into the night.

Pete crossed a drainage ditch that ran the length of the road, and deftly slipped through the barbed-wire fence that also ran the length of the road. He walked slowly, casually, so as not to attract any attention to himself. He knew, from experience, that sudden movements attracted more attention than slow, deliberate ones, so he took his time. The ash made quick movements difficult, but it also masked the sound of his steps as he crossed the open field.

He reached the cedars and walked around the outer edge. Walking through the tightly interwoven thicket of cedar branches would have made way too much noise, so Pete skirted the edge until he found a break and then slipped in among the trees. He carefully picked a path to the opposite side, weaving his way around two mature cedars until
he found a vantage point. With a relatively clear view of the house before him, Pete knelt to watch and listen.

The house was small, not larger than two bedrooms, and it sat upon an elevated foundation of cinderblocks. Four steps led up to a front patio. There was a small, two-door, sedan parked in front of the shed on the left side of the house. No lights shone in the house, but Pete knew that was no guarantee it was empty.

Pete stepped cautiously from the thicket and made his way to the house. When he passed around a rather tall juniper bush he saw a large, weather-beaten, doghouse. He stopped in his tracks and quickly scanned the area. The doghouse was empty, but there were prints, big dog prints, in the ash around the outside. He became instantly more alert, and switched the flashlight to his left hand. With his right hand, he briefly touched the butt of his pistol before reaching into his pocket to remove a six-inch, stainless, CRKT folding knife. He wished he had his Gerber Mark II, it was much better suited for quiet combat than the clunky CRKT, but it would have to do. With a flick of his thumb he whisked open the heavy blade and continued walking. Shooting the dog was not an option. At least not if he wanted to maintain the element of surprise.

Everything around him was quiet, way too quiet for comfort. The absence of insect sounds bothered Pete, and he wondered how long it would be before they returned to serenade the night. But it was the silence of the dog that bothered him the most. He almost wished the beast would bark and reveal himself. He scanned for it with every step, and wondered if the ash, and the still evening air, was making it difficult for the dog to detect him.
Maybe the dog’s inside
, thought Pete,
or better yet, maybe it ran off
. The prints around the doghouse didn’t look fresh, so maybe he’s long gone.

The thought of breaking more of Roy’s fingers came to mind, it bothered Pete that the felon didn’t tell him about the dog. Pete reached the front patio and stopped on the first stair. A broken porch swing hung from a single rusty chain by the living room window. The white
paint on the front door was peeling and flaking, but it was protected by a heavily rusted screen door. The only other forward facing window was to the left, and not over the patio, so he turned around and walked toward the sedan.

Just as Pete stepped quietly past the shed, he heard a low growl and froze in place. He saw nothing in the darkness, and couldn’t tell where the growl originated. Not wanting to reveal his position to someone inside the house, Pete resisted the urge to turn on his flashlight. If the dog was a threat, then he would deal with it in the darkness. He took a small step forward and the dog elicited another growl. This time it was much louder and deeper than before. Pete turned to face the threat. He had no fear of dogs, but it required work to control his breathing and heart rate in order to prevent an untimely release of adrenaline.

Long ago, when Pete was only fifteen and living in a suburban New England neighborhood, he managed an early morning paper route. Every morning before school, Pete folded one hundred and twelve newspapers and stuffed them into his carrier bag. With the large canvas bag hanging over his narrow shoulders, Pete would mount his bike, and with his dog by his side, would hit the streets to deliver his papers. The entire process, if uninterrupted by weather, mechanical failure, or holiday editions, would take him about forty-five minutes to complete.

One morning, when his dog went up to mark a customer’s tree, three mature German shepherds jumped the fence and attacked Pete’s dog. With his dog chased away, the three dogs turned their attention to Pete. They jumped up and knocked him off his bike and scattered his newspapers on the sidewalk, but they didn’t bite. He yelled and threw newspapers at them, and they trotted off, satisfied that they had established their local dominance.

Furious, Pete left the newspapers where they lay and peddled home in search of his dog. He found him sitting patiently at the side gate. Pete thanked him for leaving him alone with the dogs, but was nevertheless sympathetic, for three-to-one odds was tough for even the bravest of dogs. Pete opened the gate and let his dog in, and then
spent the next five minutes looking for a weapon. Any sturdy piece of wood would do, so when he spotted his mom’s mop, Pete broke off a piece of the handle and remounted his bike to go collect his papers and finish his route.

When he returned to the scene the three shepherds were gone. Relieved, Pete began to collect up his spilled newspapers and return them to his paper-carrier bag. But when he was only half complete, the three dogs barked and jumped over the short fence once again. As the dogs ran across the lawn toward Pete, he stood and, keeping the mop handle hidden behind his back, he waited for the first dog to attack.

When the lead dog jumped, Pete stepped aside and hit it square on the head with the mop handle. The dog yelped sharply and fell to the ground, but then quickly scrambled to its feet and retreated back over the fence. The other two dogs did a quick about face, and that’s when Pete launched his counterattack. He chased the dogs across the yard and managed to hit one more before they escaped over the fence. His only regret was that he wasn’t able to hit the third dog.

Those three dogs never bothered Pete or his dog again, and it taught him a valuable lesson about dealing with and communicating intent with animals, that they could recognize wrath and anger, determination and an opposing threat. He also realized that anger reduced the effectiveness of his response, but that it would have been much worse for him if he ran. This experience reminded him of his childhood, and he wasn’t about to run. However, Pete also had an aversion to losing his testicles, so he took a knee and waited for the dog to make the next move.

He really needed a better fix on the dog’s location, so he offered a growl of his own. A reply emerged from the dark, closer than before, but softer and perhaps even a little curious. “Here boy!” commanded Pete, in a low and stern voice. He heard the dog approach and sniff the air. Pete was surprised with how big the dog was. He was solidly built, a pit-bull mix, but bigger than any he had ever seen before.