Lunatic Revenge (15 page)

Pat grinned. “Okay.”

Tara eyed her uncle as he dumped his scrambled eggs onto a plate.

“So, are you and Mona going out again?”

Pat blushed. “I don’t know. We talked about it. Why?”

Tara pointed at him with her bacon. “See
 . . .
it feels weird being questioned about your sex life, doesn’t it?

Pat rolled his eyes. “I’m an adult. It’s different.”

Tara snorted lightly, but then her toast popped up, which thankfully changed the subject.

“Do we have any jelly?”

“In the door of the fridge,” Pat said.

Tara smeared peanut butter on her toast, added a spoonful of grape jelly, then took it and the plate of bacon to the table.

They ate in mutual silence until their plates were clean.

“I’ve got to hurry,” Pat said. “Do you mind cleaning up the kitchen?”

“Nope. Don’t mind at all,” Tara said. “See you this evening, Uncle Pat. Have a nice day.”

“See you later, alligator,” Pat said.

Tara grinned. Uncle Pat was such an old hippy. “After while, crocodile.”

She was still smiling as she cleaned up the kitchen. Since there was still no school, she decided to put in a load of clothes to wash, and so her morning went until it was time to get ready for her date with Flynn.

Flynn was due to arrive
almost any minute, and Tara was still waffling about which pair of jeans to wear. She finally opted for the older comfy jeans, as opposed to the newer ones, and dressed quickly. She already had on a long-sleeved red t-shirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail and her makeup done. All she needed were the shoes and she was good to go.

She was looking for her cell phone when she saw Flynn pull up into the driveway. She poked her head out the door, held up a finger to indicate she needed a minute longer then ran back into the house.

“Oh dang it. Millicent! I can’t find my phone.”

Between the sofa cushions?

Tara made a quick leap for the sofa, and sure enough, it was there.

“Thanks,” she said, dropped the phone in her purse and locked the door behind her as went.

“Hi, pretty girl,” Flynn said, as Tara slid into the seat beside him.

She smiled. “Hi, yourself,” she said. “So where are we going?”

“Out by the storm site first, then I’m taking you to Texas Roadhouse for lunch.”

“I’ve never been there, but I heard the food is really yummy.”

“Yeah, it’s the best,” Flynn said. “They have an appetizer called Rattlesnake Bites that is so good.”

“It’s not real rattlesnake is it?” Tara asked.

Flynn laughed as he backed out of the driveway. “No. It’s jalapeno peppers and cheese and stuff.”

“Oh. That kind of bite,” Tara said, and then laughed as they drove away, unaware that the guy on the Harley a block and a half behind was trailing them.

“Show me the tree
where you found the baby,” Flynn said, as they drove slowly through the ravaged neighborhood.

“It is east of what used to be a neighborhood park.”

“Oh, I know that park, or at least I used to. Dang
 . . .
this place looks like a war zone,” Flynn said. “How awful is this?”

“Pretty awful,” Tara said, shivering slightly. The vibe of the place was still strong enough to make her sick. She pointed. “If you turn here, I think it takes you down by the park.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Flynn said, and a few moments later, Tara pointed. “That’s the tree
 . . .
the really tall one with the huge limbs.”

“I can’t believe a baby actually lived through that.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Tara said softly.

Flynn reached for her hand and held it. They drove out of the area without talking. It wasn’t until they turned onto Lakeview Road and headed east that the mood shifted.

“Are we going to eat now?” Tara asked.

“Yeah. Are you getting hungry?”

She nodded. “I’m not real big on hot stuff, but if you order those rattlesnake thingies, I want to try one.”

Flynn laughed. “I’ll order those rattlesnake thingies every time just to hear you say thingies.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Yeah.”

Tara laughed. Right now, life felt just about perfect.

When Flynn braked at a Stop sign, a large truck loaded with storm debris pulled out in front of them and proceeded East on the four-lane that was Lakeview Road. A guy in a sports car flew past and began tailgating, trying to pass as Flynn and Tara followed behind.

“That jerk is going to cause a wreck,” Flynn muttered.

Tara’s heart skipped. Was this the vibe that Millicent had warned her about last night? She tugged on her seat belt just to make sure it was fastened, and gripped the edge of the seat with both hands.

As they drove onto the bridge spanning the south end of Boomer Lake, the driver in the sports car sped up and began to pass the truck in front.

“Holy cow!” Flynn said. “Would you look at—”

All of a sudden, the sports car whipped back into the eastbound lane to keep from being hit head-on by oncoming traffic, and in the process, clipped the back end of the truck. It jarred the truck enough that a large piece of the debris suddenly flipped out of the bed and onto the sports car which was already spinning out of control.

“Look out!” Tara screamed, as the sports car spun toward them.

With traffic on their left and the low bridge railing on their right, they had nowhere to go. The car hit them twice—first on the driver’s side fender, then as Flynn’s car started to spin, again on the back bumper.

“Hold on!” Flynn yelled, as their car flipped once, then went airborne, over the guard rail, and into Boomer Lake.

Tara came to as the car was sinking nose first into the water and quickly unbuckled her seat belt. If they were going to survive, they would have to get themselves out.

“Flynn! Unbuckle your seatbelt. I’m going to roll down the windows so we can swim out.”

Then she saw Flynn, unconscious and slumped over the steering wheel.

“No, oh my God, no!” she screamed.

Frantically, she unbuckled his belt and tried to pull him toward her, but the steering wheel was too tight against his chest.

“Oh God
 . . .
help me, please,” Tara said, as she got down on her knees and tried to reach over Flynn’s legs to reach the lever that moved the seat back.

Water was coming up into the car now and it was cold—so cold. The adrenaline in her body made her hands shake as she finally pulled him free, and when she did, he moaned and began coming to.

“Flynn! You have to help me. We have to get out now. Are you ready? I’m going to roll down the windows before it’s too late.”

“I can’t breathe,” he groaned. “Help me, Tara, help me.”

Tara was crying and praying now as she rolled down the windows. The water came rushing in so fast that she couldn’t get Flynn out and she couldn’t leave him behind and let him drown. Unless a miracle occurred, they were both going to die. The water was making a strange sucking sound as it gobbled up the car, swallowing it and its contents whole.

Tara began screaming at Flynn, begging him to move as the water rushed up to their chests—then their necks. She was holding Flynn’s face out of the water, pushing him as far up as she could until their heads were touching the roof of the car. She couldn’t believe this was happening. It was just like her dream. They were going to die. Where was her backup when she needed them?

“Millicent! Henry! Uncle Pat! Someone! Anyone! Help! Help!”

Seconds later, the water was over their heads.

French Langdon was
on his Harley and less than a block behind them when he saw the sports car spin out of control. When it hit the car Flynn and Tara were in, he knew what was going to happen. He grabbed his phone and dialed 911 as he watched the wreck unfold.

“911. What is your emergency?” the dispatcher said.

“There is a three-vehicle accident on Lakeview Road on the bridge over Boomer Lake. Road is blocked. One car with two occupants just went in the lake.”

He tossed his phone into the pack on his bike and then revved the engine so fast it ate up the distance between them in seconds. He brought the bike to a sliding stop at the edge of the guard rail on the bridge. He pulled off his boots and jacket, grabbed a tire iron from the backpack on his bike and went off the bridge into the water, even as bystanders were stopping and rushing toward the rapidly sinking car.

He swam to where he’d seen the car sink and then dived down. Within seconds he felt the back bumper of the car and grabbed hold, pulling his way down the side of the car as it continued to sink. When he realized a window was already down, he dropped the tire iron and reached in, felt a shoulder, then hair—grabbed a handful and pulled.

It was Tara.

She came out limp and lifeless, but he wouldn’t let himself think she might be dead. He just pushed her up, swimming as fast as he could swim. Within seconds of reaching the surface someone grabbed her out of his grasp. He took a deep breath and went back for the boy.

The car was sinking fast and French was afraid he wouldn’t be able to find it again in the murky depths. When he finally felt the fender, he pulled himself down to the open window again and leaned in. As he did, he felt the driver’s body float toward him. He grabbed hold of the body, bracing himself against the side of the car and pulled hard. The body came out of the window, floating lifelessly in French’s arms. He couldn’t see anything, but he knew which way was up, and kicked hard, swimming toward the surface and taking Flynn with him. When they came up out of the water, French gasped greedily, drawing in deep, life-saving breaths of air. But Flynn O’Mara was not moving or breathing.

“I’ve got him,” someone shouted, and took Flynn out of his arms.

French swam toward shore, and then crawled out on his hands and knees before collapsing onto the grassy verge. He could hear the loud, piercing squall of the ambulance pulling up at the end of the bridge, and he’d never been so grateful for the sound in his life.

He rolled over onto his knees then rocked back on his heels to assess the situation. Someone was already giving the girl CPR. As he watched, she choked, coughed, then coughed again and began spitting up water. At least one of them was alive.

He looked toward the boy. Another bystander had begun chest compressions but the arriving EMTS pushed the man aside and began working on Flynn.

French was angry that a speeding driver had caused this, and sad that the kid might not pull through. What a waste—what a colossal waste of a good life. The father had just died, and now it looked the son might join him.

Suddenly, one of the EMTs yelled. “Stop compressions. Check out the bulging neck vein. The kid’s got a collapsed lung.”

French caught a glimpse of a large needle in the EMT’s hand. As he raised his arm and plunged it into Flynn’s chest, French looked away, then moved to his bike and grabbed his phone.

“It’s me. The O’Mara kid and his girlfriend just went into Boomer Lake. No. It was an accident. I saw it happen and pulled both of them out. Yeah, she’s gonna make it. I’m not so sure about the boy. I know. I’m about to make myself scarce.”

He put on his boots and coat, then started the Harley and quickly disappeared.