Broken Heartland (11 page)

“He alone?”

“Except for hostages,” the sheriff said.

“Where?”

“Basement.”

Greer had gone to school here, too. “Ah.” The lieutenant nodded. “So we've got to get through the fence and down the stairwell, then through the windows or doors to take him.”

“That's the problem,” the sheriff agreed.

Greer smiled. “No problem.” Keeping one hand on the grip near the shotgun's trigger, Greer used the other to open his jacket. He had a bandolier under there. An assortment of little metal globes hung from it.

The sheriff's eyebrows shot up violently enough to lap his head. “Are those grenades?”

“You bet.” Greer sounded proud of himself. “Grenades, flash bangs, tear gas, the works.”

“Where…? How…?” There weren't enough questions. Greer wasn't on active duty. He shouldn't have access to armaments like these. In fact, it was a violation of the law.

“After hunting insurgents, I feel naked without them.”

As if that explained it. The sheriff's mind was racing. He ought to arrest Greer right now, but those grenades opened all kinds of possibilities.

“Let's go get him,” the lieutenant said.

“Whoa.” They needed a plan. They needed to know where Chucky was in relation to his hostages. They needed….

“Whoa? No wonder it's going to be so easy to replace you as sheriff. I'm going in. Come if you want.”

“Look.” The sheriff tried to be reasonable. “What if he's using his hostages as shields? It's going to take a minute to get down there. What if he panics and starts shooting them?”

Greer didn't care, and his reply made a point. “What if he starts shooting them anyway?”

Okay, the sheriff thought. But they still needed a plan. One of them should get around the building. One should probably blow that locked door to the basement and go in that way with all of them entering together, making their assault as nearly as simultaneous as they could.

“Hell with it,” Greer told Neuhauser. “Keep him out of my way.”

The sheriff felt that massive pistol snuggle into the nape of his neck.

“Put your gun down, Mr. English,” Neuhauser whispered as Greer slipped past, choosing a grenade and edging closer to the corner of the building.

The sheriff obeyed. He'd been pointing his .38 at the sky. Now he lowered it until it was centered on Greer's back.

“Touch that trigger, Mr. Neuhauser,” English said, “and neither the lieutenant nor I will be available for the next term as sheriff of Benteen County.”

***

Heather found herself staring at her mirror image as it straightened from behind the nearest car in the parking lot, the dustiest one of the half dozen there.

“Heather,” she said. The other Heather, her adopted sister, wasn't supposed to be here. She was a fifth-year senior finishing her degree in anthropology at the University of New Mexico. That was in Albuquerque, a six-hundred-mile drive away.

One of Two looked at Two of Two and Two of Two looked back. “What are you doing here,” they chorused. “You're supposed to be in school.”

And then the absurdity of it hit them and they both grinned and went around the car and hugged each other. Heather number one said, “I've got the badge, so you have to answer me first.”

Heather Lane said, “Okay, if you promise to explain about the badge.” She got a nodded acquiescence and went on. “I woke up about two in the morning in a panic. I felt sure something awful was going to happen to Englishman if I didn't prevent it.”

This sounded disturbingly familiar.

“It was silly,” Two continued, “but I couldn't shake it off. And I couldn't go back to sleep. So I finally grabbed some clothes and got in the car and pointed it this way.” She looked sheepish, and tired, like someone who'd just driven hundreds of miles in a hell of a hurry on too little sleep. “Have you seen Dad? Is he all right?”

“This is like so weird,” One said. “I woke up with the same premonition you did. But I saw Englishman over at the high school just a little while ago and he's fine.”

Some of the stress went out of the second Heather's face. “That's what Mrs. Kraus said. Englishman isn't answering his cell. I started calling just before I hit the county line. When I couldn't get him, I called the office. Mrs. Kraus said he was real busy, that Wynn ran into a school bus and Englishman was investigating that and it was Election Day and all and so I shouldn't worry. She told me to just put in my normal school day.”

“I'll bet she was surprised to discover both of us had come home unexpectedly.”

“Yeah,” Two said, “only that was kind of weird. She never mentioned that you were home or that you'd been worried about Dad, too. When I told her I'd be at the office in a few minutes, she said Englishman wasn't there. And then she said something about the school bus Wynn hit having been stolen. It was supposed to be on its way to the Bible camp so Englishman was coming out to look into it. She said I'd probably find him here. And if I didn't, I should wait. He'd be along shortly.”

“That's odd. What she told you about the bus is all true. But Dad told me there was no reason to check the Bible camp now. In fact, when I offered to look this place over, he gave me another errand.” That required further explanation about Wynn and the bus and the reason Heather English was carrying a Benteen County deputy's badge, as well as what she'd found in the Dodge station wagon.

“By the way,” One said, “how'd you drive in here?”

“What do you mean? The gate was open. I just turned in and followed the road.”

The gate hadn't been open when Deputy Heather tried it a few minutes before. Someone had unlocked it. She felt a little of that creepy feeling slip back into her consciousness and raise hairs on the back of her neck. Had the gate been unlocked by someone going out, or coming in?

“What's the matter?” the second Heather asked.

Benteen's newest deputy eyed the parked cars, the cabins, and the dark shadows under the trees along the creek. “I've got a feeling,” she said, “we're not alone here.”

The sound of breaking glass from the cabins confirmed it.

***

“What the…?” Galen pushed the door back open and stuck his head in the bin. “Pam, have you got a cell phone in your underwear?”

She shrugged. “Latest technology.”

“Gosh darn it to heck,” Galen swore. “Let's have it.”

Mad Dog started sidling, trying to put himself where Galen wouldn't notice as he crept close enough to the door to make a try for the gun. Pam was holding Galen's attention. She turned around and hiked up the front of her dress. Even from where Mad Dog stood, she revealed a lot of skin. Mad Dog tried to keep his mind on the gun. Side step, slide the other foot, repeat. It was a big bin.

The cell phone rang again as Pam took it from its hiding place. From where Mad Dog stood, his view was even better than Galen's. Gun, he told himself, but his eyes kept returning to a pair of legs even Charlize Theron would have envied.

“Don't answer it.”

She glanced at the phone. “No one I care to talk to anyway.”

“Throw it over here.”

Step, slide, step, slide. Pam threw the phone so that it didn't quite get to the door. Perfect, Mad Dog thought, stepping and sliding. Galen was going to have to lean way over to reach it and Mad Dog was going to get close enough to….

“Get back against the far wall,” Galen said. He'd swiveled in the doorway and was pointing the gun at Mad Dog's face. There went the step sliding. Mad Dog retreated.

When Mad Dog was too far away to do anything, Galen bent and picked up the phone. He tossed it over his shoulder and wiped his hand against his shirt as if he feared contamination.

“Don't be more stupid than you already are,” Pam said. “I didn't get any cooties on it.”

Galen flushed and the phone rang one more time before giving up. “Unclean,” Galen hissed. He didn't seem to realize that when you had the gun, you didn't have to explain yourself. Kid's got issues, Mad Dog thought, but he didn't offer to help sort them out.

“Cleaner than your mind, Galen Siegrist.” Again, Mad Dog thought she was picking a bad time to test the limits of Galen's temper.

“You are a slut, Pamela Epperson. I know. Mark told me.”

“Told you what? Mark and I…hell, hardly anything happened between us.”

“You and he…,” Galen sputtered. “The two of you were lovers.”

“Just missionary position,” Pam said. “Well, all but that once.”

Galen turned half a dozen shades brighter than red. “I've got no time for this,” he said. “And I can't take any more chances. Out of those clothes.”

Now it was Pam's turn to sputter.

“Hey, you can't…,” Mad Dog protested. But of course, Galen could. He had the gun.

“Way you've looked at me, I always thought you wanted to get me naked,” Pam said. “And behind a pointed gun is the only way it was ever going to happen.” She reached for her throat and started undoing buttons.

“I don't want to see you naked, you Jezebel. You can keep your underwear on, long as I can tell you don't have anything hidden in it.”

She stepped out of the dress. Her bra and panties were examples of minimalism. They weren't hiding anything but the good stuff, and that, just barely. She removed her shoes and tossed them to the door. “What,” she said, “no body cavity search?”

Galen's color heightened still further. Mad Dog was pretty sure Galen would glow if only it were dark.

The gun swiveled to point at Mad Dog. “You, too, old man.”

“Can't,” Mad Dog said.

“Can't?” Galen's voice was getting high and a little hysterical. “Why's that?”

“I don't wear underwear,” Mad Dog said. He blushed. Pam's eyebrows went up and a little smile appeared on her lips.

Mad Dog wasn't entirely surprised when Galen laughed and told him to strip anyway. What Mad Dog chose to wear, or not, under his jeans made no difference to Galen.

***

Lieutenant Greer looked down the muzzle of the sheriff's .38 and shook his head.

“Jeez,” Greer said to Neuhauser. “You don't know our sheriff very well. He doesn't shoot innocent people who aren't a threat to his life. He may hate my guts, but he's not going to pull that trigger, even when I reach out and take his gun away from him.”

The sheriff wondered if Greer was trying to convince himself, but the man was right. For half a second, the sheriff considered just winging the bastard, but then the lieutenant gently pushed the sheriff's gun so that it was aiming at the school wall. He didn't take it, though.

“In fact,” the lieutenant continued, “though he won't like it, our sheriff will probably provide me with good backup.”

What do you do when the options run out? The sheriff wasn't willing to kill either of them, especially when Greer's wild plan just might work. But he had no intention of letting them take over.

“You're both under arrest for interfering with an officer in the performance of his duty.”

“Whatever,” Greer said. “As soon as this is finished, we'll all go over to the courthouse and you can charge us and we'll post bail.”

“And, Mr. Neuhauser,” the sheriff continued, “if you don't get that pistol out of the back of my neck, I'm going to charge you with pretty much everything in the book and see how you like our eight by eight iron cells.”

“Sorry,” the man said. He stepped back, putting enough distance between himself and the sheriff so he wouldn't be easy to disarm. The sheriff felt like continuing to read them the riot act, but Greer didn't give him time.

“Wait for me,” the lieutenant said. “Don't follow until I give you the all clear.”

“Right,” Neuhauser said. The sheriff didn't say anything. He would go in right behind Greer, unless the lieutenant's corpse was in the way.

“Let's boogie,” Greer said. He peeked around the building to remind himself where the stairwell and the fence were. He pulled the pin on a grenade, rolled it around the corner and ducked, clutching another grenade as he did so.

Neuhauser and the sheriff grabbed wall just as the earth moved. Greer threw himself around the corner, behind the second grenade. Flash-bang, the sheriff guessed, because Greer wasn't afraid to expose his body to it and because a deafening concussion further assaulted the sheriff's ears.

The sheriff left Neuhauser hugging the wall and followed Greer. He rounded the corner just in time to hear the lieutenant's shotgun and Chucky's automatic rifle open up simultaneously. There was so much dust in the air that the sheriff couldn't tell what was going on for a moment. The first grenade had left a hole in the chain link surrounding the stairwell, just as Greer intended. But it wasn't as big as it should be. And something was hanging in it, blocking the opening.

Christ! It was Greer, hanging there, the light jacket he was wearing caught on strands of twisted wire. He was dangling in the stairwell. Not that deep, at least. His waist was roughly at ground level. But his feet, God, they'd be hanging down near the windows, down in Chucky's field of fire.

That's when he realized Chucky wasn't shooting anymore. Greer wasn't doing any shooting, either. His shotgun was at the bottom of the steps, lying in a pile of shattered glass and pieces of window frame. Hell, even part of the door was down there with it.

“You alive?” the sheriff asked directly in Greer's ear. He didn't get a response, though he could tell the man was breathing. And bleeding from the head. The sheriff put his arms under Greer's and yanked. The lieutenant was heavy, but the sheriff was benefiting from as much adrenaline as his system could produce. Greer slowly emerged from the hole in the fence, and the sheriff dragged him back around the corner.