Dunston Falls (18 page)

Checking his anger, Bender stepped back and wiped blood from his lip. “I just bought this,” he said, rubbing the blood on his shirt. “Son of a bitch.”

Face down on the floor, Peck spied his revolver and inched toward it.

“Where are you going?” Bender laughed.

Peck reached toward the revolver with his left hand.

“Oh, you want that, do you?” Bender said.

Bender reached down and took hold of Peck by the hair. As Bender yanked Peck backward, Peck took him completely off guard when he spun and delivered a vicious right hook to Bender’s exposed groin.

There was a freeze frame second before the pain in Bender’s testicles kicked in. Then, in a reflex action, Bender lowered his hands and covered his genitals as he gasped and slowly sunk to his knees. “Goddamn you,” he hissed through the pain.

Peck jumped up and threw a perfectly timed left hook to Bender’s exposed jaw, knocking him to the floor. Then, following Bender’s lead, Peck kicked his deputy several times in the ribs and stomach.

Breathing hard, Peck stepped back and looked around for his revolver, spotted it on the floor and went to pick it up. As he turned around, Bender had pulled a second pistol from an ankle holster and racked the slide.

Peck and Bender stared at each other as Bender slowly made his way to his feet. Bender grinned and spit blood. “The moment of truth, Dave,” Bender said. He spit again and a broken tooth hit the floor. “That’s a pretty good left hook you have. I think you busted my jaw.”

“Want to see it again?” Peck said.

Bender shook his head. “Unfortunately, we’re out of time.”

With the revolver by his side, Peck cocked the hammer.

“Out of time for what?”

Bender and Peck made eye contact and Peck thought he saw a tiny grin in Bender’s eyes as the man pulled the trigger of his pistol. A split second later, Peck fired his revolver.

Bender’s pistol jammed and misfired. Peck’s revolver did not.

Bender dropped the pistol and grabbed hold of his throat on the left side where Peck’s bullet entered. Blood literally gushed from the wound. Astonishment showed in Bender’s eyes as he looked at Peck in disbelief at having been shot. A moment later, he fell dead to the floor.

EIGHT

Peck raced the snowmobile at top speed for as long as its engine would hold together. When it started to smoke, he slowed to a crawl, then finally stopped near a grove in the woods to allow the engine to cool.

Peck dismounted and paced in circles through two feet of snow, wondering what the fuck just happened? In twenty-seven years on the job, he never fired a shot he could remember. Now he just blew he own deputy away. In the blink of an eye, Jay Bender was no longer among the living.

He could see him still in his minds eye. The incredulous expression on Bender’s face when he realized a bullet entered his neck. There was that split second before the blood exploded from the wound. Finally, there was the look of understanding in Bender’s eyes that he knew in a moment he would be dead and that there was nothing he could do to prevent it from happening.

It was over so fast there was no time to think or react to the situation.

Now it began to sink in. He had actually killed a man. His own man.

A few feet from the snowmobile, Peck sunk to his knees where he began to sob. Once the floodgates opened, he could not shut it off. He cried until the muscles in his stomach ached and still he could not stop himself. Finally, there were no more tears and he stood up and faced the snowmobile. Mounting it, Peck started the cooled engine and continued along the path.

The moon was low across the sky as Peck approached the rear door of the hospital on foot. He lost his watch in the fight with Bender, but he put the time at around three AM.

Trying the door, he found it locked. Not willing to chance an encounter with a stray town resident up for the night, Peck used his utility knife to pry open the door.

The dark hallway led to the private quarters of Doctor McCoy. Lighting a match, Peck walked the hallway and stopped in front of McCoy’s bedroom door. Peck tried the knob and found it unlocked. He blew out the match and stepped inside. He lit another match, spotted a candle on the dresser and lit that.

McCoy was asleep in bed.

Peck stood over the sleeping doctor, and then quickly cupped his hand over McCoy’s mouth. McCoy awoke with a panicked start.

“You been looking for me, Tom,” Peck said. “Well, here I am.”

Wide eyed, McCoy stared at Peck and muffled something through Peck’s hand. Peck removed his hand and McCoy quickly sat up in bed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Saving you the trouble of hunting me down,” Peck said.”

“Hunting…what are you talking about?”

“Cut the crap, Tom. I’ve had a rough night.”

“What…where’s Bender?”

“You mean my deputy?” Peck said. “The last time I saw him he was on the floor of my living room not looking so good from the bullet I put in his neck.”

“You…..killed him?”

Peck nodded. “He didn’t give me a choice.”

“Oh my God,” McCoy said as he swung his legs off the bed to stand.

“Careful, Tom,” Peck said and patted the .357 revolver in his holster.

“No need for that, Dave,” McCoy said. “I just want to examine you.”

“No more examinations, Tom,” Peck said. “No more bullshit. Tell me what’s going on around here and I mean now.”

“You’re suffering a breakdown, Dave,” McCoy said, calmly. “That’s what’s going on.”

Peck smacked McCoy across the face with the back of his right hand. The blow produced a cracking sound and spun McCoy’s head around. “I said no more bullshit.”

McCoy rubbed his cheek and looked at Peck. “Jesus Christ, look at you, Dave. You need help. You need a specialist. Somebody more qualified than me.”

“What for, Tom? What’s a specialist going to do for me now?”

“What for, you said?” McCoy said. “How about the likelihood of a brain tumor, that is what for? Because that’s what I think you have and only a specialist is qualified to make that determination and treat it before it kills you.”

“Like the way you treated Linda Boyce, Tom?”

“What? I don’t understand. What about Linda Boyce?”

“I was at the logging camp. I saw you examine her. I heard you bark orders at Reese as if he was a junkyard dog. You called him Mr. CIA.”

McCoy attempted to stand, but Peck shoved him back to the bed. “Would you listen to yourself, Dave?” McCoy said. “CIA. What in the hell is that? You have classic paranoia. It’s a symptom of a complete, nervous breakdown.”

“Bender tried to shoot me in my own house, Tom,” Peck said. “What’s that a symptom of?”

“You need help, Dave. A great deal of help.”

“Get dressed.”

McCoy looked at Peck, but remained motionless.

“Then don’t get dressed. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“To get some answers.”

“Answers to what?” McCoy said. I don’t even have the questions.”

“Then what good are you?”

Peck pulled his revolver and smacked McCoy across the face with it. As metal struck skull, there was a dull thud and McCoy fell backwards to the bed. Grabbing a pillow, Peck smothered McCoy’s face with it, stuck the revolver against the pillow and pressed his knee against McCoy’s chest.

“Goodbye, Tom,” Peck said.

“Wait. Stop. Hold on a minute,” McCoy shouted through the pillow. “Think what you’re doing for God’s sake.”

“What am I doing, Tom?” Peck cocked the hammer on the revolver. “Because I just don’t know anymore.”

“Jesus Christ,” McCoy cried.

“Answers. Who has them?” Peck said.

“Kranston. He’s the only one.”

Peck removed the pillow from McCoy’s face and de-cocked the hammer on the revolver. A large mark from the revolver glowed red on the side of McCoy’s face.

“But he won’t tell you anything,” McCoy said.

“Why?”

McCoy hesitated, then said, “Because the answers might kill you, that’s why.”

Peck motioned with the revolver. “Get dressed.”

Suddenly, from outside the bedroom, the sound of an approaching car filtered through the bedroom door. The engine shut down and a car door opened.

Peck looked at McCoy. “Expecting company?”

McCoy jumped off the bed. “Help,” he screamed. “In here.”

Peck smacked the revolver against McCoy’s face again, knocking him to the floor. “Hush,” Peck said.

Peck stood behind the door and waited. The door opened and two of Reese’s men cautiously entered. They spotted McCoy on the floor and rushed to him. Peck jumped out from behind the door, struck one man in the face with the revolver and clubbed the second man over the head. They fell unconscious to the floor near McCoy’s bed.

“No time to get dressed now,” Peck said and yanked McCoy to his feet. “Let’s go. Move.”

Bleeding from the nose and mouth, McCoy looked at Peck. “Go? Go where?”

From a hundred yards deep in the woods, Peck and McCoy lay in the snow and watched the scene unfold at Peck’s house. The activity was near chaotic.

An ambulance and two cars were parked along the dirt road directly in front of the house. Several men in Army uniforms stood around and smoked cigarettes, seemingly unsure of what to do. Two men in white coats carried Bender out on a stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance.

Watching, Peck’s house, wearing only pajamas and bedroom slippers, McCoy shivered against the snow. “I’m fucking freezing, Dave.”

“Shut up,” Peck snapped.

“I’m in my Goddamn pajamas. My feet are getting frostbite.”

“I told you to get dressed.” Peck turned to look at McCoy’s feet. “Now shut up or I’ll shut you up. Which?”

Peck watched the two men in white coats slam the ambulance doors closed and wave to the soldiers as they boarded the ambulance.

“Am I imagining that, Tom?” Peck said. “Those soldiers and that ambulance, is that my imagination run wild?”

“No, they’re there.” McCoy admitted. “Because those are National Guard called up by the governor at your request. That ambulance also appears to be curtsey of the Guard as well.”

Peck turned to look at McCoy.

“That’s right, Dave. You would know that if you were not running around the woods all night, playing John Wayne.

In spite of the frigid temperature, Peck began to sweat. “Bender attacked me. He knew things, martial arts. He said he was there to take me in.”

“Bender was in the Army, like you. They teach that stuff in the Army, don’t they?”

“No,” Peck said. “You’re lying. I saw you shout orders at Reese. You called him CIA after you examined Linda Boyce.”

“Are you sure? Are you positive?”

Peck wiped sweat from his face as he stared at his house. “No. I mean yes, I am positive. You’re trying to confuse me and it won’t work.”

McCoy said, “Linda Boyce is a diabetic. Reese was supposed to make sure she got her insulin shot. He did not. She was going into shock. Did I yell at him? You bet your ass I did. He almost killed her with his incompetence, the fool.”

Struggling to breathe, feeling as if his lungs were filling with water, Peck felt a twinge of pain between his eyes. He reached into a pocket for the pills, opened the cap and swallowed three. He looked at McCoy. “You called Reese CIA. I heard you.”

“You heard me through a wall from how far away?”

Peck grabbed McCoy by the pajama shirt and pulled him close. “Bullshit. I heard you. Mr. CIA you called him.”

“Are you going to beat me up again?” McCoy said. “Is that your new style, roughing up doctors who are trying to help you?”

Peck looked at his hand on McCoy’ pajama shirt, then pushed the doctor away. “I heard you,” Peck said. “I don’t care what you say, I heard you.”

An Army Jeep unexpectedly arrived at Peck’s house with two additional soldiers. They joined the first two soldiers and engaged in a heated discussion as if trying to reach some sort of decision.

“See that, Tom? Those are reinforcements. Why would that be necessary if what you’re saying is true?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re running around the woods killing people,” McCoy said.

“I don’t think so,” Peck said. He stared at the soldiers. One of them pointed to the tracks Peck made earlier when he drove his snowmobile up the front porch. “You said Kranston’s answers would kill me. What did you mean by that?” The soldiers traced the second set of snowmobile tracks Peck made earlier when he left his house.

McCoy failed to respond and after several seconds, Peck turned to discover the doctor had vanished. Peck had underestimated McCoy’s resiliency and the man had taken advantage of his momentary distraction and run off.

Suddenly, McCoy emerged from the woods near the soldiers. McCoy grabbed a soldier and pointed to the woods, directly at Peck.

“Shit,” Peck said.

As the soldiers took off in his direction, Peck stood up from behind the tree and ran deeper into the woods where the snowmobile was parked.

When he finally slowed the snowmobile to a stop in a clearing, Peck had no idea if he was still within the boundaries of Dunston Falls. The fence he encountered earlier may not skirt the entire property line. He may have stumbled upon an opening and drove through it. He could be in Canada or New Hampshire for all he knew. Either way, it did not matter.

What did matter was that he had to find shelter, safety and food.

Peck dismounted the snowmobile and smoked a cigarette as the sun rose. He could hardly believe it when he spotted an old cabin at first light a hundred yards directly in front of him.

Peck drove the snowmobile as close to the cabin as possible, then walked the remaining ten feet through waist high snow to the front door.

The door fell inward simply by leaning on it. Peck entered the one room cabin and looked around. Hunters had abandoned the cabin many years ago, was his guess.

A rickety table with two chairs occupied the center of the one room. The sink was a wood box with a hand pump, rusted solid. A double bed with springs showing through the mattress sat against the wall under a window. A corroded, woodstove took up the corner opposite the bed. Peck inspected the stove and it wasn’t air tight, but still capable of holding a fire. Its stovepipe chimney rose up to the ceiling where it poked through.