Borderland (10 page)

"Ragtime,
huh?" Vic said, still smiling. "I'll be damned. I suppose you dance
too?"

"Lay
off," Nolan growled, but Andy was already pulling at his arm. "Just
one song," she pleaded. "Just one before we have to take a bath and
go to bed. Please?"

Nolan
realized he'd screwed up by ever playing for them in the first place. He wasn't
going to get out of this one. He glanced over and saw Cal watching him from the
foot of the porch steps. He couldn't read the kid's expression. Reluctantly, he
let Andy pull him off the swing and into the house. He sat down on the bench
and tried to think of a short song. When he glanced over his shoulder he saw
Cal standing on the porch and peering in at them through the screen door. He
lifted his chin to beckon the boy in, but Cal ignored him.

"Okay,"
Nolan said. He took a deep breath and launched into a dirty ditty about a group
of drunken sailors on a visit to a whorehouse reputed to have the most
beautiful women in the world. The whores were indeed beautiful, but the men
passed out before their choices could be made. The girls, longing for a night
off, seized the opportunity and dressed each sailor in a wig and gown and put a
sign in the window touting a "rear end special" for the evening. He
skipped the verse about the customers' delight and went directly to the last
line, where each befuddled sailor volunteered for stand-up duty the next day.

He was
rewarded with the sound of muffled laughter at the screen door, but when he
turned Cal was gone.

"I
don't get it," Andy said.

"Never
mind," Vic told her with a scowl in Nolan’s direction. "Come on. Bath
time."

“Uncle Nolan
sings good, doesn't he?" Andy said as she clasped her father's hand.

"I
still want to know if he can dance."

Nolan
gave Vic the finger and got up from the bench. After that song, he doubted he'd
be asked to sing again. His hands were aching seriously now. He went into the
kitchen and filled up the sink with cool water. The water pressure was
terrible, but he credited it to the bath filling at the same time. After
stripping the gauze bandages off and soaking his hands for a soothing few
minutes, he climbed wearily up the stairs and fell into the bed in the first
bedroom at the top of the stairs. He left his hands uncovered. He didn't know
where the hell his new first aid stuff was. He guessed he'd find it in the
morning.

The
moment his eyes closed he heard a small voice calling to him from the bottom of
the stairs. It was Christa. "You didn't say goodnight, Uncle Nolan. Daddy,
he didn't say…I will…I'm just telling him goodnight."

"Goodnight,"
Nolan said loudly.

"If
you get scared up there you can come and sleep with me and…Daddy, I am.
Goodnight, Uncle Nolan."

Nolan
smiled to himself and closed his eyes again. After what seemed like five
minutes, he woke up to find himself drenched in sweat. He held up his arm to
look at his watch and the luminous hands told him he'd been asleep for almost
four hours. It was just after two o'clock. He dropped his arm and used the
chenille cover on the bed to wipe off his face. His lids drifted shut again,
but they shot open a second later when he experienced what felt like a draft on
his feet. Cool. He moaned to himself then switched positions on the bed,
putting his head where his feet had been.

Before
his lids could close again, the window in the west wall slid shut with a bang.

"Goddammit."
He got off the bed and picked up one of his sandals to use as a prop until he
could find something suitable. Once he opened the window his nostrils caught a
whiff of something familiar. He stared out into the night and he kept staring
until his eyes found the source of the smell. He dropped the sandal and bolted
for the door.

On the
way down the stairs he banged on both walls and started shouting for Vic.

Vic
appeared in the hallway with the shotgun in his hands. "What the hell is
it?"

Nolan
raced past him. "Trailer's on fire."

As Nolan
left the house he heard the frightened cries of the startled little girls and
Vic shouting at them to stay inside. He ran down the gravel drive on bare feet
and leaped at the trailer door. It was locked. He banged on the windows,
shouting and finally used a garden brick to smash through the big picture
window at the north end. Smoke poured out. He knocked out the biggest shards of
glass but still managed to slice open his thighs as he pulled himself in. He
looked around and saw that he was in the main room. The fire was in the
kitchen, and the hall with the bedrooms was beyond. Through the smoke he could
see two burning human forms on the kitchen floor.

Nolan
backed away from the approaching flames and heard Vic shout at him from
outside. He threw open the door and saw Vic on the steps, the shotgun still in
his hands. "We're too late," Nolan gasped. "They're
already—"

"Help!"

The cry
came from the back of the trailer.

Nolan
grabbed the shotgun from Vic. "You get the TV and whatever else you can
save."

"What?"
Vic said incredulously, but Nolan was already past him and running outside to
the opposite end of the trailer. He clawed out the screen and swung the shotgun
like a bat at the first window he came to. Alter knocking out the shards with
the barrel he climbed in and found Myra bent over in bed, coughing and trying
to get up. Nolan slung her over his shoulder and dumped her out the window feet
first. She went down like a sack of potatoes and curled up, still coughing.
"Cal,” she gasped.

Nolan
took a breath and prepared to follow her out, but another shout for help
stopped him. Frowning in confusion, he left the window and ran into the short
hall of the trailer, coughing as the smoke began to affect his own lungs.

He
nearly tripped over Cal. The boy was crawling down the hall toward his mother's
room. Nolan grabbed Cal's arm and dragged him into Myra's room to shove him out
the window. Nolan went out next and felt Vic's hands slip on his bloody thighs
as his friend tried to catch him.

"Vic,
did you see the others?"

"What
others? I got the TV. Are you all right?"

"Water,"
Nolan said. "We can save the stuff in the bedrooms. Cal, where's the pump
and a hose?"

Cal was
still gulping in air. "Not enough. No water pressure. Drought."

"Where
the hell's the pump?" Nolan repeated. "We can at least try to save
some of your clothes."

Cal
leaned his head back and put a hand on his mother's ann. Myra was drinking in
air as if it were the water they were talking about.

"The
goat's tethered to the pump. The hose is beside the well house."

Nolan
looked around for Vic. He was gone. A bundle of clothes flew out the window.

"Vic,
get the hell out of there!" Nolan shouted.

A
jewelry box and a drawer full of undergarments came out next. Nolan gritted his
teeth and ran to find the hose and the pump.

Nolan
was the last to leave the still smoldering trailer. In the house he passed
through the living room and saw a grimy Cal asleep on the sofa. Vic slept in a
nearby chair, his girls curled up at his feet. Nolan sighed in exhaustion and
entered the hall. When he opened the bathroom door he found Myra trying to wash
up. She was wearing a sleeveless undershirt and white cotton underpants.

"Sorry."
He started to back out, but she caught his arm and pulled him inside. After
seating him on the toilet, she took a clean washcloth from beside the sink and
dipped it in the basin. Without saying a word she began to wash the blood from
the tops of his thighs. She had to scrub a little where the blood had dried,
but when the cuts were clean he saw that none were deep enough to require
stitches.

"Did
anyone call the sheriff?" he asked finally.

"No,"
Myra said.

"Oh,
right…I forgot. Who were they?"

Her
hands paused. "Who was who?"

Nolan
frowned. "The people in the trailer. In the kitchen."

Myra's
brows met. "People in the kitchen?"

"I
saw two—" Nolan closed his mouth when he realized she had no idea what he
was talking about. What the hell was going on? Had he only imagined those
bodies?

"There
was no one in the trailer but Cal and myself," Myra said. Her expression
became worried when she looked at Nolan's un-bandaged hands. "A chemical
burn?" she asked, and he nodded. She emptied the water in the basin and
filled it again. He winced as she tried to clean his hands, and when she routinely
removed alcohol, ointment, and gauze from a shelf behind the mirror he began to
shake his head. "No alcohol."

"It's
for your legs," she said.

"It
hurts."

"Think
about something else."

He
decided to think about her breasts and the white line at the top of her thighs.
A shorts tan.

"That
well is almost dry," he remarked as he eyed her tight-fitting undershirt.
He could just make out her nipples beneath the fabric.

"We
haven't had a decent rain in more than six weeks," she answered.
"Maybe you haven't noticed, but it's the dry season."

"I've
noticed, Ouch! Goddammit."

"Sit
still. I'm almost done. I thought Cal said you were a fireman."

"I
am. I've been on disability. This is the first fire I've fought in four
weeks."

She
finished with the alcohol and reached for the ointment. When he held out his
hands, she said, "Don't firemen wear gloves when they're working?"

"This
was a—never mind. You had to be there."

She let
it go and concentrated on spreading the ointment evenly over the raw, still
oozing skin of his hands. Nolan closed his eyes and saw the coke lab in his
mind. The guy on the floor, hair still on fire, his face burned and eaten away.
The beakers, bottles, and jars. The exploding container of ether that had taken
him by surprise when he removed his gloves to better reach the man and pull him
from beneath the melting table.

Careless.
Dangerous. Downright fucking stupid, Wulf.

Next
time, there'll be no disability. You will be out, mister. Risk-taking,
thrill-seeking sonofabitches like you belong in the goddamn circus. Do you hear
me?

Nolan
heard.

He
opened his eyes again, preferring Myra's breasts over his inner visions and the
probability that he had in fact imagined those bodies on her kitchen floor.

Her gaze
flickered up to see where his was. When she saw, she exhaled loudly through her
nose and reached for the gauze. "Do you have any ideas about how the fire
started?"

He did.
"It started in the kitchen. I smelled gasoline, but it was probably some
variation on your average combustible cocktail. Looked like they shoved aside
one of the rubber expanders on the side of the air-conditioner and tossed it
in. Too bad we couldn't save the A.C."

"I
noticed the television was rescued," Myra said. She finished wrapping one
hand and tore the gauze to tie it. "Too tight?"

"It's
fine."

"Good."
She wrapped the other hand without speaking, and after tying it she stood back.
"That should do it."

"Thanks,"
Nolan said.

"Thank
you," she responded. "I think I may have misjudged you."

"No,
you didn't," he said.

"Yes,
I did. You saved our lives. I don't know how to repay you."

Nolan
grinned at her. "Come upstairs and I'll show you."

Her
spine stiffened and her jaw hardened.

"See?"
he said. "You didn't misjudge me."

He left
her there, speechless with anger, and made his way upstairs to his room. This
time he stripped the cover from the bed and stretched out on the sheets. The
window now remained open without a prop, he noticed.

And
there was a strange smell in the room. He sniffed and was reminded of soap,
damp skin, and… wet hair?

He
mentally shrugged and thought of Myra's shocked expression. He hadn't lost his
touch. Now all he had to do was find a way to trick her into cleaning his room.
Later he'd worry about why he saw burning bodies where there were none.

Maybe it
was time to think about entering a new line of work…again.

CHAPTER
7

The
search for auto parts was delayed for a day while everyone pitched in to
salvage what they could from the trailer. Everything suffered smoke damage, but
what could be cleaned and used was hauled into the two extra bedrooms in the
upstairs of the house. Myra took the room farthest from Nolan's, and Vic
couldn't help noticing the ice in her eyes each time she happened to meet Nolan
in the hall or on the stairs. No one spoke, and no one, with the exception of
the curious girls, asked who might have set fire to the trailer and why.