One Blood (40 page)

This news was completely unacceptable. Lincoln had to take out the Crown Vic and its occupants, and then stop the Taurus, without hurting himself, his car, or Coral Lafitte. He checked the gas gauge—half a tank left. The dashboard clock read 3:10 p.m. The darkened sky overhead made it seem much later.

Twenty-five miles to the detour.

If Lincoln didn’t move now, it would be too late. He flew past a sign lit up in a flash of lightning: Atchafalaya Bridge 2 miles. The Atchafalaya Bridge was a fifteen- mile stretch of concrete hovering above the Atchafalaya Swamp. The eastbound and westbound lanes were very narrow, with very little shoulder. On this dark, rain-soaked evening, it would be easy to run the Crown Vic over the side. It was his only chance.

He sped past another sign—the bridge was one mile ahead. Lincoln jammed the gas pedal to the floor. The quality of the asphalt changed as he moved onto the bridge. The sound of the wind over the Jeep and the road underneath melded into a symphony of action. The taillights of the Crown Vic grew bigger, much like Lincoln’s eyes as he anticipated contact. If he was right, Big Bald Ugly would see him in his rearview and get over into the slow lane.

* * * * *

Snake relaxed. He finally felt like things were back under control. Unhooking one velcro shoulder of his bulletproof vest, he peeked at the damage. His shoulder wound had turned into an ugly black circle of charred flesh and was beginning to smell. The only consolation was that soon, he’d be a rich man with the best doctors money could buy. As they passed the sign announcing the Atchafalaya Bridge, he drifted off to sleep with a smile.

* * * * *

Larry’s face was all concentration. He hated driving in the rain and wasn’t a huge fan of driving at night, either. But now, because of this damn storm, he got both. He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw Snake with his head against the window, legs stretched out on the backseat, snoring. Then he saw the headlights of an unidentified vehicle gaining on them. His first instinct was to accelerate, but instead he slowed down.

Let the asshole pass. At that speed, he’ll be sleeping with the swamp gators for sure.

Larry smiled, imagining the unidentified car barreling off the highway in smoke and flames. A moment later, the Crown Vic entered the Atchafalaya Bridge.

* * * * *

Snake twitched in the backseat as a nightmare enveloped him.

He watched the cops beat down a tall, black kid in prep school clothes who’d been standing at half-court in Simmons Park. Snake scanned the carnage and admired Lafitte’s ruthlessness. It took a seriously imbalanced motherfucker to plan out something this crazy. Snake tripped over a corpse in a black t-shirt and almost fell. He kicked the corpse in repayment.

He would have to watch his step. There were bodies everywhere. For his contribution to the body count, Snake was going to make a quick fifty grand. Not bad for a few hours work. Still, he had to admit, he hadn’t expected to jump out into Vietnam…

* * * * *

Lincoln closed the remaining distance. Sure enough, the right turn signal flashed as the Crown Vic eased into the other lane. Lincoln floored the accelerator to connect with the left rear bumper of the Crown Vic, hoping to send the vehicle into a hydroplaning tailspin over the edge.

He held his breath anticipating contact. But he’d miscalculated the distance. Instead of ramming the car, he missed completely and sped past with an expression of naked dismay. Soon he was well out in front of the Crown Vic.

* * * * *

The speeding car behind them was dangerously close. Larry was pissed. If it wasn’t for the rain, he’d race the bastard all the way to Lake City. But he didn’t want to wake Snake—it was too damn peaceful without his snarling and growling.

Larry hit his right turn signal and eased over, just as the asshole flew by.

Fucker nearly hit me!

Larry watched the Jeep Liberty barrel ahead and thought to check in on Shaw.

* * * * *

Maybe Randy Lafitte was a sucker after all. Twenty-five thousand to make sure his son was dead and another twenty-five grand to bring him home. Sounded like a deal to Snake. And he’d just guaranteed his payout by shooting the black kid through the arm as he was trying to shoot a gangbanger preparing to kill Kristopher Lafitte.

Now that the commotion was over, he just had to collect the boy and bring him home. He hadn’t bargained on all the bodies or the rotten stench of shit and early decomposition, however. Snake was wading through a sea of death as he made his way toward the one non-black corpse in the vicinity. There were so many bodies he couldn’t see the grass. The dead were lying on their backs with their eyes and mouths open. Their open eyes watched him as he stepped over their legs, chests, and heads to get to that singular speck of pale flesh…

* * * * *

“
Fuck! Fuck!” Lincoln took his frustration out on the steering wheel and roof. “What now?”

“
Revolution,” someone on his right said.

Lincoln looked over at Kris Lafitte’s smiling corpse sitting in his passenger seat. He nearly drove off the side of the bridge himself he was so freaked. After avoiding disaster, Lincoln turned to see Kris was still there.

He’s just in my head.

“
You’re damn right I’m in your head,” Kris said. “And there’s a shitload of empty space in here.”

“
What is happening to me?” Lincoln asked, not really expecting much explanation.
“Well,” Kris replied. “For starters, you need to learn how to drive. How could you have missed that car so badly?”

“
I know, and it’s too late now.”

“
It’s never too late, Link. Revolution, remember? You can turn this whole thing around.”

“
I ain’t no stunt car driver, Kris.”

“
Quit whining and turn the fuck around!”

Lincoln decided to take Kris’s suggestion, even if he was a figment of his imagination. With less than five miles of bridge left, he threw the car into reverse and slammed on the brakes. He braced himself and turned the steering wheel dead right.

The Jeep lost contact with the road.

The next instant, Lincoln was hydroplaning on a sheet of water. The centrifugal force pinned him to his seat. He tapped the brakes furiously. Mercifully, the Jeep slowed.

Lincoln slammed the car into neutral and put his full body weight on the brakes. The Jeep shuddered, rocked right, and finally settled in place. Lincoln let out a shaky breath and looked left, directly into the blinding headlights of the Crown Vic.

* * * * *

“
Blue dog two, come in, over,” Larry said into his Nextel.

“
Blue dog two here,” Shaw replied.

“
Watch your six for a speeding Jeep, over.”

“
Gotcha. There’s a barricade up ahead.”

Larry had anticipated something like this. “Okay, we’re gonna jump off in…Oh shit!”

“
Blue dog one, come in. Blue dog one!”

* * * * *

Lincoln stared down death, as he had so many times in his life, truly unafraid. He shielded his eyes from the high beams coming at him and prepared for the impact of a mass of steel moving at least sixty miles per hour.

Lincoln could smell the burning rubber as Big Bald Ugly slammed on the brakes and jerked the steering wheel to the right to avoid a collision. The Crown Vic fishtailed and smashed through the barricade, barely missing the Jeep.

With that mission accomplished, Lincoln put the vehicle back in drive and peeled out in the rain and oil slick pavement. He had to catch the Ford Taurus before they reached the detour.

* * * * *

Snake heard thunder overhead. He tugged at the white arm buried underneath the black bodies. At first, he only saw an endless arm, but then the top of Kristopher’s shaggy, dirty blond hair appeared.

Snake grabbed a handful of hair and pulled the boy out of the pile. He felt a tugging sensation on his pants leg. Snake looked down to see five or six black hands pulling him into the pile. He was sinking into the corpses, like they were a pit of quicksand. He struggled, but the hands were too strong.

Kristopher’s head twisted in his grip. It spun around until Snake was face to face with a dead, smiling Kristopher Lafitte.

“
Hi Snake,” the head said amiably. “Hey, I always wanted to axe you something. Why do they call you that?”

“
This ain’t happenin’.”

“
Right, right. What’s the longest river in Africa? De Nile! Is this my sweet dream or your nightmare?”

Snake groaned. He was buried up to his waist. The hungry hands ripped off his clothes, pulled his hair, and scratched his naked flesh. Then, one hand found his right eyeball and plucked it out of his head. Another hand ripped off his left ear.

He heard Kristopher speaking.

“
Congrats, Snake! You’re now a rich man. You’re gonna have more money than you know what to do with. You know how we use money in hell? We eat it. We eat and eat until we’re stuffed. And then we eat some more. We eat until we can’t speak. Until we can’t breathe. Until we can’t smell, see, or hear anything but the maddening rustle of paper. So, eat your heart out!”

* * * * *

Chapter Seventy-Two

I-10 West

Coral awoke one heartbeat at a time. Rain smacked against metal like a steel drum. Eyes closed, she experimented with movement, but her entire body was frozen. She was paralyzed.

It all came back. Someone had kidnapped her, just like Karen. A stifling, gaseous smell washed over her. Gasoline seemed to be in her pores. It took enormous will to open her eyes, and even then, they wouldn’t open all the way. She blinked the dashboard clock into focus and read the time: 4:05 p.m.

The seatbelt alarm dinged. The driver must have exited and left the car running. Shouting from outside the car confirmed her theory. The gas smell was getting worse. Sweat trickled down Coral’s cheeks and neck, pooling inside her blouse.

Maybe I’m at a gas station.

Her captor probably needed a bathroom break. Kidnapping was thirsty work and taking a mother and daughter had to be twice the trouble. Coral dreamed of a reunion with Karen. She felt some hope in the thought. But the hope evaporated when a burning smell joined the gas.

We’ve had an accident!

Coral envisioned a multi-car pileup on the rain slick highway. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a flame igniting. Any minute there would be an explosion, and after that, none of this would matter anymore. She almost welcomed the thought.

More yelling. Probably paramedics, firemen, and police trying to save some lives but scared to get too close because of the gas leak. Something was definitely burning now. It would all be over soon.

She heard a loud popping noise that came in bursts, like gunfire.

Who’s shooting?

Coral attempted to move again. Her fingers quivered slightly but nothing more.

The popping abruptly ceased but there was still plenty of gas, fire, and smoke. Coral coughed violently, her throat and sinuses burning.

Someone ripped the passenger door open. Because she was facing her left side, she couldn’t see him or her. She felt a wave of relief. She was going to live! Coral hadn’t realized how much she wanted to live until the strong arms wrapped around her waist pulled her from the car.

A man’s gasping breath was hot against her neck. His face was hidden to her peripheral vision, but his strength told her everything she needed to know. He was good. He was a hero. And he was too late.

The explosion crept up on them like a bully behind the new kid on a swing set. A mighty push of air sent them skyward. The hero’s grip tightened but he wasn’t strong enough.

Coral floated in the dark, landing on her back in rough gravel and glass that tore at her skin and clothes. The rain tried to drown her from above. Coral couldn’t move her head to avoid the murderous droplets attacking her.

Something shifted in the gravel next to her. A hand grabbed her arm. The face attached to the hand swum out of the darkness and Coral gazed upon her savior. The shock of seeing Lincoln Baker’s distinct features inches from her own was too much. A mournful sound emanated from the darkness. As she stared at her son’s killer, Coral realized the sound was coming from her.

* * * * *

Chapter Seventy-Three