Shoofly Pie & Chop Shop (42 page)

Suddenly Kathryn began to slow down, narrowing the gap between the two cars.

“What are you doing?”

She watched until the patrol car filled the rearview mirror with a thundering blur of black and white.

“Do you have anything valuable in the trunk?”

“Do I what?”

She jerked the wheel hard to the right and jammed the brake pedal to the floor. The Crown Victoria braked an instant late, slamming head-on into the Dart’s right fender. The patrol car
windshield blazed white as twin air bags exploded into the driver and passenger, and before the shock of impact could wear off she stomped on the gas again and spun away, spewing a cloud of red dust behind her. She veered hard right, dragging the crumpled remains of a fender as she disappeared into the tall grass.

Nick was thrown forward like a toy, hurtling almost into the front floor, then rebounded back once again amid the paper and debris.

“It would help if you told me what you were going to do before you did it.”

“You’ll get used to it,” she said. “I did.”

She steered the car in a wide circle until she was at a three o’clock position to the patrol car, no more than twenty yards away. She slammed the brakes down hard again, shoved the stick into reverse and looked back over her shoulder.

“I’m going to back up now,” she said to Nick. “Just thought I’d let you know.”

“You’re going to what?”

“Didn’t you ever go to the Demolition Derby when you were little? Oh, that’s right … you’re a city boy.”

She jammed the accelerator to the floor. The car fishtailed left and right, and the grass behind them began to divide slowly, then faster and faster like an endless parting curtain. They both braced themselves …

A split second later they saw the black-and-white cruiser flash past them on their right. They had missed the front end by less than a foot.

As they raced past they saw that the hood was crumpled and bent down and back, and the grill and right headlight were shattered. They saw the face of the deputy frozen in shock and confusion.

But the driver’s seat was empty.

Kathryn curved left away from the car and sped backward thirty yards or more. She braked hard and sat silently for a moment, the engine idling but her mind still racing. She felt a hand on her shoulder and heard a voice near her right ear.

“He’s on foot, Mrs. Guilford. He can hear our engine—and he has a gun. For crying out loud let’s get out of here!”

Kathryn stomped the gas and veered hard left—then slowly began to curve right again in a wide circle around the patrol car.

“The other way, the other way!” Nick jabbed frantically over his shoulder.

She shook her head furiously.

“Was their engine still running? I couldn’t tell. We’ve got to make sure or they’ll be on us again in no time!”

She circled wide, counting the hours off a mental clock as the car roared on.

Three o’clock … four o’clock … five o’clock …

She knew the chance she was taking. In her mind’s eye she saw Peter crouching invisibly in the tall grass, waiting for her to pass again, waiting with gun in hand and shell in chamber for the moment of impact when the car stood still, waiting to rise up and rapid-fire into the backseat—and then into the front? Peter had already done the unimaginable—was anything beyond him?

Nick crawled into the front seat again.

“When you think you’re lined up, let me know. I’ll poke my head up and guide you in. We only get one shot at this.”

“Better poke your head up fast,” she warned. “Peter loves a turkey shoot.”

Eight o’clock … nine o’clock … ten o’clock …

From the corner of her eye Kathryn caught a glimpse of khaki and steel flashing through the grass to her right. An instant later the sheriff stood motionless less than ten yards ahead of them, gun raised and ready, aiming directly at the driver of the car.

He raised his head from the line of sight with a look of shocked recognition, then jerked the gun aside and tried to steady his aim on the passenger’s seat—but the car was almost on top of him now and he had to lunge to the left, firing two shots wildly as the right fender brushed past his leg. The first shot shattered the windshield into a mosaic of a thousand green and white tiles, and the second exploded into the backseat in a puff of grayish oatmeal.

Nick twisted to the right and hunched down into the seat, and with all of his strength shoved the passenger door open. It caught the sheriff full on, knocking him from his feet and sending him tumbling away—but the force of the impact slammed the door back on Nick. The crumbling door wobbled for a moment, then
broke completely away from the car and bounded end over end into the tall grass.

Stunned and senseless, Nick lurched forward and rolled out of the car.

Kathryn screamed and lunged for him—too late! Twenty yards ahead she skidded to a stop and turned to the rear window. There was no sound, no motion in the tall reeds. Nothing. She reached for the horn—and then stopped.

She threw open the door and leaped up onto the searing hood. Her right foot punched through the shattered remains of the windshield as she scrambled up onto the roof. Thirty yards to the left she saw the gleaming white roof and red signal bar of the Crown Victoria. To the right, to the left, behind her—nothing. Then a single figure slowly staggered up out of the sea of green. It was Nick.

And he was wearing no glasses.

Kathryn started to shout and then caught herself. She waved her arms frantically—but what good would it do? What could Nick see without his glasses? Was she anything more than a blur to him, just a mysterious white smudge against the blue summer sky?

Then a second head rose up above the tall grass.

Peter turned slowly, dazed, still shaking off the effects of the collision—and he was limping. He stared toward the patrol car, then behind him, and finally turned to Kathryn, who seemed to be somehow standing on the very tips of the blades of long grass just thirty yards away. His mind began to clear. Kathryn looked in horror at Nick, still stunned, standing out like a tombstone on a prairie.

Peter followed her eyes. He raised his gun.

“Nick, get down!”

Nick disappeared into the grass like a trout with a captured fly. A gunshot echoed across the open meadow.

“Run!” she screamed. “But stay down!”

She watched the brush crumple and bend beneath the feet of an invisible figure, and she saw a path began to open—directly toward the sheriff.

“No, the other way!”

The grass stood still for an instant, then began to bend and open rapidly in the opposite direction. The sheriff limped forward,
following, searching. Suddenly he stopped, dropped from sight for a moment, then straightened up again.

“Looky what I found,” he said, holding up a pair of enormous spectacles. He dropped them at his feet. There was a crunching sound, and then he began to hobble in Nick’s direction again.

Kathryn’s heart leaped into her throat.

“Is that all you’re looking for, Peter?” she shouted. “A blind Bug Man? Well, go ahead if that’s what you want—but by the time you find him I’ll be long gone!” She forced herself to laugh.

Peter stopped. He looked out across the vast, glistening meadow. Then he looked back at Kathryn.

He turned.

Kathryn took a last mental fix on Nick’s speed and direction, then jumped down from the car. She threw open the door, stretched her right leg in, and revved the engine twice. Then she slammed the door hard and loud, doubled over, and vanished into the meadow. An instant later she reappeared, ducked into the car, and ripped out the keys.

She scrambled off into the thick grass, the blind in search of the blind.

Can you see the Quonset from here?” Nick whispered.

“It’s about two hundred yards away,” Kathryn whispered back. “I thought you were farsighted.”

“I said I can see better at a distance—I didn’t say I can see.”

They lay exhausted at the outer edge of the meadow. They had scrambled and clambered a half-mile or more, Kathryn leading the way and Nick struggling to follow the blurred flurry of arms and legs ahead of him. They lay facedown, panting, the heavy feather grass bowing and tickling at their arms and necks.

“Okay.” Nick hoisted himself up again. “Let’s go for it.”

“Nick, wait. It’s open ground—we’ll be sitting ducks. Maybe we should wait here until it gets dark.”

Nick shook his head. “We have to get to the lab before he does. He knows we’re going there for a reason. If he finds that puparium and destroys it, we’re sunk.”

“Nick—what if he destroys us?”

“He can’t be far behind us. He’s going to find us anyway. You said he was limping—our only advantage is to stay ahead of him.”

She looked at him. “He may be limping, but you’re blind.”

He squeezed her arm. “But I’ve got eyes. Look, the sheriff had a chance to shoot you while you were driving and again when you were standing on the roof of the car. But he didn’t. Don’t you see? If we stay close together he won’t take a chance on shooting and hitting you—not at a distance anyway. If we can get to the lab before he does, we can grab the puparium and head out into the woods. If we can make it to the woods we’ve got a chance.”

Kathryn felt a wave of panic sweep over her.

“Let him have it. I don’t want you to die. It’s not fair. Let him have the evidence.”

“I appreciate that,” Nick said softly, “but I’m afraid it’s a little late. You see, Mrs. Guilford, I am the evidence now.”

They rose side by side, still cautiously doubled over, one arm wrapped around the other’s waist like yoked oxen. Behind them in the distance they heard the sound of thrashing grass. They glanced at each other silently and took off running.

They ran frantically, desperately at first—then Nick tightened his grip on Kathryn’s waist and reined her back.

“Easy. Pace yourself. Long way to go still.”

Nick ran wide-eyed, feeling for the ground ahead of him with every step. Misty shapes and blurs of color streaked by on all sides.

He stumbled and fell headlong. Kathryn hurried him to his feet again, cursing herself for failing at her duty so badly. She looked back over her shoulder—no sign of a figure emerging from the meadow. She looked ahead to the Quonset—no more than fifty yards to go. She felt a sudden surge of energy.

“Come on! We’re almost there!”

Only thirty yards to go, then twenty. They approached the building from the side circled around toward the front. They rounded the corner with a sense of elation, exhausted but exuberant.

There on the front step stood the deputy.

They stumbled to a halt. Kathryn jerked Nick back abruptly.

“What is it?”

“It’s Beanie,” she said, panting. “Blocking the door!”

Kathryn released Nick and charged forward. “Beanie!” she waved her arms in a menacing arc. “Go away! Let us in!”

“Can’t.”

“Beanie, it’s me!” she said almost in tears. “Please let us in!”

“Can’t,” he repeated. “Unca Pete said not to.”

“What else?” Nick called out. “What else did Uncle Pete tell you to do?”

“Said I should catch you. Hold you till he comes.”

“And if I don’t want to be held?”

“Said I should break you.”

Kathryn threw herself at him, pounding at his simian chest.

“Beanie, this is Aunt Kathryn! Aunt Kathryn is telling you to go away and leave us alone!”

Beanie smiled down at her, oblivious to the tickling blows.

“It’s no use,” Nick said. “Rock beats scissors, Mrs. Guilford—Uncle Pete overrules Aunt Kathryn. Besides,” he said, nodding toward a blur at the edge of the meadow, “I think we’re out of time.”

Two hundred yards away, just washing ashore from the rolling sea of green, the sheriff came limping toward the Quonset.

“We’ve got to separate,” Nick said urgently.

“I won’t leave you!”

“Listen to me!” he thundered. “He’s not interested in me, he wants you! All he’s ever wanted is you! He sent Pinocchio here to deal with me—to hold me, remember? That means he plans to go after you first, then come back for me. If we stay together they’ll catch us both at once. Our only chance is to deal with them one at a time. We’ve got to separate!”

“What happens when he comes back for you?”

“One thing at a time, Mrs. Guilford. You’ve got to go!”

She took one faltering step away, then glanced back at the meadow. The sheriff was just a hundred yards away now. His left hand supported his wounded thigh, and his right hand rested on his holster. She turned in terror to Nick.

“But you can’t see,” she pleaded.

“You can’t help me now, and I’m afraid I can’t help you either. But believe me, Kathryn,” he said with a smile and a nod, “you’re more than a match for any man I know. Now go!” he thundered again, and she turned and ran weeping toward the far meadow.

Nick watched for a moment, tormented by the thought that his final image of Kathryn Guilford might be nothing more than a streak of blue and a smear of dancing auburn.

He turned back to the building. He saw nothing but a blurry green semicircle, like a slice of lime beneath a sheet of waxed paper. He could make out the shadowy shapes of the windows on each side and a dark rectangle in the center dominated by an enormous, khaki-colored smudge. He had to get into the lab. Everything he knew, everything that might help him was inside.