Swallow the Moon (26 page)

She really missed her dogs. She could get them from her mother's house…the phone rang again. June walked into the office, where the phone/answering machine combination sat on the desk. There weren't any messages saved and when the answering machine kicked in, the caller disconnected.

Curious, she clicked to see where the call originated. The caller had blocked the number.

Was it –
him
?

She remembered the sneering voice. 'I'll burn your house,' he'd said.

Where was Eric? June looked at the clock. Almost noon. How long did it take to run a case through court? Minutes? Hours?

June hurried to the kitchen to get her cell phone. She called the courthouse, asked when the court would let out.

"The docket is full. The court room is booked until 5 o'clock."

There was nothing to do but wait.

Sometime in the late afternoon, the air chilled. The clouds lowered as a heavy mist reached up. The forecast called for fog.

June was outside covering her tender herbs when she heard the rumble of a large engine. The sound echoed from far away. She ducked in the garage, peeking out. The big black on black SUV cruised past her house. There wasn't enough sun to glint off the windows. Instead, it faded into the rising mist.

As soon as it was out of sight, she grabbed her tools, locked the garage and bolted for the house. She locked all the doors and windows, then paced from room to room, listening for the sound of the truck.

The phone rang.

June jerked away from the window to the office. Her heart pounded as the answering machine clicked on. Instead of hanging up, she could hear the muted noise of an engine for a moment before the caller disconnected.

"Oh shit," she said, eyes tearing up. She fished her cell phone from her pocket to call Eric.

He didn't answer, she didn't expect him to. What message to leave?

"Phillips, from the plant, just drove by the house. He's the one in the SUV – the black one. Oh, hurry! He called the house. I'm so scared."

She wandered around the house for a couple of hours. It took time, but she settled down. They were just messing with her. Harassing her, but they wouldn't dare come into the house.

The house phone rang. The answering machine picked up.

"I know you're there." The voice was low, throaty and amused. He disconnected.

June paced the floor. Should she call the sheriff? Would they help her? It was just threats, scare tactics to make her lose it. She would be fine until Eric came. It couldn't be long now. There was a thickening gloom that signaled sunset. She would wait for Eric.

Another hour passed. June was a nervous wreck, but she talked herself out of calling the Sheriff's department. She perched on a stool at the counter, watching the road and listening for Eric. Eventually, she took her cell with her to the living room; she needed to sit down.

The truck engine raced outside on the road. June snatched her cell off the coffee table. A spark bit her. She dropped her cell phone, which snapped closed. As she bent to pick it up, it skated across the floor, out of reach.

Cora laughed as June chased her cell phone down the hall. It slid behind the stove, out of sight.

It's payback time.

"Get out of my house!" June screamed. "Out!" She breathed deeply, connecting to the light inside her, sending it through the house. When Cora's laughter faded, June jerked the stove away from the wall.

The phone rang.

"Get ready for some company. We're gonna have a party."

June groped for her cell phone, cutting her hand on the underside of the stove in her haste. She grabbed a paper towel to staunch the blood. She looked outside. It was already dark, the fog was thick.

The phone rang.

June bit her knuckles to keep from screaming.

The phone cut off in mid-ring. The silence was nerve-wracking.

June's stomach heaved. She barely made it to the toilet as she threw up. Once she started, she couldn't stop.

Oh Goddess, what if they found her like this? She'd be easy prey. She heard the rising whine of a motorcycle engine. Let it be Eric!

She thought she heard pounding on the door, but she was too weak to stand.

"June? Where are you?" Eric shouted.

She had to get up – June staggered to her feet. She wiped her mouth with a towel, trailing it behind her as she forced herself to go to the door.

"Come in." June was shaking, but the need to vomit was gone.

"Jesus, what's wrong?" Eric helped her back to the kitchen and sat her on a stool.

"Besides the fact I'm a puking coward?" June groaned. "Phillips called – he's making threats – I got sick."

"It happens like that sometimes."

June wiped her face with the towel.

"Are you done?" He handed her a glass of water.

"Yeah." She rinsed her mouth.

"I got your message. I came as fast as I could."

The phone rang.

June whimpered as the answering machine picked up. They could hear the engine noises, then the voice.

"We're gonna have a party." Nasty laughter from a couple of men. "Are you ready, girl?"

"Jesus Christ," Eric swore.

"Stop
saying
that," June moaned.

"Sorry." Eric put his hand on her arm to urge her up. "Get on your feet. They are going to get tired of threatening."

"They've been calling all day."

"That's enough to make anybody sick."

"Thanks."

The distant, but distinct rumble of a large engine brought them both to attention.

"Is this it?" June cringed against Eric.

"Bet on it." Eric growled. "Have you got a gun?"

"A gun, but no bullets."

"No help there."

"The door is open!" June bolted from the kitchen, locking the door connecting the kitchen to the breezeway. She backtracked to the kitchen, looking around frantically. "Do we hide?"

"Hide? Like hell. I'm not going to hide." Eric pulled her largest kitchen knife from the drawer.

The truck engine raced, lights flashed across her windows.

"Run!" June shoved him towards the front door.

"I'm not leaving you." He grabbed her hand. "We go together."

The truck doused its headlights as it rumbled up the driveway. They heard the engine die a few yards from the house. The doors squealed open, then shut. The hushed voices of several men came as they walked up the driveway.

"Where's your bike?" June whispered.

"It's next to your car."

"This way." She pulled Eric with her to the back office, locking the door behind them. "Help me with this window." They got the window open; June shoved the screen out. She heard the glass in the back door break and squeaked with alarm. She pushed Eric towards the window.

"You first."

Eric made a scathing noise. June looked up at him.

"You're taller, I'd have to jump."

He eased out the window, then lifted her out. They ducked down and ran around the house as the intruders broke down the kitchen door. They came around the back of the garage just as one of the men took a six-foot pole with a noose on the end out of the truck.

Eric mouthed a question.

"Animal control stick." June pushed him forward.

"Call the Sheriff." He looked over his shoulder at the house, where they could hear the men swearing and breaking things. "Get a car out here."

"My cell is in the bathroom." June bit her lip.

"Mine doesn't work out here."

"Let's go then." June clutched his jacket, praying they would get away.

Eric levered up the kickstand and pushed the bike down the driveway, past the empty truck. He mounted the bike at the end of the gravel drive. Once the engine started, the race would be on.

"Hurry up."

As June laid her hand on the seat, a spark snapped up, stinging her fingers. June whimpered, shaking her hand. Cora didn't want her to mount up. She tried again, grabbing Eric who muttered for her to hurry. Her foot slipped off the peg.

"Step up," he hissed. "Come on." June finally scrambled on to the seat. Her body was twisted into an uncomfortable crouch. She wrapped one arm around Eric's chest, feeling insecure.

"Head towards the freeway," June suggested.

Eric gave the over-laden bike a shove, taking advantage of the slight downward bend to the curve to coast down the road before he hit the starter.

Instead of firing up, the bike coughed, backfiring a betraying retort.

"You bitch!" Eric snarled, hitting the starter again. "START!"

The men shouted as they raced out of the house. They ran down the driveway, after the coasting motorcycle.

"Come on, dammit!" Eric hit the starter again; the bike roared to life. He hit the gas, jerking June backwards as the front wheel left the ground. June bit back a shriek as her grip loosened. She managed to stay on, praying under her breath.

The truck roared to life behind them.

The race was on.

~^~

As soon as the engine caught, Eric throttled hard, popping the clutch. His balance was off; the front wheel came up, taking away his ability to steer. He fought the bike to get the front wheel down. Every time he hit a gear, she jerked forward and up, like a rearing horse.

June had a death-grip on him; if he wasn't careful, he could knock her off. The extra weight made the bike sluggish; he wondered if they could make it. He noticed the road was wet, the air misty and cold.

Bad going.

The truck roared behind them. Eric could only go so fast on unfamiliar roads. Out of pure desperation, he ducked down the road towards the freeway, hoping to get straight, flat roads where he could lose them.

The bike barely made the turn, sliding heavily off the side of the road into the gravel and debris. He laid her low, forcing the rear end to slide before it caught. The bike came up, wallowing.

June was pressed tight against him and never shifted her weight.

Eric swore at the bike, calling it everything he could think of. It was never like this, but was feather light and touchy on the gas. Cora wanted them caught, he thought, despairing, as the rearview mirror showed the truck cut the corner, gunned airborne over the tracks in a hard bounce. They were making up time as he was losing it.

June pounded his shoulder as he setup to take the turn south.

"North!" she shouted.

The bike bobbled as he corrected course. Eric swung wide left to catch the on-ramp, laid her low in the right hand curve to make up time. The truck missed the turn, their first break.

"Come on, bitch!"

He came out of the on ramp at eighty, intending to hit the straight-away at one-ten, winding out to one-thirty. There was no way the truck could catch them, if he wound her out.

The air was icy-cold and the road was wet and slick. He couldn't get oriented; the fog cut visibility to nothing. He heard the whine of wheels on pavement. Could he stop in time?

The bike screamed like a banshee, the rear tire lost traction; out of control, they skidded to a stop. A convoy of semi's shredded the fog before they vanished into it

He used the wet pavement to burn rubber, making the back tire sticky. It might be enough of an edge to keep them alive.

"They're coming!"

"Hold on!" Eric cranked the throttle and let the bike fly down the center of the freeway, passing the semis as if they were standing still.

The speed went right to his head as they flew down the freeway. The bike was light and responsive under him. He wound her out as far as he dared, just under one-ten. June was huddled behind him, holding him with her legs as well as her arms. He could feel her shivering convulsively from cold and fear.

Visibility continued to drop as the fog thickened. The SUV gained steadily as Eric continued to hold back. Red tail lights of a car appeared in the fog, Eric leaned left, then right, barely missing the driver's side mirror. There was another car in the passing lane; he leaned around that, never slowing down.

He hoped the truck would slam into the cars. He heard brakes and tires on the pavement.

June yelled something that he couldn't hear over the screaming engine. The truck barreled up behind them, also running down the center line.

Eric couldn't slow down; the truck was too close. The bike was screaming, with plenty of throttle to play out. Could he take an exit ramp at this speed? Would that be enough to lose them? Could he make the turn at the end of the ramp?

If he missed the exit ramp, how much road would he need to make a U-turn? Could he make the near-suicidal cut? He had to be farther ahead to get room to slow down.

He barely missed another slow moving car. He heard the squeal of brakes behind him.