anything about the second doe. “Your son shoulda come. Coulda used the extra man.” They’d hidden the truck off an unused road, covered it with branches so the troopers wouldn’t spot it.
“Marl don’t like goin’ jackin’.” Al spat on the ground, a curious note of pride entering his voice. “My boy Marl, he hates the woods.” He grinned at the pines.
Wes had heard all about Marl Spencer’s hatred of the woods. Local gossip was full of it. Wes clenched his fists. He figured anybody that would set fires would do anything. His fists ached—somebody ought to take that loony kid out in the woods and shoot him. He gritted his teeth, flexed his hands. “So what happened to ole Lonny? I thought he’s s’posed to be yer helper.” He kept his eyes on the dry woods as he spoke. “Jus’ one match ’ud do it,” he whispered to himself.
“That drunken bastard Lonny don’t do shit,” said Al amiably. “I been good ta him too. Lettin’ him share a room wi’ my boy an all. He jus’ better be watchin’ that still, s’all I can say. Can’t even find ’im half the time. Sniffin’ after that Pam.” Al started talking about sex again.
His sudden anger fading, Wes went back to cleaning out the buck’s leaking intestines, a noxious mess shot with black. He didn’t pay much attention to the other man’s talk. Al was always going on about sex. Specifically, he was always going on about sex with old lady Stewart. In spite of having been past her prime and exceedingly obese for as long as anyone could remember, Lizzie Stewart had been covered by every man and, if there were any truth to rumor, half the farm animals in four counties.
“She come over to the gin mill t’other day, while I was checkin’ the still. I really let her have it.” He thought a minute, scratched at his stubble of gray-blond beard. “You wouldn’t believe the sorta thing she likes, boy.”
Though he’d had plenty of opportunities to discover the proclivities of the lady in question, Wes dutifully responded, “You dog.”
“Marl stuck ’is head in the door while I was goin’ at ’er, an you shoulda seen the eyes bug outta his head.” Al guffawed. “That boy took off like the Leeds Devil was after ’im. Couldn’t find’im fer a hour.”
Wes finished trussing the buck. He put the jacklights away in the rucksack and hefted his shotgun. “We best get started ’fore it gets any later.” He rubbed at his eyes. “All that rum we drunk last night. Meat’s gonna spoil in this heat. We shoulda been long gone as is.” He saw that Al hadn’t moved. “‘Less you want ’em to catch us outlawin’.”
“You always worryin’, boy.” Al reached for the tin cup. “I ain’t even had no coffee yet.”
She took the rig down an infrequently used expanse of old highway—the call hadn’t given an exact location. The sun felt blisteringly hot on Athena’s left arm and shoulder, and she glanced to the side: a burned-out section of forest, all scorched earth and blackened stumps. Flame red flowers dotted the charred earth though, and glimpsing them, she smiled a little. The ride seemed almost smooth, save for a new knocking in the engine.
Behind her, Doris still lectured. “Then a lot of the time victims refuse treatment, or have left the scene, then what you do is—”
Athena interrupted, “There it is.” Her pulse quickened in anticipation.
“That siren sounds like it’s dying,” said Doris, as she climbed up front. “It’ll be the next thing to break down, I guess. Wouldn’t you know the first call we get would make a liar out of me? I just got done telling the kid we don’t get car accidents.”
“Well, that ain’t true anyways, Doris.” Jack turned to Larry. “We got this tractor-trailer wreck once where we had to scrape the guy up with a fish knife.”
“Cut it out, Jack,” demanded Doris.
A blue and white state police car, just parking on the shoulder of the road, honked a greeting. The highway shimmered in waves of heat, and two shattered vehicles hissed, angled on opposite sides of the road. Pulling the ambulance over by the nearer car, Athena turned off the siren as Doris jumped out into the white haze. Larry clambered down behind her, blinded after the dimness of the rig’s interior.
A uniformed trooper called over. “You handle this, Doris?”
Crowbar in hand, Athena climbed down, mumbling to herself. “One of these days we’re going to have to deal with someone she doesn’t know. Bound to happen.”
“I’ll tell ya whether or not we can handle it after I see what it is,” Doris muttered. “Jack, Athena, take this one. You come with me, Larry.” She called back to the trooper. “What happened here, Fred?”
“Header, looks like.”
Doris sprinted to the car on the far side of the hot asphalt. Nervous and eager, Larry followed.
Halfway out onto the buckled, shining hood, a woman sprawled in a welter of blood and glass, and while Doris checked for vital signs, Larry squinted at the burning glare. The woman’s hair was red now. One side of her face was laid open in the sunlight, her back teeth grinning blue and yellow.
The empty road ran parallel to the highway, down which flowed a steady stream of traffic, placid and so close.
The tar was soft and blistered. No air stirred. Larry felt an internal doubling of the heat. His shadow turned black, and the road seemed to be burning through the bottoms of his sneakers, while the sun glinted around the blood on the car. Bits of steering wheel lay all around him.
“Fred? Call the coroner’s wagon to come get this one.”
The trooper stood by the police car. “Will do, Doris. Sure is a scorcher today.” He stooped to the window and said something to his partner.
“How you doin’ anyway, Fred?” Abruptly, Doris squeezed Larry’s arm. “Go sit over there and put your head down. You’ll be all right in a minute.”
“Just fine, Doris,” the trooper replied. “How’s yourself?”
“Can’t complain.” She peered into the police car. “Don’t say hello, Jim.”
The trooper in the car shook his head and muttered. “Goddamn wreck shouldn’t even be allowed on the road.”
“What’s that, Jim? You talking about me or the ambulance?”
“How are you, Doris?” he said louder. “Still running that outlaw rig, I see.”
“Don’t do me any favors. You don’t want to talk to me? Go ahead. Be ignorant.”
Across the highway, Athena and Jack leaned into the windows of the other vehicle. Gunmetal gray, it was ancient, back doors tied with clothesline, hot vapor still squirting from the radiator.
The smell of voided bowels filled the overheated car. Athena judged the old man to be about seventy; the boy looked fifteen at most. Glass fragments glittered like some impossible frost in the boy’s hair, and across his forehead a deep gash oozed, slowly, steadily. One of them groaned. The old man clutched feebly at his chest, and the sunlight, slanting onto his face, revealed an awful pallor.
“He’s the one—get the old guy,” directed Athena.
“Christ,” Jack said. “You could cook in here.” He tugged at the smashed door on the driver’s side, throwing all his weight into it.
“Just take it easy.” Athena reached through the passenger window. “You’ll be all right now.” She felt pieces of bone moving under the flesh of the boy’s arm, and he trembled violently. “Easy.”
“Fuck, I don’t believe it.”
“What’s the matter, Jack?”
“You see the way these back doors are tied shut? Take us a hour to cut through all this. Hey, Doris!”
The boy’s eyes focused on Athena. “My daddy…my daddy’s hurt. Please help my daddy, lady.” The voice was that of a very small child.
She realized her mistake: this wasn’t a teenager. She’d been misled by the unlined face and the subtly wrong shape of the head. This was a grown man, perhaps twenty-five years old. She watched as one of his overlarge ears slowly filled with blood. “You’re okay now. Take it easy.” In that moment, the young man’s eyes shone with complete trust, and she backed out of the car, attacking the stripping around the crack-rayed windshield with the crowbar. “I could use a little help here, Jack,” she grunted. The chrome came off easily, and in seconds they were tugging off the glass. It came out in pieces, and they tossed the chunks to the side of the road. Brushing fragments out of the way, she climbed over the hood.
The old man’s mouth moved.
“No, don’t try to talk.”
He shook, lips working.
