frozen.
“What the fuck happened here?” she heard Allen mutter.
She knew he’d just spotted the deputy’s body. Susan swiveled around to face him.
Dumbfounded, Allen gazed down at Shaffer’s corpse. He still had Moira by the hair and the ax blade against her throat.
Susan shook her head at him. “You don’t have to do this now, Allen, not anymore. He’s dead. He has no power over you. You no longer have to do what he says. You can just turn around and drive away….”
Moira started to struggle, but it was in vain. His grip on her didn’t slacken.
“I can’t have any witnesses,” he muttered. “And there’s a matter of payback for what those two pricks did to me this afternoon. One of them is still alive.”
“No—no, they’re both dead.” Susan pointed to the two bodies by the front door. She started backing up toward the cabin. “They’re both dead. No one holds anything over you now. You can just drive away, Allen. Please, let her be….”
At the news that her friends were dead, Moira let out an anguished cry. “Oh, God, no…” She tried to wrench free from Allen. The ax blade nicked the side of her neck, but she didn’t seem to notice. She sobbed hysterically.
Allen took in the scene by the front door. Then he smiled a little and turned to Susan. “I can’t have
Susan kept shaking her head over and over. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the boys by the front stoop again.
The one with the gun in his hand was moving.
Cradling his friend in his arms, he leaned against the front door and watched Meeker’s fiancee. Her back to him, Susan Blanchette kept stepping into his line of vision, blocking his view of Meeker and Moira. But he could hear Meeker’s voice, so close.
Jordan had the deputy’s gun in his hand.
He glanced at his leg—and at all the blood around the tear in his jeans, where the bone stuck out below his knee.
It had happened after the deputy shot at him—twice. One bullet had grazed his shoulder; the second had hit him in the gut. He fell down the stairs and broke through the banister. Jordan remained on the living room floor, keeping perfectly still—despite the horrible pain. He didn’t even move when Meeker kicked him in his side. The bastard probably fractured a couple of his ribs. He knew he’d wrecked the hell out of his leg during that fall, too. Jordan had no idea just how bad it was. He couldn’t look at it, not while they were standing right next to him.
He didn’t move a muscle. Fortunately, they didn’t stay there long. The deputy heard someone outside. “I have a feeling that’s your intended, Allen,” Shaffer said.
Jordan had waited until after they left and he had heard the cop car peeling out of the driveway. Then he crawled into the kitchen, grabbed a dish towel, and clutched it to his stomach. With a
He hobbled out the back door, around the cabin, and past the driveway, bracing himself against the side of the house or trees, anything he could grab to keep from keeling over. If he could reach the road, he might flag down a passing car—on the off-off chance someone drove by. He staggered through the woods on the other side of the driveway.
Jordan had just reached Carroll Creek Road when he spotted the deputy’s patrol car approaching. He ducked back into the bushes and watched the prowler pull into his driveway. It disappeared behind the trees.
Jordan thought he might pass out from the pain and exhaustion, but he hobbled through the woodlands—all the way back toward the cabin again. He heard a car door slam, then Shaffer’s voice in the distance. But he couldn’t make out what the deputy was saying. He heard the cabin door open and shut—and then nothing for at least two or three minutes. Jordan kept hobbling through the shadowy woods until he started to see the cabin through the trees again.
Then he heard Leo softly calling out to him.
Jordan was so stunned and elated, he forgot about his leg for a second. He moved toward the sound of his friend’s voice and immediately felt a horrible pain shooting up from his knee. Falling down on the forest floor, he let out a groan. He was about to call back to Leo when he heard a gunshot from within the cabin.
Jordan dragged himself through the woods toward the driveway. Helplessly he watched Leo, by the patrol car, trying to fend off the deputy. Panic-stricken, Jordan struggled to his feet. Twigs snapped beneath him. He saw the cop standing over Leo with the gun.
For a split second, the deputy glanced his way. Their eyes met.
That was when Leo hit the cop in the head with the pronged device. The gun went off with a startling bang. The blond deputy teetered there for a moment, looking baffled. Then he collapsed onto the gravel driveway.
Hopping on one foot, Jordan made his way to his friend. At first, he thought Leo was dead. But then he saw his buddy was breathing. It looked like Leo had been shot in the abdomen, almost the same place where the deputy had put a bullet in him—only with Leo’s wound there was a lot more blood. A crimson stain bloomed on his shirt, and it alarmed Jordan to feel how cold Leo was.
Taking the dish towel away from his own stomach wound, Jordan pressed a part not soaked with blood against the bullet hole in Leo’s shirt. His bloodstained hands were shaking, and he started to cry. He kissed Leo on the forehead. “Hang in there, buddy, okay?” he murmured.
Dragging himself over to the deputy, he took the dead cop’s gun and his car keys. He stashed the gun in the back of his jeans, under his shirttail. Then he managed to crawl back to the patrol car and tried to radio for an ambulance. “Two people have been shot at number one Cedar Crest Way in Cullen,” Jordan gasped into the mike. “It’s right off Carroll Creek. Another person’s dead. But two of us are badly wounded. We need an ambulance right away.” His voice started to crack. “Please, hurry, for God’s sake, my friend’s looking really bad….”
All he got for an answer was a distant voice through the static. Jordan couldn’t make out what they were saying. He knew Cullen pretty well, and the nearest hospital was in Mount Vernon, about twenty-five minutes away. He wondered if he might be able to drive that far.
Frustrated, Jordan wiped the tears from his eyes and tried the police radio one more time. He glanced down at his pal. Leo’s breathing seemed to be getting shallow. All Jordan could think to do was get him inside the house, give him some water, and try to stop the bleeding.
He left the door open as he climbed out of the cop car. Grabbing Leo underneath the arms, he began dragging him across the lawn toward the front door. He couldn’t get to his feet or bend his bum leg. So he crawled most of the way, with Leo’s limp body on top of his. Jordan felt the gun barrel digging into his tailbone. Cold sweat poured off him. He was so depleted, but he pressed on toward the cabin. He listened to his friend’s breathing. It was like a death rattle.
On the front stoop, Jordan felt himself starting to black out.
He’d paused there and caught his breath. Just then, he heard another car approaching. He knew it wasn’t a cop or an ambulance because there would have been a siren. Instead, he heard gravel under tires, a rattling noise, and then quiet. Two car doors opened and shut.
He saw Allen Meeker’s fiancee approaching the dead cop. Then he heard Meeker’s voice:
That was when Jordan reached back for the gun.
He heard Susan Blanchette begging the son of a bitch to spare Moira and drive away. She pointed to Leo and him. “They’re both dead,” she said. “No one holds anything over you now. You can just drive away, Allen. Please, let her be….”
He only glimpsed Meeker for a few seconds. His face was bleeding. He had Moira by the hair and held an ax blade to her throat. He kept saying he didn’t want any witnesses. Moira was screaming and crying.
Jordan was about to raise the gun and fire. But he was too far away and didn’t want to risk shooting Moira. Just when he thought he had Allen Meeker in his sights, Susan would move between them, blocking the way. It was almost as if she were doing it on purpose.
