She had gotten me into the occasional bit of trouble and Mom and Dad had been dead-set against me seeing her after the second incident, but Gail was what I had wanted, no matter what the trouble. Our last few months together were spent slipping out and having our dates either out of town, Huntsville was only thirty miles up the road or in the back seat of my car.
After I’d finished basic training and then Ranger school at Fort Benning, I’d returned home on leave to find Gail’s house was occupied by people I didn’t know. I asked around and found out her folks had moved out of town and nobody had heard from any of them since they left. I tried to locate her a few times without luck. I’d been pissed with her for years, but eventually concluded she was just one of those romances that come in and out of your life. Then, this evening, she called up out of nowhere and insisted, no, she’d practically begged me to meet her at Sardis. I had to wonder what sort of trouble she gotten into this time. That had been less than an hour ago and now; I was going see her for the first time in six years. I wondered if she was still the same.
I topped a rise and in the distance could see the steeple of Sardis. The old church sat atop a hill at an intersection of two gravel roads. Moonlight reflected off its tall, narrow windows and the steeply pitched metal roof. The vertical wood siding was white, but weathered and would need a good scraping and a new coat of paint soon. The church sat on flat stones rather than a true foundation. I didn’t know the real age of the church, but I was pretty sure it had been here the last time some of the states decided they couldn’t stay in the Union.
A van sat half in half out of the shadow of an enormous pin oak that was nearly as old as the church.
I felt a smile creep back onto my face. The hell with the final; I could study in the morning. If Gail were nearly as friendly as I remembered, I wouldn’t get any sleep tonight anyway.
Approaching the church’s drive, I slowed to reduce the cloud of dust following me. My headlights illuminated the side of the Chevy van. It had seen better days. There was rust around the wheel wells and the paint was patchy at best. At second look, the van was old with dual side doors that swung outwards. Did Chevy still make those? My headlights swept across the van’s windshield as I braked to a stop a dozen yards from the van.
I put the Dodge’s transmission in park and sat still, waiting for the dust to settle. I didn’t see Gail.
I turned off the engine, thumbed both side windows down, and listened. Other than my pinging engine, the night was quiet. That was a little odd considering you could usually hear crickets and tree frogs anywhere in Alabama in the summer months. The air held the smell of dust and I sneezed. I left the keys in the ignition, opened the driver’s door, and stepped out onto the running board. Looking over the top of the crew cab, I scanned the area, unsuccessfully, for Gail.
Four large pecan trees graced the rear of the church’s property. Weathered wooden tables ran between the trees. In my youth, the tables had been used for pot-luck dinners during homecoming and revivals. Once my younger brother had been playing on the tables after a revival and fell, hitting his head on an exposed root and spurting blood all over the place. It had taken six stitches to close the wound. I’d caught hell for it because as the older brother, I was supposed to keep an eye on my sibling.
“Gail?” I called loud enough for her to hear me even if she was inside the church. She didn’t answer.
I stepped down. The gravel crunched underfoot as I walked around to the opposite side of my truck. I called again, “Gail!”
Nothing. A light breeze shook the leaves of the oak and from somewhere the scent of jasmine reached me.
I reached through the passenger window and popped open the glove box. The box’s interior illuminated and light reflected off blued steel. I lifted the Beretta Storm .40 S&W out of its holster and shoved it into my back right pocket. Then I removed the small box that held my Peltor TEP-100 digital earplugs. I opened the case and turned both earplugs to normal mode before draping the fishing line lanyard behind my neck and inserting the plugs.
“Well, Hoss, I wondered if you were smart enough to come armed.”
I flinched but turned slowly to see Gail leaning against the oak. No one but Gail had ever called me Hoss and she had never explained why she used the nickname. Hearing it gave me a little thrill. I tried not to smile. The moon
