“Mrs. Wickens,” Lawrence said, his eyes darting back and forth between her and the men in front of him, “I’m sure you don’t want to see one of your sons, or your husband, hurt.”
“And I’m sure you don’t want your fucking head shot off.” She held the gun with such confidence, I had the sense she could do it.
Lawrence persisted. “Mrs. Wickens. If you don’t put down your gun and stand over here with the rest of your family, I may have no choice but to use my weapon. Who do you want to see die first? One of your boys, or your husband?”
“Well,” Charlene Wickens said, appearing rather thoughtful, “I guess if you gotta take one of them, best it be my husband. I wouldn’t feel good about you taking one of my own flesh and blood.” I wished I could see Timmy Wickens’s expression, but Wendell was standing to this side of him, and his face was obscured.
Charlene Wickens continued, “But the way I see it, the best you might be able to do is get one out of the three, and by then, I’ll have put a bullet of my own into you. And if you figure it makes sense to shoot me first, since I’m the one holding a gun, lots of luck there, pardner. The moment I see your muscles twitch to start aiming in my direction, I’m dropping you.”
There was one thing Lawrence had on his side that none of the Wickenses knew about, and that was me. He must have figured that I was watching this, not from inside the barn, perhaps, but at least from the spot outside where he’d left me. And he’d know that, even if I lacked the requisite heroic skills to turn the tables on the Wickenses at this moment, I could at least run like hell for help.
If only my bear spray had a range of forty feet.
“Maybe,” said Lawrence, “I’m willing to see how many of you I can take out before you shoot me. I’m betting I can kill at least two of you before you kill me. And that ought to be enough to disrupt your plans for tomorrow’s parade.”
Everyone thought about that for a few seconds.
Then Charlene said, “We do it your way, then after, whoever’s left standing here is going to take a walk down the road and get rid of every possible witness who could ever tell the police anything about what’s been going on around here. Walker, and that meddlesome son of his, and whoever else is down there. We’ll take care of all of them. And then we’ll pack up and move on.”
That didn’t sound good at all. And I could tell, from Lawrence’s expression, that it didn’t sound very good to him, either.
So, slowly and deliberately, he bent down and set his gun on the barn floor. And Dougie walked over and kicked him in the balls.
Lawrence dropped like a bag of cement. He lay on the floor, writhing.
Timmy shook his head, walked over to Charlene. “Nice going, honey.”
She smiled, gave him a peck on the cheek. “I hope you know I didn’t mean nothing by telling him to shoot you first. You know I love you, even if not quite as much as I love my boys.”
“I know,” Timmy said. “You did what you had to do.”
Wendell said, “Were you still making sandwiches, Mom?”
“Oh, almost forgot,” she said. “I was bringing the tray over, and when I heard the commotion going on in here, I put it down outside, ran back and got my gun. Just a sec.” She slipped out the door and was back ten seconds later, the tray of sandwiches untouched by any creatures of the night.
Wendell and Dougie rushed her. “Which one’s without cheese?” asked Dougie, who was already lifting the lids of the various sandwiches to check.
“This one,” Charlene said.
Dougie grabbed it, shoved a quarter of the sandwich into his mouth, his cheeks bulging out. Wendell did the same.
“Nothing for you?” Charlene asked her husband. “I made you one without mustard, just like you asked.”
Timmy shook his head, glanced back at Lawrence Jones on the floor, slowly twisting and turning. “I’m a bit worried about him. I don’t figure he’d be out here working alone. It was Walker’s son brought him up here from the city.”
Wendell and Dougie, looking like squirrels hiding nuts to take back to the nest, stopped chewing a moment to take in the significance of this comment. Charlene said, “You think he might be around here, too?”
“Why don’t we go ask?” Timmy said, and walked back over to Lawrence. He bent over slightly, and said, “Who else is out here with you?”
I began slipping back toward the open door, which meant I couldn’t see what was going on, but I could still hear.
“I said, who else is out here with you?”
Quietly, “Nobody.”
“I don’t believe you. Dougie, come over here and give this man another taste of your boot.”
Up above them, nearing the door, I could hear the kick.
Lawrence said, “Unnhhh.”
“Now let me ask you again. Are you out here alone, or is there someone with you?”
As it turned out, Lawrence didn’t really need to answer the question. I answered it for them when, as I slipped out the door, my foot pressed down on a twig and snapped it.
It wasn’t a loud sound. It was hardly anything at all. But it must have been enough to prick someone’s ears.
“Up there,” Charlene Wickens said. “Someone’s up there!”
“Wendell!” Timmy shouted. “Dougie! Go! Go!”
I now embarked on the “run like hell” part of my plan. My legs started pumping, carrying me back in the direction I’d come from, along the inside of the fence, looking for the place where I’d hopped over, because I knew the terrain back down toward the cabins from there pretty well.
I glanced back briefly, and when I saw the shadows of the two brothers appear in the light of the barn door, I dropped to the ground, flattening myself to it. Each of them was armed with a shotgun, and as soon as they were standing outside the barn, they stopped momentarily, reminding me of the pit bulls when they stopped to determine where the smell of fish was coming from. They hadn’t seen me, didn’t know where I might be, and were wondering which way to go. There were a lot of choices, standing under that starry sky.
One of them, I couldn’t tell which, pointed and said to the other, “You go that way!” That one disappeared behind the far side of the barn. The one I could still see, and it was beginning to look to me now like it was Wendell, started off, slowly, in my direction.
As long as I pressed myself to the ground, I felt he couldn’t see me. Unless of course, he happened to come right toward me.
Charlene Wickens came out of the barn, an empty tray in her hand, and walked briskly back to the farmhouse.
She went into the house, let the door slam shut behind her. Upstairs, a light went on.
Wendell was moving my way.
I felt a small rock under my right hand, gripped it. I rolled over onto my back and threw it, as best I could from that position, back toward the barn. It hit the ground, and just as I’d hoped, Wendell stopped and turned. He was holding his breath same as I was, I suspected, listening for any sound. He decided the noise was worth investigating, and went slowly in that direction.
I got to my knees, almost in a sprinter’s starting position, and then bolted, trying to keep low. I got to the spot where I’d hopped the fence, grabbed hold of it, and the metal wire twanged softly as I got my feet into the openings and threw myself over.
Once my feet were planted on the other side, I looked back, and saw that Wendell was running my way now. Running hard, the barrel of the shotgun wavering back and forth in front of him as he ran toward me.
I ran into the woods wildly, not as sure of my bearings as I’d thought I would be. And even had I known exactly where I was, I couldn’t decide where to go, or what to do. I could run back to Dad’s cabin, but he wasn’t going to be able to protect me from a guy with a shotgun. We could put in a frantic call to Orville, but how long
