Blazer Drive (9 page)

“We should go,” Stephanie said. “They might come back.”

Luke started for the door with Stephanie behind him. I followed them out after grabbing a flashlight from Stephanie's 4x4.

“If we can make it to my truck,” I said, “we'll have a real good shot at escaping. But let's go the long way around.”

We stepped into the crisp air and half jogged away from the ranch house, barn and animal pens.

We were five minutes away when I stopped so suddenly Luke ran into my back.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Guys,” I said, “you go on without me.”

“I don't get it,” Stephanie said. “Where are you going?”

My breath blew out in white puffs as I spoke. “How long before they find out we're gone? Half an hour? One hour? Two hours?”

“What does it matter?” Luke said. “We'll reach Kamloops by then. The police will be on their way back here.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Police. That's what they'll be thinking when they don't find us.”

“And?” Luke asked.

“And they'll do the one thing they can to save themselves. They'll get rid of the four prize bulls in the barn. That way, no one can prove anything against them.”

“He's right,” Stephanie said.

“He's crazy,” Luke said to her. “What's Josh going to do, go back to the barn and let the bulls out?”

“Yup,” I said. “You two get to the truck and take off. Call the police from the first pay phone you find. Once the bulls are out, I'll hide somewhere until the police get here.”

“You can't do that,” Luke said. “If those two guys catch you, they'll kill you.”

“If I don't do it,” I said, “they're going to kill hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of bloodline bulls. Including the one I used to feed by hand with a bottle.”

I turned and ran back toward the barn.

I hadn't told Luke and Stephanie about the motion detectors and video cameras in the barn because I didn't want to scare them. I was scared enough for the three of us.

I did have a plan, though.

I knew as soon as I stepped into the barn, there was a good chance Belkie would know I was there. Since I didn't have the time or skill to find a way around the
alarms he had rigged, I wasn't even going to bother trying. Instead I would try a hit-and-run. And it would have to be a fast hit-and-run.

When I got to the dark shadows behind the barn, I didn't waste a second. The hay bales were still where I had piled them earlier. I jumped up, reached for the hayloft opening and pulled myself inside.

I ran across the hayloft toward the wooden stairs. There were no lights on in the work area below, so I knew it was safe to go downstairs. At least, safe for now.

I hit the stairs at full speed. I didn't pause in the work area to look around. I bolted straight toward the door that led to the stalls.

Snapping on the flashlight, I saw the stalls on both sides, with the wide concrete pathway running down the middle. I flicked the flashlight beam at the door at the far end. Just outside of that locked door were the cattle pens and wide open hills. The bulls would be safe there. We could always round them up later.

I dashed toward the rear door. Had Belkie already heard the alarms? Was he or the big ugly man named Cowle on their way with a rifle?

At the rear door, I skidded to a stop.

My flashlight told me what I didn't want to know. The lock was not a bolt you turned by hand. It needed a key.

I turned and ran back to the work area. It took me nearly half a minute, but I finally spotted a hammer. I picked it up and ran back to the rear door of the barn.

Bang
!
Bang
!

If an alarm had not gotten their attention, the hammering would.

Bang
!
Bang
!
Bang
!

I was desperate. There was no turning back for me. Belkie had to be on his way. He would be coming from the front of the barn. If I didn't get this back door open, I wouldn't have any way to escape.

Bang
!
Bang
!
Bang
!
Bang
! Time felt like sand running through my fingers.

Bang
!

The lock busted and the door flew open. Cool night air flooded inside.

No sign of Belkie or the other guy. I could run now and not get caught.

For a moment, I nearly did. Then I pictured the horrible remains of dead cattle. I remembered how angry and sad I'd been when I saw a magnificent animal like Big Boy so senselessly killed.

I turned back toward the stalls.

First, I'd release Big Boy. Then the others.

I fumbled with the latch on Big Boy's stall. He stomped around inside. The banging of the hammer probably hadn't helped his nerves.

Once again the overhead lights came on and Belkie appeared in the doorway. Standing behind him was Cowle, nightmare big and ugly.

“Do you have a death wish?” Belkie asked. He held a rifle. “This time, fool, I'm armed with bullets, not tranquilizers.”

Big Boy rammed the stall door. The other bulls snorted and roared. The banging and the sudden light had worked up their tempers.

It was either act now and die trying, or face certain death later.

I yanked on the stall door.

The location of the hinges saved my life. When the stall door swung open, it shielded me from the angry bull. It also blocked the path to the back door of the barn behind me.

Big Boy charged out. There was only one direction for him to go. Toward Belkie, who stood in the open doorway of the work area.

I did not see what happened. I was behind the stall door. I can only imagine how terrible it must have been to face over a thousand pounds of raging bull from only a few feet away.

The ground seemed to shake as Big Boy charged.

Belkie didn't even have time to fire his rifle.

I heard a scream of terror and pain.

Then a second scream.

I peeked around the edge of the stall door.

Belkie was lying on the ground, twisted and huddled.

Past him, in the work area, I caught flashes of Big Boy as he stomped, snorted and charged, chasing the other man in circles. That's where the second scream had come from. Big Boy was trying to gore Cowle.

I stepped forward and grabbed the rifle that lay on the concrete.

I didn't have to worry about Belkie. He was moaning and twitching, still alive, but in too much agony to bother me.

Big Boy flashed past the doorway and Cowle screamed again. Big Boy was so angry and wanted the man so bad, he didn't even notice the open door.

I thought of going into the work area to try to rescue the big man. But what would I be able to do? Big Boy takes up a lot of room, and there was no way to stop him when he was angry. Not unless I shot him.

For a moment, I wondered if I should. As valuable as Big Boy was, I couldn't let a man die. Then, through the doorway, I saw
the man scramble to the roof of the pickup truck.

Big Boy lowered his head and charged. The truck rocked and sent Cowle flying. Before Big Boy could get around the truck, the big foreman opened the door and jumped inside.

Big Boy backed up and took another run. More than a thousand angry pounds' worth of a run. He hit the passenger door with the great bulging muscles of his shoulder and kept pushing. The truck tilted and fell on its side.

At that point, I closed the door and sealed off the work area. Big Boy was safe and guarding the truck. Cowle was safe as long as he wasn't stupid enough to climb out of the truck. If he couldn't climb out, he couldn't escape while I waited for the police.

There was a phone near the light switch. I picked it up and dialed 9-1-1.

“Hello,” I said when the operator answered. I gave her the ranch's location and explained the situation.

I looked down at Belkie. His face twisted as he moaned. Blood ran from his nose. His
fine clothing was stained with manure from the concrete floor.

I thought of all the animals Belkie had killed and what he had intended to do to Stephanie and me. I thought about the pain Belkie felt, lying on the floor. And I considered asking the operator to tell the ambulance driver he could take his time. But I didn't.

Finally I could think about hockey again. I also remembered my promise to Luke. I didn't understand why he needed help to get through the season, but it was a promise I had made. And promises are made to be kept.

He tested it almost right away.

It was a Friday night home game against the Spokane Chiefs. The Riverside Coliseum was nearly full of fans when we stepped onto the ice for pre-game warm-ups. People in

Kamloops really know hockey. They like to watch the players on both teams, scouting for weaknesses and strengths.

Players on both teams skated circles—the Chiefs in their end, the Blazers in ours. The first part of warm-ups are relaxed. We skate slowly, loosening up our muscles. The coach gives us some pucks to pass around. We chat with each other, kick the pucks around and look into the stands to see if our girlfriends are watching.

I already knew where Stephanie was—five rows above the penalty box. She had waved and I waved back. I had pretended to be cool, even though inside I was dancing. We had plans to go to a movie when I got back from the road trip with the Buffalo Sabres.

Life was perfect.

Well, nearly perfect.

I came out from behind the net and saw Luke Zannetti skating toward the Chiefs. It was easy to see why. Luke was chasing after a puck that had squirted loose from our half of the ice.

The trouble was, a moose in a Chiefs uniform was skating straight toward Luke. It was a moose disguised as a human, a moose named Lefty Donning who played defense for the Chiefs. He had a reputation as one of the league's dirtiest players.

Luke's head was down as he skated, and he didn't see it coming. Lefty Donning leveled Luke with a body check. The impact slammed Luke onto the ice. He slid into the boards. Donning stood above Luke and waited for him to get up.

This wasn't good.

I knew why it had happened. Even though he had been playing badly, Luke was still feared as one of the league's best players. If the Chiefs could knock him off his game with a dirty move, so much the better. Worse stuff has happened. Especially from Lefty Donning.

The ref started to skate toward them.

So did I, but a lot faster. I arrived just as Luke got to his feet. Trouble was, I didn't have much backup. The other guys on the team didn't like Luke much and were taking their time.

“Hey, baby,” Lefty said to Luke. “Want to cry or want to fight?”

I stepped between them.

“He wasn't even looking, jerk,” I said.

“Drop your gloves, pal.” He dropped his gloves and took off his helmet. “Let's do it.”

I smiled at Lefty. Five other Chiefs' players stood behind him. But after facing Belkie and his rifle, this was nothing.

“Not this time,” I said.

“Chicken?” Lefty said.

“No,” I said. “If we fight, you're off the ice with a penalty. It's always easier for our team to beat yours when they let you play. I mean, it's easier to go around you than around a garbage can. And you smell about the same.”

He swung his fist toward my head. He didn't know what I knew—that the referee was behind him. The ref managed to grab Lefty's arm. Two linesmen moved in to help.

Luke and I skated away.

“Thanks,” he said.

I stared at Luke's face. “Your nose is bleeding,” I said.

“Big surprise,” he said.

“What's that?”

“Nothing.”

We crossed the center line. Luke skated to the bench for a towel to wipe his face. A minute later, he was back on the ice. He caught up to me and tugged on my sleeve.

“Look,” he said, skating beside me and speaking in a low voice, “that hit really hurt. Can you cover me during the game?”

“Cover you?”

“Yeah,” he said, “I'm not going to try to fool you. A couple of times up and down the ice, and I'll be close to dead. My legs are gone and I can hardly breathe. I need you to cover me.”

“But—”

“I won't skate into their end as deep. I won't come back to our net as far. I'm going to float around the middle as much as I can. That should get me through the game.”

“Luke, if you're hurt, tell Coach Price. He—”

Luke pulled on my sleeve again. We were skating almost visor to visor.

“There's one person in the league who's smart enough, strong enough and fast enough to carry our line with a center who can't skate: You. I'm begging you man, just get me through this.”

I shook off his grip. He was asking me to do something that wasn't good for the team. I thought of drugs again and wondered if he was into something bad.

“Luke, whatever it is, you need to get help.”

He spun me so that I had to look into his face. Behind his visor, I could see traces of dried blood around his nose. His eyes were filled with tears.

“I am getting help,” he said. “You're the only one who knows. Just get me through the season. In the summer, I'll get better.”

I started to say no. He saw it coming.

“I saved your life, man. I didn't want to throw that at you. But I saved your life.”

“Fine,” I said. I was half mad at the situation, half mad at him. “I'll do it. On one condition, though: We do it my way.”

My way was simple. If Luke wanted the line to play for him, he'd have to play for the line. I told him if he hung on to the puck for more than three seconds, the deal was off.

Our line started one minute and thirty-two seconds into the game. Still 0–0. The face-off was just over our blue line, on the left side. Luke played at center. Gordie Penn played at right wing. I was along the boards at left wing.