Authors: Sharon Woods Hopkins
Killerwatt (20 page)
So much for getting here on time!
Rhetta slammed the brakes and pulled to the side of
the county road.
“What are you doing?” This time it was Woody
shouting as he threw out his hands to brace himself against slamming into the
dash. The shoulder harness snapped tightly against his chest, pinning him
against the seat.
Rhetta threw Cami into reverse. “We can cut across
and get back on Gabriela Road. It connects to the interstate just south of
Perryville. Maybe we can beat them to Scott County if they don’t know this
short cut.”
Woody fiddled with the shoulder harness until it
finally yielded some slack. “How come you know your way around Perry County but
get lost in the Steak ’n Shake parking lot in Cape?”
“I once dated a guy that lived on a farm up here,”
Rhetta answered. “We used to drive all these back roads.” She swerved hard to
the right. Woody braced again. “Who told you I got lost in the Steak ’n Shake?”
“So, how come you went the wrong way back there,
looking for the Mississippi?”
Rhetta ignored him.
*
* *
As
Rhetta had predicted, once they hit Gabriela Road they were within five minutes
of the interstate.
Hustling down Gabriela Road, she swerved right when
she spotted the interstate. Woody again braced against the dash. Cami’s modern
shoulder harnesses were getting a workout.
It took only a dizzying few seconds to complete the
near circle of the on ramp. Soon they were racing on to the interstate. This
was their last chance to stop a total grid failure. They had to get to Scott
County, to the last substation, before the terrorists did.
There were few vehicles on the divided interstate.
Mostly, she saw only over-the-road trucks with trailers. Once she locked into
the inside fast lane, Rhetta opened Cami up. Her speedometer displayed a
maximum top-end speed of 160 on the face. She didn’t dare look at it to see how
close they were to burying the needle.
The interstate wasn’t much different than it was
before the blackout, since there was no highway lighting in this part of the
state. She stole a glance at Cami’s fuel gauge. To her shock, she had less than
half a tank of gas left. All that crazy driving from Glen Allen and then
through Cape to get to Woody’s had taken its toll on the nearly full tank she’d
started out with. Her pet Camaro was a gas hog.
Rhetta reached up and patted the dash. “Come on
baby. Don’t let me down. I can’t stop for gas. We’ve got to go another 50
miles.”
Please God, we’ve got to stop
them.
“It wouldn’t do any good to stop at a gas station,
anyway,” said the ever-practical Woody. “There’s no power, remember?”
“Yes, Woody. I’m aware that there is no power and
therefore we won’t be able to get any gas.”
“Then don’t run out.”
Honestly. Does he think I planned
it this way? Grr….
“Why are you growling?”
She wasn’t aware that she’d growled aloud. “I’m just
getting frustrated, that’s all.”
“Yeah, well, me, too.” He twisted around and gazed
out the back window. “Have you seen any cars in your rear view? Maybe we should
be on the watch for a car that’s driving suspiciously fast down the interstate.
Besides us, I mean.”
Woody made sense. She glanced in her side view
mirrors. No other cars. Theirs was the only car rocketing along.
Peering at the speedometer, Woody said, “You’re
liable to get pulled over for speeding, you know.”
Good grief, was he being
deliberately obtuse?
“That would actually be wonderful.” She slapped the
steering wheel. “If only!” She felt herself getting exasperated. Had he not
paid attention when she told him about her unsuccessful attempts at contacting
law enforcement? Getting pulled over might get them some help, damn it!
“Can you get out the map from the glove box?” Rhetta
angled her chin in the direction of Woody’s death grip on the dash. “Under your
right palm.”
“Why do you need a map?” He sounded worried as he
fiddled with the catch to open the glove box.
“Turn the knob to the right,” she instructed after
seeing his impatience. He’d already slapped the glove box door twice.
“I got it,” he said and rooted around. Instead of a
map, he produced a leather holster with a neat pearl handle showing through.
“What’s this?” He held it between his thumb and
index finger.
Rhetta slid a glance his way and recognized the .22
pistol Randolph had bought at the gun show last month.
“Randolph bought that at the gun show. I guess he
forgot to take it out of the glove box.”
“Good, we could use another weapon, even if it is
just a toy.”
“We can’t use that one. It’s not loaded.”
Woody set the holster down on the console between
them. Rhetta changed lanes and the gun slid to the floor near Woody’s feet. He
groped around his feet, searching for the gun.
“Never mind the pistol, Woody. Find the map.”
Triumphantly, like he’d found a scavenger hunt
object, he finally held up the folded Missouri map. He left the glove box open
to utilize the small light to read the map. The Camaro had no map lights, only
the overhead LED dome light, which didn’t have a switch.
He opened up the large map and spread it out over
his lap. “What do you want me to find?”
“Look for Flatt Junction. It’s in Scott County. I
think it’s east of Old Miner.”
“Old Miner? Where’s that?”
“It’s considered a part of Sikeston now.”
“Then why didn’t you say Sikeston?”
She groaned.
He has to be provoking me on
purpose. Woody isn’t that dense
.
That’s when it hit her. His reluctance had to do
with his PTSD. She stole another sideways glance at Woody, hunched over,
examining the map. His head glistened with droplets of sweat in spite of the
air conditioning. His shirt was soaked with sweat. Woody was a nervous wreck.
She prayed he wasn’t working up to an episode. She didn’t have time to deal
with it. It was up to her to keep both of them under control.
Stay calm
.
She took in a deep breath, and tried to go to her
quiet place. She couldn’t find it. She hoped her brain would at least benefit
from added oxygen. She inhaled two more times. She willed the oxygen to cleanse
her heart, her blood, her brain, go to her nerve endings, and slow her pulse.
Each time she let the breath out quickly, in order to dispel the carbon
dioxide.
“Why are you panting?” Woody broke the reverie she’d
induced in hopes of keeping calm.
“I’m not panting. I’m taking cleansing breaths,”
Rhetta said.
“Sounds like panting to me. By the way, it isn’t
just your breaths in need of cleansing. That dried mud all over you is getting
pretty ripe in this cramped space.”
In spite of the tension, or maybe because of it,
Rhetta giggled. Woody chuckled. Then, they both laughed. Like during a
preacher’s sermon in church, even though laughing was inappropriate, neither of
them could stop.
Woody and Rhetta zoomed past the last Cape Girardeau
exit heading southbound. Sikeston lay twenty miles ahead. Woody held the large
paper map to within inches of his face, staring intently.
Woody said, “I don’t have my reading glasses. From
what I can tell there’s a Sikeston exit at Highway 62 that says Miner. There’s
also one south of Sikeston at the Highway 60 exit that also says Sikeston. Do
you know which one we need to take?”
“We’ll get off at the Miner exit, and go east. See
how far it is to Flatt Junction.”
“Flatt Junction isn’t marked,” Woody said after
scanning the map. He began folding it. “I need to get this down to a manageable
size.” He folded it over twice more.
“Flatt Junction should be on Highway 62 just before we
get to Bertrand. I looked it up when Randolph called me the night of his
accident. We have to turn left on a state road. Do you see a state road marked
there? Not a number road, a letter road.” Rhetta referred to the mysterious
system Missouri had of identifying its roads. Some state roads had letters
while others had numbers, according to a pattern no one could understand.
A flashing blue light in Rhetta’s rear view mirror
caught her attention.
Woody held the map closer to the glove box light and
then he leaned back, holding it at the end of his reach. He squinted and then
tilted forward again. “Why didn’t I bring my glasses?” he mumbled. Then,
tapping the map, he asked, “Could it be Highway O?”
“That’s it,” Rhetta said. “How far to O after we get
off the interstate?”
The blue light had now pulled up behind her. The
lights had doubled. There were now two flashing blue lights and they were
ablaze atop a highway patrol car.
Rhetta downshifted, pulled over to the shoulder, and
stopped. The patrol car pulled in about twenty feet behind her.
“Looks like you got your wish,” Woody said, closing
the glove box.
“Maybe he’ll help us.” Rhetta kept Cami idling in
neutral, her foot on the brake. The officer took his time getting out of his
car and making his way to her driver’s side. She rolled her window down before
he got there.
“Officer, I’m glad you’re here,” Rhetta began before
he had a chance to recite the customary,
Good evening ma’am. Going a little
fast there, weren’t you?
The officer looked surprised. He aimed an
excessively bright flashlight beam directly into Rhetta’s face. She squinted.
“We need you to follow us,” Rhetta said. “It’s an
emergency. We’re going to the power substation at Flatt Junction, near
Sikeston.”
Apparently, the police academy didn’t cover
scenarios like this. The young officer didn’t answer. He continued beaming the
flashlight back and forth between Woody and Rhetta.
Rhetta shielded her eyes with her hand and craned
her neck to look up at the officer studying her. “Officer, we have reason to
believe there’s a terrorist attack underway on our power substations. There’s a
chance that there’s one last power station left operating in Sikeston. We just
left Perryville and that one’s out. Sikeston is the last one in the entire
southeast Missouri service area for Inland Electric. We’ve got to stop the
terrorists who are doing this. They’ll be heading to Sikeston. I believe we’re
ahead of them, but not by very much. We need your help to stop them. Call for
backup.”
The officer shook his head and laughed. “The guys at
headquarters told me they’d heard every story in the book, but I’ll bet a day’s
wages they never heard this one.” He held out his hand. “Let me have your
operator’s license and car’s registration, please.” He kept shaking his head.
Rhetta grappled around the floor of the back seat
for her bag. “I know you’re aware of the power outages,” Rhetta said,
determined to make the officer believe her. She snatched the handle on her
purse and tugged the bag into her lap. “We know what’s causing them.” She
groped through her bag and came out with her wallet. She located her driver’s
license. Then she reached over and opened the glove box. After dumping
everything from it on to Woody’s lap, she fished through the stack and found
the laminated registration card. She presented the wallet and the registration
card to the officer.
“I know you know what’s causing them,” he said. “You
just told me. Terrorists. Please remove your operator’s license from the
wallet.” His smile disappeared. Rhetta did as he requested.
Clutching her license and registration in his hand,
the officer turned toward his car. He stopped and swiveled back to her. “By the
way, I love what you’ve done with the seat coverings.” He pointed to the big
blue tarp. He chuckled at his own joke.
Rhetta fumed until she realized how she must’ve
looked to the officer—a muddy mess sitting on a blue tarp in a ’79 Camaro,
ranting about terrorists in Cape Girardeau. Undoubtedly, he must’ve thought
he’d have a tale to tell his grandchildren. She thought that the better story
would have resulted from accompanying her and Woody. From the cop’s attitude,
it didn’t seem likely that would happen.
On his way, he shone the flashlight on his booty,
reading while he walked.
He doesn’t believe me, either.
Rhetta removed her foot from the brake, threw Cami
into first, and shot back on to the highway.
“Oh, great,” Woody said. “Why did you do that?” He
twisted around to look out the rear window.
“He blew his chance to help us,” Rhetta grumbled,
shifting into fourth. The Camaro leapt into the fast lane once more. “We don’t
have all night.” Within seconds, she was doing eighty.
*
* *
Cami
was the only vehicle on the southbound side of the divided interstate when they
screamed past the Cape Girardeau airport exit. After repeated glances in the
mirror, she was disappointed to find that the officer wasn’t following them.
“With any luck, that rookie called ahead to have another cop stop us,” Rhetta
said. “Maybe we can get them to follow us.”
Woody didn’t answer.
Rhetta glanced over to the Cape Girardeau Regional
Airport, which sat a quarter mile away in a large field. Normally the control
tower and airport compound was well lit and readily visible from the exit. Now,
the entire vicinity lay in total darkness, just like the rest of the area.
Strange. They must not have any
backup generators.
Woody had remained silent throughout the traffic
stop. After Rhetta had driven down the road a ways, Woody held up the .22
pistol. He’d found the holster on the floor and had stealthily removed the
weapon and concealed it on his lap under the unwieldy map.
“What were you planning on doing with that?” Rhetta
asked as Woody slid the revolver back into the holster. He opened the glove box
and tucked the weapon inside.
“I thought for a minute there I was going to have to
persuade that dumb cop to leave us the heck alone and let us get rolling if he
wasn’t going to help.” He shot a look at Rhetta. “I didn’t have to. You took
care of the situation yourself.”
“You were going to do that with an empty .22?”
“He didn’t know it was empty.”
“Did you want to get us killed? What if he would’ve
drawn his own weapon and fired?”
“He wouldn’t have, not with me holding a gun on
him.”
Woody wasn’t acting at all like himself. PTSD?
Rhetta began rapid deep breathing. Where was that oxygen when she needed it?
