Minus Tide (16 page)

“They’re going to come back to kill us now for sure,” James said.

Ann sat up and rubbed her throbbing temples. She felt sick to her stomach now, worried she might throw up. “I don’t think so. Unless they plan on swimming.”

James pulled a half wet cigarette from his pack and frowned before tearing it in two. He stuck the dry end in his mouth. “Well you had me worried a second there, Ann. Then the plan is to just wait until we drown?”

“The tide isn’t going to reach us.”

“You’re smoking crack. Have you forgotten where we are?”

“I’m serious. My uncle used to come here to fish.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true. I’m surprised your dad never told you. He and my uncle Jack did a lot of fishing and crabbing together back in the day. But Uncle Jack was a daredevil type, did stuff the other boys shied away from. During low tides he’d come up here alone and fish all day until it went back out and he could walk home with a bundle of perch. Drove my grandmother crazy with worry. In fact one time the tide didn’t go back out far enough and he had to wait through another cycle before he could wade back to shore.”

“So what makes you think the tide today isn’t going to be higher than anything your uncle Jack saw?”

“I looked at the tide table yesterday morning. I was showing a couple who came into the store how to read one.”

James lit his salvaged cigarette and inhaled deeply. He stood up for a moment and stared toward the shore before sitting down next to her.

“Jesus Ann. I can’t believe you shot at him.”

“I was thinking about what he did to Tami and how mad I was. I wanted to take him out, was sure I could do it. Then something made me move at the last second.”

James slid closer. “You’re shivering.”

“I know that.”

“You remember what hypothermia is, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

He slipped a hand inside his jacket and came out with the flask. Ann glanced at it and nodded and he smiled and unscrewed the lid for her. Her hand was shaking as she brought the whiskey to her lips and felt it glide down hot like those unexpected rays that cut through a frigid spring fog and sent steam curling off the sand. The whiskey was a little gritty but not worth spitting it out. James fingers kneaded her shoulder before working their way up to the tense chords of her neck. She closed her eyes and tried imagining his face.

“Have another drink,” he said when she tried to hand the flask back to him.

Chapter 30

“What can I do to help, Sheriff?” Coach Burns asked.

“I need your car. And any guns you’ve got in the house.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because it’s finally happened. God, you remember the movies don’t you? How they’d drop out of the sky like monkeys with machine guns? Blowing away every American they saw until some redneck locals banded together and fought back? I never thought we’d actually see the day...”

The sheriff reached out his glass for another refill. Burns noticed the blistered marks on his wrists. He lifted the bottle from the table and poured Dawkins another sour mash. Part of him was sorry to see the whiskey go so fast. He’d been saving it for St. Paddy’s.

“I still don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about them!”

“Who?”

“The goddamn Russians. They’ve landed here in Traitor!”

Burns took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through his nose. He counted to ten. It didn’t quite take, so he counted again. Retirement had demanded less daily practice. “Cuke Burns” was not known for losing his cool, unless he caught one of his students smoking cigarettes. He searched for tell-tale signs of madness, but nothing had swum to the surface of Dawkin’s lumpy white face. The poor man’s head looked as if it had been used as a soccer ball. Had he been on one of his benders again, got mouthy with some other fellas while off duty? Why didn’t he have his own guns?

It wouldn’t be the first time Cuke had seen Dawkins in trouble. One had to wonder if he went out in search of it sometimes. He was just lucky the county was forgiving, always came through for him during election season. Cuke lifted the bottle halfway to his mouth and glanced down its throat at the golden mash winking back. He changed his mind and set the bottle down.

“Did you just say what I thought you did?” Burns asked.

“I did Cuke. The Reds are here. But they haven’t stormed our beaches like in the movies. They got here by taking the goddamn highway!”

“I’ve got to be honest with you Dawk. You’re not on drugs are you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why are you telling me the Russian army is invading Traitor?”

Dawkins drained his glass. He glanced around the room at the framed sports photos and shelves of trophies gathering dust. His face was up there on the wall too somewhere. “I’m talking about the mob, Cuke. The Russian mob is here in town and they took Mitch and me hostage along with a couple of kids. They’re looking for some money they say is theirs.”

“How’d you get those marks on your wrists?”

“They cuffed me with a plastic band. There was no other way to free myself. I pressed them against a wood stove until they melted enough to pull apart.”

“Jesus,” coach whispered. “Should I go get my first aid kit?”

“No. I’ll be okay. There’s no time for it anyway.”

“No time for what?”

“To stop them before they leave Traitor.”

Cuke shook his head. “That’s not possible Dawk. All the phones are still out, even the cell phones. They say Traitor is cut off from both sides. There’s an overturned truck on bay bridge and up north of town it’s a total mess. I heard a piece of highway a half block long slid down and almost took a lucky trucker with it. There’s heavy equipment on the way, but it can’t go nowhere until the bridge is cleared.”

Dawkins held out his empty glass. His eyes seemed to be staring inward. “One more hit Cuke and I’ll be on my way. Now please go get me your guns.”

“No one’s asking you to be a hero, Dawk.”

“I know that.”

“You’re serious about this.”

“Look at what they done to me. I’ve got to go see if I can find them.”

Cuke got up from the table and walked stiffly toward the back bedroom. “Son of a bitch.”

“What’s that?”

“You heard me.”

Dawkin’s mind began to drift while he waited. Cuke’s whiskey had warmed him up nicely. The hot anger he’d felt had passed and he was glad for it.
If you wanted to do things right you needed to stay focused on what had to be done.
And once you get them out of the way you’re going to need to find those kids that left you, kicked you upside the head and left you behind in that stinking shack ...

Ten minutes later Cuke returned with a gym bag and set it on the table. He’d gotten dressed. The sheriff noticed he was armed with a .45 in a holster.

“What do you think you’re doing, Cuke?”

“We can get the rifles from the truck. I’ve got two pistols in that bag and plenty of ammo.”

“You’re not coming with me.”

“Like hell I’m not.”

Chapter 31

As soon as he reached town, James headed for a vacation home development he remembered being mostly deserted during the winter. Wealthy city people loved their big trophy summer houses. But when it came to hammering storms and the idea of having to rough it without electricity, most chose to stay close to home where cell phone service and an operating Starbucks were guaranteed.

His clothes were soaked through and his slow-moving limbs had gone numb. It felt as if he were a hundred years old. He was disappointed but not surprised to see that the power was still out, the rows of identical houses all dark and quiet. He’d hoped to find some electric heat to warm his bones for a while. There was no time to build a fire.

In the back of the house he’d lifted a hefty specimen of beach coble and smiled at the flowery, hand-painted “Welcome” before throwing it through the slider window. Instead of rushing inside he stood quietly on the new redwood patio and listened for sounds of neighbors stirring but heard none. He’d been right about no one being around. And even if there was, what would they do
,
with no cops or phones to call them with?

Wrapping himself in a thick quilt he found draped over a couch, he proceeded to search bedroom closets for dry clothes, found a hoodie and a wool cap to change into, but no pants. Unless he soon found better alternatives, he’d have to wear what he had on for the next several days. His pants had shrunk some and the cold .38 tucked under his waistband dug painfully, but wasn’t going anywhere either.

In the kitchen he threw open cabinets until he found a bag of chocolate bars, presumably leftovers from last Halloween. He immediately unwrapped several and shoved them into his mouth and chased the stale glob down with an orange soda he’d found unopened in the refrigerator. While he finished his drink he looked around the house. He checked the phone but it was dead.

Outside dusk was falling. He found a set of keys near the door to the garage. In the garage he found a car covered by a tarp and whistled at the shining ’63 Skylark sleeping beneath it, all powder blue and silver as if it were meant to be flown across a cloudless sky. He recalled seeing the car before he’d left for the navy, driven around town by a dentist who’d recently bought the place. None of the locals could stand the man who expected to be treated like visiting royalty, who frequently drove intoxicated, but always seemed to be somewhere where the sheriff wasn’t.

Everyone wondered why the dentist had wanted a place in Traitor anyway when they were forced to listen to him brag about his latest golfing trip to Hawaii or drunken gambling junket to Las Vegas. But by the end of the summer the town began to put the pieces together when they started seeing him riding around with a young woman who clearly wasn’t his wife. The tryst didn’t surprise them in the least. For many men like the dentist, Traitor Bay was a convenient place to stash one’s current fleshpot.

James packed the trunk with a shovel and other supplies he thought he might need. He was still cold and anxious to see if the Skylark’s heater worked. As quietly as he could he pulled up the garage door and looked up and down the street. Night had dropped fast. There was still no sign of life in the other houses, but closer to the highway where the locals lived he could hear the grind of gas generators.

The Skylark started right away. James liked the throaty voice of the engine, the smell of the newly upholstered leather seats and the old-time dials and an AM radio with push buttons. He had to remind himself that she wasn’t for keeps, that there’d soon be a time when he’d have to give her up for new wheels. But for now she was all his.

Chapter 32

Have I died? What’s happening to me?

The drugs James had ground up and put into the whiskey flask were not wearing off. Ann imagined she was turning the pages in a child’s picture book and witnessing ink sketches of herself, of helpless Ann drifting through a series of worlds where she became smaller and smaller until night began to seep in from the edges and the pages themselves turned black. By then she was blind and bumping around in the dark, like a glob of oil inside a seafaring tanker’s belly, until at one point she felt herself being lifted up into someone’s arms and carried, recalling that pleasant sensation of being asleep and having her father haul her to the car after a long night of visiting relatives.