The Ninth Day (28 page)

“Got it. I’ll call if I need to, but I think she’s deliberately avoiding us, and I’m going to let her work her angle a bit longer.”

“As long as she isn’t working you in the process,” Banner said.

Chapter 34

“R
ather than steal a car, wouldn’t it just be easier to disable the tracking device and keep the car we have?” Emma said.

They were driving past field after field in Oklahoma.

Vanderlock shook his head. “Those are tough to find. They’re hidden somewhere under the chassis. I don’t know that I could locate it if I wanted to, and then I don’t know that I could disable it.” For a moment Emma wished they’d had Oz with them. She had no doubt he could disable any GPS device he encountered. Emma saw a combine working a distant meadow.

“I have a better idea,” Emma said. She pointed at the combine. “I’ll bet he left his house unlocked.”

Vanderlock snorted. “No way. Anyone could just waltz in and rob him blind while he’s out working.”

Emma laughed. “You were raised in a city, right?”

Vanderlock nodded. “Johannesburg. Why?”

“Because people in the country leave their front doors unlocked, their keys in the car, and if they don’t, they always,
always
have a fake rock or concealed jar near the front door that has a spare house key. Just find a small road off this main one and take it. We’ll start checking houses.”

“I want to see this,” Vanderlock said.

“Then we need to find a phone.”

Vanderlock flicked her a glance. “I thought the deal was you’d give it one more shot with the lab before you call Banner.”

Emma shook her head. “I made no deals. And I’m not calling Banner.”

Vanderlock turned down a rutted road, and they bounced along, the Caliber’s suspension creaking with each bone-jarring pothole. A sickening smell wafted into the car.

“I know
that
smell,” Emma said.

Vanderlock nodded. “Me too. It’s a still.”

“Can you find where it’s coming from?”

Vanderlock kept going, and the smell grew. They came upon another dirt road angling off from the first. A handwritten sign nailed to a tree read, T
RESPASSERS
W
ILL
B
E
S
HOT
. Vanderlock stopped at the intersection and idled there, looking at it.

“Think they have a truck to transport their moonshine?”

Emma nodded. “I believe they just might.”

“Well let’s go get it. I want you in a lab yesterday. Can you get my gun out of the duffel? We may need it.”

Emma twisted around and fished in the duffel. Her rib cage banged against the seat back as the car continued to jerk up and down. She pulled out the weapon, sat back in her seat, and checked the clip.

Vanderlock flicked her a surprised look. “Since when do you know how to shoot?”

“You taught me, remember?”

“I taught you how to shoot an RPG. I don’t recall teaching you how to shoot a gun.”

“Rocket-propelled grenades, guns, they’re all the same,” Emma did her best to keep her voice nonchalant.

Vanderlock hooted. “Yeah, right. One’s a bazooka and one’s a pistol. Tell me the truth.”

“Sumner taught me this year.”

Vanderlock drove around another pothole before giving her a shrewd look. “What else did he teach you?”

Emma ignored him and continued to check the weapon, looking up only when the car stopped.

In front of them sat a house that had once been elegant, but was now just tired. A large porch wrapped around the two-story structure with peeling blue paint. The house had the depressing air of a structure long forgotten. The front door, covered by a screen, was closed. To the right of the door was a boarded-up window. The plywood covering was warped at the edges. The stench of rotten corn and moldy yeast assaulted them, and Emma found herself holding her breath. Vanderlock drove the car over a lawn filled with large swaying weeds. They rounded the side of the house to the back and continued down a small path cut between the trees. Branches hit the car’s sides and snapped against the windshield. They emerged into a clearing, where a metal still was cooking away. No truck in sight. Vanderlock got out of the car and strolled over to inspect the cooker.

“Hey! There are some finished bottles here.” He held up a plastic milk jug filled with a clear liquid. Vanderlock uncapped it and took a sniff. He reared back. “Damn, that’s strong! Bet this stuff is a hundred twenty proof, easy.” He took a swig. Emma watched in fascination as his face first turned pale, then flushed red. He started to wheeze. She jumped out of the car.

“You okay?” She watched tears form in Vanderlock’s eyes as he tried to contain his reaction to the booze.

“Water,” he whispered.

She smiled and went to the Caliber, reached a hand through the open back-door window, and snagged a water bottle. She tossed it to Vanderlock. He opened it and started drinking in huge gulps.

“Was it that bad?” Emma asked.

Vanderlock shook his head. “Not bad, just white lightning.”

Emma reached out and took the car keys that dangled from his hand. “I’ll drive for a while.” Vanderlock nodded, picked up the bottle, and headed back to the car. “Wait,” Emma said, “you’re bringing that swill?”

Vanderlock gave her a huge smile. “Oh yeah. This is
just
what I need. No car here, we’re going to have to test your theory and find a house to rob.”

Emma turned the car around and bumped across the lawn back to the road. They retraced their path, passing the “Trespassers will be shot” sign, and then she turned onto the main road, a long county highway, well paved, flanked on either side by wheat fields and stretching into the horizon. After ten minutes, she glanced in the rearview mirror. A black Mercedes, followed by a black BMW hurtled toward them.

“Strap in, La Valle’s men are coming on fast.”

Vanderlock twisted in his seat to look behind them. “Damn, they used the tracking device. Can you shake them?”

“In a Caliber? Not likely. If that’s La Valle’s BMW, then it has double the horsepower, easy. If it’s armored, the plating will add some weight. Maybe slow it down.”

Emma pushed the pedal all the way to the floor and the Caliber responded with a surge of speed. The engine started humming, making a high-pitched whine. The road stretched out before them, rimmed by the wheat and offering nothing in the way of cover. Vanderlock pulled out his weapon and kept watch in the side-view mirror.

“You see any side roads, you take them. Wish we had another gun.”

“We’re not winning this race. Any ideas? Can we negotiate? Tell them you’re willing to continue with the shipment?”

Vanderlock shook his head. “La Valle isn’t going to negotiate with me after I let a load get confiscated. He’ll just shoot me, execution style, which would be merciful by his standards, because he’s known for torture. Besides, I’m not going to let him take you hostage again.”

In the distance Emma could see the combine working its way through the field to their left, spraying a substance onto the plants from two long poles extending on either side. The road bisecting the fields appeared almost too quickly for Emma to react. She spun the wheel left. The caliber’s front tires turned and the entire car started skidding sideways as it was unable to grip the road. They slid down into a small depression on the edge. After a moment the treads regained their traction and the car moved forward again, flinging dirt from the road up in the air. Emma kept her eyes glued to the path and her foot to the floor. The speedometer jumped back up, moving in a smooth motion. The BMW appeared in the rearview, making the turn with little sideways motion. The Mercedes followed.

“We need a plan. They’re gaining,” Emma said. Ahead she saw a pickup truck parked on the road. It was pulled to the side, but would leave her little choice but to slow down to avoid hitting it when they squeezed past. It grew larger as they hurtled toward it. Emma saw two large round barrels in the back.

“You think that truck has a gun rack?” Vanderlock said.

“Haven’t seen a gun rack in a pickup in years,” Emma said.

Vanderlock never took his eyes from the side mirror when he answered. “We can only hope this one does, because I have no other idea.” As they drew nearer, Emma could begin to see the impression of lettering on the barrels but she was too far to read it. As they approached she saw a propane tank next to the barrels. Seconds later they were on top of the truck. Emma slammed on the brakes. They slid again, this time straight for the vehicle, creating a cloud of dust from the dirt road that tinted the air around them a dirty yellow color. The moment the car stopped she jumped out, leaving her door open. Vanderlock slammed out of his side. Emma grabbed the pickup’s gate, stepped on the bumper, and flung a leg over the top to pull herself into the open body.

Both barrels contained common herbicide. Not really flammable, and Emma wrote them off as potential weapons. Next to them sat a twenty-pound propane tank. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Vanderlock enter the truck’s cab. He appeared next to the truck’s tire, holding his pistol.

“No gun rack. No gun.” He aimed his pistol at the oncoming vehicles and fired.

The bullet hit the dirt in front of the BMW. The car reacted immediately, turning toward the field, and drove straight into it, disappearing from sight. The Mercedes behind skid to a stop. Vanderlock shot again, and a little puff of flying dirt near the front tires indicated a miss. The car immediately started reversing, accelerating backward. Vanderlock fired again.

“Out of range,” Vanderlock said.

He looked into the pickup and spied the propane tank. “If I shoot the tank, will it explode?”

“No. You’d need a spark. Or incendiary bullets. It would if we threw it on a fire and
then
shot it.” She jumped back onto the ground. “Let’s go. We don’t have the time to build a fire.” She reached over and grabbed the propane tank by the top, hauling it over the truck’s sidewall. “I’ll bring it.”

Vanderlock just nodded, keeping his eyes on the road where the two cars were last seen. The Mercedes idled well back and out of range, sitting in the middle of the road, waiting. The BMW remained out of sight, a fact that worried Emma. She half expected it to come crashing from the field at any moment.

“Come on. Time’s a-wasting,” Vanderlock said. “They’re going to start to use us for target practice.”

“Back in the car,” Emma said. She tossed the propane tank in the hatch and slammed it closed, slid into the driver’s seat and hit the gas the moment Vanderlock regained his place.

She drove around the truck and hammered the pedal down as far as it would go. To her left she saw the spraying rods of the combine in the distance. They hurtled down the road. Emma kept flicking looks into the rearview mirror, waiting and dreading the moment when the BMW would appear once again. Vanderlock kept his eyes on the side-view mirror, saying nothing. They sped by bales of hay on the side of the road, spaced in intervals, awaiting pickup. Emma glanced in the mirror. No BMW, no Mercedes, but nowhere to hide, either. They reached another line of hay bales.

“Brace yourself,” she said. Vanderlock placed a hand on the dashboard. She slammed on the brakes. “Let’s start a fire.”

Emma scrambled out of the car and ran a few steps behind it to the nearest hay bale. Vanderlock appeared at her side, his pistol still in his hand. She tugged on the twine holding the bale and lifted it. Vanderlock paused an instant, but then shoved his pistol into his waistband and helped her carry the bale to the middle of the road. Emma started to dig in the straw, making a hollow. Vanderlock snagged the propane tank from the back of the car.

“In the hole?” Vanderlock said. Emma just nodded. She’d hollowed out an area in the bale for the tank. He lowered it into place, twisting it back and forth.

Emma heard the roar of an engine. The BMW was speeding toward them. Vanderlock aimed and fired, though the car was well out of range.

“Throw me your lighter,” Emma said. He fished his stick lighter out of his pocket and tossed it to her. Emma flicked it on and held the flame against the hay. Her hand didn’t shake as she thought it might. Vanderlock shot twice more, but she kept her eyes on the hay, waiting for it to ignite. She held the lighter steady and a flame snaked upward.

“What the hell is that?”

Emma looked up.

The BMW idled in the middle of the road about 250 yards from them. The doors were open on either side, and Mono and Raoul stood in front. Both held guns in their hands. Both were pointed at the man who stood between them. It was Oz. His arms and face were covered with masses of angry red sores—so many that it was difficult to tell what he had once looked like. His hands were curled into rigor mortis-like claws, and they, too, were covered in blisters. If he hadn’t been wearing his jeans and the familiar tee shirt, she wouldn’t have recognized him. He kept his head down, staring at the ground. Anguish tugged at her as she looked at him.