Veil of Civility: A Black Shuck Thriller (Declan McIver Series) (32 page)

Declan slammed the truck into reverse as he pressed the pedal to the floor. The nearly bald tires slid against the smooth pavement before finally gaining traction and pushing the vehicle backwards. Placing his arm over the back seat he looked over his shoulder as he backed the vehicle up the road as fast as it would go. The back end fishtailed and he fought to keep the badly aligned truck from swerving off the road and into one of the manicured yards on either side. As he cleared the last of the homes, he stomped hard on the emergency brake and slapped the gearshift into neutral as he turned the steering wheel sharply, causing the truck to skid sideways and around in a half circle.

Declan braced for impact as the deputy pursuing him collided with the rear bumper of the truck and pushed it forward. Declan shifted back into drive, popped the emergency brake and again pressed the pedal to the floor. White smoke plumed from the rear wheels as the truck struggled to gain traction. With only inches between his rear bumper and the front bumper of the police cruiser, he swerved the truck, deliberately trying to get the deputy to back off, but without success. The truck bounced violently as the paved surface ended and a cloud of dust cascaded into the air. With the fork in the road just ahead of him, he looked through the truck's windows trying to determine which way was more likely to lead him back around to the main road, but his choice was made for him when he saw a cloud of dust trailing behind a vehicle coming down the road to the right. The deputy from the old lady's house was trying to cut him off at the fork.

He pressed harder on the accelerator and tightened his grip on the wheel until his knuckles turned white. As he approached the fork he allowed the vehicle to glide to the left and braced himself for the impact he knew was coming. Giving the accelerator a last push, he managed to clear the fork with the cab of the truck before the oncoming police cruiser hit him.

The car collided with the rear quarter of the truck and Declan steered hard to the left as the truck was knocked into a sideways skid. Correcting the steering, he brought the truck back into a forward trajectory and looked into the rearview mirror. Through the dust he could see that the two deputies had narrowly avoided a collision and were now trying to back out of each other's way so they could continue the pursuit. The temporary delay allowed him to distance himself from his pursuers, but he knew the advantage wouldn't last. There was no way the old truck could outrun the amped up engines of the police cars and any hope of making a sudden turn to throw them off his trail was foiled by the dust cloud being churned up behind him. It was clear as he wound his way furiously over a curvy section of the dirt road that he needed to find a place to ditch the truck and get back into the forest on foot. Without being able to outrun the police cars, it was his only way of escaping. Glancing into the rearview mirror again, he could see the blue lights of the police cars through the dust, closing the distance. Ahead another fork in the road became visible and he looked to the right and left. On the right the dirt road continued winding its way around the grassy fields and to the left a thick patch of forest was cleared at the crest of a hill where a water tower broke the tree line. Taking the road to the left he gambled that there was some kind of building at the base of the water tower that might slow the approach of the pursuing deputies. Any law enforcement officer with more than five minutes of training wouldn't approach with any speed a building that potentially held an armed suspect, and that could give him all the time he needed to make a run for it through the woods and put some distance between himself and the police.

The road narrowed as it became tree lined and he slowed slightly as overgrown branches slapped the sides of the truck. The water tower was less than fifty yards ahead of him and he could already see that his gamble wasn't going to pay off. There was nothing at the base of the water tower but a ladder leading to the top and a dead end.
Damn
he thought as he moved his foot from the accelerator to the brake and slowed the truck to a skidding stop. Quickly he gathered the folders into a stack and left the truck. Behind him he could hear the crunch of gravel as the police cruisers approached, their progress slowing as they entered the tree covered area. Maybe his idea had panned out after all. Maybe the deputies were worried he would take up a position on the water tower and try shooting at them as they approached. With the truck hopefully blocking their view of him, he ran into the woods as fast as he could.

Fifty yards behind the water tower, in the cover of the trees, he stopped and listened. He couldn't hear any sounds from the vehicles and assumed the two deputies had stopped their pursuit. He took a minute to look around and to try and decide what direction he was headed. In the ferocity of the chase he hadn't been paying attention to where he was going and quickly began retracing his movements in his head as he moved forward in a jog. The sudden bark of a large dog at his back jarred him and he jerked his head over his shoulder towards the water tower. Had one of the deputies been a K-9 unit? He couldn't afford to wait and find out. He broke into a run, grabbing onto trees and pulling himself forward through the forest as he heard the barking continue behind him.

Jumping over a downed tree, he landed in a clearing created by a set of high-tension wires that cut through the forest. Wading quickly through the waist high scrub brush he crossed into the forest on the other side before continuing to run. Ahead he could tell that the patch of forest he was in was coming to an end and he knew he had no chance of outrunning a dog on open ground. As he broke the tree line he saw several weathered buildings in the clearing. Sliding down a hill on his heels and grabbing at tiny scrub pines to keep himself upright, he landed at the bottom and ran for the biggest building.

Dodging around several piles of cut trees, the property he was now on appeared to be a saw mill. The buildings were made from split boards that were weathered black with age and he could see a conveyor belt coming through the side of the biggest building's A-frame. As he ran he looked for any signs that the place was occupied and saw nothing. No vehicles appeared to be present and a dirt driveway cut through the forest to his right. Several barks bellowed from behind him and he picked up his pace, his breath coming in rapid gasps. Arriving at the side of the biggest building, he ran around it until he found a door. Pulling it open by the twisted metal handle, he entered and pulled it shut behind him, holding it closed by the interior handle as he felt something leap against the door with a frustrated bark. Breathing heavily, he looked around the area near the door and found a rusted screwdriver on a workbench that was thin enough to fit into the door handle. He jammed it through the hole to hold the door closed and turned into the building.

Inside, the place was like a large barn with a conveyor belt in the center that was used to bring in the logs from outside so they could be sawed and split into boards. The room smelled heavily of sawdust, and thin beams of sunlight exposed the dust floating in the air as they pierced through the spaces in between the boarded walls. He looked for any other entrances, but didn't see any. The only hole in the building besides the door he had come through was for the conveyor belt and it was too high for either a dog or a human to reach. He breathed easily and considered his next move as the barking continued from outside the door. He knew the two deputies wouldn't be far behind the dog and that they would be radioing for more units to back them up. He walked a little further into the building and noticed a set of steps that led to a room off a second floor catwalk. Maybe there was a door there that he could sneak out of. He climbed the steps two at a time, the weathered boards creaking under his weight and the catwalk shaking slightly as he stepped onto it. He crossed it carefully to a closed door and slowly opened it.

Inside was an employee break room with a refrigerator, microwave and a square table in one corner. It was clear from the settled dust that it hadn't been used in quite a while. On the opposite side of the rectangular room was a door that obviously led to what was intended to be the front of the building. Faded vinyl lettering on the window in the door read
Walterman's Lumber.
He crossed the tiled floor to the door, and looked outside. The doorway led to a second story porch that had a set of stairs leading down to the small parking lot in front of the building. The driveway he'd seen on his way in ran off the lot and up into the woods where he assumed it connected with the dirt road he had been on a short time ago. A cloud of dust coming through the trees attracted his attention and he watched as it moved closer. Knowing exactly what it was he wasn't surprised when a police cruiser appeared at the top of the driveway and stopped. The officer inside surveyed the lot and the buildings below and brought his radio to his mouth. Ducking out of the window, Declan reached down to make sure the door was locked.

Standing against a counter he could see out of the window to the right side of the lumber yard where he'd first approached the property. Two men in brown and tan uniforms appeared at the crest of the hill and one yelled a command in a language that Declan didn't understand. From the other side of the building a tan and black German shepherd bounded between the piles of uncut lumber and up the hill to his master's feet. The men stood beside a row of trees looking over the property for any sign of him and prepared to take cover if he began shooting.

They had him cornered now and they knew it. The driveway was blocked by the police cruiser and if he tried to make a run for it out of the back door that he'd come in through, the dog would be on him in a matter of seconds. He knew that the one deputy in his cruiser at the top of the driveway would soon be joined by more vehicles and that within a few minutes the entire place would be surrounded. He wiped his face with his hand and took a deep breath as he considered his next move. For the moment he had time on his side and while he wasn't willing to harm innocent men, they didn't know that and would be extremely cautious and well prepared before attempting to enter the building after him. He turned around and placed the files on the counter top in front of him. Spreading them out, he opened one and looked at the face of one of the men he'd killed.

The face the paperwork identified as Jack Turlington stared back at him and he recognized the man as the apparent leader of the four, the man he'd beaten to death beside a bulldozer two nights earlier. He set the folder aside and opened each of the other three.

Scanning briefly over the information on each man's DOJ application he settled on the fact that the information was likely for real. Nothing in the documents looked out of place. By all appearances they were just four men who had applied and were working at a small security company in central Virginia. Somehow Declan needed to find a way to get the information out of the physical folders because there was no way he was going to be leaving with them still in his possession.

"Attention," a voice from outside bellowed over a bullhorn. "This is Franklin County Sheriff Steve Scruggs. We have the building surrounded. This place hasn't been used in several years now so we know you're alone. Give yourself up or we're prepared to come in after you."

Declan turned towards the window and leaned his head so he could see outside. Three more police cars had arrived at the top of the driveway and behind them a white SUV bearing similar law enforcement markings was parked. A total of nine men were now gathered near the cars, all taking cover behind the open doors of the vehicles. He scanned the tree line quickly and didn't see anyone else in position, but it didn't matter. There was still no way he was going to make it on foot with as many men as were out there and there was still the presence of the dog to consider.

He turned back towards the countertop and looked at the folders. He pulled one of his prepaid cell phones from the pocket of his coat and flipped it open. The camera on the phone took a low megapixel image but it would have to do. He snapped several photos of the DOJ applications and bundled them into an email. Pressing the "send" button, he waited as the service connected and uploaded the pictures. When it was done, he laid the phone on the countertop as he looked around the room for something he could break it with. He didn't want anyone being able to turn it on and find out what he'd sent and where it had gone. Seeing nothing that he could use he picked the device up in both hands and snapped it in half at the joint between the receiver and the LED display. Crossing the room to the door that led back into the saw mill, he opened it and peered out. No one had tried to enter the building after him yet. He stepped onto the catwalk and threw the LED part of the phone as hard as he could across the building. Taking the back off the remaining piece he removed the battery and the SIM card and repeated the process of throwing them as far as he could before finally dropping the receiver through the holes in the floor of the catwalk and listening as it clattered onto the cement floor below and shattered. Hopefully the pieces wouldn't be found and if they were, he was hopeful that they were beyond any kind of use.

"Attention," the amplified voice of the Sheriff said again. “This is your second and final warning. Come out now or we are prepared to come in after you."

The voice echoed over the small valley that the saw mill sat in and Declan turned back towards the interior of the break room. He knew there were only two ways he was going to get out of the building, in a body bag or by giving up and allowing himself to be arrested. He unzipped his coat and slid it off, laying it on the floor at his feet. He released the magazine in his Glock pistol as he removed it from the holster on his belt and laid them both on the counter side by side. The last thing he wanted to happen was for an antsy deputy to pull the trigger nervously upon seeing that he was carrying a gun. He stepped towards the door and unlocked it before pulling it open and allowing it to bang against the wall. "I'm comin' out," he yelled as he raised his hands and stepped onto the porch.