The black Lincoln Town Car pulled into Fort St. Jesus Bait and Tackle and parked between a mud-caked 4x4 and a blue Honda Civic. Cam was on the front porch, emptying a 55-gallon drum that served as a trash can. He’d never seen the car before. Maybe somebody’s relatives in town to transport them out of here before the storm.
The motor on the Town Car switched off, but no one got out. Cam couldn’t see through the blacked-out windows, but he was expecting some old guy and his blue-haired wife to ease out. It looked like that kind of car. A rolling living room. Big cushy suspension. Quiet ride. A retirement home on wheels.
To his surprise, a young black guy got out the driver’s side, looked around, then tapped the roof of the car. At that, the other three doors opened and four other black dudes climbed out, including one big guy all dressed in black, with black shades. Cam thought for some reason, Mr. Big. Seemed to fit.
Definitely not locals, Cam thought. Didn’t recognize them at all. Could have been someone’s relatives. Ms. Nettie? Grandkids? No, too old for that. Her son was Cam’s age, and these guys looked to be in their twenties. The math didn’t work.
Cam’s alarm bell went off in his head. Wasn’t sure why. Probably the look of these guys. Punks. They had that vibe about them.
The five of them sauntered toward the front steps, taking their time, looking around. Like five gunslingers in town, walking into the saloon. Getting the lay of the land.
They walked past him, and Cam said, “Guys” and continued his trash duties. But he kept an eye on them just the same. Zach was inside, still busy ringing up the local citizenry as they stocked up for the storm. Cam tied up the garbage bag, walked around the side and tossed it into the dumpster. He came back quickly, put a new bag in the drum, and stepped inside the store.
A quick glance and he saw that the five gunslingers were at the back of the store. Two of them were at the cooler, the rest were spread through the handful of aisles. Zach was busy at the counter, but he, too, was watching the five guys. The kid was smart, and wary for someone so young. He gave Cam a look, and Cam nodded. They were on the same wavelength.
Cam stepped behind the counter and helped bag a few items while Zach rang up the order. What he was really doing was getting into a defensive position, with the counter between him and potential trouble. That and getting within arms length of the shotgun he had in a sheath under the counter. He could have it out, cocked and ready to rock in just under two seconds.
He and Zach got the two customers rung up and out the door in a couple of minutes. Now it was just the two of them and the five gunslingers.
Zach said under his breath, “Don’t know those guys.”
“Me either,” Cam replied. He arranged a couple of items on the counter, but he was looking at the visitors. “Stay sharp. If it goes to shit, get down.”
“Okay,” he said. He sounded a little shaky.
After a few minutes, four of the guys walked up to the counter and dropped their goods down. Some Red Bulls, chips, jerky, various candy, a roll of duct tape, some rope and a pair of work gloves. The fifth guy, Mr. Big, hung back and scoped out the store some more.
None of the guys said anything. They were cool. Indifferent. As if Cam and Zach were invisible. The help. Cam thought about striking up some conversation, if nothing more than to get a sense of what they were doing in town. But they didn’t look like they were in a talkative mood, so he blew it off.
They paid in cash and walked out, Mr. Big still hanging back from the others. It was like they were security that always walked in front.
“Assholes,” Zach said. He made sure they were out the door and gone before making this insightful comment.
“Yeah, they need to keep going,” Cam said. “Bad dudes. Sure’d like to know what they’re doing around here. Long way from I-10.”
“Looked like a gang or something,” Zach said. “The big guy was the boss, like the Godfather.”
“Yeah, the boss,” Cam added. “Still a bunch of punks, though. Might’ve been scoping out the place. We’ll keep an eye on them. Might give Lexie a heads up, too.”
Tree and the guys got back in the Town Car and eased back out onto the road. Roland had given them directions on how to get to the drop-off point, and part of those directions included passing Fort St. Jesus Bait and Tackle. They were on their way.
Roland, still in the trunk and still debating his time left on the planet, heard the crunch of gravel, the opening of doors and the passing of cars on the road. He figured correctly they’d stopped at the Fort. No one had bothered to get him a soda or some smokes or a beer, though. Whatever. He just wanted out of the trunk, which now began to feel smaller and smaller. And he had to pee. Maybe puke, too.
After a few minutes, his new friends returned to the car and they drove on. Roland tried to get a sense if they were driving in the right direction, but his skeezy brain couldn’t handle it, so he just closed his eyes and waited.
Fifteen minutes later, after a few turns, some starts and stops and some heated exchanges from the front, the Town Car came to a stop. Roland heard one door open and listened to footsteps coming toward the trunk.
With a click and a thump, the trunk lid opened on its own accord. Roland opened his eyes and saw Tree standing above him.
“This it?” he said in his booming baritone.
Roland sat up and looked at his surroundings. Lots of green, and a few birds chirping. He climbed out of the trunk on shaky legs, brushed the back of his dirty jeans as if that would help, and surveyed the area.
They were on a narrow dirt road, with thick woods on either side. He could see the highway about 100 yards back the way they came.
“Yeah, yeah, perfect,” Roland said. He smiled. Tree didn’t.
Tree looked at his watch. “You got two hours.”
“That’ll work,” said Roland. “I’ll have her locked down by then. You know how to get to the house, right?”
“Yeah, saw it when we came in.”
“Good. Give me a call just to make sure. Then pull around back when you get there.”
“Don’t fuck up,” Tree said. He pointed a huge long finger at Roland.
“Not a problem. I owe this bitch.”
“You owe me, motherfucker,” Tree said. “Find that shit.”
“Count on it,” Roland said.
“I am,” Tree said. He handed Roland a bag with the duct tape, rope and gloves inside.
Troy and Carla rolled into his garage/gas station just as a wind-blown light rain came up and peppered the gravel parking lot and corrugated tin sides of Troy’s garage. He pulled into one of the two empty bays, just far enough to get Carla’s Audi out of the rain. The tow truck was now completely through and outside again in the back. They both jumped out and ran into the garage. Troy’s mechanic, Odell Landry, walked out of the garage office to meet them. Odell was a slight, thin, semi-retired oil-field roustabout who did double time at the garage. He had a short buzz cut of silver hair. The guy could fix anything.
“What happened, Carla?” he said.
Carla ignored Odell as she opened the trunk. Troy was already lowering the front of the Audi onto the concrete floor of the garage. He looked over at Odell and said, “She spun out after some deer ran across the road.”
“Storm must be spookin’ ‘em,” Odell replied.
Carla looked up at Troy, then over to Odell. “Yeah, spooked,” she said. She continued to gather some of her “product” from the trunk, consolidating some things into one canvas bag.
Troy got the Audi down and unhooked. He ran back out to the tow truck and pulled it into the other bay.
“What happened to the windows?” Odell said. He stepped closer to the passenger side of the tow truck and carefully placed his hands on the jagged glass that still remained.
Troy hesitated a moment. “Uh, hit a couple of limbs when I went down off the road to get to her car.”
Odell just looked at the glass on the seat of the truck. “I can fix this soon as we can get some glass in here.”
“Good,” Troy said. “After the storm blows through.” He looked back outside as the rain continued to fall. “Could you go ahead and shut the bay doors? Let’s lock it down for the weekend. Keep the gas pumps on, though.”
“Sure thing,” Odell said, and went to close the big doors.
Troy walked over to Carla, who still stood by the trunk. “What are you going to do?”
She put some boxes of makeup into the bag. “Got to drop some things off for a couple of customers. I promised them I’d have them today. Let me borrow the pickup.”
“You’re shittin’ me, right?” Troy said. He looked over to Odell, then back at Carla. He said in a low whisper, “Who knows where that thing went to.”
“Not going that way,” she said. “Back toward Henderson. Couple of stops to make and then I’m heading back.”
Troy ran his fingers through his wet hair. The loud clatter of the big bay doors going down made it too hard to hear. “Just stay away from the bayou. Any bayou, river, mud puddle, whatever.”
“You gotta tell Cam,” Carla said. “We should warn people.”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “That’ll sound great.”
“Yeah, maybe not,” she replied. “Everybody’s leaving anyway. But at least tell Cam. He’ll believe you.”
“He saw the shit,” Cam said. “He’ll have to believe it.”
She finished with her bag. “Okay, that’s it. Should be back in an hour or two. You’ll be here?”
“Here or over at the Fort. Call me when you’re heading back.”
Carla stood on her tippy toes and gave him a little peck on the cheek. “Thanks for rescuing me from the dragon, Sir Knight.”
“That wasn’t a dragon,” Troy said. “That was a certifiable Grade A, government science experiment gone bad.”
“Then call them and tell them their pet got loose.”
“I got a feeling they already know that,” he said. “But there’s no fed facility around here, is there?”
Carla thought a second. “Fort Polk,” she said.
“But that’s an army base. Can’t be any labs up there.”
“Maybe that’s what they want you to believe,” Carla said. “Thousands of wooded acres. I mean, how much of that is needed to train troops? Just a part. Bet they’ve got some science lab hidden in the woods.”
“Could be,” Troy said. He squeezed his lips together with his thumb and forefinger. “But we’d see army trucks around, you know, looking for it.”
“Nah, too obvious. Probably disguised as regular guys in regular trucks. Fishermen, hunters, that kind of thing.”
“Huh. Might be. Hadn’t seen that much traffic, though.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe they’re looking in the wrong place.”
Troy sighed. “Shoulda got some video or pictures.”
“Sorry, I was too busy screaming my fucking head off,” Carla said. “You seemed a little preoccupied at the time, too.”
“Yeah, but still.”
“Give me the keys.” She held her hand out.
Troy dug in his pockets and gave her the keys to his pickup truck. “Try not to get it eaten. You either.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she said. She grabbed her bag of goodies and ran out into the rain to his truck. A deep, rolling thunder shook the garage. It made Troy jump.