Fletch
It’s not hard to find Ewing.
I can see his flashing lights from across the road when I pull up to the pumps. Doing a quick loop through the parking lot, I don’t see the familiar van so I wait for a break in traffic to get across to the other side of the highway.
The sheriff’s SUV is parked beside another cruiser behind the church—kitty-corner from the roadhouse—so I pull up right behind them.
“What’s going on?”
Both Ewing and the deputy turn their heads in my direction.
“Waiting for Jethro. He’s the church caretaker who called it in, but lives in a trailer on the back end of the property. He’s heading this way on his ATV.”
A few minutes later I can hear the higher whine of a small engine as a four-wheeler comes barreling out of the woods behind the church, driven by an older man wearing a do-rag wrapped around his head and an entire arsenal strapped to his chest and back.
“Jesus Christ, Jethro,” Ewing grumbles.
I guess the sheriff knows who he’s dealing with.
“Oh, keep yer shorts on, Sheriff,” the old man shoots back. “I got a right to defend church property. Only got a warning shot off. Sumbitch shooter was gone by the time I got to where I thought it was comin’ from. Sounded close to Clayton’s place but that’s supposed to be closed on Mondays, so I stopped in to check on it. Looks like someone may have been there. Not sure what he was shootin’ at, where he went, or how he took off. Only thing I know is something went down behind the RV shop and there’s an abandoned vee-hickle sittin’ in the driveway next to my trailer. Made sure it wasn’t goin’ anywhere though.”
He pulls a large hunting knife from his belt and flicks the sharp edge with a nail like some fucking geriatric Rambo.
“Where?” Ewing asks.
“Dirt road runs right along the north side of Clayton’s property. I ain’t never seen it before, no one I know would be found dead in one of them mommy missiles.”
My feet are already carrying me to my truck.
“Hold your fucking horses, Boone,” the sheriff yells behind me.
Like hell I’m gonna wait, not when I’d wager my left nut that mommy missile Jethro mentioned is Nella’s fucking minivan.
I almost blast by it. She’d pulled off on the far side of a large boulder obscuring it from view in this direction.
Fuck. Nella’s van.
Giving not even a single shit I’m blocking the dirt road for anyone else; I slam my truck in park right behind her vehicle which is listing oddly. Looks like Jethro did a number on her tires.
Instead of waiting for Ewing to catch up with me, I start heading through the woods toward the back of Mobilife RV Repairs, as the sign along the road indicated. It doesn’t take an astrophysicist to figure out that was Nella’s target.
Goddamn, woman. What have you gotten yourself into now?
I cup my hands around my mouth and bellow her name.
Nella
It’s probably not even that cold but I’m shivering.
That may have something to do with the blood leaking from my leg.
I’m not a fan. Either of blood, or it leaking from holes in my body that don’t belong. I was hit, I know that much.
The impact took me down to the ground as more shots rang out over my head. Staying as low as I could, I managed to crawl to a fallen tree and I was just able to wedge myself underneath. Good thing, because not too long later I started hearing rustling in the underbrush.
It became clear they were looking for me when after a while I could hear two voices come closer.
“Where the hell did she go?”
“Better find her. You know how Graham feels about leaving witnesses behind.”
I remember taking in a breath and holding it as I was looking at a set of running shoes walking up and stopping just inches from my face. Then suddenly another shot sounded. This one a sharp crack, coming from a different direction.
“Who the fuck is shooting?”
“I don’t know, but we’d better haul ass and get that RV out of here.”
I’ve been afraid to move since those two disappeared. Clearly there’s someone else out there shooting. I heard a light engine—maybe a motorcycle—not too long after. Not knowing who is all out there, it seemed safer to stay where I was but I can’t tell if I’ve been here minutes or hours.
All I know is I’m cold, I’m thirsty but at the same time feel like puking, and I can’t seem to keep my eyes open. I have to stay alert though, because as soon as night falls, I need to get out of here. My van can’t be that far. If I can make it there, all I have to do is drive it down to the highway. Surely the roadhouse is still open and I can get help there.
I risk moving a little so I can dig for my keys in my pocket and blow a sigh of relief when my fist closes around them. It gives me some false sense of control. Something else to focus on so I can keep the panic at bay. Every time my chest tightens, I start counting backward from a random number until my breathing eases again.
It’s quiet, other than the occasional faint sound of traffic from the highway, there’s not much else. I catch myself dozing off, and each time I do I squeeze the keys in my hand a little tighter, hoping the sharp sting will keep me alert.
At some point I hear another engine, the heavier rumble of a truck or a big SUV. It almost sounds like it’s coming right at me, and I hold my breath once again, listening closely. The slam of a door, the crunch of a few footsteps, and then they abruptly stop.
“Nella!”
At the sound of Fletch’s voice, I inhale air so fast I almost choke on it. I try to call out, but dissolve into a coughing fit instead.
“Nella!”
That wasn’t Fletch. This voice is a little closer and, while still trying to clear my throat, I start shimmying out from under the tree.
“Here…I’m here.” I do little more than rasp so I try again, this time louder. “I’m here!”
“Jesus Christ. Fletch! Over here!”
I recognize the service boots and sheriff’s uniform pants as Ewing crouches down beside me. I try to push myself up but he immediately puts a hand on my shoulder, keeping me down.
“Don’t move, honey. We’re gonna get you some help first.”
I almost smile at being called ‘honey’ by a man who undoubtedly was likely calling me a different name altogether less than twenty-four hours ago.
“Where is sh—Oh no, baby, no.”
The sheriff is gone in a flash, replaced by Fletch, who immediately whips off his shirt and starts tying it around my leg. It should probably hurt but I’m numb, I don’t feel a thing. With the sheriff talking to someone in the background about an ambulance and Fletch looking after me, I close my eyes and for a few moments give in to fatigue.
“Goddamit, Nella. You just had to push on, didn’t you?”
His tone is sharp but I hear the concern behind it. Since it’s clearly a rhetorical question, I wisely keep my mouth and my eyes shut. I figure I deserve his anger; I am pretty upset with myself.
“I’m of a mind to lock her up for obstructing an investigation.”
Now, wait a damn minute…
My eyes snap open and find Ewing standing behind Fletch, but before I can voice a protest, the sound of approaching sirens has the sheriff disappearing from sight.
“Fletch…”
My voice is no more than a whisper. Why is talking so hard?
His hand squeezes mine.
“Hang in there, Babe. Medics are here.”
Things are a blur after that and it’s not until I’m about to be shoved in the back of an ambulance I realize I have to say something. I manage to grab Fletch’s wrist at the last minute. Maybe it’s because of what happened to Pippa, but I feel an urgent need to share what I know while I have the chance.
“Tell the sheriff to check behind the Mobilife building, Fletch.”
“He’s got a deputy over there already.”
“I dropped my phone there; I think I broke it. Wanted to take pictures of the motorhome. It’s there, Fletch, under a tarp.”
“Ma’am, we need to get going.”
I hear the EMT’s words but my eyes are locked on Fletch.
“Wait…”
He leans forward and his lips brush my forehead.
“I’ll be right behind you, Nella.”
“But…I heard him say two names,” I quickly blurt out as my grip on his wrist slips and the stretcher I’ve been strapped down on is slid into the ambulance. “Willy and Graham…”
I’ve lost sight of Fletch and hope he can still hear me when I add, “I recognized his voice.”
Fletch
“I need you to head over to the rescue.”
I just caught up with the ambulance and plan to stick to the bumper like glue while making a few necessary phone calls. I was briefly delayed by Ewing, who was peppering me with questions after I relayed what Nella mentioned. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any answers for him and in the meantime the ambulance was disappearing from sight. I’m sure he wasn’t too pleased with me when I finally simply walked off, got in my truck, and headed after Nella.
“What’s going on?” Sully wants to know.
“Nella was shot in the leg, lost quite a bit of blood, and is on her way to the hospital. I’m right behind her.”
“Jesus, brother, what happened?”
“I’ll tell you later, but right now I need you to get to the rescue. You can tell Pippa about her sister, but you’re gonna have to sit on her. There are a lot of fucking moving parts I don’t know what to do with yet, so she’ll be safer right where she is.”
“She’s in danger?”
“Not sure, but proceed as if she is.”
“Gotcha. Nella gonna be okay?”
“Yeah. She should be.”
She was going into shock by the time we found her and had lost a lot blood, but the injury itself looked pretty straightforward. Although, I’ll admit I did breathe a sigh of relief when the medics showed.
“Good. I’ll head out there now.”
I’ve no sooner hung up when another call comes in. It’s the sheriff.
“No phone, no motorhome,” he says without any greeting. “We did find a large tarp and a pile of bedding, clothes, and other odds and ends. Sure looks like something got emptied out in a hurry. We found a bottle of blood pressure pills with the name of one of the victims we found near Troy.”
Nella was right. It had been their Class A she saw.
“Kills me, Boone. This place was not even on my fucking radar. Been focusing on campgrounds and dealers, not repair shops.”
“What about those names?” I prompt him.
“Hell, could be anyone. Haven’t been able to get a hold of the owner so I’m driving out to Thompson Lake. Apparently, Clayton Brown likes to fish somewhere out there on his days off.”
“Good luck finding him.”
There’s a whole chain of lakes running parallel to Highway 2 on the south side, among them Upper, Middle, and Lower Thompson Lakes. That’s a lot of lake to search for one guy.
“I reckon I’ll need that luck, even though Jethro suggested a few spots for me to check. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know one of my deputy’s will be waitin’ at the hospital. I need him to talk to Nella soon’s she gets there. I’ve gotta know who she was referring to.”
The medic had slammed the ambulance doors shut before I could ask Nella whose voice it was she recognized.
“I’d like to know that too.” It’s easier to know who the hell you’re up against. “And by the way, I’ve got Sully going over to cover the sister, just in case.”
“Probably not a bad idea. Okay, I’m at the lake. Lemme go look for the guy. I’ll be in touch.”
I place a quick call to Bo to ask him to meet me at the ambulance bay at the hospital. He can park my truck while I follow Nella inside, because I don’t plan to take my eyes off her again. Then the rest of the drive I’m talking to Jonas, filling him in on what’s transpired so far.
She’s pale, even against the white sheet covering her up to her chin as they pull the gurney from the back of the rig.
“Sir, you can’t leave your—”
Hospital security at the door tries to stop me and I’m about to let him know how unappreciative I am of his hand on my chest, when Bo comes jogging up.
“I’ve got this.”
He snatches the keys from my hand and throws the guard a look. I don’t wait around and rush after Nella, just catching up with her down the hall.
ER staff does their best to stop me from coming in, but it’s Nella’s own insistence I stay with her that finally has them backing off. They relegate me to a stool by the head of the bed. As they start examining her, Ewing’s deputy shows up.
“May as well let him in too,” she suggests with a sigh. “I’d like to get this over with.”
“You have two minutes,” the ER doctor warns the deputy who nods.
“Ms. Freling, Sheriff Ewing asked me—”
“I recognized the truck first,” Nella interrupts him and gets right to it. “Two-tone blue and silver Chevy pickup, not sure of the model, but it looked older, maybe nineties. Good condition. Last time I saw the truck it was parked outside the Sandman Motel.”
I’m about to jump to my feet, but a squeeze of her hand in mine keeps me in place.
Then she continues, “I never actually saw him, but I recognized his voice.”
“Whose voice, ma’am?”
“Martha Crandall’s son. Wyatt Crandall.”