(56)

I had Coolie’s pistol but I didn’t think of using it. I was too frightened and confused to think about much.

By this time, Jack Jr. had hold of Chief Dudley’s fallen pistol. It looked like a cap gun in his huge hand.

I dropped the shotgun and made a run into the long hallway; the blue light fell in after me, making the photos on the walls appear to move.

Ronnie had already gone through the door at the end of the hall, the one that led to the platform on top of the stairs. The door had closed behind her. I grabbed the latch and turned it as a bullet slapped into the door, just above my shoulder, scattering wood dust. I shoved the door open as another shot picked at the bottom of my ear like an insect bite.

I hopped through the doorway onto the landing, slammed the door behind me, and threw the lock. Ronnie was on the landing with Buck and the chair.

Another volley punctured the door, zipped past us, and rattled down into the cellar.

I got hold of the chair, turned it, started pulling it after me as we went down the stairs, Buck bouncing like a child on a seesaw.

At the bottom of the stairs, I said to Ronnie, “Run for the tunnel. Grab the wheelbarrow inside the gap. It’s full of evidence. Go to the end. I’m not there in a few minutes, take the evidence and drive away.”

Ronnie slipped her flashlight off her belt, flicked it on, and didn’t hesitate. She broke into a run. I wheeled the chair around to start after her. I turned too fast and the chair flipped over and Buck rolled onto the floor.

I set the chair up, got him under the arms, and tried to lift him up. It took some work, but I pulled him over and boosted him into the chair, his head wagging from side to side all the while.

Jack Jr. was banging against the door with all his weight. I heard the lock snap, the doorframe crack. Jack appeared on the landing, standing on top of the broken door he had shouldered down. He looked less like a trick-or-treater now in his robe and more like the angel of death.

I rush-pushed Buck toward the gap in the wall. A shot smacked against the wall and showered me in brick powder. I glanced to see if the wheelbarrow and the makeshift bags were gone, and they were. In a moment, we were bumping down the short row of steps, moving through darkness, the chair’s wheels splattering water and frightening rats.

I could hear Jack Jr.’s big feet slapping in the water behind us. Another shot snapped off and reverberated in the tunnel. I could feel it pluck at my hair like a morning breeze, but all that counted was it had missed me.

I made a curve in the tunnel as another shot picked off some brick. Behind me, Jack Jr.’s pursuit was loud, and in the next instant I could smell his cologne, and he was on me.

He gripped me by the shoulders and whirled me away from the wheelchair, slammed me into the tunnel wall. Rats scuttled and I felt stunned. Then he had me again, grabbing me by my shirt. “You ruined everything,” he said.

He lifted me as if I were a Styrofoam dummy and sent me sailing along the tunnel floor. I hit Buck’s chair and tipped it over, sending Buck into a trail of running water. The chair lay on its side with a wheel spinning.

I got up. If anyone had been there to see me do it, it would have looked like watching the evolution of mankind, the way I put myself together. From all fours to slightly standing to mostly erect to, finally, fully upright.

Jack Jr. was barreling toward me. I reached for Coolie’s gun, but it was gone. It had fallen out of my waistband somewhere along the way. I might have found it had I had a flashlight and an hour and a small search party of rats to assist me.

Jack Jr. grabbed me, lifted me, and started to crush me in a bear hug. He had his hands locked behind my back and was squeezing me like a vise. Sweat had collided with his cologne. It was stronger than the stench of the tunnel. I felt an internal organ shift. A fart left me. I began to bend, my head going back. I hammered at him with my fist. I thought I broke his nose, but that might have been wishful thinking.

I tried to claw at his eyes, but I was bent back too far. I felt as if I were going to pass out, and then I heard squeaking and splashing, turned my head, and saw a light coming along one of the side tunnels. The light came quickly and behind the light came that horrid smell I had encountered that night on the lakeshore. Rats squeaked, and in the glow of the light I could see the shape was coated in rats. The flashlight’s beam cut across the shadows, made an arc into the side of Jack Jr.’s head.

The glass face of the flashlight shattered, but there were tiny fragments of glass briefly visible in the light from the bulb as the flash came loose from Flashlight Boy’s hand, hit the floor, and spun, swinging a thin beam of light around and around.

Jack Jr., as if mildly bothered, dropped me into the cold water that ran through the middle of the tunnel. My hand was touching Buck’s hand and it was wet and cold.

I hurt, but I was more afraid than in pain. I regained my feet and grabbed the flashlight. That was one tough flashlight, heavily coated in rubber and made of heavy metal. I poked it in the direction of the battling behemoths.

The light winked off rats leaping from their human taxi as Jack Jr. hammered Flashlight Boy with his fists. It was like a Godzilla and King Kong movie. Something silver winked in the light and shot down, rose up again, shot down again. I realized it was the blade of a pocketknife. The one I had given Flashlight Boy.

Jack dropped faster than a gigolo’s drawers and Flashlight Boy leaped onto him. Splashing about in the water, they made sounds like two whales mating. I moved the light from them to look for the pistol. A blasting sound and a burst of red fire flashed in the tunnel. Jack Jr. had found the pistol before me.

Flashlight Boy barked once with pain. He was straddling Jack Jr., still striking him with the pocketknife but doing it slower now. There was another flash and a blast. Flashlight Boy made a weaker sound this time, but the knife rose and went down once more before he slumped over Jack Jr. in a lump.

Jack Jr. struggled his way out from under Flashlight Boy’s body. It was a hard go. That man was heavy.

I righted the wheelchair and dragged Buck back into it. He was like a sandbag. Doing this sent fire up my spine where Jack Jr. had compressed it. I turned off the flashlight, dropped it in Buck’s lap, and started shoving the wheelchair forward as hard as I could go.

Rats leaped about my wet feet, and chill water sloshed onto my pants legs. Behind me I heard Jack Jr. splashing down the tunnel, coming after me again.