Craig Johnson - Hell Is Empty

“West slope?”

“Joe Iron Cloud’s got 16 blocked along with 47 and 434. He’s on his way up with Tommy Wayman, but it’s already turned to snow west of here. We’re going to get buried.”

I ran a quick topographic in my head; we were close to the spine that made up the Bighorn Mountains, and the majority of the precipitation would fall here before heading onto the plains. “Yep, we are.” There was another surge of flame from the gas pumps, and even if the damn things were empty, they were liable to cause a continuing hazard. “Get him something to drink. I’m going to go out to the side of the building and find the cutoff to those pumps.”

Snow was just starting to mix with the sleet, and it was cold outside, colder than it had been when we’d arrived.

Around the corner, there was a lath fence beside the mudroom that housed a compressor and stacks of old tires, but in front of that there was an emergency kill switch. It was possible that, even empty, the pumps were still pushing gas vapor through the lines. After I threw the switch, the fire died down.

Still keeping my distance, I returned to the front of the building and studied the burning Suburban. I could go in and try and find a fire extinguisher but figured that wouldn’t be the best utilization of my time, considering the circumstances. My eyes remained on the Chevy-the back access door and the rear passenger side hung partially ajar, and I could see where Shade had run the van into the SUV, forcing it onto the pump island. One of the gas handles lay on the melted asphalt, the hose burned and gone.

I stepped in closer and carefully counted the bodies and then walked around the vehicle and searched the surrounding area, just to be sure.

Back inside, Saizarbitoria was talking to McGroder, and the agent’s color was a little better. Sancho broke off when he saw the look on my face. “What?”

“Mike, how many of your people were in the other Suburban?”

His head shook, but his eyes were steady. “Two of mine and a marshal. Three.”

Sancho glanced back at McGroder as I bundled up, and we watched the fire bank itself and dwindle even further in the face of the sleet/snow and cold. The Basquo’s voice was tight. “I think he’s gonna make it.”

“He’s tough, but you need to keep him talking.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sancho’s dark eyes reflected the waning fire as he spoke. “What’re you going to do?”

I sighed. “I’ll take a sweep between here and Boulder Park to make sure the convicts are not in a ditch. If they aren’t, Iron Cloud will have a better chance of seeing them on his way up. No word from Joe or Tommy on the Ameri-Trans van?”

“No.”

“What about Beatrice Linwood’s Blazer.”

The Basquo looked grim and then tried to put a good face on a situation that had none. “They didn’t say anything, but if this Beatrice Linwood lives in Ten Sleep, wouldn’t they have seen her?”

“Call them back and ask them to check it.”

“I will.” He bit the inside of his lip, a habit he’d picked up from me. “What are you thinking?”

I pulled out my pocket watch and read the time: creeping up on ten o’clock. “I’m thinking that an awful lot of our bad eggs just got out of the basket, and I’m afraid they’ve got one of ours with them.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are only two bodies out there, and the cargo door was open. I think he took whatever was behind the seats and the woman agent, Pfaff.”

“Why in the hell would he do that?”

“She’s the one he’s been talking to, and he’s going to need insurance.” I hustled back to the bar and placed a hand on McGroder’s shoulder; he was definitely looking better. I glanced at the can of root beer Sancho had found on the shelves. “You want another sip?”

The agent grinned. “Only if you’ve got something stiffer.”

“No such luck.” I cleared my throat. “I’ve got bad news; it looks like you’re going to make it.”

He laughed slightly. “So, what’s the good news?”

“I think he’s got one of your agents.”

The grin faded. “Kasey Pfaff?”

I nodded. “All the roads are blocked on both sides of the mountains, but I’m going to make a quick loop a little west of here. I’m hoping they’re in a ditch, so I might be able to round things up quick.”

“He’ll kill you.” He said it like taxes.

I patted his shoulder. “I’m kinda hard to kill.”

“Yeah, I know. I talked to a buddy of yours who’s in the Bureau-guy by the name of Cliff Cly. But still…”

My turn to grin. “Let me guess: Cly was reassigned to the licensing office in Nome, Alaska?”

“Something like that; he says you punch like a mule kicks.”

I shrugged. “He’s overly kind. Look, McGroder, I’ve got to get out there.”

His voice took a different tone, and his sable eyes focused on me unlike they had before, as his hand grasped my sleeve. “I’m not screwing around here, Sheriff. Listen to me. If you go after him alone, he’ll kill you. Wait for backup and…”

I took a breath and leaned in. “I’m just going up the road a bit.”

His face remained immobile. “You’ll never come back.”

I smiled at him, but it was one of those moments when everything freezes in time. I could hear the coolers laboring away, the sleet on the roof, and the last few dying sounds of the fire outside. You know those moments are a signpost, something telling you that you shouldn’t go any farther-the ones you try and ignore.

As I hurried toward the door, the Basquo intercepted me. “Hey, are you sure you want to do this alone?”

“Yep, I’m sure. I’m sure I don’t, but there isn’t anybody else for the job.” He started to interrupt, but I cut him off before he could get going. “With your experience in corrections, you have a lot more medical training; if he goes into cardiac arrest, you might actually be able to do something about saving him.”

He studied me, knowing full well I wasn’t telling him everything, including the promise I’d made to his wife.

He was holding something out to me.

“What’s this?”

“It’s my daypack with supplies. I found some stuff behind the counter-candy, granola bars, a couple of cans of pop, some chips, chewing gum…”

I took the bag and slung one of the straps onto my shoulder. “Well, at least my breath will be kissing-sweet.” He stared at me. I swear Vic was the only one who got my jokes. “I’ll be right back.”

“They took all the satellite phones that the Feds had except this one that they must have missed; they’re these Motorola Iridiums, high-end Fed stuff that might have about thirty hours of power left in them, so take this one.”

I didn’t take it. “Then you have no phone.”

He glanced at McGroder. “They know where we are.”

I still didn’t take it.

He handed me his cell phone that he had carefully wrapped in a Ziploc bag. “Well, at least take this-maybe you’ll find a signal.”

I took the phone but balked when he tried to hand me his Beretta. I patted the. 45 on my hip. “I’ve got a weapon. Anyway, in this weather they might come back.” I took a deep breath of the warm air. “Do me a favor-call Ruby and report in. Tell her what’s going on but don’t make it sound too dramatic. Also, have her see what she can come up with on Beatrice Linwood’s record.”

“Got it.” I didn’t move, so he shoved the. 40 back in his holster. “Look, when Benton was moving their stuff into our van, he put a gun case in the back section. It wasn’t long enough to be a full-fledged rifle, but it looked longer than the Mossbergs they were carrying, so I asked him. He said it was one of those Armalites with laser sights.”