Craig Johnson - Hell Is Empty

The Thiokol thundered into the side of the Chevrolet, pushing it onto the porch of one of the cabins; the porch collapsed and the SUV was buried in the rubble. The 601 pivoted again, and I could see the primer patches on it-the U.S. AIR FORCE 6385 443 designation was still painted on the back, along with, scripted below, FOR OFFICIAL USE

I raised the. 40 and aimed at the small windows in the thing, but what was I going to shoot and whom? I allowed the Sig to slip to my side as the snowcat pivoted once again, climbed the small embankment, and turned left on West Tensleep Road.

Left.

I ducked my head down and peered into the gloom and blowing snow just to make sure I’d seen what I’d seen. They weren’t heading for the paved road to the south but north, up the snow-covered, dead-end road toward West Tensleep Lake.

Left.

I watched as they continued toward the bridge, easily maneuvering over the drift that had stopped me flat, the motor accelerating in the distance until the noise mingled with the wind and was gone.

“This ain’t fair.” As if to demonstrate the cruelty of my act, Hector yanked at the handcuffs that secured him to the water pipes. “What if that fucking tiger comes back?”

I finished patching his head with the available medical supplies in the first-aid kit under the counter. He looked like he was wearing a gauze beanie, but at least the bleeding had stopped for good. I stuffed a few of the water bottles I’d found into the Basquo’s pack and tossed one to Hector. “Here.”

He caught the bottle with his free hand and sat back on the chair I’d provided for him behind the counter beside the cash register next to the pay phone. “What am I supposed to do?”

I needed to make more room in the pack, so I emptied it and arranged the items on the round table in the dining area of Deer Haven Lodge. Saizarbitoria had scrounged up a pretty good amount of candy bars, a bag of Funyuns, and a few cans of Coke. I axed the pop-the water was what I was going to need. “Around these parts, we drink it.”

“I mean about the tiger!”

I pulled the cell phone out of my pocket and from the plastic bag. I planned to place it in the nifty, little pouch on the outside of the pack so that I could find it later. First, though, I flipped it open and looked at the battery indicator, which read about three-quarters, and then at the signal indicator, which read nothing. There was no service; it was just as well, since I was going to feel pretty silly telling everybody about how I’d found the escaped convicts but, after being shot at and pretty much hit with a barn door, had allowed them to escape.

On a whim, I went over to the pay phone next to Hector, picked up the receiver, and clicked the toggle-there was a dial tone. I dialed 911.

“Absaroka County Sheriff’s Department.”

“I’d like to report a storm in Maybruary.”

She practically screamed. “Where are you!?”

“Nestled in the heart of the Bighorn Mountains.”

Ruby calmed a little but was adamant. “Where exactly?”

“Deer Haven Lodge at the cutoff to West Tensleep Lake.”

“What are you doing there?”

“Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.”

“Have you found them?”

“One down, four to go.” I held the phone out. “Say hello, Hector.”

He lurched forward, the handcuffs rattling against the pipe. “Hey, this guy’s crazy, and there’s a fucking tiger up here!”

I returned the phone to my ear and lodged it against my shoulder as I buckled up the main cavity of the pack. “Hector’s a little excitable, but he’ll be at the main lodge when they get here. Speaking of which, where’s my backup?”

“They’re on their way from both sides of the mountain. Joe Iron Cloud, Tommy Wayman, and about a division of Highway Patrol and search and rescue are on their way from the west, but the switchbacks in Tensleep Canyon are filled with drifts. Henry and Vic with an even larger contingency are on their way up from our side, but I haven’t heard anything from them in over an hour. I’d imagine they’re encountering the same conditions.”

“Maybe worse. Hey, you didn’t say over.”

She sighed, but I could still tell my dispatcher was slightly amused. “It’s a phone, Walter. You don’t use radio procedures on a phone.”

“Ruby, the remaining convicts stole a snowcat from the lodge here and are headed up West Tensleep Road; give a call to everybody and let them know what’s going on.”

“They went up the trailhead road?”

“Yep. Maybe they think it comes out somewhere. Boy, are they going to be surprised when all they find is a parking lot and some Porta Potties.” I shifted the receiver to my other ear as Hector watched. “Sancho loaned me his cell, but there’s no service.” I read her the number in case she didn’t have it handy. “He says that if I get one of the Fed satellite phones, it should work; I would imagine they’re sequential, so just add a digit to the end of the one he called you on, and you’ll probably have the number. Read me his, and I’ll put it in Sancho’s mobile.” I leaned against the wall and shared a look with Otero as I repeated the number she read to me. “Sancho’s still back at Meadowlark with McGroder; the convicts took Pfaff and one of the Ameri-Trans personnel. All the rest of the federal agents and marshals are dead.”

There was a long pause as I waited for the lecture that was coming. “Walter, if they’ve gone north on that road, there’s no way for them to escape. You should wait until someone gets there.”

I thought about the private cabins up here and the hostages. “I think it’s better to keep close to them and know where they are.”

“Alone?”

“Yep, well… Manpower seems to be pretty much at a shortage up here.”

There was an even longer pause. “Do you have your radio with you?”

It would only be helpful if there was line of sight, and if they got within thirty miles of me, sans weather conditions, but I figured I’d keep that little nugget of information to myself. “Yes, ma’am.”

“It’ll only be good if they get within thirty miles, but it makes me feel better knowing that you’ve got it.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’ll give the cell and the potential satellite number to everyone.”

I listened to her breathing on the other end. “I gotta head out. ..”

“You do realize it’s two o’clock in the morning?”

“That’s okay-it’s a weekend, and I’m becoming something of a night owl.”

Ruby, aware of the Northern Cheyenne belief that owls were messengers from the great beyond, didn’t take mention of them lightly. “Don’t talk about owls.”

“What, you’re starting to believe the heathen-red-man’s sorcery?”

“Let’s just say I’m playing it safe.”

“Good night, Ruby.” I hung up the pay phone and then palmed open Saizarbitoria’s cell to check again-still nothing. I looked at the screen saver of Sancho’s wife Marie holding their son Antonio. I sighed, turned it off, and slipped the device into the Ziploc. Then I tried to put it into the outside compartment of the Basquo’s pack, but it wouldn’t fit. I unzipped the compartment, pulled out a paperback, and turned it over.

The cover art was a detail, The Damned of the Last Judgement, from the fourteenth-century cupola mosaic in the Baptistery in Florence. A very large blue devil appeared to be munching on the unfortunate next to a sticker that proclaimed a “New Translation” by Robin Kirkpatrick. I peeled through the pages, Italian on the left, English translation on the right.

That Basquo.

The first page caught my eye: At one point midway on our path in life,