C. Box - Free Fire

Portenson moaned and cursed.

“Well?”

“We have a deal.”

As joe walked back to his cabin in the snow at four in the morning, he thought, Another night without sleep .

In his stupor of sleeplessness and putting together the fledglingplan for the coming night, he didn’t pay any attention to the work crew and pickup parked next to the first cabin in the complex.But he smelled the strong rotten-egg smell of gas and could hear a powerful hissing sound from inside.

The front door flew open and a man staggered outside, ran a few feet, and crouched with his hands on his knees, breathing deeply. Another man in a hard hat appeared from around the side of the cabin, yelling, “Get me a wrench!”

Joe stopped, trying to figure out what was going on.

The first man finally stood after filling himself with several lungfuls of fresh air.

“Are you okay?” Joe asked.

“I’ll be fine in a minute,” the man said, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “There’s a gas leak inside there, and I got a big breath of it.”

The second man snatched a toolbox from their pickup and carried it to the back of the cabin.

“I don’t know if I can fix this,” the second man shouted. “It’s like somebody broke the fucking valve off. We’ll need to turn the whole system off before somebody lights a match and blows us all to hell.”

The first man shook his head. “Good thing the park is nearly closed. There was enough gas in there to kill a herd of buffalo.”

Joe listened as the second man cranked on a shut-off valve. The hissing stopped.

It took a moment to realize the cabin they were fixing was the one he had moved his family from earlier in the day. Whoeverhad broken off the valve didn’t know that.

“Everybody up!” Joe shouted as he entered the cabin. Marybeth sat up in bed. Nate had curled up in some blankets on the floor.

“What’s going on?” Lucy asked.

“It’s snowing,” Joe said. “You’ve got to get out of the park before the roads close.”

“Snowing?” Marybeth said. “Since when are we scared of a little snow?”

“As of now,” Joe said, knowing he sounded like a maniac.

Clay McCann could not stop pacing. The only time he paused was at the window, and only for a few seconds. There was something different outside. The dawn light through his mottled window was white and muted, and the sounds of cars on the road outside the jail were more hushed than usual. He could tell it was snowing, although he couldn’t see it.

He had not been able to get back to sleep, ever since that man outside had stood beneath his cell at four in the morning and yelled, “I’ve got you now, you son of a bitch!”

Who was he? What was he doing out at that hour? The incidentdisturbed McCann immensely. He knew the voices of his partners, and it wasn’t any of them. Had they brought in someoneelse, or was the owner of the voice an independent threat? Or a local crank?

McCann wanted out. This had been going on too long, he thought. Layborn should have delivered the threat the night before,and action should be taking place. Would they be stupid enough, once again, to try to outflank him? Would they convene another of their meetings? What the hell was going on?

And now it was snowing. Great .

When he heard the sounds downstairs, McCann’s first assumptionwas they had come to meet with him. There was a muffled conversation, a long pause, and the sound of the front door being shut. He stopped pacing and stood still, listening. He could feel his heart beat faster, and he clenched and unclenched his hands.

Footfalls on the stairs, the sound of a key in the lock, the door swinging open.

“Good morning, asshole.”

The tall man on the other side of the bars had long blond hair in a ponytail, sharp, cruel blue eyes, and the biggest gun McCann had ever seen. Snowflakes melted on the man’s shoulders.

“You’re coming with me,” the man said, opening the cell door.

“No,” McCann said, his voice weak. “I’m staying right here.”

This caused the man to pause. His mouth twisted into a grin that made McCann’s blood run cold.

“All right, then,” the man said, and shot his hand out, graspingMcCann’s left ear and twisting so hard the pain made his legs wobble. Then he pulled the lawyer out of the cell, still twisting on his ear, and guided him down the stairs into the lobby of the building.

Although he was cringing with pain, McCann saw the lobby was empty. “Where’s my guard?”

“He decided to take a walk and get some air.”

“And just leave me here?” McCann said, blinking through tears.

“You’re not exactly Mr. Popular in this neck of the woods. Sit,” the blond man said, shoving McCann into a chair by an empty desk. McCann sat, rubbing his ear. When he pulled his hand away there was a smear of blood on the tips of his fingers.

“That’s right,” the man said, “I’ll rip it right off next time if you don’t do everything I tell you. Believe me, I’ve done this before.”

“You can’t do this,” McCann said.

“I just did.”

“What do you want with me?” McCann tried to place the man and couldn’t. His voice was not the same one that had called to him from under his window.

The blond man raised the gun, the muzzle not more than three inches from McCann’s face, and cocked it. McCann watched the cylinder rotate, saw the huge balls of lead turn.

“You’re going to make a call to James Langston. Tell him you’re going to the FBI, and you’re bringing Bob Olig along with you.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Bob Olig?”

“They’ll figure it out.”

As McCann punched the numbers on the phone with a tremblinghand, the blond man said, “Somehow, I thought you’d look more impressive, considering you gunned down six people.But you’re just a fat little weasel with pink hair, aren’t you?”

"So,” joe asked mccann, “who figured out that the microbes at Sunburst react with coal to produce gas?”

“Mmmf.”

“Nate, would you mind taking the duct tape off of Mr. Mc-Cann’s mouth?”

“Happy to,” Nate said, reaching over the front seat of Lars’s pickup. McCann tried to turn his head but Nate grabbed a cornerof the tape and ripped it off hard. Red whiskers and a few pieces of skin came with it. McCann howled.

They were headed south from Mammoth, climbing the canyon out of the valley, the snow a maelstrom. Joe was driving and McCann was wedged onto the narrow back bench seat, hands and feet bound with tape.

Joe was still angry that he had had to send his family away, that someone had tried to harm them. Seeing his daughters look back at him from the windows of the van as Marybeth pulled away had torn his heart out. It hadn’t helped seeing the grim look on Marybeth’s face as she drove, determined to get her girls out of there while at the same time upset over leaving her husband. Joe blamed McCann because he didn’t know whom else to blame and McCann was in the truck. “You can’t do this,” McCann sputtered, tears in his eyes from the sting. “I’m technicallyinnocent. This is kidnapping and assault.”

“Nate, can you put fresh tape on his face and rip it off again, please?” Joe said.

“Happy to,” Nate said.

“No!”

Nate stripped six inches of silver tape from the roll with a sound like fabric tearing.

“I asked you who figured out the microbes,” Joe said.

Nate started to lean over the seat.

“Genetech people!” McCann said quickly, “but they didn’t realize what they had.”

Nate shot a glance to Joe, who nodded back. Nate lowered the tape but glared at McCann with menace.