Randy White - Night Vision

Tula was watching, though. She kept her eyes on the razor even as Frankie collected her cigarettes and pushed past the Mexican, outside, pausing only to tell Victorino, “I need a drink. Either of you disappear while I’m getting it, I’ll have your nuts!”

Then, without waiting for a reply, she was walking toward the RV, hips swinging. Tula could see the woman plainly through the open door. The girl focused her eyes on the back of Frankie’s head, then pictured the woman on the RV steps. Tula was telegraphing images, thinking over and over, Light a cigarette… Light a cigarette.

Tula could also see Victorino standing in the doorway, the weapon in both hands, his concentration intense. Maybe he hadn’t heard the woman’s insult. No… he’d heard, because as his eyes swept the darkness he called after the redhead, “You can burn in hell, for all I care-” but then stopped abruptly and crouched.

A second passed, then another, before he whispered to the Mexican, “Hey-there’s a vehicle coming down the road. See it? No lights, but it’s headed this way. How the hell they get past Calavero and Dedos?”

The Mexican started to say, “Our two guys-maybe that’s who it is. See them through the window?” then stopped talking as he watched the truck fishtail, then drift into a slow spin.

Now on his knees, the V-man was yelling, “Shit-that’s our Dodge! Those aren’t cops. They stole our goddamn truck!”

Beside him, the Mexican tried to mention Calavero and Dedos again but was interrupted by two consecutive gunshots, WHAP-WHAP! very close.

Victorino ducked his head back, hissing, “Shit, they firing on us, man! Shooting at us from our own truck!” Then he took a quick look out the door and decided, “We’ve got to get to jelly boy’s truck. Four-wheel drive, we can drive through the goddamn swamp if we need to.”

The Mexican sounded dubious, saying, “I don’t know, man, that shit’s wet out there.”

“Our goddamn truck’s got the road blocked, man!” Victorino said, getting mad. “You don’t got eyes in your head? Plus, they probably got more dudes waiting for us as we leave. We gotta take jelly boy’s truck and get the hell out of here.” The man peeked out the door again, asking, “You ready with the thing I told you about?”

The Mexican showed Victorino the lighter in his hand, saying, “You want me to wait until the gringa is inside the RV? Unless you think we don’t have time.”

Smiling, the V-man replied, “I warned the bitch. You heard me warn her. Let’s go!”

Both men took off running, the Mexican firing three shots at something, then Victorino opening up, his weapon making a continuous ratcheting sound, loud, but not as loud as the pistol.

From outside came the sound of more gunshots-maybe Victorino’s men. Maybe someone else.

Tula’s mind was too busy thinking to notice or care.

Sensing the room’s sudden emptiness, Tula lay back for a moment, concentrating on breathing into her belly to calm herself. Then she attempted to communicate with the Maiden.

They poured gasoline, I can smell it. This building might catch on fire. Please don’t let me burn.

Jehanne didn’t reply, but into Tula’s head came words Joan of Arc had written, words the girl had committed to memory: Help yourself, and God will help you. Act, and God will act through you.

Tula raised her head. Through the open doorway, she could see that Frankie was on the steps to the RV but crouched low because of the gunshots. Maybe the woman would seek cover inside the trailer and light a cigarette later to calm herself. Revenge wasn’t a priority in Tula’s mind now, though.

Her eyes moved to the razor Frankie had dropped. The box cutter had landed only inches from Harris Squires’s right hand. The giant no longer reminded the girl of Hercules or polished stone. Only a few hours ago, the veins of his body had resembled blue rivers, tracing the contours of his biceps, the muscles of his chest and calves.

Now the rivers had been drained. The giant appeared shrunken inside his own skin, a mountain of pale, dead flesh, although the man’s chest continued to move.

Tula watched Squires’s chest lift and fall, his breathing shallow. As she stared at him, the girl focused all of her attention on the man’s unconscious skull, seeking the spirit that lived inside.

Open your eyes. God will save us. Open your eyes. You are the strongest man I have ever met, open your eyes…

For more than a minute, Tula repeated those phrases, but then was stopped by more gunshots, then a Woofing detonation that shook the floor beneath her. It was a firestorm explosion so close that it sucked air from the room, replacing it with heat so intense that it felt like needles on the girl’s face and arms.

Through the doorway, Tula saw a wave of fire rolling toward her, the flames so wild and high that the RV was screened from view.

Had the trailer exploded?

The fate of the redhead seemed unimportant now, and Tula threw her head back, screaming, “Jehanne? Jehanne!” then strained to use her teeth on the tape that bound her wrists. The table to which her hands were tied moved a few inches with each effort, but the angle was impossible.

As the girl convulsed her body, trying to tear herself free, the memory of her father’s last moments came into her mind, an image so stark, so sobering, that it caused Tula to stop screaming long enough to hear a voice calling to her. When she tilted her head to listen, the voice summoned her again, a soft voice, barely audible.

Tula became motionless, head up, eyes wide, listening for what she expected to be the Maiden offering advice… or, at the very least, comfort.

Instead, she heard a man’s voice beside her say, “Sis… Sis! Shut your mouth long enough to answer me. Are those assholes gone?”

Tula turned to see Harris Squires looking at her, his eyes two dull slits. On his face was an inexplicable smile that gave the girl hope even though she knew it was because the man was in shock, probably delirious, he was so near death.

Tula began crying, she couldn’t help herself, and talking too fast as she replied, “Harris! I am so sorry they hurt you. But you’ll get better. I will take care of you myself. I will take you home to the mountains and make sure no one ever hurts you again. I promise!”

No… the giant wasn’t delirious. He was alert enough to look toward the door, see the fire, then say, “Shit! This place will go up like a bomb. I’ve got to get you out of here!”

That possibility stayed with the man for a second, but then he realized the hopelessness of what was happening. Squire’s face contorted, then he slammed his head back and began to sob. “Did you see what those sons of bitches did to me?” he moaned. “I fought and fought, but I couldn’t stop them. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m no good to anyone now.”

Tula yelled, “Harris, stop it, you’re wrong!” to snap the man out of his misery. Then she used her head to motion toward the box cutter, telling him, “We have a knife, Harris! If I can pull myself close enough, maybe you can cut the tape on my wrists.”

Squires opened his eyes as the girl added, “Don’t leave me again, Harris. Stay strong, please. God will help us-but we have to help ourselves first.”

The giant appeared to be fighting unconsciousness, his voice barely audible as he replied, “My guardian angel, I forgot.” Then, gaining focus, he asked, “What knife?”

Because of all the blood on the floor, Tula wondered how the man found the strength to open his fingers and take the box cutter into his huge right hand.

Inch by inch, Tula dragged the table closer to the giant. He held the razor, fighting unconsciousness as he waited. Two minutes passed, then four minutes. From the doorway, the girl could hear the roaring energy of combustion as the fire drew closer, feeding itself on gasoline fumes and grass. Soon heat and smoke made it difficult to breath, but the girl continued to fight the weight of the table.