Ridley Pearson - Killer Summer

Sirens called from the north. He looked south. No sign of cops coming from there, just as Cantell had planned.

He leaned his weight into the chainsaw. The power pole popped and splintered. Then it teetered and fell.

Overhead, wires sparked and flashed. Salvo had failed to remember he was bringing down a few thousand volts with the pole. A half dozen wires now sparked and jumped on the ground. He dropped the saw and took off south across the bridge. Car horns sounded. He took them as applause for a job well done.

He sprinted across the highway, jumped down an embankment, lost his footing, and rolled to the bottom. He got to his feet and took off running.

Some hero had left his car and was coming after him. “Hey, asshole, hold up!” the man shouted.

Salvo reached for his knife. He stitched his way through a thicket of aspens and found himself in a yard next to a tool shed. He ducked around the side, silently begging his pursuer to give it up.

But the hero came crashing through the aspens a moment later, and Matt, who’d grown up in Sparks, Nevada, in a neighborhood where survival required a degree in viciousness, timed the blow perfectly. He swung around the corner of the shed just as the hero arrived, delivering the hilt of the knife to the man’s forehead.

The guy dropped like a rock.

“Nice try,” he told the hero.

He then looked around to get his bearings, wondering how long Lorraine and McGuiness would wait for him.

As Walt’s Cherokee approached a string of taillights, his mobile rang. Seeing the caller ID, he answered it.

“What’d you find out?” he asked Myra.

“He’s at the airport,” she said. “I used the tracking thing. Best I can tell, he’s there, or right around there.”

“That’s not good,” he said. “She was seen getting into his car with a suitcase. If he’s seen as having aided her flight… Myra, he’s in trouble.”

Brandon looked out the side window, pretending not to hear.

“I’m on my way there,” she announced.

“He’s still not picking up?”

“No.”

“Can you text him?”

“Me? I have no idea how to do that. And I’m in my car.”

She was about to cry.

“I’ll call Pete. Hopefully, he can find him and put a cork in this.”

She thanked him and hung up.

A flash of brake lights. He flipped on the light rack and took the empty middle lane, reserved for vehicles turning either direction.

Walt quickly called Pete, head of operations at the airport, and filled him in on Kevin’s situation. Pete said he’d head down to the terminal and take a look around.

“I’ll call over to Sun Valley Air as well,” Pete said.

“Appreciate the help.”

“Back to you shortly.”

As they passed the entrance to the Rainbow Bend subdivision, Walt got a better look at the chaos up the road: a long line of taillights ahead of him, no headlights coming at him. A patrol car off the road-Ketchum police, maybe. A second later, he could make out the truck blocking the road.

“Are those logs?” Brandon asked.

Drivers were out of their cars. A few had gathered around the wrecked patrol car.

Walt and Brandon hurried to the patrol car. Brandon moved the onlookers aside. Walt wrenched open the door and determined the driver was dazed but otherwise seemingly okay.

He looked around, focusing first on the spilled logs, then the power pole lying across the bike-path bridge, the downed wires still spitting sparks.

He handed Brandon the keys to the Cherokee. “Get the power pole cleared first. No civilian traffic is to use the bike bridge, but get me a couple of our guys across if you can.”

“Got it,” Brandon said. “You?”

“Stay on comm,” Walt said, running for the bridge.

With the jet door shut, Summer encouraged Kevin forward. W“Come on, I want to show you,” she said. She squeezed past him, making sure to rub up against him, not wanting his interest to lag. “Seats eight. All eight can sleep flat. Each seat has its own TV, and there’s the big TV on the wall.” She pointed. Light shined weakly through the oval windows.

She handed him a cold beer. There were two microwave ovens, a built-in coffeemaker, a stainless-steel sink. A fire extinguisher was clamped to the wall. Beyond the kitchen, a folding door gave way to a padded seat over a toilet. It faced an emergency exit door. Just over the toilet was a partially open roller panel that accessed a sizable storage area.

Kevin drank some beer, impressed and overwhelmed.

A rechargeable flashlight hung next to the toilet. There was a first-aid kit on the wall.

“All the comforts of home,” he said.

“That’s the idea. Including a satellite telephone.” She pointed to her father’s seat.

“Are you okay?” he said.

“I love this thing. I never tell my father. I don’t want him knowing what I like and don’t like because sometimes I feel like anything I mention liking means he has to buy or get it for me. Believe it or not, I don’t love that. It’s love/hate with this plane. He’s so into it, it actually bugs me. But I love flying it.”

“TMI,” he said, “too much information.”

“Whatever…”

“It’s very cool,” he said.

“You should feel it take off. Oh my God, it’s so totally random! Like a rocket or something. My dad… he puts his head back, you know? During takeoff. Shuts his eyes, and it’s like he’s getting off or something.” She blushed and giggled again. “Forget I said that,” she spit out quickly.

But Kevin couldn’t forget it, and he thought she probably knew it. The more he thought about it, the more she seemed to be acting, and he wondered what that was all about.

“So, you ready?” she asked.

“Depends what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t do that,” she said. “Don’t try to sound cool. Guys do that all the time, and I’m telling you it’s a complete turnoff, okay? Just be you. You’re cute; live with it. But don’t try to sound like James Bond or something, because you’re not.”

She squeezed past him again and headed toward the cockpit.

“What is it with you and your father?” he asked, trying to strike back. He didn’t like being lectured to.

The question stopped her. She didn’t turn around to face him. “I explained that,” she said. “It’s just father-daughter stuff.”

“And your taking off like this? Running away, coming here when you shouldn’t? That’s just you getting back at him?”

“What are you, my shrink?”

“I’m just curious, that’s all.”

“Well, lose it. You’re a buzz kill.”

“I don’t think you should go.”

“No one asked you.”

“I wish you wouldn’t go. I wish you’d stay. Why don’t you just tell him whatever it is you want to tell him? Then we could hang out some more.”

Her face brightened, but her look was patronizing. “That’s so sweet,” she said.

“I’m serious.”

“I’m leaving,” she said, her voice deeper and her eyes darker.

“Because of the tennis guy you told me about?” he said.

“Men’s finals are tomorrow, Sunday. He’s playing. I’m going to be there.”

“But then he’s gone, right? To some other tournament? What’s with that? Are you going to follow him? You think he’s down with that? You’re seventeen. They’d arrest him.”

“So, what, you’re suddenly my father? Lose it, would you?”

“If you stay, you get props from Dad, right? Coulda run off but didn’t? He’s got to appreciate that.”

“He doesn’t appreciate anything about me. Believe it and leave it. I’m serious. I’m going down to L.A. and don’t want to be talked out of it. So just let me, would you please?”