Bradley Denton - Blackburn

As he stamped, he heard the hum of an automobile approaching from the east. He looked toward the sound and saw that there was a hill between him and the vehicle. If he wanted to, he could run into the trees and hide. But his clothes were sticking to his skin, and his feet were blistering. There was a chance that the vehicle contained a Texas Department of Public Safety trooper-but he would take that chance rather than slog back into the mud. He crossed to the north side of the asphalt and slipped his right hand into his rolled-up jacket, curling his fingers around the butt of the Python. His muscles tensed, and he waited.

The vehicle turned out to be a slow-moving white van. Blackburn relaxed a little as he watched it come over the hill, and then he took his hand from his jacket and waved. The van pulled to the edge of the pavement and came to a stop beside him. Black lettering on its side panel said RUSK STATE HOSPITAL RUSK TX 75785.

Blackburn looked at the two men inside the van and tensed up again. The plump, balding man in the passenger seat was wearing a short-sleeved yellow shirt, but the driver was a younger, thinner man wearing a blue uniform that made him look like a cop. Blackburn didn't see a gun, though, so he didn't put his hand back into his jacket.

The plump man rolled down his window, and Blackburn felt a puff of air-conditioning. He stepped closer.

"Having trouble?" the plump man asked.

Blackburn forced a smile. He had to look friendly, like someone who deserved to be helped. "Yes. I was exploring some of these back roads looking for dogwood blossoms to photograph." He pointed at the mud road. "But I didn't realize that one was in such bad shape until I was on it. My car bogged down, and I had to leave my camera equipment so I could walk out."

"You're about a month late for dogwood blossoms," the plump man said. "The end of March and the first week of April are best."

The driver was muttering. "Dirt road after a rainstorm," he said. "Not too bright."

Blackburn ignored him. "Well, I'm a transplanted Northerner," he said to the plump man. "I just now moved down here, and I forgot to allow for the earlier spring." He squinted up at the sun. "Feels like summer already."

"It's getting warm, all right," the plump man said. "Could we give you a lift into Palestine? It's over ten miles, and you look like you've walked a piece already."

"I'd appreciate it," Blackburn said. "I drove my car out from Palestine this morning, but I was starting to think I'd be going back in a box."

The plump man started to open his door. "You're lucky we came along. This road doesn't get much use."

The driver made a noise in his throat. "Uh, Doctor, what if we find Morton?"

The plump man paused with his door open a few inches. He looked down at the asphalt and frowned. "Good point," he said. He looked back up at Blackburn. "We're searching for a patient who wandered off Monday evening. The sheriff and DPS are checking the main highways, but we thought we'd improve our chances and look along some of the back roads ourselves. If we were to run across him before dropping you off, you might be…"

"In the way?" Blackburn asked.

"Frankly, yes," the plump man said. "And there might be a question of liability if anything should happen."

"Morton's a handful," the driver said. His voice was flat.

"So perhaps what we should do instead of giving you a lift," the plump man said, "is to call a tow truck for you when we reach Palestine. Would that be all right?"

Blackburn tried to look politely dissatisfied. "I'm afraid my car's so far down that road, and stuck so badly, that a tow truck won't be any use until things dry out. So, well…" He hesitated, hoping to imply that he really hated to impose. "If you'll let me ride with you, I promise I'll get out if you find this Morton. That would still get me closer to town than I am now."

The plump man glanced at the driver. The driver shrugged, looking disgusted, and the plump man pushed his door open. "That sounds reasonable," he said. "And the odds are that we won't come across Morton anyway. But we have to try."

Blackburn squeezed past the plump man and sat on the bench seat behind him. The cool air inside the van was wonderful. "I'll be happy to pay for your gas," Blackburn said. "I'm on vacation this week, so I'm getting paid for nothing. And right now I'd rather buy a ride to town than anything else."

"No need," the plump man said, shutting his door and rolling up his window as the van started moving again. "We're going as far as Palestine anyway, and then we'll drive back to Rusk on another path less taken."

"Waste of time," the driver muttered.

The plump man looked back at Blackburn. "I hope you don't mind if we aren't too talkative. We need to keep our eyes peeled."

"I don't mind at all," Blackburn said. It was the truth. Not having to talk would mean that he wouldn't need to elaborate on his story about being a Northerner transplanted to Palestine.

"And if you should happen to see someone wearing a white hospital gown," the plump man said, "be sure to holler."

"Where should I be looking?" Blackburn asked.

The plump man gestured at the forest alongside the road. "In there. Morton likes to play in the woods." He stuck his right hand back at Blackburn. "By the way, I'm Dr. Joe Norris."

Blackburn shook his hand. "Bruce Rayburn," he said. "Just down from Iowa City."

The driver looked at him in the rearview mirror and grimaced.

"How'd you get the shiner, Bruce?" Dr. Norris asked.

Blackburn touched his right cheekbone, where the DPS trooper had hit him with the Python. It was tender. His nose was sore from the trooper's forearm, too.

"I was carrying a chair into my new house and ran into a doorjamb," he said.

Dr. Norris nodded. "That's why I always hire movers." He turned away and peered out at the trees.

The driver whispered "Dumbass Yankee" just loud enough for Blackburn to hear.

The van proceeded west at forty miles per hour. Blackburn wiped his shoes on the floor mat and watched the woods for a glimpse of a man in a white gown. If he saw him, he would keep his mouth shut.

As the van approached a state highway loop on the outskirts of Palestine, Blackburn spotted a shopping center with an H.E.B. supermarket. He asked Dr. Norris to let him off there. He would call his wife at work, he said, and she would pick him up. Norris's driver muttered something about not having been hired as a chauffeur, but he pulled the van into the H.E.B. parking lot.

Blackburn got out, and as the van drove off, he looked up and down the highway loop and saw a sign for a Best Western motel about a mile to the north. That motel would be his next stop, but first things first. He tucked his rolled-up jacket under his arm and went into the supermarket.

He bought bread and cheese, a couple of apples, a Texas highway map, a disposable razor, and a meat-tenderizing mallet. Then he went outside and bought a copy of the Dallas Morning News from a machine. He sat down on a bench beside the machine, made a cheese sandwich, and found Palestine on the map. His zigzagging during the night had taken him back farther to the west than he had realized; Palestine was a hundred and fifty miles straight north of the western edge of Houston. He was no closer to Louisiana than he had been before his escape.

On the other hand, the DPS would be keeping an eye on the Louisiana border, and they wouldn't be looking for him here. Plus, Palestine had a population of sixteen thousand, which was big enough for him not to be noticed as a stranger. It was also big enough for him to find a car. As long as he wasn't spotted by a city cop, sheriff's deputy, or DPS trooper, he could rest here until after dark, then acquire a vehicle and head for Oklahoma. He didn't think the DPS would be expecting him to try for Oklahoma.