Ann Aguirre: Hell Fire

I think our collective response to that was . . .

Oh shit.

At this hour, it couldn’t be the twelve, coming to invite us to partake of our civic duty. Somehow I wasn’t a bit surprised to open the door and find Sandra Cheney standing there, perfectly groomed even at six in the morning. Not a single blond hair stirred from her attractive bob. Her fingernails shone pearly in the half-light.

She fixed a smile on her face as I might hammer a nail into a wall: doggedly and with force. “I’ve heard Shannon is staying with you. I’ve come to take her home.”

Behind me, the girl made an awful little sound. I made a show of looking at her. “Do you want to go?”

“Fuck no,” she answered deliberately.

“I’m pretty sure you can’t remove her against her wishes,” I said with saccharine sweetness. “Is that right, Jesse? How does the law stack up on that?”

“Once kids turn eighteen, they can’t be forced to return to a home they’ve left,” he agreed. “And I think her wishes are clear at this point.”

I smiled. “It was kind of you to come out and check on her, though.”

“Well then.” Sandra fidgeted with her pocketbook. In her icy eyes, I saw livid anger. She wanted to rant and say we’d all rue the day, but that wouldn’t be polite. Plus, you shouldn’t threaten people you actually meant to harm. Sandra might be evil, but she wasn’t stupid.

“I’m so distressed to hear that, Shannon. I know we’ve had our share of troubles, and you think I don’t understand you, but the truth is, your father and I love you very much. He’s going to be so sad to hear this.”

“He’s been sad a long time,” Shannon muttered pointedly. “And it wasn’t because of me. I’ll write to him when I get settled.”

Sandra ignored most of that. “No idea when you’re leaving, then?”

“Probably soon,” Chance said,. “I believe we’ve just about tapped the tourist attractions around here.”

To say the least.

“Then take care. I love you, sugar bean.” To my surprise, Sandra said that with evident sincerity. Her two-inch ladylike heels clacked as she hurried across the porch and down the stairs toward her shiny, understated luxury automobile.

When she drove away, I honestly didn’t know what to make of the visit. “Could you be wrong about her?” I asked Shannon, shutting the door. “Could she have started sleeping with England when she realized you had a gift, trying to save you?”

That didn’t clear her of the charge of trying to kill us and deliver us up as alternate sacrifices, but it might mean she wasn’t as bad as we thought. It was a rare she-viper who could slay her own young without batting an eye.

Shannon thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. “Don’t know. Possible, I guess, but I wouldn’t stake my life on it.”

Well, neither would I.

“Come on,” Dale roared from the kitchen. “Time’s a-wasting! Will you ungrateful devil-seekers come look at the book or not?”

As it happened, we would.

The book was a gold mine.

Crazy Dale Graham had all kinds of news clippings coinciding with the December 21 disasters. He also had a mess of pictures documenting the secret meetings, and everything he’d compiled corroborated our theories. Mainly, it was good to see pictures of our enemies; we’d be out in the woods with a bunch of different people today, and I didn’t want collateral damage if we could help it, so I memorized names and faces.

This would be a different sort of final showdown, not of weapons, but of wits; not of action, but attrition. I didn’t intend to fight fair.

After the sun came up fully, I took the list of casualties to Shannon. “Can you call them to you?” I asked. “I know it’ll take a lot out of you, but I think it’ll be worth it. We’ve got a stash of chocolate you can have if you need it.”

“Everyone but Mr. McGee,” she said. Right, the blockage. “Why?”

I told her.

“Oh, that’s fiendish,” she breathed. “I’m on it. What’re you going to be doing?”

“Waiting for Godot.”

At nine a.m. sharp, he arrived in the form of Sheriff Robinson. When I opened the door, he doffed his hat and twisted it in his hands. His brown uniform pulled across his gut as he fidgeted. I didn’t make things easier on him, but just stood there studying him.

“Morning,” he said.

I nodded. “What brings you out this morning? Not bad news, I hope?”

His answer came in a rush. “The good people of Kilmer have taken heart from your bravery. They’d like y’all to lead a search party for the other missing folks.”

I couldn’t seem to acquiesce too easily. Robinson might not be in on this, but England would doubtless ask for a recap of the conversation. So I furrowed up my brow, feigning puzzlement. “How come? We’re not professional search and rescue.”

“Well, I reckon they’re hoping your good luck will rub off,” Robinson offered.

I barely stifled a snort. If only he knew.

“To tell the truth,” he went on, “those woods spook a lot of folks around these parts, but y’all have shown us there’s nothing to be scared of out there.”

I wouldn’t go that far.

He peered at me a little closer. “What happened to your neck anyhow?”

Oh, here was my chance. I could level charges now, and England might pay for what he’d done to Curtis Farrell. But if I blamed August England at this point, it would queer the whole deal, and they’d doubtless wonder why I hadn’t come forward before. In a town like Kilmer, you could accuse England of anything and he’d likely walk away clean.

No, this was the better opportunity. How else would I get all twelve of them in one place outside of their secret meetings?

“Got it stuck in the can ring of a six-pack of cherry cola. People should really take more care not to litter.” He responded to that with a puzzled blink, but before he could say that didn’t make a lick of sense, I added, “I’ll ask the others if they’re game for another hike, then.” I called out, and the guys appeared within a few seconds.

“What’s up?” Chance asked.

I filled them both in.

Civic-minded soul that he was, Jesse nodded first. “Sounds like a good idea. What time should we meet you?”

“And where?” Chance added.

“Three . . . the access road at mile marker forty-seven,” Robinson suggested.

I thought it might seem suspicious if I agreed too readily. They knew I wasn’t stupid, so I pretended to haggle. “Now that’s not going to give us enough daylight, is it? Make it two.”

“Done.” The sheriff squeezed my fingers, then briskly clasped hands with Jesse and Chance.

I gave a sweet smile in parting. “Looking forward to it. Let’s bring some of those poor souls home.”

Chance grinned as I shut the door. “Your accent becomes pronounced when you talk to the locals, you know that? I keep expecting you to fling your hand to your forehead and say, ‘Tomorrow is another day.’ ”

I smiled back, but my heart tugged because I knew that when this was all over—and it would be soon, one way or another—we were going to talk, and he probably wouldn’t like the outcome. After calling to Shannon and Dale, I led the way into the front parlor. With the couch and the chairs, we had just enough seating for everybody.

Settling with Dale’s book of secrets in my lap, I rubbed my hands together. “We have a little less than five hours ’til showtime. Let’s get to work.”

At one forty-five p.m., we sat waiting near mile marker forty-seven. We’d left Dale at home keeping an eye on Butch. The little dog hadn’t been happy, but I knew damn well this would be dangerous. I only wished we could have left Shannon there too, but she wouldn’t have stayed put. I’d seen the movies where you forbade the teenage girl to do something, and then she would run off to do it all by herself. We weren’t going to let that happen.