Authors: Jonathon King
“She dead?”
It was the first thing Buck said after someone kicked away the pry bar and all three walked in. His flashlight beam had swung first to the wall where I’d been and then to Sherry where I now crouched. I had to turn my face away from the brightness and I could tell through the open door that it had gone full dark outside. The boys were carrying a big cooler and an old Coleman lantern and set them down in front of the makeshift kitchen counter.
“No. Not yet,” I said. “And if she does die, you boys move up the line from simple looters to murderers. That’s going to look real nice on your résumé up at Raiford, Buck.”
The young ones snickered. They’d gained some bravado since they’d been outside, hacking at the windows of the next room, maybe even gaining entrance. More likely, though, they’d realized how isolated we all were. If a tree falls in the woods with no one to hear it, does it make a sound? I heard one of them pumping the lantern and then the flash of a match. Wayne lit the mantle and turned up the gas and the throaty, hissing noise was accompanied by a brightening glow that nearly filled the small room.
Unexpectedly, Buck stepped over to me and grabbed a fistful of my shirt over the shoulders and with a strength that surprised me he used his leverage to yank me halfway up and then drag-toss me to the western wall. I rolled over once and tumbled into the electronically locked door. Without a word he then pulled Sherry’s bed out away from the wall and positioned himself at the foot and shoved it across the plank floor until the head of it banged against the wall beside me.
“There you go, Freeman. Take care of your woman over there,” he said. No more “mister,” no more “sir.” Buck had turned mean. The boys looked a bit shocked at the sudden outburst, but then those subtle, that’s-what-I’m-talkin’-about grins came to their faces. Tough guys now. All three of them.
“All right,” I said, wincing at the sting of the new abrasion where my face had met the floor. “Cut my hands loose and give me that first aid kit so I can change her bandages.”
Buck stared at me for a moment. The light was behind him, his eyes in shadow and too obscured for me to see what was in them. Then he reached into his back pocket and came out with a knife in his hand. He flicked open the blade with his thumb and a snap of his wrist and then motioned to the one called Marcus to take it.
“Cut loose his hands,” he said. When the boy hesitated, he turned on him. “I ain’t repeatin’ myself to you little fuckers again. That shit’s done. You do what I say, when I say!”
The boy took the knife and stepped over to me, bent behind me and sawed through the tape between my wrists. At the same time Buck picked up the first aid kit off the counter and tossed it across the room at me.
“I ain’t decided whether the two of you are gonna live or die tonight,” he said and it was a statement of authority, not indecision. “So you keep her goin’ if you can.”
Then he turned his back on me and pulled one of the two chairs over and sat down. “Let’s eat, boys.”
I turned my attention to Sherry. She had not uttered a sound when Buck shoved the bed across the room and her eyes were closed now. I massaged my hands and fingers, getting the blood back into them, and bent so my lips were to her ear.
“I’m going to change your bandage, Sherry,” I whispered. “I know it’s going to hurt. But it’s got to be done.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw her tighten her eyelids. She was conscious and at least partially alert. With my fingernails I went to work on the tape that held the splint and then started to unwrap the gauze. I had to pull her hip toward me to unroll the bandages. Under two layers it was stained with blood. The third time I rolled her hip toward me she opened her eyes and deliberately cut them down toward her side. I thought at first it was a gesture of pain but when she furrowed her brow and did it again I followed her sight fine. Under her back I saw the wooden handle of my knife. I’d laid it next to her when I first changed her bandage and she’d been lying on top of it ever since. Buck and his crew had come in to this friendly, with no reason to search us for weapons or consider us a threat. Things had changed, but their mistakes hadn’t. I glanced over at the trio but they were intent on their food from the cooler. I slipped my hand under Sherry and gripped the razor-sharp knife. Now I was armed.
I continued working on Sherry’s wound. The last layer of gauze was sticking to her leg from the dried blood at the edges. I poured some of the isopropyl alcohol over it to loosen the catches, tugged at it again and she winced with pain.
“Sorry.”
She squeezed her eyes tight again in answer.
Exposed, the flap that had ripped out when the broken bone ruptured through her skin was red and there was a circle around it that was also starting to flame. Infection. But it was impossible to tell how deep. I washed my index finger and thumb with the alcohol and then pulled the flap up. Sherry sucked air through her teeth.
“Careful over there, doc,” Marcus said and then sniggered.
Even the boys were growing bolder. That too would be to my advantage. I did not respond. I took the tube of Neosporin from the first aid kit and again squirted the antibiotic cream into the wound. I used the last roll of gauze to rewrap the wound and then taped it in place. Shuffling down to the end of the bed, I checked Sherry’s foot. It was cold to the touch and even in the indirect light from the lantern I could see her toes had gone pale. Circulation was going bad. The rest of the leg seemed swollen. She’d never be able to stand on it. We weren’t going to be running anywhere. By the time I finished I was drenched with sweat. A trickle ran down the space between my shoulder blades, no doubt leaving a path through the grime I could feel now like a second skin.
I checked over my shoulder and the crew was paying no attention to me. They’d started eating whatever they brought in the cooler and seemed confident that I was not much of a risk, though I could still see part of the handle of the .45 protruding out of Buck’s waistband. While the suck and smack of their eating noises continued, I spun around into a sitting position and used what was left of the medical tape to strap my unsheathed knife to my calf. I pulled my pants leg over it and then shimmied back to the wall and pressed my back against the locked door. Logistics was now my problem and I rolled the new scenario around in my head like a rough stone, nicking at the bumps and fractures and fissures, trying to smooth it so I would have some kind of a plan that might give us a chance.
Would I be fast enough to cut the bindings on my ankles, make it across the room, get my knife into Buck’s neck, and then handle the boys before they could react? How quick was the Gladesman? He’d already shown his physical ability by tossing me across the room when he’d caught me unaware. But this time I’d be the one with the surprise. Would the young ones freeze up? Or were they seasoned enough to not panic and use their own blades? I looked up from under my eyebrows. Buck was hunched over in the chair, licking his fingers, and cut a look over at me. He was not relaxing; he was doing the same thing I was, working at his next move. They were waiting for something and I was sure he was the only with an idea of what that would be.
“Take a can of those peaches we found over to Mr. Freeman,” he said to the boys without designating which one. The idiots looked at each other.
Wayne finally rose from his position on the floor. He bent and picked up a can and then used the knife from his belt sheath to stab through the tin and cut open the top. He looked over at me and hesitated.
“Should I tie his hands up first?”
“Only if you want to feed him yourself,” Buck said, a touch of condescension in his voice that made the other one smile.
Wayne brought the can over to me and set it down on the floor a foot or so from my bound ankles.
“Can you get me a fork?” I asked.
“Yeah, right,” the kid said. “Somethin’ nice and sharp.” He turned and walked away.
I stretched out and took the can and then shuffled on my knees to Sherry’s bedside and then with my fingers I gently fed a peach slice to her. At the taste of the sweet juice her lips parted like a weak fish and she suckled at it at first and then slightly opened her eyes and took the whole thing into her mouth. I waited for her to chew and swallow and then gave her another.
“You’re a cop too, ain’t you, Freeman?”
Buck was speaking, but I did not turn my eyes from Sherry’s.
“You’ve got the look. That confidence thing like cops and prison guards got. I seen plenty of it over the years.”
While Sherry ate I swallowed a couple of the peach slices myself. I had not eaten anything but a small piece of the chocolate in more than twenty-four hours and was thinking of my own strength.
“I think Wayne here was right about what he heard when the lady said she was a cop. And I think you’re one too. You ain’t called her your wife or your honey or
your fiancée.”
I fed another slice to Sherry and one to myself. I was listening, just as Buck had obviously been doing. I may have underestimated him and that was a bad sign.
“What I think,
Officer
Freeman, is that she’s your partner,” Buck said. “You all might have been stupid enough to be out here in the Glades during a hurricane, but I don’t believe that it was for no reason.”
He paused again, maybe letting his thoughts catch up with him. It reminded me of the long, southern drawl used by Nate Brown, who never hurried his speech, but never said much that was just filler either. I found myself wondering whether they lived in the same area of southwest Collier County.
“No, officer. I think you all know exactly what’s in that fucking room next door and that’s the reason you’re out here,” Buck said. “Nobody builds a bunker like that out in these parts without having something damn valuable to store inside. And the fact that we got two cops out here trying to get into it makes me believe that there are drugs involved. Bricks of cocaine? Bundles of pot? Stuff got air-dropped into the Glades and then pulled out by some group of dealers who are smart enough to store it out here until they got a buyer on the coast that can move it fast.”
Again he took that pause, and when I looked up his face was in shadows but the light was on those of his young crew and they were more hang-mouth stunned than I was.
“No shit! Buck,” Marcus said, a smile beginning to build in his eyes.
“Whoa,” was all Wayne could say and if Buck’s scenario hadn’t included a couple of law enforcement officers, one near death and one tied up in the corner, the two of them would have high-fived each other.
Still I didn’t react. I had to give Buck some credit. If I hadn’t already been inside the computer room next door, seen the digital readouts and odd collection of cables and wiring, the tale he was spinning might have made perfect sense to me too.
“So whataya say, Officer Freeman? Am I right? You and your partner there doing a little recon work and got stuck in the storm?”
This time I kept my eyes focused on the dark circles where Buck’s eyes could still not be seen in the shadow, but I knew he could see mine.
“No. You’re one hundred percent wrong,” I said. It was an easy line to say convincingly because it was the truth.
That childish hissing noise came from one of the boys behind him.
“Yeah, right.”
“Well, it don’t matter what you say now, officer. I’m thinking we got a big payday coming and when daybreak comes so we can find a way into that room, that’s what we’re gonna do come hell or high water,” he said and tossed Marcus the roll of tape.
“Tape his hands back up,” he said to the boy.
Marcus came over, swaggering a little now, and gave me a little chin nod, and I reacted instantly by crossing my wrists and offering them up to him.
“So you ain’t such big shit after all, Mr. Law,” Marcus said, wrapping the tape around while I again flexed my tendons to keep the binding as loose as possible. But I had already won my battle. The kid had either been too cocky or was just plain stupid. Because I had submissively raised my hands to him, he’d taken the easy offer and bound them in front of me instead of making me roll over and taping them behind my back.
“An’ Wayne!” Buck said, snapping orders to the other one and reaching down to pick up a package sheathed in oilskin that they’d brought in with the cooler. He unwrapped a gleaming over-and-under shotgun and tossed it three feet into Wayne’s surprised hands. “You got first watch.”
When the traffic lights are lying on the ground, you consider the intersections as four-way stops, and then steer around the dented and broken yellow thing in the road, and then avoid the power lines still attached to it if possible. It’s one of those rules you learn in South Florida if you’ve been here for a few hurricanes.
As Harmon made his way to the Fort Lauderdale Executive Airport at dawn, he wondered why folks couldn’t figure that out. Do all transplanted New Yorkers just figure, “What the fuck, I’ll just plow right on through and everybody else can look out for me because only the rude and pushy survive in this world”?
Electricity was still a memory two days after Simone rolled through. Even the concrete poles were leaning like a team of tug-of-war combatants, pulling lines that had yet to snap. Many of their wooden brothers had lost it at the waist, sheared off and splintered at their middle, broken marionettes tangled in their own string. City and county road crews had shoved most of the large branches and debris off to the side of the major highways, but any side street was a maze like those games the kids used to draw while they waited for food at Denny’s: get the farmer to market without being stopped!
Harmon had already steered around a hundred broken roof tiles lying in the streets of his own neighborhood, had driven up into some guy’s yard to get around a forty-foot ficus tree that completely spanned two-lane Royal Palm Drive, and slipped between the crossing arms at the FEC railroad tracks at Dixie Highway, which were halfway down, their ends sheared off but still waving in the wind.
He stopped again at the intersection of Commercial and Powerline Roads and watched the headlamps of six vehicles slide through, cutting him out of his turn until he was forced to inch out and physically stop cross traffic before they’d defer to him.