Page 53 of Small Town Beast 2: Saverin's Duet

“We can’t leave our stuff here, and I can’t leave a fucking time bomb out here neither. Don’t want some innocent person setting it off. Or an animal.”

“Is there someone we can call?”

“Yup. Except I left my phone on the front seat.”

“Abi,no!”

“Nothing doing,” he said grimly. Horror climbed up Lorrie’s throat as Absalom, under the shaky reasoning that the bomb would have blown up already if it was a real threat, strode back to the truck and began removing their stuff, including his long-range Winchester rifle. He put everything but the gun and his cellphone into Lorrie’s Suzuki and then walked back to her, talking into the phone.

When he hung up Lorrie could tell from his face it had gone poorly.

He put an arm around her. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, Abi. What did the man say?”

“Well, our local bomb expert is apparently tore up on White Lightning at the moment.”

“Is there anybody else?”

“There’s always the ATF,” said Absalom sarcastically. He scowled at the truck. “I don’t trust anybody else to handle this properly. So we got two options. Either I leave Ol’ Bessie here and risk somebody blowing themselves up.”

“Or?”

“I blow it up myself.”

Lorrie thought he was joking. He wasn’t. “Absalom, you love that truck.”

“She’s done,” was all he said, but from the set of his mouth she could tell it was tearing out his guts.

He drove Lorrie’s Suzuki down the holler road to a safe distance, then returned to Lorrie’s position. “Ready to blast it?”

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Life,” said Absalom woodenly, taking the Winchester’s strap off his shoulder. “Come on— we can stand a little more back. I hope I can still shoot it.”

They walked deeper into the trees until Absalom called a halt. He took a hunter’s stance on his belly, and Lorrie sat next to him among the pine chips and leaves. She stared down at the great broad lines of Absalom’s body as he primed the Winchester and adjusted its position, staring carefully through the scope.

Absalom had bought that truck a year ago, and spent months repairing it. Many weekends passed at Lorrie’s house with Absalom laying on a piece of cardboard with his head and shoulders under the body, tinkering with this and that. Hours later he’d be kneeling next to Lorrie’s tub while she scrubbed grease and oil from his hair with handfuls of detergent. Good memories.

“Maybe it’s fine. You took our stuff from it and nothing happened, right?”

Absalom shook his head. “That was a stupid risk I won’t repeat.”

“Well, you said nobody lives up here. What if you just came back tomorrow with— with your bomb expert person?” As she said the words out loud she wondered how Absalom even knew somebody like that. Well, there was always a guy for something out in mountain country. Trucks, plumbing, solar, still repairs, horse breeding, love potions, roof shingling, aphrodisiac ginseng tinctures: you name it, Appalachia had a pHD in the subject down a holler somewhere.

She had an ugly thought. “Who’s to say your guy wasn’t the one who planted that in your truck in the first place?”

“If it was my guy, it would have detonated,” Absalom said grimly.

“Great. That’s just great.”

“Back to the main event, Lorrie. And don’t try talking me out of it. Cover your ears and don’t look.”

They got down flat on the ground, into position, like they were hunting white-tail. The forest went quiet. The plan was to aim at the package under the truck and blast it. Hopefully Absalom had correctly estimated the distance the blast might travel. Lorrie waited about four minutes before she realized Absalom was not going to shoot the gun. His knuckles paled on the stock, but he didn’t shoot.

She whispered, “Let me do it.”

Wordlessly he passed her the rifle.I hate guns.The Winchester was lighter than she expected. She was not taking life, she reminded herself. She was saving it. Lorrie got in position on her stomach, elbows and shoulders bracing for the recoil, and lined up the shot just like her daddy had taught her so very long ago. It was easier than hunting ducks, or white-tail. Her daddy used to call her Ace. In her mind’s eye she conjured up a line between her body and the target; a razor-thin line of steel that could not be broken.

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