Page 32 of Fish in a Barrel
“Yeah, I’m coming back toward the 299 exit. Where are you?”
“We didn’t make any turns, but the road has some twists,” Jackson said. “I can’t tell if we’re coming to the end or not, but we’re going pretty slow. Bad news is—”
“One lane road,” Henry muttered.
“It’s like you’re here,” Jackson said. “When it starts to narrow, I’d park and wait for them to pass. They’re Sacramento Department of Corrections buses. I’d put money on them needing to be back in the garage tomorrow.”
“Fair. But whatever goes down, you and Gabriel need to not be alone with any of the cops. Run away, coldcock the bastards—we are a long way from home here, Jackson, and I do not like this one bit. If there was ever a plan to dispose of a body or commit a perfect murder, this place has all the earmarks.”
“I hear you,” Jackson muttered. He squinted and caught a glimpse of something flat and shiny outside the windows. The rain had eased up in the last forty-five minutes, or more likely, they’d driven past the storm and under a peeping moon. He realized he was seeing water. “We’re by the lake. Probably by the campground area.”
“Brilliant,” Henry breathed. “Look, I need to check my maps, but there’s usually a way in and a way out—”
And then Jackson saw something in front of them that made him frown. “And somebody is here in an SUV,” he said, squinting through the side windows, which were heavy with steam. “You might not have been the only guy playing catch-up on the freeway.”
“Shit.” Henry breathed out heavily. He was probably thinking that once the buses left, that didn’t mean Jackson and Cody Gabriel were in the clear. “Are you armed?”
“I’ve got a penknife,” Jackson muttered, hoping for a laugh.
“Sonot funny. Hide, dammit. If you two have to find a fucking tree to climb, do it!”
Jackson got another look around under that thin moon. “Not a lot of trees here. Mostly scrub, with some manzanita and some oak. But I hear you. We’ll hide and wait for your signal.”
And at that moment, the brakes on both buses screamed in protest and they lurched to a halt. McMurphy hopped up and ran down the stairs as the driver opened the doors. He stuck his head outside for a moment, having a brief conversation with whoever was out there—probably Goslar if it wasn’t Freethy or Brown, but Jackson couldn’t see. Then he came back and had the bus driver turn the lights on.
“Come on, everybody. Up, up and at ’em. Wakey-wakey, eggs and bakey. We need you up and out. Good news is it’s stopped raining. More good news, there’s some water to wash with. If you’re truly lucky, the bears have all buggered out. Now come on, you smelly fuckers, get up and get off the bus. This is where the ride ends.”
There were tired moans and confused mumbling, but McMurphy had taken his club out again and was smacking it in his bare hand with an intimidating thud. The people at the front of the bus stood, and he went down the steps to usher them out. Jackson and Cody looked at each other. Cody was starting to shiver—probably adrenaline—and Jackson muttered, “Finish your burger,” as they waited their turn.
Cody shoved it in his mouth, practically swallowing it whole, and washed it down with a final gulp of coffee.
“Not gonna last,” he said softly, giving a shudder. “I’m gonna need to fix in an hour, maybe two.”
“Let’s live through the next fifteen minutes,” Jackson told him, voice grim. “Remember, you and me are cozy. They could recognize either one of us, so we get close when we need to.”
“It’s been a while since I brushed my teeth,” Cody confessed. “No tongue, I promise.”
“It would be a kindness,” Jackson admitted. He’d gotten hints of fetid breath as they’d spoken, but everything else in the bus had been so rank, close, and humid, that had been the last thing he’d been worried about. “Okay, that’s the end. Up we go.”
They stood, and Jackson felt Cody’s hand fumbling for his own. Figuring Ellery would forgive him, he clasped it and towed Cody behind him, hoping if there was violence, it would reach him first.
Jackson hesitated at the top of the bus steps, seeing McMurphy and Goslar at the bottom, talking to each other and watching the retreating backs of the majority of the bus’s former occupants. When the people in front of them went, Jackson hurried down the stairs, Cody right behind him, keeping his face practically in the ass pocket of the guy in front of him. He’d actually taken two steps, Cody behind him, and had the faintest hope that he’d made it, when he felt a hand on his arm.
“Wait a minute,” Goslar said, booming voice practically in his ear. “I know you. You’re—fuck!”
Jackson didn’t give him time to finish, instead yanking his hand from Cody’s and socking the guy twice in the nose. At his side, Cody was making quick work of McMurphy, kicking out and popping his knee out of its socket with brutal intent, and as McMurphy went sprawling, Jackson grabbed Cody’s hand and went hauling ass into the night.
He’d scoped the place out a little as they’d been emptying out of the bus, and they were apparently stopped not far from the water, near restrooms and tables in what was probably, in the summer, a picnic area. Beyond that was the scrub brush and trees Jackson had mentioned, and while their two assailants were down—and the two cops by the other bus hadn’t caught on that they were in trouble—Jackson went tearing for the scrub and the trees, hoping that the darkness and the mud might work to hide them.
Just as they hit the brush, two things happened.
The first was that a shot rang out, going wide but landing solidly in the trunk of the oak tree they were passing at the time, and the storm caught up with them again. The moon disappeared, and the heavens opened, dousing the newly arrived campers in the same torrential rain they’d just escaped.
Jackson and Cody didn’t pause and didn’t look back. They kept hauling through the brush until they came to a wide dirt road, and Jackson pulled Cody back to the brush for a moment so he could take stock.
“Henry?” He gasped, gulping air, and Henry was, thank God, still in his ear.
“Jesus.”
