Known Dead_ A Novel - Donald Harstad [141]
The second explosion was closer, and as I turned in the doorway I could see a fountain of red brick dust rising in the air. The school, or a brick house damned near it.
The third explosion was only a second or two behind, from the opposite end of town, by the highway . . . an enormous gout of orange flame, surrounded by a thick, oily cloud of smoke. Fuel storage tanks. There were three of them out there, one gasoline, one diesel fuel oil, and one propane gas. It looked like the gasoline had gone.
The fourth explosion was more of a prolonged crackling sound, very loud. I looked toward the courthouse. All the trees along the street, the side opposite the courthouse, were coming down. Most looked like they were falling into the street, completely blocking access to or from the jail. I had seen det cord used before, to fell trees. That’s what this was.
I turned back into the parking lot, got my AR-15 out of the trunk, put it on my front seat, and drove as fast as I could toward the courthouse. Ineffective little red dash light and ineffective little siren under the hood going for all they were worth.
I didn’t say a word on the radio, but there was sure a whole lot of traffic. In my car I was picking up eight channels, and they were all clamoring for attention. I could imagine the 911 board lighting up.
It occurred to me that Gabriel hadn’t had to risk taking out the command center. All he had to do was make it so busy it was ineffective. Worked.
I got about half a block from the courthouse, in time to see about six trooper cars leaving, lights and sirens going, heading toward explosion scenes. They would be able to get to most of them without having to fight the trees in the road on Hill Street, which led to the jail.
There were stunned people coming out of their houses, gazing in wonder at the vegetation in their yards and the street. The press was pouring out of the courthouse, feasting, and dying for more.
I grabbed my rifle, and headed into the courthouse at as good a speed as I could, considering the traffic coming the other way, some of it in uniform. I stopped two troopers, and told them to stay put. It turned out that their sergeant had told them to get toward the school. I brushed by, saw the elevator was packed, and ran up the stairs. That just about did me. I wasn’t used to the boots, the utility belt, the ballistic vest under my shirt, or the exercise.
I got to the top of the long, steep stone stairway and saw one of our reserve officers staring out the window at the other end of the building.
‘‘Mark,’’ I yelled at him, ‘‘look sharp.’’ A deep breath. ‘‘Watch your step.’’ Another deep breath. ‘‘We may have company.’’
‘‘Okay,’’ he hollered back. He had no real idea what I was talking about, but he moved to one side, out of the window, and looked alert.
Only one person, the Clerk of Court herself, remained in the Clerk’s office. Her staff was out looking at all the excitement. Just as I was about to ask her where Nola Stritch was, I saw the county attorney, Nola’s attorney, and the court reporter come out of the courtroom.
‘‘Where’s Nola at?’’ I asked.
They all looked at the rifle in my hand and obviously thought I was nuts. The county attorney just pointed toward the courtroom. I brushed by them and saw that the world had left Nola guarded only by Sally, who had nothing but a can of Mace to defend herself with. They both turned as I came in the room and headed toward them between the gallery.
‘‘Get her to the jury room,’’ I said. ‘‘We’ll sit on her there.’’
‘‘What the shit is going on?’’ asked Sally.
‘‘I think somebody is coming to get her,’’ I said.
Nola just smiled.
‘‘All this for her?’’ asked Sally. ‘‘The explosions, the trees . . . ?’’
‘‘I’m ’fraid so,’’ I said, herding them toward the back of the courtroom.
‘‘Well,’’ said Sally, talking