• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

‘‘884?’’

‘‘Go.’’

‘‘Look just to your right . . . see my hand?’’ I held my right hand up, out of the deep grass. There was a pause, then . . .

‘‘Ten-four.’’

‘‘Okay, I’ll be coming your way, so don’t shoot.’’

‘‘Ten-four.’’

With that, I stooped and ran as fast as I could, expecting to feel a round slam into my back at any moment. None did. I was moving so fast, for me, that I went right past her car, and slipped in the wet dirt of the lane as I tried to stop. Not graceful, but I made it. When your weight slips up over 250 pounds, momentum can be a problem.

‘‘Hi.’’ 884 motioned me up toward her car door. I went, keeping remarkably low. She seemed a little cavalier about the whole thing, half standing. No shots had been fired since she arrived, so she was dealing with sort of an academic appreciation of the situation. But suddenly shots were being fired. Just as I got up to her door. One slapped the hood and went singing off into the cornfield to the left of the lane. Another hit the spotlight on the driver’s window post, and glass and bits of metal went all over us. I got a scratch in my right arm, and she got small bit of glass embedded in her forehead. She flinched just like I did, and instantly was settling in at my level.

‘‘Hi,’’ I said.

‘‘Is he pissed or what?’’

‘‘He seems pissed. Look, my sheriff is in the scrap-metal pile over to our right. Did you see it?’’

She nodded.

‘‘Our civil deputy is in the weeds to the left of the lane, just about the level of my car. He’s dead, I think.’’

She nodded again.

‘‘My sheriff is alive, but he’s been hit in the legs. I threw him my first-aid kit, and he got it all right, but his voice seems to be getting weaker.’’

‘‘Got it.’’

‘‘Look, I’m gonna have to go back up toward Lamar. Try to protect him until we can get him out.’’

‘‘Who’s the dude who went into the house?’’

I sighed. ‘‘I don’t know. It could be his kid. I think it’s the old man who’s doing the shooting, but I don’t even know that for sure.’’

‘‘Right.’’

‘‘We’re gonna need a little help.’’

‘‘Oh, yeah,’’ she said emphatically. ‘‘I’ve asked for a TAC team.’’

‘‘Swell. But doesn’t that have to come from a sergeant?’’

‘‘Yes, but they’re sending one.’’

‘‘From where?’’

‘‘Post sixteen.’’

‘‘That’ll take about an hour.’’ I started to move back around the rear of her car. ‘‘Look, when my people get here, let me know. I can’t see too well from up there. We’ll try to get Lamar out of there fast. Before they get anybody else.’’

She nodded. ‘‘I’ll tell ’em to get the team assembled and ready. That way, when the supervisor orders it, they can be here real fast.’’

I was beginning to like this 884.

I sort of duck-walked back to her and stuck out my hand. ‘‘Carl Houseman.’’

‘‘Diane Blakeslee.’’

‘‘Buy you a doughnut when we’re done.’’

‘‘Sold. Keep your ass down.’’

‘‘Yep. Tell our office what’s happening, will you?’’

‘‘Sure. I think an ambulance is almost here. What do you want to do with them?’’

‘‘Let me know when they get here, but don’t let ’em in until you clear it with me.’’

‘‘Okay.’’

I half crawled back to the rear of her car again, and then went thundering back toward my fence post. Stepped in a puddle, slipped, fell, got up, continued, got to the post, and no shots. Whew. After I got some breath back, I said, ‘‘Lamar,’’ in a loud voice.

‘‘What?’’ He did sound a little weaker, but still relatively healthy.

‘‘Cavalry’s on its way. Can you move at all?’’

He was quiet for a few seconds, and I thought that he hadn’t heard me. ‘‘Lamar?’’

‘‘Just give me a second.’’

I gave him about fifteen, and was just about to say something again when he spoke up.

‘‘Just a little. I backed up your way. You see me?’’

I peeked up. YES! By God I could. I could see about the lower half of him, between a crumpled sheet of rusted steel siding and a disorganized pile of twisted steel fence posts. But I wished I hadn’t a moment later, when I got a good look at his right leg. He had taken his belt and applied a tourniquet,