Conflagration

XXVI

By the time Bill reached the park at the end of Grand Street a crowd had already assembled. They were lit above and beside by a combination of street lamps and headlights as more cars arrived and searched for parking. He found a spot of his own in front of the pharmacy and walked into the crowd. Looking for familiar faces. Finding none. There was a plastic folding table perched on the grass. On its surface was a cluster of water bottles and a pitcher of lemonade half drunk beside a dwindling stack of Solo cups. Someone had brought crumb cake and he could see that a good chunk of it had been dug into although there were no plates in sight.

Someone backed a truck onto the grass and a man stood on its tailgate speaking to a handful of people below. Before long a helicopter passed overhead low enough to blow his hair back across his face. A beam of light projected down from it and it settled on him before continuing its path.

Most of the people around him wandered aimlessly, wearing the same face of bewilderment that he assumed was projected on his own. Next to the truck was an easel supporting a large cardboard sign. On it was Meadow's tenth grade yearbook picture and beside it was her birthday along with her height and weight. It was as if she was already a footnote in the town's past.

"You better not wind up dead somewhere," he muttered to himself.

A handful of local police and deputies were mingling with those around him while a few more stood off to the side and waited for the search to become organized. Bill scanned their faces until he found the Chief Deputy he gave his statement to at the crime scene. He found the man staring back.

After this continued for a moment he raised his fist up to his mouth as if to clear his throat and looked away. The sensation of being watched continued. He sensed the man's suspicion earlier that day and knew that being on the bad side of an officer during an open investigation was not an ideal position to be in.

The man on the truck bed was still busy with whoever he was speaking to and it was clear that it would take more time before the search was ready to begin.

"Come on you son of a bitch. Fore this cop burns two holes in the side of my head."

The Deputy continued to stare at him and after another minute Bill could no longer stomach it. He turned and left the crowd and wandered toward the storefronts in the center of town. Both the diner and the convenience shop across the street were dark. Cracked pavement glowed red from the stoplight overhead. The helicopter had moved on up the ridgeline and he found himself in total silence save his footsteps along the sidewalk.

He thought about the truck he'd seen. About what Sam had said. Somewhere in the forest were two tweakers coming to terms with what they had done. With who they had done it to. Soon that same barrel that had shot at him would turn on Meadow and at that point it didn't matter how many folks showed up to eat crumb cake and walk through the woods.

He continued past the pawn shop when something caught his eye. Through the wide pane of glass he could see a scoped hunting rifle resting on the top shelf. Ammunition carefully displayed at its side. At that moment it occurred to him that given the parties involved someone would most likely end up being shot before the situation reached a conclusion.

Perhaps, he considered, Sam had been right.

As he thought about this headlights appeared unnoticed in the pane from the intersection behind. The red stoplight turned green but the car didn't move. The first indication he had that something was odd appeared in the form of a black figure emerging from the driver's window. Bill's eyes traveled from the rifle to the truck's reflection. He made eye contact with the driver and at the same moment noticed the gun he was cradling over his arm, and where it was aimed.

No sooner did the pane of glass burst in front of him. There was no fragmentation. The glass was simply there and then it was not. Bill scrambled low against the sidewalk and got a look at the intersection. He could see the short barreled shotgun in the man's hands and the fresh shell he was inserting into the chamber.

He looked ahead and saw a thin alleyway stretching between the storefront and the barbershop. He reached it just as another shot rang out. A spew of brick fragments collided with the side of his face. As he ran he heard cries and chaos erupt from the crowd back in the park which only lasted a moment before they were muted over by a maelstrom of sirens.

He sprinted down the alley and thought about how he had barely shot a gun in his life and how this was now the second time in one day that he was not the shooter but the target. From the growing buzz he could tell that the helicopter had turned and was heading back towards town.

What kind of a fool does something like that with an army of cops two blocks away.

A dangerous one. And you best not forget it.

He reached the opening at the end of the alley and looked back to see if the truck was still in the intersection without breaking stride. There was nothing there. Black pavement had once again gone red. As he did this he collided with a trash bin and fell back onto the ground. The bin spiraled forward and as he watched its progress a sneeze of buckshot blew through it, leaving behind a collection of smoldering holes. He looked back into the alley for cover but found it empty.

You got two options. Move or get shot. Don't just lay here. Get your ass off the pavement.

He rose off his chest and sprinted out into the open. The truck was just coming to the entrance of the alleyway and he locked eyes with the driver's silhouette. There was a steel USPS box next to the sidewalk and he dove for it. Another shot. The last thing he saw before he hit the ground was the spark of pellets ricocheting off the box's frame.

Not another few seconds and there'll be a damn battalion coming around that corner. He ain't gunna get outta that truck. He ain't got the time. You watch.

Bill listened for the sound of tires. Instead he heard the creaking of metal hinges and the engine running idle. The driver was stepping out onto the pavement.

That settles that. You done crossed paths with a lunatic.

But as the sirens grew closer the door squealed once more and clunked shut. Bill listened as the truck skidded out around the backside of the credit union across the street and into the backroads beyond. The helicopter swarmed over him instantly and followed the truck's trail. Its beam fell flat against the forest and could not puncture the canopy. And as he marked its progression the world was suddenly ablaze in strobing blue light.

Sam rose to the sound of the phone in the kitchen. He sat up on the bed and held the back of his neck with both hands. He thought that he had never been so tired in his life. By the time he stood the rings had ended and by the time he reached the phone they had begun again.

"Yeah," he told it. "Alright. Whatchu mean helicopters? Uhuh."

He sat down at the kitchen table and closed his eyes for a moment, opening them when he realized that he wasn't beyond falling back asleep right then and there.

"I told you. I ain't leavin without a gun. Not in my car. I don't think a mail truck is all that much more inconspicuous."

He pulled the phone another two inches away from his ear. Bill's voice projected out.

"Alright. They keys with the bottle opener. Which countertop? Yeah I see them. You better give me a few extra minutes. That thing looks like it'd get there faster if I pushed it."

When he hung up he heard the helicopter rotor for the first time. Somewhere off to the north. Sirens echoed behind. He snatched the keys from where Bill had directed him and walked out into the night. He could feel a vague sense of mortality as he stood on open ground. Like he was already dead.

He climbed into the mail truck and started the engine. It sounded like something that would run inside a lawn mower.

"You ain't dead yet. A few miles in on this beauty and you might wish you were. But you ain't."

The steering wheel was on the opposite side and he took a moment to catch his bearings. When he was finished he moved the shifter into drive and drove away into the night.