Maggie came back. “I got you a jumbo dog with the works,” she said.
“Did you get me a coke, too?”
“Yep.” She pulled a can from the bag and handed it to him.
He popped the top and took a long drink. “Ready?”
“Are you okay?” Maggie asked.
“No. Should I be?”
“Where to?”
“I really don’t know. What do you think of the newspaper? We could dump it in the city editor’s office.”
Maggie seemed to consider it.
“The television station?”
“That might be better,” she said. “I don’t know why.”
“Well, we can’t stay here all day. Get in.”
They returned to the highway. “I found your truck at Camel Rock,” Lewis told her. “The state police have probably towed it by now.”
“What’s that on your hand? You keep rubbing at it.”
“Nothing.”
“Lewis?”
“Nothing, I said.” He switched on the radio. A woman whined a country song.
Maggie killed the radio. “What is it?”
“I think it’s going to be a burn like the ones I saw on Martin’s legs. I think we’re in trouble.”
Maggie focused on the road.
“I think things are really bad, Maggie. I mean really bad.”
Maggie was crying again.
Lewis stopped the truck and held her for a few minutes.
She sat up straight and looked at the hills. “You know how long I wanted to come live here? A long time. This was my dream place. No one to bother me, no relatives nearby.” She laughed.
“I know what you mean.”
“Yeah.”
Lewis cleared his throat. “Look at it this way; at least we’re old.”
“Yeah.”
He started the truck.
They passed through Española. Lewis looked in his mirror and saw a brown van. Again, he thought that there must be many brown vans in the state. But this one rammed into the back of them.
“Shit,” Maggie said.
“Buckle your belt,” Lewis said.
The van hit them again, then tried to pull even with them. Lewis turned his truck left and bumped them. He swerved off the highway onto a rough, but paved road. The van overshot the turn.
Lewis hoped he hadn’t made a mistake. He hadn’t made the turn with any plan in mind. He thought he could find a dirt road that would give them trouble, the ground clearance of the van being lower than his truck.
Maggie held on, one hand on the dash, the other on the strap over her door. The van was behind them again. Lewis spotted a dirt road and took it. He did put some distance between them. He didn’t hear the report of the weapon, but his outside mirror shattered.
“Get down, Maggie. Jesus Christ, they’re shooting at us.”
Maggie leaned over on the seat. Lewis slouched down. The truck bounced wildly because Lewis couldn’t see to miss the bumps. He wanted to just stop and say, “Shoot me.” He was just so tired of it all. But he wouldn’t give up. The bastards were going to kill everybody.
The road threw them high. Lewis sat up more to see the road better. Maggie looked up. She smashed forward into the dash and bloodied her lip.
“Stay down, Maggie!” Lewis shouted.
Maggie looked at him, like she was lost, confused, like she wanted to say something.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Maggie slumped over the seat. Lewis accelerated through a tight curve. The van swayed. The rain had not made the road muddy and it wasn’t slick, but because of it there was also no dust. Nothing was working to advantage. Another curve came up suddenly and he took it on two wheels. The van didn’t take it, it skidded, turned sideways and began to roll. It came to rest upside-down. Lewis kept going for a few minutes, then stopped by a small lake. He realized that he was on Indian land; he’d come to Pito Lake from the back side.
He turned to Maggie, held her head in his hands. He saw the hole where the bullet had passed through the back window. She was unconscious. Her hair was filled with blood. His fingers were wet with her blood. He could hear her voice, but she wasn’t speaking. He didn’t know if she was dead.
Why had he turned off the main road? He cursed himself. He cried. He hugged Maggie and felt the life leave her. He felt heat lift from her and she was left cold in his arms. He wrapped his fingers about her arm, so small, so frail it had seemed, and he recalled how tough she was and he yelled at her, told her to wake up. He couldn’t remember how to breathe, didn’t know if he was doing it right. His eyes opened wide and he saw the light of the sun reflected off the water. His head hurt. His leg throbbed. His heart ached. He turned Maggie’s head and looked at her face. Her open eyes scared him and he gently closed them. He put his head back on the seat and lowered his lids against the sunlight. Two bodies now. Two bodies and he was still alive, all his damn fault and he was still alive. He tried to start the truck, but it wouldn’t crank. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Exhaustion overtook him and he went to sleep.
Lewis woke up to find that it had not been a bad dream. Maggie was still dead beside him, Martin was still dead behind him. Could he just go to the state police now? Maggie had been murdered. Nothing fancy and no way to misinterpret it. Murdered. He put his hand on her body and it was no colder than before, the face no more serene.
He opened his door and started to get out. The back window of the truck shattered. Lewis looked and saw Peabody standing some thirty yards away, his jacket ripped, blood over the right side of his face. He limped forward. Lewis wanted to attack the man, but he wouldn’t, he didn’t. It was hard for him to leave Maggie, but he did. Her dead face screamed for him to run.
He ran along the road that circled the lake. There was no one fishing today. The weather had been hot and Pito Lake was always poorly stocked. He heard another pistol report. Maybe if a bullet hit him in the back of the head, he would not feel anything, just die and find some kind of peace, the light that all the people he thought were crazy had claimed to see when on death’s edge. But there would be no light, he knew that. Not in this America and he tried to run faster, but his legs complained. It was more than the pain, though. He was tired of running. His brain hurt, felt like it was going to sleep again. He felt sick and expected to vomit at any second. He limped. The man chasing him limped. Lewis yelled back at him.
“Who are you?” Lewis asked.
“I’m just doing my job, Lewis.”
“And just what is your fucking job. To poison every-goddamn-body?”
“You’re a loose end.”
“I’m not going to run anymore,” Lewis said.
“I’m pleased to hear it.”
Lewis looked at the man. “You’re what got loose, aren’t you?”
Peabody said nothing.
“Are you supposed to be killing people? What got loose? Tell me! You’re going to kill me anyway.” Lewis looked at the man’s eyes. They weren’t cold. They weren’t hard. They were hollow, vacant, stupid, a robot’s eyes. They weren’t cold. Lewis laughed. “What, are you some kind of government agent or something, some shit like that? Well, fuck you!” He held up his hand and pointed at the blemish. “See that? See that? I’ve got it, don’t I? Well, you’ve got it, too, I’ll bet. I don’t care anymore.”
Peabody raised the weapon and aimed.
Lewis stared straight down the barrel of the pistol and it felt good. He wanted to be closer, to help the bullet. He managed a step, then another. “Go ahead and shoot! Shoot, you bastard.” Lewis felt great, he felt like dancing and so he did a little jig. “Shoot!”
The shot was loud, but Lewis felt nothing. Peabody fell forward. Manny was behind him, lowering his pistol. Lewis sank to his knees. Manny kicked the gun away from the fallen man’s hand.