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In his shock, Bill's grip on Claude's collars loosened. "What?"
"The freeway's closed, so they can't call an ambulance," Jon said. "They called for a doctor or nurse to come help this guy, so Mom
went to see if she could do anything."
Bill's arms weakened and almost fell to his sides, but he pressed his hands to Claude's puffy chest. The thought of A.J. wandering
around outside the restaurant horrified him. He whispered, "You mean ... your mom is--"
Pain exploded in his groin and shot up into his abdomen like lava from a volcano.
Claude's knee.
His abdomen imploded and all the air left his body.
Claude's fist.
Bill fell to the icy pavement and curled into a groaning ball as Claude's heavy footsteps faded across the lot.
Bill's fingers left trails in the snow as they clawed the ground and he rose slowly with a series of pained grunts. He could still hear
Claude puffing as he ran away. Gathering his strength and ignoring his pain, which was fading rapidly anyway--one of the more
acceptable changes he'd noticed in himself since being bled--Bill stood, leaning against the trailer.
Jon was at his side, clutching his arm. "Dad! You okay, Dad?"
"Yuh-yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." He looked across the lot and could see Claude weaving his clumsy way between the trucks. He
squeezed Jon's shoulder and said, "Stay here, you understand me? Just stay here!"
Bill ran, his feet slapping the snow with a rhythm more than twice as fast as Claude's, but Claude, who was headed for the side
entrance to the truck stop, surprised him. The heavy man ducked behind a truck, his feet skittered precariously a moment and, for a
bit, Bill lost him. He could still hear Claude's footsteps, but he couldn't see him, and for a moment wasn't sure in which direction he
was headed. Then Bill spotted him.
Claude had doubled back and was heading for the rear of the truck stop; a dark narrow alley ran between the back of the building
and the shop and Claude disappeared around a corner.
Bill headed after him again; his pain was completely gone and forgotten now and he was able to run even faster, rounding the back
corner and closing the distance between himself and Claude in seconds. He dove for the man's broad back and Claude hit the slushy
pavement with a muffled grunt. There was a resounding crack when Claude's forehead slammed into the ground.
Bill rolled the heavy man over with ease and stared into unconscious eyes; the lids were half closed and only glassy whites were
visible. A bloody lump was rising quickly on Claude's forehead. When Bill tried to revive him, he got no response, although Claude
still had a heartbeat.
"Shit," Bill sighed. He looked back over his shoulder, concerned for Jon's safety; he wanted to milk as much information from Claude
as he could, but didn't want to wait around for him to regain consciousness. He looked around frantically, not knowing what he was
looking for but spotting something that might be helpful.
To his left there was a small rectangular window level with the ground. Upon closer inspection, he found that it was open a crack. He
looked into the darkness inside and saw stacks of boxes and crates and a narrow wooden staircase that led to a door that appeared
rather heavy. He only hoped it was kept locked and that no one would come downstairs anytime soon.
Hooking his arms beneath Claude's shoulders, Bill dragged him to the window and, with little effort in spite of his weakness, shoved
him headfirst through the window. There was a clatter and a crash, then silence. Bill looked into the window to see Claude lying in a
heap on the cement floor surrounded by tumbled boxes and a shattered crate. But once Claude regained consciousness, Bill knew it
wouldn't be hard for him to stack some crates back up to the window and climb out. He looked around again.
A filthy garbage dumpster that had once been white stood against the side wall of the shop. Its lid was propped open by the surplus
of garbage that rose above the dumpster's lip and hung over the sides.
Bill rolled it across the alley, its wheels screeching with effort, and turned it up on its side directly in front of the window with less than
half an inch between the dumpster and the wall. The lid squealed as it swung open and garbage spilled over the ground; the
dumpster came to rest with a metallic thump.
Stepping back with his hands on his hips, Bill looked it over to reassure himself that Claude would not be getting out the window ...
although there was the possibility that he could just wake up and go upstairs.
"What the hell you doing back there?"
Bill spun toward the voice and saw an enormous figure standing at the end of the alley, sillhouetted against the lights of the truck lot.
"Huh?" the large man bellowed. It was the voice of a black man, a strong resonant voice. "What're you doing?" He started toward Bill,
his big arms held out slightly at his sides as if he were prepared to defend himself. "And what's this mess? What the hell did you do
with the damned garbage, man? Huh? Whatta you think you're--"
"Dad!" Jon cried from the lot. "Daaad!"
The man stopped and turned toward the cry.
"That's my son," Bill hissed, rushing past the man, who turned and followed him, growling, "Whole fuckin' place is falling apart
tonight..."
Adelle heard Jon's cry, too.
She was leaning over David Pike, who had calmed down in the last few minutes as Adelle and the doctor washed and tended his
wound. Deputy Cody had just announced that he couldn't stay any longer when she heard the distant, fearful cry. Adelle froze, listened
and heard it again an instant later.
"My God," she breathed.
"Excuse me?" Dr. Kane said, blinking.
She listened. The voice cried out again and there was no doubt in her mind that it was Jon, but ... was he calling for his dad?
Adelle shot to her feet, dropping the bloody rag she'd been using to clean Pike's wound, and clutched Deputy Cody's elbow. "My
God, that's my son," she said.
Cody looked both puzzled and irritated and started to pull his arm away when he heard the voice, too. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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