Come and Get Us Page 7

  “That’s right, babe. We found it.”

  “I’m…I’m…” he said with slurred speech. “Plant.”

  He must’ve been delusional at this point. Sweaty. Dehydrated. He was incoherently pointing at the oil wells.

  The ranch property was massive, deep enough that the front drive alone ran a half mile. Once in the main roundabout, there was a barn, a shed, a small industrial-looking building, a house, and five or six different oil derricks strewn across the hillside.

  I drove straight for the house and screeched to a stop by the porch. I grabbed Sierra and clutched her to my chest.

  “Aaron, I need to go find a phone. Or a human being. You’re allowed to pass out once you’re in an ambulance, okay? No passing out before that, okay?”

  “Plant,” he said. Again.

  I kissed his knee, the closest thing I could access while holding our child and trying not to waste precious seconds. Then I hurried toward the main house. There was a pickup truck parked out front. Shiny, new. Even in my hurry, I couldn’t help but notice how nice the porch was.

  “Hello?” I hollered. I walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

  “My name is Miranda. Hello?! Jedediah? Can you call 911?”

  I rang it again. I waited an agonizing five seconds. Then I tried the knob, felt it turn, thank God, and opened the door.

  “Hello! Jed?” I said again. I walked in. I could apologize later.

  The house was big and pleasant. And devoid of people. No radio playing. No pasta steaming on the stove in the back.

  “Anybody home?”

  “Anybody home?” echoed Sierra, my assistant.

  We crept in and wandered all the way to the back without seeing a single soul. We crossed a long hallway leading to the rear of the house. The place was immaculate. More like a museum than a residence. Everything was untouched.

  In what looked like a sitting room, I saw a phone. A land line.

  I rushed the last few steps to snatch it up. I must have dialed 911 about five times in a row before I truly listened to the receiver. It was dead. No hiss. No tone.

  “Dead?” I exclaimed, turning to look around. What’s up with this place? Panic began to set in.

  Then I heard a clunk.

  It came from the far end of the house. Some shuffling, then another clunk. Somebody was opening drawers in a desk. Opening and slamming. Somebody was in a hurry.

  “Hello?” I said again. “Jedediah?” I went toward the shuffling noise.

  From the hallway, I saw him. He was standing right there. A big, grizzly man, with white hair. His back was to me. He didn’t turn around.

  None of this felt right. None of this looked right, smelled right, sounded right. He’d have to have heard me yelling in his house a moment ago, but seemed unaware of my presence.

  I was far enough away to do the following. Based on pure instinct, I quietly turned to Sierra and I gestured shhh. She complied, seeing the look on my face. I nudged her gently toward the side room right beside me, a hiding spot.

  Then the homeowner turned around and looked squarely at me. His expression was not friendly. Neither was the shotgun he was holding down by his side.

  I was tired of meeting men in this way. That this town ain’t big enough for the two of us macho manure. We should’ve hugged each other and danced around the living room in circles—that’s how I’d pictured this meeting. But he was silent.

  “Are you Jed?” I asked. “I’m Aaron Cooper’s wife. I’m Miranda.”

  He was just watching me. Cold.

  “C-can…” I stuttered. “Can I use your phone?”

  He muttered, “Don’t have one.”

  He doesn’t have a phone?

  “Look,” I said. “I’m sorry to intrude. There’s no need for a gun. Do you have a cell phone I could use? Aaron is hurt. Badly. Can you help me find Jed?”

  He kept looking down at me. He stood six foot three, easily. Viking big. An older man, but one who could torque a lug nut with his bare hands.

  What was he doing? My husband was going to die. We didn’t have another house we could get to soon enough. We didn’t have anyone else we could trust.

  And then I looked behind him and noticed a phone line on the wall.

  The line was cut. Severed. A fresh incision that wasn’t made last year or last month; it was made two minutes ago. He saw me see it. He now knew that I knew that he wasn’t a nice person.

  He said, “I am Jed.”

  Chapter 25

  Jed headed for the front door. With his shotgun. Toward the SUV. Toward Aaron. “No!” I shouted. “Wait!”

  He didn’t stop. I knew he would figure out where Aaron was, if he hadn’t already.

  I felt helpless. I needed a gun. For someone who’d never even held a gun prior to yesterday, I certainly got addicted fast.

  I picked up Sierra, moving her to safety and looking for the gun rack I knew had to be in the house somewhere. None in this room. None in the hallway.

  “Can you wait for me here?” I said to Sierra.

  “Yes, Mommy.”

  No weapons in the living room. My panic tripled. “Are you my little angel?”

  “I’m your Mister.”

  “My…?” I asked, kicking open a back room door.

  “Mister,” she repeated. “Of Transportation.”

  She made me want to weep like a spigot. “Yes! I’ll be right back, okay? I need to help Daddy.”

  Running to the kitchen for a knife, I looked out through the living room window and saw that Jed was already at the SUV.

  “Aaron!” I screamed. It was like a TV screen whose channel couldn’t be changed. I froze.

  Jed had his shotgun aimed as he crept forward the last few steps to the car. The tinted window was up on this side of the vehicle, meaning he couldn’t see inside, but he held his gun aimed directly at the backseat.

  With no warning, blam blam!, he blasted two shots in through the window.

  “No!” I screamed.

  He yanked open the door. I could see directly into the backseat where Aaron would be.

  Where Aaron wasn’t.

  Jed was looking at an empty backseat. He leaned in to check the rear compartment, came back out and looked around. The structures on the ranch were spread out, with not many places to hide.

  Where was my husband?! That was the pertinent question.

  And then we got our answer.

  Boom!

  What sounded like a building being thrown into another building was actually a fiery explosion big and bright enough that even in the middle of the Arizona daylight, you could see the flash, toward the main gate. A fireball the size of a warehouse had just plumed. The derrick underneath it was now a geyser of fire.

  Aaron apparently knows his way around an oil well.

  Chapter 26

  Jed stood there gawking at the spectacle. It was nice to see someone else caught off guard for a change.

  Then he started heading toward the mayhem, a man on a mission.

  To whatever degree he’d previously wanted Aaron dead, it was imperative now. I saw him cock his shotgun as he stomped toward the flaming derrick. I frantically ran back through the house. If I hurried, I could intercept Jed.

  I imagined Aaron would’ve set off the explosion, then hobbled over to some bush to collapse. I sprinted through the house and burst through the back door.

  And that was as far as I’d have to go to collide with the love of my life.

  Aaron and I banged into each other head first and both grunted.

  “You…But…Which…Did…?”

  “How…? I…If…”

  Then I kissed him.

  Passionately. Both of my hands gripping his collar. My body pressed against his. Which felt way better than I’ll ever admit in a court of law.

  Then we got down to business. He had the orange backpack from the SUV. Those rods I saw earlier—duh, Miranda—were sticks of dynamite. Should’ve known.

  “Fear i
s an amazing motivator,” he said.

  “I thought that guy was a friend. That’s Jed. Jed Branch. But we need to get out of here as fast as—”

  He took a step forward then lurched and lowered himself to the ground. I crouched beside him immediately. “Aaron!”

  “I’m…I’m so sorry,” he said, the adrenaline wearing off, barely able to speak. “Last year I found…puzzle pieces…people getting sick, families asking questions. By the time this…this…awful picture emerged…they were killing anyone who knew even one percent of it. I couldn’t risk…letting anyone know that I knew. Which meant…trying to protect you by…” He started to tear up. “By keeping it from you.”

  I had to get him out of here. But how?

  “Babe, babe, listen.” I had to keep him rational. “I know you did right by us. You’re a good soul. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

  “No, that’s my point,” he said. He pulled me close enough to whisper urgently, which we didn’t have time for and he knew it. “What I’m telling you is, I’m truly sorry.”

  “Aaron.”

  “For keeping you in the dark.” His tears were streaming hard, nearly re-energizing him. “I was too scared…of how many people were tied to it. But that’s no excuse. I was getting set to blow the whistle. I was. Today in fact. At a labor strike here on the ranch. But I needed to hide you and Sierra. And Jed was the only ally. But Jed’s actually…Jed’s actually…”

  An evil, backstabbing worm? I knew what he wanted to call Jed. I’d already met several members of his species this morning.

  “Babe,” I said, pulling him up to his feet. “You did something I could never hold against you.…You tried to keep our family safe. So now…if I get us through this day…we’ll be even.”

  He hugged me. I was about to bawl. The hurricane of emotions was finally catching up to me. And he felt so good to hold. But this wasn’t the moment.

  “Now, we need to get out of here.” I grabbed his hand and hurried him to the back. We burst in on Sierra, who instantly perked up. “Mommy! Daddy!” I already knew what must be done, and there wasn’t a moment to spare. I grabbed his orange backpack.

  “Wha…?” he said.

  “Where is that labor strike?” I asked.

  I loved his move of lighting up the derrick. It was a gargantuan middle finger to Jedediah. It was a brilliant way to create chaos. And, most of all, it was a beacon. Of hope. That fireball and its smoke, and now its continual fountain of flames, would be visible for miles around—in particular, for whoever was at the rally.

  “Not far—on the other side of the canyon. Behind the ranch.”

  There were other derricks on this ranch, just up the hillside. While Jed would be dousing the rig that was on fire, I could ignite another, and then another, one by one, making my way toward the strike. Help was sure to come. It might not be an ambulance at first, but it would be somebody.

  Bag in hand, I started heading out.

  “Where are you going?” asked Aaron.

  “To finish what you started.”

  Chapter 27

  If I could avoid the wide-open stretch between the main house and the barn, somehow dart between the trees or sneak behind the random tractors parked along the road, I could survive the trip.

  But Jedediah was already returning with his shotgun.

  I ran to the first outer corner of the house, then peered around the edge to monitor him. The hope was for my dear husband to find a new hiding place so that Jedediah, or whoever came next, wouldn’t get to him so fast.

  Uh-oh. Down the long drive, the white vans were roaring into the ranch, dust rising behind them. Both battered vehicles came to a halt in the middle of the courtyard. “Whoever came next” was here.

  Jedediah arrived as men jumped out—six, by my count—including Clay.

  That was my cue. While they were distracted, I sprinted up the back area, up into the hillside toward the cluster of derricks.

  These two days had taken their toll on my legs: they were now Jell-O, buckling beneath every step. But I didn’t have the luxury of indulging in weakness. Push, Mandy.

  Too many minutes later, I tumbled forward into a helpful ditch, then turned around to spy on the activity. Far below, the group had begun to disperse. I’d glanced backward midway through my run, catching glimpses of the men arming themselves with rifles and pistols, Jedediah in charge. He and Clay were gesturing around, probably cataloging all the places I could be hiding. But they deployed their legion of thugs toward the main house.

  Where Aaron and Sierra were.

  “Do not go in there,” I muttered quietly through clenched teeth.

  Time to move. I hustled over to the first derrick, twice as big as it looked from afar. A colossal robot arm angrily punching mother earth. I was only too happy to fish out my first stick of dynamite. I drew on years of fieldwork to calculate the most vulnerable spot.

  Ten seconds later—boom!

  I’d gotten clear but it was deafening. The blast knocked me over, flat on my face, welcoming me to the earth I was avenging. I rose to my hands and knees to look down the slope into the heart of the ranch. All seven gentlemen were now looking back up toward my handiwork. Good.

  There were some shouts and gesticulations, then they started coming my way.

  Bring it.

  I wanted them to march up the hill. All of them at once. I could just run like a rabbit, deeper into the property, toward the derricks, toward the labor strike itself. The first explosion was several minutes ago. Whoever was over at the factory had to have heard something by now, and seen the smoke.

  The thug team was getting its fresh orders from Jed. Jed was indeed in charge. Which meant Clay had played me well. Don’t trust Jed, Miranda. He knew that if he lost my confidence, I’d run to whomever he’d told me not to trust. And I did just that. Right into his crystal-clear trap.

  But Jed and Clay seemed to be arguing. Then, abruptly, most of the men were sent in the other direction, back into the ranch—all, in fact, except Clay.

  Clay was coming toward me. Alone. Which meant he took this personally.

  That made two of us.

  Chapter 28

  Clay came hustling up the hill, frothing at the mouth. There was no question he fueled the vengeance in this troop. If Jedediah was the brain, Clay was the bile duct.

  “You’re dead!” he shouted outward.

  He didn’t know exactly where I was. I’d been squatting behind a clump of brush and cacti. He was trying to flush me out.

  “Miranda!” he roared.

  Another game of Marco Polo, hoping I’d bite the worm on the hook. I didn’t. He had his own explosives now. Two sticks from Jed. The one way to extinguish oil fires is to blow them up.

  The next derrick on my demolition list was way up the ridge, making for a long sprint along a trench in the hillside. I waited for the right moment, then ran for it.

  Crack, crack, crack! Gunshots chased right after me. Clay wasn’t fooling around anymore. He wanted me erased.

  I kept going, running and running, eventually and unexpectedly reaching a barbed-wire fence. Was this it? Was this the rally? I could see a number of industrial derricks and a factory. This wasn’t Jedediah’s property anymore. This was the edge of Drake’s northernmost fracking plant.

  And now the closest well was a fracking rig. A big, metallic mosquito of human engineering, sticking its snout deep and horizontal into its victim to slurp a mile sideways.

  There was indeed a crowd in the distance. The labor strike! My first glimpse of normal people. Maybe a hundred of them.

  “Help!” I shouted toward them. “Help!”

  But they were too far away to hear me and were all gazing about ninety degrees in another direction, toward the last explosion I made, which was an understandably enticing thing to gaze at.

  I’d have to lure them with another boom.

  I ran for the closest well. Crack, another bullet ripped through the air, close enough t
hat I actually heard it swish by my head. I arrived at the rig and dove for cover under the web of its piping. I soon had the dynamite sticks nestled in the crook of the main tube.

  And that’s when I was hit from behind.

  Jed. The butt of his shotgun.

  I’d been spared the bullets because he didn’t want to aim toward explosives and high-pressure flammable gas.

  But Jed didn’t factor in how hard I’d hit him back. This gal had grown with the fight. Nothing could faze me at this point.

  I spun around and rammed him head first, nailing him square in the midsection. He was a big guy, but his age had caught up to him. Chugging up the hillside left him vulnerable.

  He went down hard and I quickly straddled his oily torso and started punching him with all my might. Over and over. Left, right, left.

  Which is when a few members of the crowd emerged over the crest of the hill. And the first thing they saw was me beating up an old, gray-haired man. Which they certainly didn’t let go unchecked.

  “Hey, get off him!” said one of the workers.

  “Hey, she’s beating on someone!” said another.

  Clay arrived just in time to ruin any chance for truth to prevail.

  “This is your arsonist!” said Clay, pointing at me.

  “Wait,” I protested.

  But the crowd was gathering and opinions were forming fast.

  “This is the arsonist,” one of the workers shouted back to the others. Someone had keys to the gate in the fence and opened it up right away.

  Clay capitalized on the chaos. “She’s got the fuses for the dynamite in her front pocket! Look! And the igniter in her right fist. Look!”

  The crowd was looking at me. I was so out of breath I could barely speak.

  “That’s not…that’s not true,” I said.

  “He’s right,” said a woman with tattooed forearms. “She’s got fuse wire.”

  “No, I mean…it’s not true that I’m the…that I’m the…” I couldn’t finish my sentence. I had reached my absolute mental and physical limit.

  Clay was in full force, grandstanding to the gathering crowd. “This woman has been trying to start fires all along the canyon. On the day of your rally! You tell me—is that a coincidence?”