ONE CUP (Part 30)

Affiliate Disclosure
Some of the links on this blog are affiliate links. This means that if you click on a link and make a purchase, I may earn a commission at no additional cost to you. I only recommend products and services I genuinely believe in. Thank you for your support!

123

Ian McGregor

By going to the game, I was bailing out, leaving Ray and the girl to fend for themselves. But, what good could I have done anyway? Doubtful I could have gotten there in time to make any difference in the outcome. Ray had abandoned me, so the decision was basically made for me, right?

True, going to the game was my best chance of staying with the team on the post season roster, and for having a job next season. True also, it kept me out of danger, and reduced the likelihood of my being tossed in jail if it all went to shit.

Before the game, in the locker room, people were asking where Mike Prescott and Lou Brannigan were. A few were even wondering about Ray. “Where’s Garrett?” someone asked, he’s supposed to start tonight. You don’t think he got cold feet and backed out, do you?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Never heard of anyone ever doing that.”

And so it went, all through the night. I kept wondering what was happening right now in Page. Hoping everything would turn out alright. Worried about what would happen if Ray didn’t find the girl in time. Worried just as much or more about what would happen if he did.

In the ninth inning, I was put in the game to close it out. We were up four runs, and it should have been easy. I walked the bases loaded. I stunk the stadium up. Notso Bright came out and took the ball from me. “You’ll do better in the playoffs,” he said. “Forget about it.”

But I couldn’t forget about it. I kept hearing my grandpop. “You can never outrun your own shadow, Ian. You can’t hide from it. Wherever you go, it follows you.”

124

Whitney

The rain began, and the trees were swaying wildly in the wind as Leon approached. “Larry says I should put you in the shed,” Leon said. “On account of there’s storms comin’.”

That news came as relief. Until now, the only option for shelter was to hunker beneath the tree I was chained to. Not the best place to be in a thunderstorm.

“I’m surprised Larry is so concerned about my well-being,” I said. “I thought Larry was going to burn me alive.”

“Yeah,” Leon said. “He told me for now you’re worth more alive than dead. If I unchain you from the tree, you promise you won’t do nothin’, Miss?”

“I promise, Leon,” I said. “And I’d like it if you’d call me Whitney.”

Leon looked into my eyes. “People lie to me a lot,” he said. “On account of they think I ain’t too smart. But I trust you, Miss Whitney.”

I almost felt guilty. Almost.

125

Leon set the combination code on the padlock and unlocked it to remove the chain from the tree. I was still handcuffed, and the chain was still around my waist, with Leon holding the other end. “C’mon, Miss Whitney. Let’s go. The weather’s getting’ pretty bad.

Leon turned to lead the way, the Glock still tucked in the small of his back. I wasn’t close enough. “Wait, Leon,” I said. “I’m having trouble keeping up with you.”

“Okay,” Leon said. “Watch your step, Miss Whitney. There’s lots of dog shit out here.”

“I will, Leon. Thanks for telling me about it.” And he was right. The fighting dogs had made a royal mess of the yard. Had I not been looking, I surely would have stepped in something. “Where are we going?” I asked.”

“The old chicken house.” Leon pointed to a cinder block building with a green roof that was missing several shingles.

The weather was getting worse by the second. “Leon, I’m scared,” I said, and it was the truth. I’d never seen a sky so violent. “Are those funnel clouds?”

Leon stopped to look, and I pretended to bump into him. “Sorry,” I said, taking the Glock from his waistband just as a low flying airplane came from out of nowhere, dropping into the field behind the junk yard.

Leon turned to face me with wide eyes. “Did you see that?” He flinched at the sight of the pistol aimed at his forehead.

“You’ve been kind to me, Leon,” I said. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I’ve got a young daughter who needs me, and I swear to God, no one is going to stop me from getting back to her.”

“What’s her name?”

“What?”

“What’s your little girl’s name?”

“Rylee,” I said. “Her name is Rylee.”

In the distance, behind Leon, I could see a man running from the airplane, diving to the ground and hunkering into a turtle-like position. One of the funnel clouds was nearly upon him.

I pushed the muzzle of my Glock into Leon’s forehead. “Leon, we don’t have much time. Hand me the key to these cuffs, or the tornado will be the least of your problems.”

Leon, under duress, was having difficulty processing what I’d said, simple as it was. “The key, Leon!” I said. “Give me the key to the cuffs and the combination for the chain on my leg! NOW!”

Leon reached into his pocket, fished around a few seconds—seemed like hours, with the funnel cloud bearing down on us—then produced the key for the handcuffs. I considered having him lay the key down and step away while I free myself. I would have to lay the gun down, and he could rush me as I fumbled with it. Or, I could make him uncuff me. I could keep the gun at his head and the finger on the trigger. Was he quick enough to disarm me before I could squeeze the trigger? No time to debate the issue. “Uncuff me, Leon,” I said.

Leon complied without resistance, inserting the key into the cuffs, one at a time. That done, Leon stepped back. “One, two, three, four.” Before I could ask why he was counting, he said, “That’s the code for the padlock on your chains, Miss Whitney. Larry wanted to keep it simple. He put it on all our padlocks. On accounta I ain’t good at rememberin’ stuff, and he didn’t wanna be bothered about it twenty thousand times a day.”

126

Ray Garrett

The Cessna hit hard, and bounced back into the air again a couple times, as if to invite me to do a go-around and try to get it better next time. Wanting no part of that, I lowered the nose a bit to avoid stalling the wing, gave it just enough power to arrest the rate of descent, and flared at the last second. I got on the brakes hard, sliding to a stop, barely missing running into a rusted-out tractor which had been abandoned in the middle of the field a couple decades ago. I cut the mixture and the prop stopped turning.

With the tornadoes now less than a quarter mile away, I opened the door and bolted for cover.

127

Kayla Prescott

“Okay, we all know what our jobs are,” I said as we came within a mile of the destination Ian gave us. “Michael, you find the girl. Get her the hell out of there. Lou, you go inside with me and make sure Larry can be counted upon not to say anything about what happened.”

“Can we really trust him?”

“Of course not. You’ll have to shoot him.” I handed him a gun. Michael’s Smith and Wesson Governor.

“You ever use one of these?”

“Hell yeah.” I could tell he was lying, and I gave him a look to let him know.

“I shot a couple of times, when I was a kid out in the woods with a friend,” Lou said. “No big deal.”

“It’s loaded with triple-ought buckshot,” Michael said.

“No ballistics to trace back to the gun,” I explained the obvious.

There was only silence from Lou Brannigan. Geez, this guy is such a dufus.

“Look at that!” Lou Brannigan said, as we pulled into the driveway, under the sign for BROWN’S TOWING SERVICE, pointing the gun out the windshield initially, then turning and pointing out his passenger side window, coming back toward me. “Hey! Watch where you’re pointing that thing.” He not only was gun pointing toward me, but his finger was on the trigger as well.

“Oh,” he said. “Sorry. But look! He’s gonna crash.”

I looked out. “Oh, my God!” A small airplane was bouncing in the field behind the junkyard as we were pulling in.

“Crazy bastard, he’s gonna get himself killed,” Michael said.

“Don’t worry about the airplane,” I said as Michael brought the Escalade to a stop and Lou got out. “Let’s just focus on what—”

“KAYLA!” Michael shouted, pointed out the window. A massive, otherworldly wall of water and dust, lumber and corrugated tin, tires and tree limbs came hurtling toward us. And, I swear to God, a fish hit the windshield. A deafening roar muted our screams of anguish as the Escalade was swept up by the funnel. We flipped over, spun around and slammed into a solid, unidentifiable mass and instantly erupted into flames.

128

Jackie

I could not believe what I was seeing. The pilot of the small plane must be some kind of lunatic. I’d thought him lucky to be outrunning the storm, and hoped he would somehow survive. But now he’d reversed course and was flying directly toward the funnel clouds. One had already touched down. The other looked like it would at any moment. I watched, mesmerized by the events unfolding before me as the airplane bounced once, twice, three times before staying on the ground.

The pilot immediately shut down the engine and bailed out, sprinting for cover behind the dam of a small pond. The funnel clouds were both now on the ground, churning up dirt and trees and all manner of debris. The one on my right was going to miss me by a couple hundred feet. Little comfort, considering the likelihood of being struck dead by the debris. The other one was coming straight for me, but had thankfully lifted a hundred feet or so, and I looked up, directly into the churning funnel cloud as passed over me. Toward the car. “Rylee!” I screamed. And then, in the moment just before the funnel cloud dropped down and consumed Nick Taylor’s car, I saw the back seat door on the right side standing wide open.