his shoulder. He darted over to the van really fast and low for someone so huge, and deposited Blondie unceremoniously through the already-open door.
Then he came back to me and motioned again: now.
I realized I must look startled as he bent to pick me up because his face started signaling effectively even with his hands around my torso and out of action.
Don’t argue.
This time it was me he was tossing onto the van floor before the night was a kaleidoscope of spinning wheels and jarring steel and he sped out of there. I was lying right next to Blondie, although Doug obviously dumped her fairly perfunctorily before he came back for me, because she’d kind of half rolled over. She looked twisted up, and messy. I could see clumps of dirt and grass in her beautiful hair from when I dropped her. I lifted my right arm to try to straighten her up as we lay together on the steel floor of Doug’s van. I managed to lift my arm, but only just, and a rough stab of nausea knifed into my belly. I rolled quickly over onto my back again, trying to prevent it. But I couldn’t stop the torrents of vomit from pouring out of me. All I could do was try not to mess Blondie up further in the process.
I could feel the van pull up as I finally lay still, in a putrid pool of fear and injury.
Doug yanked open the van door and I realized we’d parked a few doors down from Mom’s place, at the park. He’d driven us up onto the verge and behind some trees, offering at least a little protection from the road.
He looked down at me, lying on the floor of the van and reached for my face. I was confused by why he was choosing now to have a tender moment when I realized he was taking the tiny plugs out of my ears.
“You okay?” He looked rough, although I guessed not as bad as me.
“I’m fine,” I lied. “But I’ve got bad news.” He wasn’t biting. “It’s worse than the Harley.” I motioned to the vomit.
He laughed, and even in the dark I could see the lines smooth out on that patrician face. “Jesus, Sheriff, that’s disgusting. You’re cleaning it out once you’re ok. Goddamn women, they always get carsick.”
“Hate to break it to you, but don’t think it was anything to do with your driving.” I paused. “What the hell happened back there?”
“No idea,” he confirmed unhelpfully, rubbing rough palms up and down my arms as though to warm me up. “I was watchin’ you carrying Blondie over like she was no heavier than a bagel, then I heard this sound. My ears hurt. But you dropped. You were rolling and clutching at your face and head.”
“Hang on.” I blinked, trying to clear my head. “Didn’t you hear the shooter before that?”
“Sheriff,” he said quietly, stopping the rubbing and cupping my face. “There weren’t no shooter. Just you. And Blondie. I ran over and there was blood all over your face. Coming outta your ears. And you were screamin’. I could see you were screamin’. But silently, y’know. No sound. Damnedest thing I ever saw.”
“So that’s why you did the thing with the ear plugs?”
“Well…” He looked sheepish. “I’d like t’ tell ya it was my idea, but not really. Something I saw in Iraq. Went to a test of this new generation of weapons the terrorists are usin’. Scariest shit I ever saw. Crippling people with sound. It was pretty crude, but effective.” He looked like he was made of stone, remembering. “I’ve carried a couple of pairs of these little babies ever since.” He motioned at two bloody plugs lying in his open palm.
“Military issue. Cut out 90 per cent of all sound. Dunno what made me connect the dots tonight, really, but I tucked them in my ears before I ran over to you, and the pain stopped. Then, when I put them in your ears, you stopped the freaky quiet screamin’ stuff.”
I looked at him, impressed. A girl could sure get used to having this guy around.
“Just as well too, Sheriff.”
“Why’s that?” I asked quickly, suddenly worried that maybe someone had heard us.
“‘Cause I can’t stand to see a goddamn woman howlin’.”
I looked at him again. He was laughing, wiping tears from his eyes. “Anyway, GI Jane,” he went on. “Think we better get Blondie outta here. We got enough to deal with