Hank’s head is counterproductive. He knows he must manhandle it and achieve rationality. He needs order and calm to function. Control. Review: Gravel seems to be the most violent and unpredictable. Kent could probably be talked into anything, he seems a little bit like a lap dog: easy to command and eager to please. Ben is a mystery, although he seems the most reasonable. He might be convinced to let Jimmy live. He’s only a kid. They are clearly heading for Canada. Jimmy can’t hurt them. Perhaps with the right words he can at least save his son, which could be okay since Alison is still out there and with this thought his head swims again. His wife. His tender wife who did not want to come. Who came for him. She is surely in shock, frozen in the icy rain, watching terrified and alone. He knows there is no help coming. This is his fault. This trip was his idea. Guilt begins to bury him and he stops it - no, not constructive, stop. He must do. Now is not the time to accept, but to keep trying. His last try killed Mike. These men didn’t even flinch before gunning down Hobbs and Mike. It was as ordinary to them as tossing a ball. Hank’s eyes drift out the window. Are you there? My darling, can you see me? Can you hear me? Forgive me for not being able to help you. Stay hidden. Stay safe. As he sinks into worry over Alison, he feels heavy and exhausted.
Gravel and Ben stomp into the room slamming the lodge door. They are pissed, which is how they grieve.
Ben paces, “Goddamn it.”
“I made them all pray to Jesus. So we got that going for him.” Kent reassures them.
Gravel responds, “His gun’s still on him down there.”
“So he slipped?” Kent asks.
“Looks like it.” Gravel plops down on the sofa.
With affection Kent says, “Clumsy big-footed lug nut.”
Ben, ever cautious, “What if he was pushed?”
Gravel asks, “You think someone’s out there?”
“Something just doesn’t feel right. Keep your guns on you.” Ben goes back to the carburetor on the floor.
Gravel says, “Hurry up and fix that fuckin’ thing so we can finish things up and get the hell outta here.”
“Not just dirty, got a part problem, I’m working it.”
Everyone on the floor knows perfectly well that finish-things-up refers to them, everyone knows this but Jimmy who thinks it means they’ll leave and he’ll be able to go find his mom.
“So, Dad, they’ll leave soon.”
“Yes, Jimmy, I hope so.”
* * *
Chapter Fifteen
On Curtis’ porch, they wait for lightning, knowing if it does not come in the next couple of minutes, she will have to go on faith that the gun will fire. Every second she wastes here, her son, her husband, and the others face the probability of being shot. She feels this responsibility in every cell of her body. In this brief pause, she admits to herself she will probably die tonight. Her family will probably die tonight. Please, for Jimmy, let him go first; let it be quick. How odd to know this in advance: to watch death approaching and to see that death comes not on a majestic pale horse at all, but on the wings of a whim, in a moment when someone asked shall we go fishing? How arbitrary. Who lives, who dies, each day - how arbitrary - and how pitifully frantic we are to make sense of it, to make order of it, to make it understandable when it simply isn’t. And then, standing on Curtis’ porch immune to the cold and the wet Alison asks for one thing from the universe - if Hank and Jimmy die, please me too. I cannot live knowing I had the chance and I could not save them. And I cannot live without them. I will not. She knows that it is this truth that is giving her the strength to fight. She doubts these men will leave witnesses. She will gladly take a shot to the heart rather than hold her dead family in her arms. She knows what her odds are against three vicious men. Her strength comes not so much from a belief that she will be able to kill the bad guys and save the day, but more from an unconscious resolution to live together or die together. That is her truth. She has no illusions about who she is, or about how this will end. And it is