Period 8 - By Chris Crutcher Page 0,55

station.”

Paulie is dialing as Logs says it; Rankin answers on the second ring. In as few words as possible Paulie relates the facts. “We’re on our way to the station now,” he says.

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” Rankin says. “Meet me outside. I can set things in motion faster than you could starting your story from scratch with the desk.”

Logs floors the gas pedal of the old Datsun. They speed onto the off-ramp and onto city streets, running rapidly changing yellow lights at busy intersections and red lights at empty ones.

Officer Rankin waits as they pull into a no-parking zone in front of the station. “What have you got?”

Paulie punches “Messages” on his iPhone and turns the screen toward Rankin, and translates. telkylieto run wachout4arne myparents2 getsisandrundanger 4 any1hooreadsthis.

“Jesus,” Rankin says.

Logs says, “What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know. You’re going to have to let me keep your phone this time, son,” Rankin says. “I have a feeling this will be critical evidence.”

Paulie reluctantly hands over the iPhone.

“So what do we do now?” Logs asks.

“Go home,” Rankin says. “There’s nothing you can do. If we need anything else we’ll give a call.” He takes Logs’s numbers. “Again, don’t give anyone the specific content of this.” He holds up the phone. “And I mean no one.”

“Man,” Paulie says, sitting in the shotgun seat on the way back to the lake to retrieve his car and their gear. “Oh, man.”

“What in the world could Mary know about Kylie?” Logs says. “Any way you look at it, this is bad.” He accelerates onto the freeway. “After we pick your stuff up, I’m following you home.”

“Why?”

“To talk with your mom. We have no idea where Mary sent that text from, but it was dire. She said anyone who reads it is in danger and the message came to your phone.” Logs moves into the right lane and onto the off-ramp. “I hope Hannah got in touch with the Wellses. If not, I’m sure Rankin will.” He hands Paulie his cell. “Call her.”

Paulie punches in Hannah’s number while Logs takes a right onto the narrow two-lane that leads another mile and a half to the lake. Suddenly bright lights and an explosion of metal on metal rocket the pickup sideways and down the grassy incline. It rolls once before coming to a rest upright against a thick pine tree. Paulie and Logs sit stunned, steam and smoke pouring from under the hood, the horn blaring. Paulie’s head clears, he checks for injuries, struggles with his seat belt.

“You okay? Paulie, you okay?”

“I think so. I can’t see anything. Jesus, what happened?”

Logs slams the palm of his hand against the glove compartment, popping it open. He feels for the handle of a crescent wrench, finds it, and breaks out his side window, groping for the seat belt release. He knocks out the edges of the glass, peering up toward the road at headlights beaming above their heads. The driver’s-side door of a dark SUV opens, casting a glow on the exiting driver, and a passenger following. In a split second it registers. “Run!” Logs shoulders his door, creating an opening just wide enough to slide out. “Paulie, run!”

“What? Where?”

“Get out of there!”

Paulie shoulders his door, but it’s blocked by the trunk of a thick pine. “This side!” Logs’s voice is low and tense. “Hurry!”

He pulls the driver’s-side door open a hair farther and Paulie squeezes out. “Run!”

Paulie hasn’t seen the two men moving down toward them through the waist-high grass and he starts to bolt toward the road. Logs hauls him back by his shirt collar. “Into the trees. Stay with me.”

They move quickly, mostly by feel in the darkness, until Logs stops and they stand, listening. Logs puts a finger to his lips and pushes Paulie deeper into the trees, then stops again. The voices are distinctly farther away.

“What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Logs whispers, “but those guys rammed us on purpose.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah, Jesus,” Logs says. “The interior light came on when they got out . . . don’t get freaked, but I think one of them is Rankin.”

“Shit!”

“Yeah. And whoever it was meant to kill us. That vehicle was moving full speed.”

“Man, you’re scaring me.”

“Good.”

“What’re we going to do?”

“We’re going to get farther into these trees and give ourselves time to think. And listen. If their voices get closer, we gotta move.”

“Shit, I quit Boy Scouts after a month. I can’t tell which direction is which.”

Logs points west. “Lake’s that way.” Then