Period 8 - By Chris Crutcher Page 0,59
listening. Friendly voices; some laughter. He thinks he hears his name.
Fucking hurry! he thinks. I’ve got five minutes, maybe ten before my body goes into fucking seizure.
He lies still, willing the numbness to remain, brings himself to his knees as a car engine revs. The two cars that just arrived turn slowly, sweeping the shore with their headlights. Paulie hugs the ground, then watches them move slowly back up the road.
He stands and runs, stumbling, falling, and scrambling back up.
“Firth!” It’s a whispered yell.
Nothing.
He stumbles toward the lot. The numbness is subsiding.
“Firth!” Louder.
A car door slams, a flashlight sweeps the area, finds him.
“Bomb?”
“I need your help, man.”
“Sweet Jesus, what are you doing? You here to get baptized? We do it with our clothes on. You know Arney was just here looking for you? Lemme see if I can catch him.”
One of those cars was Arney. “No!”
“He was with some—”
“No,” Paulie says. “Get me in your car and turn up the heat. I’m about to have a freeze-out. Some really bad shit has gone down that you’re not gonna believe. You got your cell?”
“Yeah, but there’s no service over here.”
“Then haul ass. Mr. Logs is out in the lake and if we don’t get someone to him in a hurry, he’s gonna die. You drive and I’ll explain. What did that fucking Arney say?”
The makeshift lot is empty now except for Ron’s car. Paulie tiptoes across the gravel in his bare feet and opens the shotgun door, only to see the seat occupied by Carrie Morales. She says, “I’ll get in back.”
“Stay where you are,” Paulie says. “You guys got a blanket in here?”
“On the floor on the right side,” Carrie says, pointing to the backseat. “But it’s covered with dirt and needles.”
“I don’t care if it’s covered in dog shit,” Paulie says. He begins shaking uncontrollably, can barely work his fingers enough to get the blanket around him. Teeth chattering, he says, “Tell me what Arney said.”
“Just that it was real important to find you,” Firth says. “He’s been looking all over.”
“Who was with him?”
“I don’t know. There were two cars, a passenger in his and I don’t know how many in the other. None of them got out.”
“You’re lucky,” Paulie chatters.
“I thought it was a bunch of your buddies. Anyway, he said he needed to hurry back to town, but to give him a call if you showed.” Firth hesitates. “Why in the world would he think you’d show? I’ve been trying to get you to YFC for four years.”
“Arney speaks with a forked tongue,” Paulie says. “He’s into some sinister shit. Listen, Ron, I’m asking you to do a very un-Christian thing.”
“Which is?”
“Lie your ass off.”
“I remember how to do that. Who do I lie to?”
“If we run into Stack on the road, you haven’t seen me and I’m not on the floor of your car under this blanket, okay? No matter what story he gives you. And man, we gotta hurry ’cause Logs is in serious trouble. Hand me your cell; the minute we’re in range, I gotta get 911.”
“It kicks in at the far end of the lake,” Ron says, and, feeling Paulie’s urgency, floorboards the accelerator.
Hannah turns toward home. She’s been driving aimlessly, trying Paulie’s cell and Logs’s home phone again and again. She doesn’t know what else to do. She just wants to see Paulie and wishes she had never spent a minute with Arney Stack. It was stupid revenge; the kind that would never work with Paulie anyway. God, she really wants to talk to him.
Running it over and over in her head, she doesn’t notice the black Audi parked across the street from her house as she punches the remote that raises the garage door.
.17
Logs is disoriented. He sees the lights by Paulie’s car in the distance, but can’t remember where the ski float is in relation to them. He knew where he was on the way over. He kept the YFC kids’ fire square in front of him. They weren’t looking for the float; Paulie simply ran into it. Now he doesn’t know if it’s ahead or behind. He stops, treading, struggling to visualize it from shore. He’s skied off it a thousand times; knows it’s north of the landing. He looks back—the YFC fire is gone. He thinks of Gehrig, curled on the couch. He hasn’t fed him tonight. If he doesn’t get back, who will . . .
Can’t think that. You’re the only adult with even a hint of