from the sluicing mud. Down, down, towards the ocean. Down towards Cliffside. I had no choice. Rain lashed at me like a whip; a wind I had never known in California before howled around my ears. I stumbled down ferny, sloshy banks; anything to escape the rivers of water surging at me, swirling around my feet like eddies in white water, splashing and splattering mud.
At the crest of Cliffside’s driveway two patrol cars like tin cans after target practice lay in the middle of the lane, peppered with hundreds of bullet holes. Three officers, including Bill, lay dead in pools of their own blood, diluted now with the washing rain. Another roar above me. An engine this time. I ducked into the woods at the side of the driveway and, looking up, saw a huge helicopter overhead, and a man in black hanging halfway out, a machine gun firing at everything and anything. An explosion behind me and a lance of orange light, the smell of gasoline. Was that our patrol car I was just in going up in flames?
These didn’t look like state or highway patrol helicopters, but something out of a blockbuster. Whoever it was meant serious business. Lee must have dug up the money and somehow these bastards had found out. How? A chill ran down my spine.
I kept myself hidden, out of sight, sometimes crawling like an animal on my hands and knees, and when I couldn’t hear anything, I sprinted in quick bouts, as fast as I could. I’d hide somewhere later, but I had to keep going. An old, hundred-foot pine tree snapped like a toothpick, crashing only twenty feet away from me. This was a ferocious mudslide, a living entity, and I was caught in the middle of it. My best chance was to make it to the beach. I thanked God for my dull gray raincoat, and dull brown hair, and mud-splattered camouflage. I just prayed those bastards hadn’t shot little Beanie.
I don’t know how much time went by but soon it was nearly dusk. The helicopters had finally gone, and I could no longer hear any more man-made noises. No cries, no car engines, no shooting. Nothing. Still, the rain wouldn’t let up.
I kept pushing my aching limbs through the woods towards the house. Stealthily, as fast as I could manage with my weak ankle. Beanie might head straight there. I’d find him, grab a leash from the hallway, and make my way down to the beach. Then I’d be able to scramble my way back out at Pfeiffer Beach and seek help.
Whatever had happened happened and was over. The fact that the helicopters had gone made me wonder if any living thing was left alive. I doubted anyone would be at the house. Would Lee have let Jen out of the laundry room? Lee and the triplets would all be down by the woods, by the redwood tree.
But then I heard Beanie bark, and I followed the sound. I was right, it was coming from the house. I passed by the Toyota and stopped. Miraculously, it was still in one piece, albeit sprayed with bullet holes. I opened the door and snatched the gun from the floor. Just in case I needed it. I still had no idea if it was loaded or not. It scared the shit out of me, so I held it out in front of me, terrified it might go off on its own in my coat pocket, with all my brusque movements and running.
The sun had set, and tigerish stripes in orange and cobalt blue patterned the horizon, peeping through the swathe of clouds, but quickly disappeared again under the heaving gray mass of the storm. Apart from the odd woof from Beanie, coming from inside the house, all I could hear was the slashing rain.
But then I heard a cry. A human cry. Someone in pain? Jen? My heart reached out. Against my better judgment, I entered the house. It too had been peppered with bullet holes, some of the glass shattered.
The door had been blasted open, and I stepped lightly into the hallway, but the squelching of my soaked feet and wet sneakers squeaking on the floor made it impossible for me to be soundless. Apart from that, Cliffside was eerily silent, the lights flickering on and off. I grabbed a leash for Beanie, hanging by the door, and pricked up my ears for any sound. I couldn’t see or hear him. I