Dark Sky (Joe Pickett #21)(60)

Price froze and watched Joe as he raised the rifle and aimed it toward the open door. When Brad filled it, he was illuminated only by the glow of the heating coil. He held his shotgun loosely at his side. Joe said a prayer that the old rifle would operate and he placed the front sight on Brad’s glowing face just above his beard and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Nothing happened. Brad heard the sound and squinted toward its origin. Apparently, he couldn’t see Joe clearly in the gloom.

With shaking hands, Joe ejected the bad round and reached into his pocket for a fresh one. He couldn’t see well enough to know if the lead faced the correct direction while he rammed it into the chamber, but he assumed it was okay because the bolt didn’t seize up. Joe cocked the rifle again and raised it.

Crack.

Brad staggered and reached up with his free hand and covered his face as if he’d been stung by a bee. He cursed and backpedaled out of the light.

“What the hell happened?” Earl asked.

“Joe shot me,” Brad answered with alarm and disbelief. “He shot me.”

Joe ejected the casing and fitted another round into the chamber.

“Joe, come on,” Earl said plaintively. “You didn’t need to do that. I thought you were a bad shot, but you proved me wrong, I guess. But this Price asshole means nothing to you.”

Joe took several strides toward Price and kept the muzzle aimed toward the open door. He thought he had a minute at most before Brad came back or either Earl or Kirby arrived.

He grasped the back end of the spear and pulled hard. Joe could feel the spear tip release from the log. The tip of the spear was barbed for fish, so he didn’t pull it back through Price’s flesh.

“Come on,” Joe said to Price.

“Where?”

“Follow me.”

“Follow you where?”

“Out of here.”

“How?”

“Here,” Joe said, thrusting the .22 into Price’s hands. “Keep that aimed at the door and pull the trigger if anyone steps inside.”



* * *



—

Carrying the stump he’d used for a chair from where they’d huddled around the heating coil, Joe kicked the bed away from the wall and dropped it onto the floor in its place and mounted it. His back was to the open door and to Price, who asked him if the safety of the rifle was off.

“It’s off,” Joe said. “It’s cocked and ready to fire.”

Presuming the cartridge is good, Joe thought but didn’t say.

“I’ve never shot a gun before.”

“It’s a good time to learn.”

From outside, Joe heard Earl lament, “Goddamn it, Joe. You shot Brad in the jaw.”

“You ruined his beautiful smile,” Kirby chimed in with barely disguised glee. “The girls won’t have anything to do with him now.”

Kirby’s voice came from the left side of the cabin, not the front where Earl and Brad were. Good to know, Joe thought.

He braced himself on top of the stump and reached up and placed both palms against a sheet of plywood that rode down the ridge of the truss and appeared to be nailed directly to the top of the log wall. He grunted as he shoved and he felt it give. But it wasn’t yet enough to create an escape route.

“What are you doing?” Price asked.

“Aim toward the door,” Joe ordered.

He tried to calm himself. He took a deep breath and pushed up with all of his strength. As he did, he could feel a sharp pang in his thigh where the rifle bullet had damaged tissue and nerves the year before. The strain of the push made the stump rock beneath his feet and nearly topple over.

But the plywood sheet separated from the truss and the wall, leaving a two-foot gap. Joe felt icy cold on his face from the opening. He shoved up until his arms were stretched out and he opened the gap to three feet. The bottom edges of the plywood sheet bristled with exposed nail points.

Joe jumped down and pointed out the space to Price as he retrieved the rifle from him.

“Go,” Joe said.

“I don’t know if I can reach it.”

“I’ll help you,” Joe said. “Just be careful not to snag your clothes on those nails.”

Joe tossed the rifle aside on the bed frame and laced his fingers together and squatted. Price stepped into his cupped hands and Joe grunted again as he lifted the man up. Joe felt charged with unnatural strength, probably due to the adrenaline rushing through his body, he thought.

Price scrambled to get his head and shoulders out through the gap and he crawled through and dropped away. Joe heard him hit the ground hard on the other side of the wall.

He grabbed the rifle and tossed it through the space ahead of him so he wouldn’t have to try to climb with it. Then he jammed one of the chairs over the top of the stump to gain another eighteen inches and managed to step up to the seat of the chair. It was a rickety setup and he tried to maintain his cool as well as his balance.

While he struggled, he knew he had his back to the door and to anyone who might look inside. He had no defense. Joe anticipated the shock of being hit in the back at any moment.

He pulled himself up by grasping the top of the log wall and managed to find a foothold on the frame of a window. He was able to propel himself up and through the opening. He landed in a heap on his back in the snow with no more grace than Price had shown.