Divided We Fall (18 page)

“Can you confirm reports that some of the protestors were armed?” “Did you yourself sustain any injuries that night?” “Is it true that one of the soldiers in your squad is a member of a white supremacist group?” “Was race a partial motivator for the shootings?”

We were about six feet from the bus door now, and the last few reporters in our way were starting to back up.

“Danny, wait!” JoBell was halfway through the crowd now. A photographer held up his comm with a special camera unit attached. Without looking, he elbowed JoBell to get a better shot. “Hey, watch it!” she said. Then she tripped or someone knocked into her and she fell down into the mass of bodies.

“JoBell!” I called.

“I got you!” Becca shouted, ducking down after her.

I leaned close to Sweeney and spoke quietly. “I have to get her out of there.”

“Get on the bus,” he said. “We’ll get her.”

“No way, man. This is my responsibility.” I pushed through the line of our guys and rushed toward JoBell. “Excuse me! Excuse me!” I tried to wedge my way through the press.

A man with short, ragged red hair and the scraggly beginnings of a beard shoved people to the side. A couple reporters fell to the ground. A big camera broke on the cement, but the guy had made an opening. JoBell and Becca stood and ran through it to reach me.

“Thanks,” I said to the redhead, already moving to the bus with both arms around the girls.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust and pushed me back into my guys. JoBell screamed. I risked a look to make sure she was okay. “Get on the bus!” I shouted. She shook her head and tried to stay with me. “Sweeney, get her out of here.”

“Come on, Jo.” Becca took her arm and pulled her onto the bus.

The redhead reached inside his light jacket. “Hey, Wright! This is for Allison!” He pulled out a .38 snub-nosed revolver.

“Gun!” Sweeney shouted. He pushed me past our linemen onto the steps in the bus. Brad grabbed me by my belt and shoved me up near the driver’s seat. Norm the bus driver ducked. Cheerleaders screamed and hid down in the seats. I stood up to protect JoBell and Becca in the aisle, and the man pointed the gun at me through the front windows.

Then Cal tackled him, and the gun went flying. The man hit the pavement hard on his back. Cal cocked his right arm back and brought his big fist crashing down. I could hear the crack as the punch landed and the man’s head hit the cement. A thick stream of dark red blood arched back when Cal brought his fist up again. His eyes were wide, his teeth bared, his face wrinkled in pure, shaking-hot anger.

I ran down the bus steps to try to help, but TJ blocked me, pushing me back up. “Out of my way!” I said.

“You don’t want to be out here!” TJ said through gritted teeth. “You want to fight me about this? Fine. But you’ll only make everything worse by coming out here.”

JoBell stepped up behind me and grabbed my shoulders. “Stay here.”

Coach Shiratori, Coach Devins, Brad, Dylan, and Randy all grabbed Cal and pulled him back toward the bus door. Cal accidentally smeared more blood all over his face when he tried to wipe the splatters away. Red splotches dotted his white T-shirt. He yelled at all the cameras, “You come after my friends, you get the same! Just leave us alone.”

A small fleet of police cars tore onto the scene, and then dozens of cops were pushing people back. The first cop pointed at Shiratori. “Coach, get your players onto the bus!”

We moved quickly into our seats. Sheriff Crow came up the stairs and stood by the bus driver. “Danny Wright? Are you okay? I’m sorry we were late getting here.”

“I’m good, Sheriff,” I called from my seat in the far back.

“No.” Crow shook his head. “Let’s not have you sitting all the way in the back next to that big window in the emergency exit door. Come up here and sit in the middle.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, wishing this was all a bad dream, that none of these precautions were necessary. Then I stood and limped up the narrow lane toward the front of the bus. Timmy Macer gave up his seat behind Samantha Monohan.

Sam wiped tears from her eyes. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Listen up,” said Crow. “I’m sorry this all happened tonight. We might have to ask some of you questions about the gunman, but right now I want to get this bus moving. You’ll have a police escort all the way back to Freedom Lake, so don’t worry. We’ll keep you safe, I promise. Does anyone need any immediate medical attention?”

Cal held his left hand up. Our athletic trainer, Jaclyn Martinez, was in the middle of bandaging his right one. She’d cleaned all the blood off his face. Crow raised his eyebrows at him. “No, I’m fine,” Cal said. “But … the other guy, is he … you know?”

“Don’t worry, son,” said Crow. “He’s busted up pretty good, but he’ll live. We have him in custody, and we’ve recovered the weapon. That was quick thinking. Good work. Okay? Let’s get this thing rolling!” He stepped down out of the bus, and old Norm reached out a shaking hand to pull the lever that closed the folding doors.

In a few minutes the bus was finally moving, the lights and sirens from police cars leading and following us. Other squad cars moved to block traffic at intersections, so we rolled through a red light on our way out of town.

I called Mom to let her know I was okay in case she’d been watching the news. She warned me that reporters were everywhere outside the house. After I calmed her down and said good-bye, I sat in the dark next to JoBell, her head on my shoulder and her hands in mine. Nobody said anything the whole way home. I listened to the howl of the sirens and the sniffles from some of the cheerleaders and tried to ignore the faint sound of the news reports from people’s comms.

Football was my thing. Looking forward to it was half of what had kept me going through basic training. The thrill of the game and that awesome feeling I got when I was with my team — that’s how I’d been holding on to normal life since that night in Boise. Now that was fading fast.

The mob of press waiting for us back at the high school was so big, it made the group at Bonners Ferry look like chicken change. The bus could hardly get into the parking lot with the sea of news vans, photographers, and reporters in the way. Plenty of parents were wedged in with their cars running, probably terrified after the shooting attempt, waiting to pick up their children and get them out of there. The sheriff and a bunch of other police started clearing an area between the bus and the school so that we could get in the building to put our stuff away.

“Okay, everybody, we’re going to get off the bus and run inside,” Coach said. “If your parents are here, we’ll have them drive their cars up one at a time between the bus and the school. Just let me talk to them on your comm and I’ll fix it with the police.” He flashed a weak smile. “We’ll get you out of this. I promise.”

An endless strobe of camera flashes nearly blinded us as we ran from the bus to the boys’ locker room. It was weird, all of us, including the cheerleaders plus JoBell and Becca, being packed in there, but Coach wanted us to stay together for safety. We all stowed our gear and then everybody started making comm calls.

JoBell slipped her arm around me and rested her head on my shoulder. “It stinks in here,” she said.

“Beautiful young people are accidents of nature, but beautiful old people are works of art,”
said Digi-Eleanor.
“Speaking of beautiful old people, JoBell, your father is trying to reach you for a voice call. When you’re done with that, there are many updates on the Battle of Boise story you’ve been following.”

“Dad already sent me half a dozen texts asking if I was okay,” JoBell said. “He’s probably out there waiting to drive me home, but I want to go with you.” She squeezed my hand. “Eleanor, go ahead with the call.” She spoke into her comm. “Hi, Dad. No, I’m fine. He’s fine too. We’re all okay. Yeah … yeah. Well, I was hoping to get a ride home from … What?” JoBell was getting upset. “It can’t be that bad. That was just one crazy guy.” I put my hand on her arm. “Hang on a sec,” she said to her dad. She looked up at me. “Yeah?”

I leaned close to JoBell and spoke quietly. “Hey, just go with your dad tonight.”

“But I —”

“I’m going to go on my own, try to draw away some of the media. Once I’m gone, the crowd will die down here, and everybody else will be able to get home.” I looked around. Coach was busy trying to sort out what to do next. Becca had gone to her locker to get some books, Cal was messing with his gear, and Sweeney was chatting up the cheerleaders. This was my only chance to make a move like this. Lucky for me, senior football players always got the best parking spots by the outside door to the locker room.

“Danny, you can’t,” said JoBell. “You’ll never make it out of the parking lot.”

“The Beast can make it through anything.” I kissed her. “You like watching the news? Watch this.” I took my keys out of my pocket and ran for the door. Coach and Sweeney called from behind me, but I didn’t stop.

As soon as I came out of the locker room, a million cameras flashed again. “That’s him!” “Daniel Wright, can you answer a few questions for us?” “Is football an outlet for the same aggressive tendencies that made you fire on the protestors?” “Can you tell us the names of other soldiers who were in Boise that night?” “Did the announcement in the media about your involvement in the Boise massacre affect your performance in tonight’s game?”

“No comment!” I shouted, elbowing one reporter to the side and pushing two ahead of me like I was stuck in a mad stupid football game. Finally I reached the door to my truck. When I was behind the wheel, I tried to close the door, but one guy stood in the way. I put my foot on his chest and shoved him back enough so I could close and lock myself in. Firing up the engine and shutting off the muffler, I revved her up about as loud as she’d go. A few of the vultures actually backed off. I pulled ahead, driving over the little cement tire barrier and onto the grass in the area the police had cleared.

Then I turned toward the street, slowing down when I reached the crowd of reporters. I let the Beast idle-drive ahead, creeping forward to force them to move or be run over. Quite a few looked like they were going to try to stand their ground, but when they figured out I wasn’t stopping, when the Beast was physically pushing them back like a bulldozer, they moved out of the way. At least three-quarters of the media people rushed to their vehicles as soon as they realized I was making my escape.

When the Beast bumped down off the curb onto the street, I hammered the gas, turning my muffler back on now that I wanted to be quieter and ditch the press. I’d have to do more than that to escape, though. At least a dozen news vans and cars were chasing me.

“Hey, partner, you got yerself a video … call coming in … from JoBell. Do you want —”

“Hank, shut up and put it on-screen!” I shouted at my comm on the passenger seat.

JoBell appeared on-screen.
“Danny, you cleared out most of the media at the school. It will still be a pain to get out of here, but we can all manage it now. The only problem is you’re never going to ditch those reporters. Check this out.”

An insert image popped up in the lower right corner. It was a live feed from CNN, an aerial shot of the Beast rolling down the street. I tapped my brakes to slow-and-go at a stop sign. Two seconds later, the brake lights on the Blazer in the video lit up.

“You’ve got a drone tailing you. You might be able to lose it if you turn right onto West Street and then cut through Harper’s Field. There are a ton of evergreen trees there that might hide you. And shut your lights off! You know the town!”

“That’s my girl,” I said, doing as she said. She was right. The drone lost me when it was forced to go above the trees. The CNN feed switched to a street view from one of the vans behind me, but when I jumped the curb and cut through the vacant lot JoBell had mentioned, I started to put some distance between me and the camera.

“That did it!”
JoBell said.

At the back of the lot, a rocky slope covered in scrub brush stood between me and Third Street at the top of the hill. I stopped just long enough to shift into four-wheel drive. About four vans had driven into the field after me, their reporters and cameras already dismounting.

“What are you doing?”
JoBell said through the comm.

“Let’s see these bastards follow me now.” I patted the Beast’s dash. “Come on, girl!” I hit the gas and she roared as she drove right up the slope, throwing back rocks and dirt toward the reporters. At the top of the hill I stopped, switched back to two-wheel drive, and hooked a right onto Third Street.

JoBell laughed on the comm.
“You are seriously incredible. I think some of whatever your truck’s kicking up actually hit one of the NBC cameras. But listen, I’m watching about six feeds right now, and a bunch are broadcasting from the front of your house. You better head down the back alley and, I don’t know, park in the backyard or something.”

I headed for home, taking the most stupid indirect route to get there to keep the reporters off balance. “You really think they won’t be out back?”

“No way to tell. There has to be fewer of them back there, though. It’s your best shot.”

She was right. When I drove down the alley behind my house, all the reporters’ lights made it look like daylight was coming from the front yard.

A dark shadow crossed the alley in front of me and I hit my brakes. Then more lights lit the alley. More cameras and reporters. I drove around the reporter I’d almost hit, and sped up to drive through my yard. For a moment I thought about parking by the back door and heading in, but I didn’t want to leave the Beast exposed out where anyone could mess with her. If I parked in the driveway in front of our single-stall garage, at least she would be protected on two sides, and I could keep a better eye on her from my bedroom window. I drove across the lawn around the back of the garage — too late, I thought, to save my mom’s flower garden.

Around front, the press were pointing fingers and cameras at me like my truck moving was the most important story in the world. Some scrambled out of the way as if they were scared I was about to charge down the driveway to the street. Good. They deserved to be frightened. “Thanks,” I said to JoBell. “I wish we could have hung out tonight. This is all —”

“Stop talking to me and get in the house! Don’t sit there on camera giving the next crazy a chance to take a shot at you.”

“I love you,” I said.

“I love you too. Now get inside and take care of your mother.”

I tapped out of the call and ignored the questions from the reporters on the street and sidewalk as I pushed my way to the front door and slipped inside.

“Danny!” Mom threw her arms around me as soon as I came in. “Danny, oh my gosh, Danny, are you okay? I saw everything! That man tried to kill you. The press has been after you!”

I locked the door. “Mom, why was the door unlocked? It’s not safe. It could have been anyone barging in right now.”

Mom pointed to the screen. CBS had video on like a two-second delay, showing our front door slamming behind me. “I knew it was you. I watched you come in. Danny, what are we going to do?”

I guided her to her chair. “I’m fine, Mom. Everything’s fine. Living room screen, turn off!” The screen went dark. I flopped down on the couch, reaching out to take her hand. “It’s okay, Mom. We’re going to be okay.” I had said these same things to calm my mother countless times over the years. Tonight, I needed to hear it just as much. “Let’s leave our screens off, so we don’t have to deal with that.”

“They found my number somehow. Three different networks called, and call waiting was beeping the whole time. I finally shut my comm off.”

Mom’s COMMPAD was an even older and slower model than mine. It was still running a first-gen digital assistant. Pretty useless. I pulled my comm from my pocket. If they had already found Mom’s number, they’d find mine soon enough. “We’ll get you a new comm,” I said to Mom. “It might be expensive, but it will be worth it. We’ll see if we can get you a new comm number too. That might throw them off.”

“What will we do about all the reporters outside?” she said.

“We won’t talk to them. We’ll do our best to live our normal lives.”

“Hey, Mr. Big Shot, you got a video call … request coming in from CNN. Wait! Now MSNBC wants to talk to you too. Also … another … two more requests from —”

“Hank, be quiet!” I shouted. How had they found my number? “Hank, block all calls and messages from anyone not in my contacts list or from anyone I have not sent a call to myself.”

“That’s a shootin’ tootin’ idea, partner! Should I leave … a message for blocked callers?”

Shootin’ tootin’? What did that even mean? I shook my head. “Tell them, ‘No comment.’”

“You got it!”

I turned to face Mom, who still looked worried. “We won’t talk to the press. We’ll tell everyone we know not to talk to the press.” Mom nodded and reached out to squeeze my hand. I looked around the living room. All our lamps were off, but so much light flooded in through our thin drapes from the media setup outside that we could easily find our way around. It would be tough sleeping with all this going on. “I might buy some new curtains, or even hang blankets over the windows. I’m sorry it’s like this, Mom. We’ll get through this. I promise.”

The leeches from the press stayed out there all night and still crawled all over Saturday morning. Over a dozen news vans with tall satellite antennas raised above them were parked on the street outside our house. At four a.m., reporters stood on the sidewalk, probably starting so early so their pieces could air first thing on the East Coast. What could the reporters be talking about? Were they standing there saying, “This is the home of Danny Wright, who you heard about last night. Absolutely nothing is happening. Wright hasn’t said anything to us”? Why couldn’t they get bored with the nonstory and get the hell out of here? I slept on and off until seven, when I gave up and went downstairs.

“Danny, I don’t like this,” Mom said, coming up behind me where I was peeking through a tiny gap in the blinds. Dark circles had formed under her bloodshot eyes. She was trying to be strong, but I doubt she got any sleep at all. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe you shouldn’t try to go on with normal life like you said last night. Maybe you should stay inside. Hearing about that shooter nearly gave me a heart attack. Now with reporters following you everywhere, how will you be able to look out for someone else who wants to hurt you?” She put her hand on my shoulder, and I could feel her trembling.

“Mom, that was one wacko guy last night. They arrested him. I can’t hide away from this forever. Anyway, I’ll have to leave the house on Monday at least. I can’t miss school.” Actually, missing school sounded great, but all that education crap was important to Mom, so I figured I’d play that card. What I left out was that before the world had taken another turn for the crazy at the game, JoBell, Becca, the guys, and me had agreed to spend time together this afternoon for a little rifle target practice and then the rodeo. It was going to be our attempt at getting life back to normal, and the hell if I was going to let these reporters stop me. If I could calm Mom down about me going out, I could tell her that I was working late tonight. Then I just had to figure out a way to ditch the media. I had an idea about that.