Final Justice (38 page)

Dewey came alive and staggered to his feet. "You son of a bitch! You touch her, and I'll kill you."

"Oh, I'm gonna do more than touch her, Dewey. I'm going to pork her like she's never been porked before, and when I'm done, you can bet she's not going to want that little weenie of yours anymore." He pointed to Dewey's now flaccid penis and taunted, "Looks like one of them Vienna sausages you shit-kickin' farmers eat for lunch."

Sara sprang and shoved him backwards. "Leave him alone! Get out or..."

"Or
what?
Just what are you going to do about it, you little slut?" He unbuttoned his belt and tugged at his zipper. "If either one of you tells about this, I'll see that the whole county hears about your dirty little affair. Now you just lay back down there and get ready for the best you've ever had."

"No. Don't you touch her." Dewey stumbled forward, one hand against his chest. "I'll kill you..."

Burch gave Dewey a shove with his foot, knocking him flat on his back.

Sara screamed and tried to get to him, but Burch grabbed her arm and flung her to one side. "I told you to lay down, you strumpet."

Dewey tried to get up again, but, with both hands to his chest, his face purple as a plum, he gave one garbled, choking cry, then went limp. Crying his name, Sara crawled to him on her hands and knees as Burch watched, suddenly uneasy.

Cradling Dewey's head, she leaned to press her ear against his nose and mouth. "He's barely breathing. We've got to get him to the hospital. Help me get him to your car, quick."

Burch zipped up his pants and buckled his belt.
"We
aren't doing anything. I've never been here today, understand?" He began to back away.

Sara stared at him in terror, dizzily thinking how the rain sounded like rocks being slammed against the roof, then realized it was hail. But what did that matter when Dewey might be dying? "You can't leave. You've got to help me get him to the hospital."

"I can't afford to get involved." He pointed a finger at her as he reached the door. "And don't you dare tell anybody I was here, or I'll fix you good, understand?"

He disappeared in a gray swirl of rain, hail, and flying leaves. A tree fell and crashed nearby, and thunder rolled and lightning flashed.

Dimly, Sara was aware of the faint sound of an engine starting up above the din as she gave Dewey a little shake and wailed, "Don't you die on me. You hear? I'll get you out of here. I swear I will..."

Gently lowering his head to the floor, she dressed quickly, then dropped to her knees beside him once more to see if he was still breathing. When she heard the rattling sound in his chest, she dared to hope he was rallying, sucking air into his lungs.

She got behind him and took him by his shoulders and tried to drag him toward the door. If she could get him to the truck, she knew it would take quite a heave to get him all the way up in the cab but she had to do it. Only she was not having much luck even getting him across the floor. He was a big man, over six feet tall, and she wasn't quite five-four and slender. There was no way she was going to be able to get him out of the barn and all the way to where the truck was parked, especially with the furious wind against her. She would have to leave him and go for help.

"I'll be back. I promise." She kissed his blue lips and tore out into the wind.

She was all the way to the truck before she discovered the keys were not in the ignition. Out of habit, Dewey had stuck them in his pocket. Leaping down from the cab, she was almost to the barn door when there was a great roar, followed by a cracking sound, then busting glass, and she whirled about to see that a tree had fallen on the truck. A terrified moan escaped her lips when she realized that, had she not gone back for the keys, she would have been in that gnarled and twisted mess of glass and metal.

Leaves slapped her face. A piece of tin blown from the roof struck her leg. She cried out from the pain and saw blood, but she staggered onward into the storm in the direction she hoped was the path to the road beyond. It was at least a mile back to where she'd left her car, then a couple more to Billy Saulston's store and a telephone, if the lines weren't blown down. She lost count of how many times she fell in the mud. Part of the way she had to crawl on her hands and knees for the force of the wind was such that she could not stand against it.

After what seemed hours, she reached her car, and, slowly, the wipers fighting to free the windshield of leaves and trash, Sara maneuvered through nature's relentless assault. The rain was coming down so hard she could barely see. She dared not drive fast for fear of running off the road and into the ditches that bordered each side. At last, like a giant tombstone rising from a mist-shrouded graveyard, the store came into view. Drawing closer, she saw it was deserted.

She got out of the car and fought the wind to reach the porch. The door was locked, but she knew she had to get inside. The phone lines, as best she could see in the downpour, were still up. Billy's house was on down the road, but there was no time to go any farther. She had to get help, had to call Luke. He would know what to do. Picking up the largest rock she could find, she ran around to the side and smashed a window, then grabbed another rock in a frantic attempt to clear glass shards from the frame so she wouldn't be cut to pieces when she hoisted herself through it.

With a grunt and a heave, she pulled herself up and in, wincing as a piece of glass sliced into her hand. Her leg was still bleeding from the piece of tin roof, and now blood dripped from her palm, but she kept on going.

Grabbing up the phone she screamed, "Thank God," at the blessed sound of a dial tone. Too hysterical to remember the number of the sheriff's department, she stuck her finger in the "O" slot and gave the dial a spin. When the operator answered after what seemed forever, she begged to be put through at once. "It's an emergency. Oh, hurry, please..."

Blood dripped to the floor, and she fought to keep from fainting while the walls of the plank-sided store began to sway precariously as the storm mustered fury for a final assault upon the land.

In the sky to the west, the great billowing cloud seemed to take the shape of a giant hand, and from it came a long, thin finger, pointing to the earth to touch and spin, giving birth to a deadly tornado.

Chapter 23

The whistle at the mill blew continuously, the ominous signal a tornado had been sighted. While everyone else raced for cover, Luke and his deputies prowled the tree-littered streets by car, checking for anyone needing assistance as well as for downed power lines. If they saw the funnel swooping down, they, too, would make a beeline for refuge.

Luke was two blocks from the courthouse when Wilma's voice came over the radio, barely audible because of the static, wind, and hail pounding the windshield. "You've got to speak louder," he said. "There's a lot of noise out here."

"Where are you?"

"Elm Street. Has anybody reported seeing the funnel touch down?"

"Not yet, but Sara Speight just called from Billy Saulston's store screaming her head off and said for me to find you as quick as I could and tell you to get out there and not to send anybody else."

"Did she say what was wrong?"

"Nope. She just kept yelling for you, and then I heard a noise like a freight train and the line went dead."

...like a freight train.

There was no better way to describe the sound of a tornado. "I'm on my way."

Apprehension was an icicle, stabbing his spine as he drove as fast as he dared through the flying debris of broken limbs, rolling garbage cans, and anything else not battened down against the storm's relentless fury. Once in the country he saw several houses with shingles blown off but no evidence of the kind of damage that would have been left in the wake of a whirling, sucking tornado. The closer he got to the area where Saulston's store was located, the situation worsened. Johnny Tyson's barn was blown away, along with most of his house, but Luke knew Johnny had a good storm cellar and would have taken refuge with his family down there, so he kept on going, hell-bent to get to Sara.

He cursed himself for not being much of a friend to her lately. He needed to deal with Burch Cleghorn and would get right on it as soon as the present crisis was over. When he got through with him, Sara wouldn't have to worry about him ever again. If not for the storm, he would have kept his promise to her to find him that very day, by damn.

He saw her car in the littered parking lot of Saulston's store and turned in. The building was still standing, but the front porch was partially smashed by the weight of the tree that had fallen against it.

"Sara, are you in here?" Luke climbed over broken tree limbs to get to the door. "Sara, answer me..."

She appeared and leaned against the frame for support. Her face was the color of chalk, and she was holding her bloodied arm against her chest. He could see her leg was also injured. "Hold on. I've got a first-aid kit in the trunk..."

"There's no time. We've got to get to Dewey. I think he's had a heart attack. He's at the old barn. I had to leave him. I tried to carry him, but I couldn't..."

He lifted her in his arms. "You're bleeding bad, Sara. We've got to take care of you."

"No," she argued as he struggled to carry her through the debris to the patrol car, "I'll be all right. We've got to get Dewey to the hospital. He might be dying."

"We aren't going anywhere till I get a pressure bandage on these cuts."

He put her in the back seat and thought that if Dewey had really suffered a heart attack, he was most likely dead by now, anyhow.

He got the first aid kit and began binding her wounds. "Looks like you've still got glass in your arm."

"I did that breaking a window to get in the store."

"They'll have to take it out at the hospital. Now tell me what happened."

She quickly did so, culminating with the angry denunciation: "It was all Burch's fault. And then he just walked out and left me and wouldn't help. Now Dewey's going to die. I just know it." She grabbed the front of his shirt. "You've got to save him, Luke. You've got to."

As she had been talking, he had methodically wrapped gauze around the calf of her leg, tight enough to slow the bleeding but not enough to cut off circulation. Rage had been building with each word she spoke, but he told himself that the seriousness of the situation demanded calm. He could not yield to knee-jerk reactions. "Listen to me, Sara, and listen good. I know it's bad, and believe me, I want to help Dewey, and I will, but you've got to remember we can't let anybody know you were there. So what I've got to do now is take you to the hospital, then I'll go back and get him."

"No!" She tried to get out of the car, but he held her back. "He'll die."

"And how will you explain being at that old barn with him, Sara? Can't you see the gossips would have a field day speculating? Are you ready for everybody to guess the truth about you two? Do you think Dewey wants that? Think of the consequences, damn it, and calm down and let me do it my way."

Knowing he was right, the fight went out of her.

"That's better." He let her go. "Now tell me, where are the kids?"

"At Tim's mother's."

"Well, she's got sense enough to know work would have been canceled in the fields because of the weather, but what had you planned to tell her you were doing all this time?"

"That I decided to take advantage of being off and drove to Birmingham to shop for the kids' school clothes."

"Okay. Then here's your story: you were on your way home when the twister struck, and you took shelter in the store and called me, because you couldn't get through to anybody else."

He got in the front seat, leaving her in the rear, and started the car.

"Okay for me, but what about Dewey?"

"After I leave you at the emergency room, I'll just say I was looking for storm victims and found him. No one will question it, even his being at the old barn. They'll think he was checking for damages or something."

"Right now I don't care what anybody thinks. I just want to get him to a hospital."

"Believe me, honey, Dewey would want us to handle it this way."

"And what about Burch?"