Millie’s garbage cans and nativity scene were just ahead. Jesse jerked the wheel hard right, toward the cans. The devil man and the passenger door slammed into the cans. There came a few surreal seconds when everything seemed to go by in slow motion. Jesse saw the devil man, Joseph, Mary, and the baby Jesus as they all flew through the air accompanied by Millie’s garbage.
The devil man smashed into Millie’s picket fence and tumbled across her yard.
Jesse raced away down the hill toward the highway, the potholes and bumps tossing the truck from one side of the narrow lane to the other. He clipped a row of mailboxes near the bottom of the hill, swerved into a ditch and shot up the other side onto the highway. He slammed the brakes and his rear tires ended up in the ditch on the far side of the road. Jesse found himself looking back the way he’d come, saw all five of them running and leaping as fast and agile as deer toward him, and their eyes—those eerie eyes, blazing and locked on him.
“Crap!” He hit the gas, his wheels spinning in the mud; there came a second when he knew he was stuck and it was all over, but the old Ford came through, the tires bit into the asphalt, and he squealed away.
He caught one more glimpse of them far back down the highway. They showed no sign of slowing, or giving up, and at that moment Jesse understood that no matter how far he ran, he’d never escape those burning eyes, that they would be chasing him through his nightmares for the rest of his life.
JESSE WAS DOING near eighty, oblivious to the cold wind and wet snow drizzling into the cabin through the hole in his windshield. The old V8 roared and whined, threatening to blow a rod. Jesse’s heart still raced. He was ten miles out of town, heading south, would be coming up on the state line soon, and that suited him fine. He didn’t plan on slowing down until he was in Kentucky, or maybe Mexico.
He cut his eyes to the Santa sack, gave it a hard look as though it had betrayed him somehow. Without slowing, he leaned over and rolled down the passenger window. He jerked the sack from the floorboard and shoved it out the window. It bounced along the blacktop and tumbled into the ditch.
He was done with Goodhope, done with West Virginia, done with crazy devil men and their burning orange eyes, done with the General, done with all the bullshit. And if Linda wants to marry that bastard Dillard so goddamn bad, wants his big house, his big fancy car . . . then she can just have him. Can just have all of it!
He tried to hold on to that, to not think beyond it, but there was more to all this, something he couldn’t turn away from, and deep down he knew it. He focused on the road, on the yellow stripes zipping past, tried his best not to hear her name, her voice . . . Daddy. Jesse clenched his jaw, clutched the steering wheel so hard that the hole in his hand began to throb.
You heard the General. You heard him good. He’s gonna put Abigail in a box.
“He won’t do it. No way.”
What if he does? Can you live with that?
Jesse let off the accelerator.
The truck dropped down to forty . . . thirty . . . twenty . . . ten.
No easy way out. Not for you, Jesse. Never is.
He came up on an empty used car lot and pulled in beneath the tattered streamers. Faded letters proclaiming GOING OUT OF BUSINESS SALE were flaking off the showroom window. He got out of the truck and slammed the door. There was a huge dent in the passenger door, the side mirror was gone, he had one wiper left, and, of course, that fist-size hole in the front windshield. He noticed Millie Boggs’s little plastic Jesus wedged between the back of his cab and the front of the camper shell. The baby Savior appeared to be looking directly at him and smiling.
“You having yourself a good time?” Jesse shouted up at the doll.
Baby Jesus didn’t answer.
“Not exactly sure what it is I ever done to you. Judging by the way things is going must’ve been something awful.” Jesse kicked the door. “Y’know, it’s not like I didn’t have enough bad shit going on already.”
Jesse’s eyes dropped back to the hole in his windshield and he let out a long sigh. “That needs fixing.” He went around to the back of the camper, dropped the tailgate, and lifted up the camper latch. He shoved aside his guitar, the bags of video consoles, and crawled in. His sleeping bag, a canvas bag full of work clothes, and the few odds and ends left in the truck after his father had died were crammed up against the cab. All the junk being too old and beat up to sell or pawn. He pulled aside a toolbox and a fishing rod, then hefted the old man’s hunting rifle. He’d wrapped the rifle in oily rags to keep it from rusting and figured he could use those rags to plug up the hole for now. He unwrapped the gun, piling the rags in his lap, then just held the rifle, a lever-action .22, running his hand along the worn grip and stock. It felt like an old friend and took him back to roaming the woods as a youth, hunting squirrels and rabbits—a time when his only worries seemed to be avoiding the game commission.
A semi roared past and Jesse glanced out. He noticed that it was edging toward dusk and his chest tightened. They’d be expecting him at the school soon and if he didn’t show, he’d have more than the devil men after him. “Whatcha gonna do, Jesse?” He patted the rifle. Just go back and shoot ’em all and be done with it. He grinned but the grin lacked any humor, because he knew what he really had to do, and knew the doing of it wouldn’t be easy. You’re gonna have to go get Abigail then get the hell out of here and that’s all there is to it. Head down to Mexico or maybe Peru, somewhere where the General and his crew will never find you. He had no idea how exactly, especially having only four dollars in his pocket. He shook his head, set the rifle down, and it dawned on him that maybe the General was the solution. When Jesse made a run, he also picked up the payment on the other end, usually in the range of two or three thousand dollars. Just take the cash and run. He nodded.Should be enough time to take care of things before the General catches on. Just need to make sure Dillard’s out of the house. He bit his thumb. That shouldn’t be too hard. Set a Dumpster on fire, or better yet smash in a storefront window. Jesse felt a twinge of hope. A chance, no matter how small, was better than none at all. Snatch up Abigail while Dillard’s out chasing ghosts.
“And Linda?” His brow furrowed. Linda’s gonna be a problem. A big problem. He shook his head. Maybe once I tell her everything she’ll see it my way. She’ll have to. Another thought struck him. Maybe if I can find that photo of Ellen. He nodded, his heart speeding up. If she were to see that picture, maybe she’d even come along.
Except?
“Except what?”
Whatcha gonna do once you get down to Mexico? He looked at the two bags of game consoles. Wouldn’t be too hard to sell those things down in Mexico. He thought of the sack lying on the side of the road, just lying there where anyone could come along and take it.
“Shit, need to go get that sack.”
Jesse scooted out of the camper, slammed it shut, ran around, and jumped into the cab. He stuffed the rags into the window, cranked up the engine, and headed back up the highway.
A minute later, he plucked the Santa sack out of the mud, surprised that none of the mud stuck to it, it wasn’t even wet. A screech drew his attention upward; two large birds circled above. It took Jesse a second to realize they were the same type of birds he’d seen circling his trailer, maybe even the very same ones. He shoved the sack into the passenger seat and the birds began cawing. The approaching dusk cast the woods in dark shadows. Jesse thought of the devil men, of their eyes. He climbed back in the truck as fast as he could and headed into town.