‘They’ll find you,’ Leighton called. ‘Then, it all be over. We know how the bus operated.’
‘You deluded imbecile.’ The man smiled, and turned from the car to Leighton. ‘You think this was just about some fucking bus?’ He then looked wistfully to the distance and grinned. ‘Social networks are a marvellous technological development, don’t you think? They allow all sorts of markets to flourish … and grow. Our ten-thousand subscribers aren’t limited to a fucking bus.’
Keeping the blade held before him, the man climbed into the jeep beside Janey and Vicki. Turning the key, he started the engine, rolled down the window and leaned out of it.
‘Now, before I go,’ he called to Leighton, ‘I want you to see something very special. You ever see one bullet pass through two skulls?’
‘Please …’ Leighton began, but he didn’t need to complete the sentence, because he saw Mike Bernal rise up from the back of the truck and fire his pistol through the rear windshield into the back of the man’s head. A red spider web appeared in the windscreen, and Janey let out a long scream.
In the chaotic moments that followed, six police cars raced into the farmyard shrouded in a cloud of dust, while overhead, a police helicopter droned in demented circles. The arriving SWAT team shouted various instructions, as they formed a wide circle around Leighton, who remained kneeling in the dust. Within a few seconds, a range of carbines and assault rifles were fixed on him. Janey and Vicki were helped out of the jeep to awaiting cars, while Mike Bernal was forced to lie face-down in the dirt behind the jeep.
From somewhere in the distance, the banshee wail of approaching ambulances began swelling to a crescendo. Gretsch, who was wearing full tactical dress, jumped clumsily out of a police vehicle, and crouched by the side of a cruiser, then glanced nervously at Leighton.
‘Hey, Chief,’ Leighton called breathlessly across the yard to his former boss. ‘Looks like there was a bus full of killers after all.’
Later on, it would be denied both privately and publicly by the Oceanside P.D., but eventually, a formal competency inquiry would find it was Captain Gretsch who saw Leighton rub his bleeding shoulder, and intentionally shouted, ‘He’s going for a gun!’
This mistake ended not only Leighton’s life but Gretsch’s career.
The three loud shots hit Leighton Jones in the chest, and he fell backwards in a fine mist of blood.
As he lay gasping for breath in the hot dust, Leighton saw what he would consider two of the most important things in the whole world. The first was Vicki, being lifted by stretcher to safety, with a clear hemisphere of an oxygen mask fastened to her face. She was alive, and she was safe. That was enough. Peering at her, Leighton felt his life slipping away, like the fading remnants of a dream, and his fingers twitched upon the dry ground. He smiled a little, and let his head roll back to face the heavens, where the final image his closing eyes saw was the small, swooping circles of an expectant Merlin hawk, dancing expectantly in the sky above him.
45
The Eternal Hills Memorial Park looked pretty in the morning sunshine. It was located seven miles to the north of Oceanside, with a view of the distant waves.
As she laid the flowers on the ground so she could lock the door of her parked car, Vicki noticed the air felt similar to the day she and Leighton had first travelled together, up to Barstow. This thought came with a surge of emotion which threatened to knock her to the ground.
Steadying herself, she took a deep breath, and leaned against the warm metal of the car for a moment. The doctor had placed her bandaged arm in a neoprene sling, and told her not drive for several weeks, but she had ignored him. She had simply pulled the throbbing arm out of the sling while driving, leaving the impotent support around her neck like a burst bicycle tyre. The other options were taking a cab, which she couldn’t afford, or taking an intercity bus - something she would never do again.
Turning around, she surveyed the serene beauty of the cemetery - lush, green grass beneath a perfect sky. Somewhere in the distance, a sprinkler stuttered to life. Vicki glanced at the paper map of the cemetery for a moment, then picked up the bouquet of flowers, and made her way slowly to the graveside.
Following the map, she found herself standing at a shaded spot beneath an apple blossom tree. It was only September, but some of the curled blossoms had already began to float gently down to rest upon the neatly cut grass.
The simple, polished headstone before her was white - clean and honest like the man whose name it bore.
Vicki knelt down before the grave, thinking the company had done a good job of matching the two engravings, despite being separated by so many years.
She didn’t look around to see if anyone might overhear her.
‘Your dad didn’t believe he was a good man,’ she said softly, ‘but we know better than that, don’t we?’ As she spoke, Vicki wiped the hot tears dripping from her nose. ‘He told me once he always wanted to bring these for you.’
Placing the oversized daises next to the headstone, Vicki winced, as she adjusted the sling on her right arm.
‘You were good enough for me, Leighton Jones,’ she said through the tears. ‘You hear me, god dammit? You helped me more than you know - I’ve got out of my mother’s house, you know - I’m renting my own little place.’ She wiped at her wet cheeks. ‘I’ve got my own little patch, and I’m keeping it free from the mess of the world, like you said. You saved us all, Leighton … you saved us all.’
Epilogue
It was a hot afternoon in West London. As he leaned out of the small balcony to smoke a pre-dinner joint, Joshua Miller could smell roasting garlic from an open kitchen window. He was dressed in a pair of rolled-up linen trousers and sandals. From another balcony, he could hear the mellow sound of Bob Marley singing “Stir it Up,” while from somewhere across the city, the sound of a siren rose, like the moan of a captured phantom. Joshua smiled and took a long drag on the cigarette. Much as he loved the vibe of the city, he and Claire would soon be leaving it behind for an entire month.
His flat was on the inner side of a circular building of English red brick. Built in the 1930’s, for families hoping to escape the depressing familiarity of traditional homes, it was now the preserve of the city’s bright and fashionable young things. Far below in the grassy courtyard, a group of tanned young ladies in floral dresses were lounging on blankets, sharing cocktails, and browsing designer shoes on a selection of digital tablets. As his eyes wandered over them, Josh mentally ranked them based on attractiveness. Then, as if sensing his indiscretion, his girlfriend called him from inside the flat.
‘Josh, you’ve got to come through here, and see this, babe!’
Claire glanced up as her partner came into the living room, and flopped on to the white leather sofa beside her. Taking the joint from his hand, she took a puff then handed it back.
‘I was just about to confirm the Portland accommodation, when this popped up.’
As she spoke, Claire tilted the iPad so he could see it. The screen revealed a photograph of a colonial style building surrounded by tall Eastern White pine trees. The text beneath it read:
Prince of Maine Hotel - Your confirmed rate for Luxury Suite $29 per night (includes complimentary full buffet breakfast and all taxes)
‘What is this?’ Josh asked in a hoarse voice, as he passed the smouldering joint to her again.
‘It just appeared, honey,’ she said, with a shrug. ‘I went to the site for the Old Colonial, like we agreed, and typed in our dates, and a new window just appeared.’
‘Is it legit?’ Josh tried to sound casual, but he was clearly just as intrigued as his girlfriend.
‘I think so, and look at this price; we could save four hundred dollars over the ten days in Maine.’
‘And it’s free on our dates?’
‘Yep.’ Claire grinned.
‘Okay then, what are waiting for?’ Josh shrugged. ‘Let’s book it!’
Claire kissed him on the cheek, and excitedly began to type in their details.
…