[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]interstate, the flames curling up the hillside and disappearing into roiling
smoke, like a scene out of Dante s Inferno. I half expected to see demons and
damned souls writhing amid the flames. The gravel road snaking upward into the
fire zone was blocked by a Cooke County Sheriff s vehicle, a black-and-white
Jeep Cherokee that I remembered getting carsick in once, during a case a year
or so before. The vehicle s light bar was strobing, and the blue lights shot
solid-looking beams into the pooling smoke.
I cut my headlights, pulled to a stop alongside the SUV, and got out. As I
approached, the driver s window slid down. Hello, I said into the dark
interior, I m Dr. Bill Brockton. Sheriff O Conner asked me
I was interrupted by what sounded like rolling thunder or the growl of a bear.
Hey there, Doc, rumbled a deep voice from inside the vehicle. Jim sent me
down here to meet y all.
Waylon! In spite of my anxiety, I felt myself smile.
A massive, shaggy head loomed out of the window toward me, the coarse beard
split by a crooked grin. I heard a little something about what-all you been
rasslin with, so I didn t take it personal. Sides, we ain t exactly been
beatin a path to your doorstep neither. I reckon maybe we ll forgive you. He
eyed my truck, then trained a blinding spotlight from the SUV through the
passenger window. Is that Art and Miss Miranda in there? Howdy! he bellowed.
Good to see y all! Inside the truck, Art and Miranda shielded their eyes
with one hand and waved the other in the general direction of Waylon and his
searchlight.
Waylon I d never heard a last name for him was a mountain man in every
sense of the term. A hulking, homespun fellow who had heedlessly put me in
harm s way and also selflessly saved my hide during a series of Cooke County
adventures, Waylon had recently traded an outlaw s life for a lawman s
uniform. How you like being on this side of the law, Waylon?
He chuckled. Hmm. Verdict on that ain t in yet. Me and Jim s had our work cut
out for us, that s for damn sure. Some of my own kinfolks ain t on speakin
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terms with me no more. But mostly it feels like we re doin some good.
Clearing out some of the nastiest vermin, leastwise. I tell you, though, Doc,
I sure do miss them cockfights since we shut down the pit. He frowned about
the loss of what had been Cooke County s favorite spectator sport, but then
the ragged smile returned, even broader, and I thought I saw a few flecks of
chewing tobacco wedged between blue-lit teeth. Hey, I delivered a baby last
week, Doc, in the backseat of this-here Jeep. Lady called in a panic, said her
husband weren t home and the baby was a-comin . Her and me was haulin ass for
town with the siren on when she started hollerin that she couldn t wait no
more she got to push right now. So I pulled off on the shoulder, and she
popped a little baby boy right out in my hands. Named the little feller
Waylon. That made me right proud.
That makes me proud, too, Waylon. You keep up the good work. Say, you think
maybe we can get up this road without melting the tires or blowing up the gas
tank?
Oh, sure, Doc didn t mean to keep you here jawin . You ll be all right up
there. Ever thin s kindly burned itself out right around the cabin. What used
to be the cabin anyways. Fire s still climbin the ridge behind it, but it ll
stop when it gets to the bluffs up top. Go on up I ll radio Jim you re
here.
I thanked Waylon, got back into the truck, put it in gear, and began idling up
the gravel. The road meandered through what looked, in the headlights, to be
stands of tulip poplars and hemlocks; twice it forded a small stream, making
me glad I was driving a truck instead of some low-slung sports car. Finally,
after a mile that seemed like several, we emerged into a clearing. In the
glare of headlights, work lights, and the red and blue strobes of a dozen fire
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