or fifteen thousand people judged Josh, thinking back to the map he had studied at Kate's house. It had a WalMart, a Motel 6, and a carpet factory that was the main local employer. If you want quiet, Boisdale was the place to find it, reckoned Josh as he looked down towards the neat row of suburban dwellings that led down towards the centre of the town.
Nobody comes here? So why the hell did I?
The Sheriff's office was on the edge of town, on Roosevelt Avenue. It was a big, square concrete block, set fifty yards back from the road. Abotrt a hundred metres long and thirty deep, its front was protected by a wall. At the back was a fifty-square-metre courtyard. Josh raised a pair of binoculars he had brought with him to his eyes and peered down into the yard: he could see a shooting range, a pound for keeping the dogs, and a row of motorcycles.
If I can keep out of the way of the dogs, that's how I'm going in.
84
He edged forward. The boulders were littered along a patch of scrubland that led up to the start of the town. From here it was thirty yards to the sheriff's office. He had equipped himself with a grappling rope taken from Marshall's garage, plus the Sig-Sauer P228. It's just a smalltown sheriff's office, he told himself. It's already two in the morning. At most there's going to be one fat old night guard on duty, and he's probably fallen asleep in front of the TV. I shouldn't have any trouble breaking in here.
Somewhere in there they may have my blood sample. If they've tested the DNA, they will know who I am. In a few minutes I'll know as well.
Josh moved down next to the back wall, walking as quickly as he could on his wounded leg, and as he did so he could feel the adrenalin starting to surge through his veins. Then he paused. A snake was crawling across the ground. Josh remained perfectly still, letting the animal pass, but he realised that he was sweating with fear. He looked up at the wall. It was seven feet high, made from concrete breeze-blocks. About fifteen, maybe twenty years old, he judged. Old enough for the mortar between the blocks to be crumbling. He dug his nails into the space between the blocks. There was some give there. Enough for a man to get a grip.
Whoever I am, this comes naturally to me.
Josh cast aside the rope and started to scale the wall. He used the strength in his shoulders, trying to avoid using his wounded leg as anythingrnore than a dead weight. He stuck his fingers into the mortar, pulled, then rested his legs, balanced himself, and started again. In three swift movements, his fingers were gripping the top of the wall. He hauled himself upwards, lying flat on its one-foot-wide top, looking down into the courtyard below. A seven-foot drop. So long as I don't land on the wounded leg, or on my neck, I'll be fine.
85
But suddenly Josh could hear the sounds of a siren wailing: his eardrums were starting to rattle as the screeching noise seeped into his brain.
His gaze darted forward. A searchlight had flicked on at the back of the courtyard, bathing the building in a harsh, brilliant light. Josh could feel it dazzling his eyes. A shot rang out. Then another. Josh tried to look into the courtyard, but the light was too harsh.
Run, man, he told himself. Run like every dog from hell was on your trail.
Using his arms, Josh started to lower himself down from the wall. He pressed his feet and knees together, the same position he'd adopt for a parachute drop. His feet deflected the blow, then he rolled to the left to lessen the impact.
He turned to look back in the direction he'd come from, back up through the boulders, two, maybe three hundred yards, to where Kate had parked the Avalanche.
If she's still there, maybe I can make it.
Another volley of fire rang out from inside the station. Josh could see dust flicking down from the wall where the bullets were raking the concrete, sending flakes of it puffing into the air.
Christ, he thought to himself. They're not looking to make
Nobody comes here? So why the hell did I?
The Sheriff's office was on the edge of town, on Roosevelt Avenue. It was a big, square concrete block, set fifty yards back from the road. Abotrt a hundred metres long and thirty deep, its front was protected by a wall. At the back was a fifty-square-metre courtyard. Josh raised a pair of binoculars he had brought with him to his eyes and peered down into the yard: he could see a shooting range, a pound for keeping the dogs, and a row of motorcycles.
If I can keep out of the way of the dogs, that's how I'm going in.
84
He edged forward. The boulders were littered along a patch of scrubland that led up to the start of the town. From here it was thirty yards to the sheriff's office. He had equipped himself with a grappling rope taken from Marshall's garage, plus the Sig-Sauer P228. It's just a smalltown sheriff's office, he told himself. It's already two in the morning. At most there's going to be one fat old night guard on duty, and he's probably fallen asleep in front of the TV. I shouldn't have any trouble breaking in here.
Somewhere in there they may have my blood sample. If they've tested the DNA, they will know who I am. In a few minutes I'll know as well.
Josh moved down next to the back wall, walking as quickly as he could on his wounded leg, and as he did so he could feel the adrenalin starting to surge through his veins. Then he paused. A snake was crawling across the ground. Josh remained perfectly still, letting the animal pass, but he realised that he was sweating with fear. He looked up at the wall. It was seven feet high, made from concrete breeze-blocks. About fifteen, maybe twenty years old, he judged. Old enough for the mortar between the blocks to be crumbling. He dug his nails into the space between the blocks. There was some give there. Enough for a man to get a grip.
Whoever I am, this comes naturally to me.
Josh cast aside the rope and started to scale the wall. He used the strength in his shoulders, trying to avoid using his wounded leg as anythingrnore than a dead weight. He stuck his fingers into the mortar, pulled, then rested his legs, balanced himself, and started again. In three swift movements, his fingers were gripping the top of the wall. He hauled himself upwards, lying flat on its one-foot-wide top, looking down into the courtyard below. A seven-foot drop. So long as I don't land on the wounded leg, or on my neck, I'll be fine.
85
But suddenly Josh could hear the sounds of a siren wailing: his eardrums were starting to rattle as the screeching noise seeped into his brain.
His gaze darted forward. A searchlight had flicked on at the back of the courtyard, bathing the building in a harsh, brilliant light. Josh could feel it dazzling his eyes. A shot rang out. Then another. Josh tried to look into the courtyard, but the light was too harsh.
Run, man, he told himself. Run like every dog from hell was on your trail.
Using his arms, Josh started to lower himself down from the wall. He pressed his feet and knees together, the same position he'd adopt for a parachute drop. His feet deflected the blow, then he rolled to the left to lessen the impact.
He turned to look back in the direction he'd come from, back up through the boulders, two, maybe three hundred yards, to where Kate had parked the Avalanche.
If she's still there, maybe I can make it.
Another volley of fire rang out from inside the station. Josh could see dust flicking down from the wall where the bullets were raking the concrete, sending flakes of it puffing into the air.
Christ, he thought to himself. They're not looking to make
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