meat and giblets and stuffing were just an oily slick on the road surface, and he suddenly had to stop because he was punching the asphalt and it was hurting his knuckles.
*
‘Towel,’ Chief Allen offered. His hand was shaking. Not so much the Midwestern surfer bro now, eh, Chief?
‘What?’ Dave asked, still disoriented. The scent of burning flesh from the Prius had his stomach churning and turning. Wasn’t Allen pinned in the car? How long ago was that?
‘You need a towel,’ Allen said unsteadily. ‘You’re covered in . . .’
‘Chitlins, I believe,’ Captain Heath said. ‘In the local vernacular.’
Dave stared at him. Heath made a joke? Now?
He addressed the quartet of men from the second Ford Expedition. They stood around the Sliveen, weapons trained on the corpse, faces slack with shock or something like it. ‘Stay here to manage containment with local law enforcement,’ Heath said. ‘We need to get this thing out of here.’
‘Sir,’ Chief Allen said, ‘we can’t just mount that thing on the hood like a deer. People will stare.’
‘Gator,’ Dave said in a tired voice. ‘Wrap it up in something. Tell anyone who asks it’s a gator. Tell ’em the head got chewed up in the prop. Hide’s still worth hauling somewhere.’
He examined his hands. The knuckles he’d skinned raw had healed already. Bright pink skin had closed over the exposed bone he’d opened up pounding the bitumen. They itched like a bitch.
‘Casevac?’ one of the new arrivals asked, taking in the wrecked Expedition and the corpses in the totalled Prius. Allen walked over there. He knelt down on one knee in front of each body and closed the eyes. After he closed the last child’s eyes, he bowed his head for a moment.
No one said a word, bowing heads themselves, even Heath.
Prayers , Dave thought. He bowed his head, but he wasn’t a praying man and he felt awkward doing it, like he was pretending and they would soon catch on to him. When Allen rose from his devotions, he returned with a pair of dog tags in his hands that he put deep in his pocket. The rain had matted his beach boy hair.
‘Casevac, Captain?’ the SEAL from the second car asked again.
‘They’re gone,’ Heath said. ‘It’s too late for that. A gator carcass?’ he said to Dave. ‘I can work with that. Let’s get rolling.’
*
They tied down the Sliveen while Heath checked the bodies of his men. Dave examined the shattered Expedition to push back at the useless feeling that had come over him.
Chief Allen came up alongside him. ‘He wasn’t really divorced.’
‘What?’
‘Divorced,’ Allen said. ‘It was just a joke. An old one. Fratelli. Dude with four kids. Linda, his wife, she’s strong but . . .’
Allen seemed to give up on the thought, turned his back to the scene of the ambush, and checked the tie-downs. Dave wandered over to join Captain Heath, who was now poking around in the Prius. He felt guilty, as though all of this were somehow his fault. That, at least, was a sensation he knew. Almost reassuring in its familiarity. He imagined Annie’s voice in the back of his head. Happy now?
‘I’m about done here,’ Heath said, emerging from the wrecked vehicle. The four nameless operators from the second Expedition had sealed off the site with hazard tape and conjured up an old tarpaulin to wrap the Sliveen carcass. Traffic was starting to bank up beyond the makeshift roadblock. The squad leader seemed to be on the radio with the local first responders. He looked grim.
‘Our lift is about an hour away,’ he said.
Heath nodded.
‘Fine. Keep the lid on here. And be ready for any follow-up attacks. We’ll take your car to the station.’
‘Aye, Captain.’
Without another word, Dave, Heath, and CPO Allen got back on the road.
*
Nobody spoke until Allen had them back up to cruising speed. The silence weighed on Dave, a feeling as real as the extra weight they were carrying on the roof of the SUV.
‘So, Mr Hooper.
*
‘Towel,’ Chief Allen offered. His hand was shaking. Not so much the Midwestern surfer bro now, eh, Chief?
‘What?’ Dave asked, still disoriented. The scent of burning flesh from the Prius had his stomach churning and turning. Wasn’t Allen pinned in the car? How long ago was that?
‘You need a towel,’ Allen said unsteadily. ‘You’re covered in . . .’
‘Chitlins, I believe,’ Captain Heath said. ‘In the local vernacular.’
Dave stared at him. Heath made a joke? Now?
He addressed the quartet of men from the second Ford Expedition. They stood around the Sliveen, weapons trained on the corpse, faces slack with shock or something like it. ‘Stay here to manage containment with local law enforcement,’ Heath said. ‘We need to get this thing out of here.’
‘Sir,’ Chief Allen said, ‘we can’t just mount that thing on the hood like a deer. People will stare.’
‘Gator,’ Dave said in a tired voice. ‘Wrap it up in something. Tell anyone who asks it’s a gator. Tell ’em the head got chewed up in the prop. Hide’s still worth hauling somewhere.’
He examined his hands. The knuckles he’d skinned raw had healed already. Bright pink skin had closed over the exposed bone he’d opened up pounding the bitumen. They itched like a bitch.
‘Casevac?’ one of the new arrivals asked, taking in the wrecked Expedition and the corpses in the totalled Prius. Allen walked over there. He knelt down on one knee in front of each body and closed the eyes. After he closed the last child’s eyes, he bowed his head for a moment.
No one said a word, bowing heads themselves, even Heath.
Prayers , Dave thought. He bowed his head, but he wasn’t a praying man and he felt awkward doing it, like he was pretending and they would soon catch on to him. When Allen rose from his devotions, he returned with a pair of dog tags in his hands that he put deep in his pocket. The rain had matted his beach boy hair.
‘Casevac, Captain?’ the SEAL from the second car asked again.
‘They’re gone,’ Heath said. ‘It’s too late for that. A gator carcass?’ he said to Dave. ‘I can work with that. Let’s get rolling.’
*
They tied down the Sliveen while Heath checked the bodies of his men. Dave examined the shattered Expedition to push back at the useless feeling that had come over him.
Chief Allen came up alongside him. ‘He wasn’t really divorced.’
‘What?’
‘Divorced,’ Allen said. ‘It was just a joke. An old one. Fratelli. Dude with four kids. Linda, his wife, she’s strong but . . .’
Allen seemed to give up on the thought, turned his back to the scene of the ambush, and checked the tie-downs. Dave wandered over to join Captain Heath, who was now poking around in the Prius. He felt guilty, as though all of this were somehow his fault. That, at least, was a sensation he knew. Almost reassuring in its familiarity. He imagined Annie’s voice in the back of his head. Happy now?
‘I’m about done here,’ Heath said, emerging from the wrecked vehicle. The four nameless operators from the second Expedition had sealed off the site with hazard tape and conjured up an old tarpaulin to wrap the Sliveen carcass. Traffic was starting to bank up beyond the makeshift roadblock. The squad leader seemed to be on the radio with the local first responders. He looked grim.
‘Our lift is about an hour away,’ he said.
Heath nodded.
‘Fine. Keep the lid on here. And be ready for any follow-up attacks. We’ll take your car to the station.’
‘Aye, Captain.’
Without another word, Dave, Heath, and CPO Allen got back on the road.
*
Nobody spoke until Allen had them back up to cruising speed. The silence weighed on Dave, a feeling as real as the extra weight they were carrying on the roof of the SUV.
‘So, Mr Hooper.
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