Prairie Gothic by J.M. Hayes Page B

“That’s Uncle Mad Dog’s place right there. His driveway’s only another quarter mile, just the other side of the pasture. It must be farther than that back to the patrol car. We’d just have to sit and wait there, hope somebody finds us before it runs out of gas and we freeze to death.”
    â€œWe should go back. That radio will start to work again pretty soon. You wait and see.”
    â€œWe tried it,” the other Heather said. “I wish you hadn’t forgotten to bring your cell phone today, Deputy.”
    It was a wish he shared, but it reminded him of another “Lose Some” moment and made him feel contrary. “I vote we go back.”
    â€œDon’t be scared. Uncle Mad Dog’s only got a couple of wolves left, and they’re penned up in the barn. They can’t get out…except maybe Hailey, but she’s just a big sweet puppy. She wouldn’t hurt you.”
    â€œWhat about that buffalo?”
    â€œBob? That’s his pasture, right there,” Heather One said. “But with weather like this, he’ll probably be holed up in his shed near the house. Uncle Mad Dog has done a lot of work on that fence. He can’t get out, and he’d just stay away from us even if he did. He’s shy, not dangerous.”
    Wynn peered toward the pasture. Sometimes Buffalo Bob liked to wait behind the evergreens near the road and watch for Mad Dog when he was away from home.
    â€œThere was more than a quarter tank of gas in that cruiser.”
    â€œAnd it burns gas faster than any other car in the county. Go back if you want to,” Two said. “I’m going to Mad Dog’s.”
    As she trudged into the intersection, One made another plea to the Deputy. “This storm is getting worse. There might not be anybody driving this road again till it’s over. Even if Uncle Mad Dog’s power and phone should go down and we end up stuck there, he’s got a fireplace and a big woodpile. He keeps a lot of canned goods in his larder in case of days like this. I’m going with Heather. You don’t want to go back to the black and white alone, do you?”
    Wynn didn’t, but he didn’t have to admit it, or even agree to accompany them. Two had turned around and was shouting something at them. The wind whipped her hair into her eyes and her voice toward the gulf coast. She pointed. He tried to see at what. The snow slackened for just a moment and he noticed an unlikely patch of color in Mad Dog’s pasture. Near the evergreens there seemed to be a splash of red, then it was gone and Heather was shouting in his ear again. “Look! A truck.”
    He forced himself to face the wind and there it was, just before his eyes began to tear up enough to temporarily blind him. An old white Dodge stood just beyond the intersection. He stumbled toward it.
    â€œHot damn! Girls, we’re saved.”
    ***
    An apoplectic Stan Deffenbach stormed into the lobby of the Sunshine Towers. “Mrs. Kraus just hung up on me,” he complained to Judy English. “She can’t do that. She’s a public servant and I’m the public. We need an armed guard over here and she says there’s no one to send. How can that be? Where’s your husband? He should be here. He shouldn’t have left without even a word to me.”
    Judy wasn’t as concerned about Stan Deffenbach’s security problems as she was that Englishman had gone.
    â€œEnglishman left?”
    â€œAt least he chased off those Hornbakers, but then he just marched out of here. Wouldn’t tell me what was going on or where he was headed or when he was going to get a deputy over here in case they come back.”
    â€œMight he have told someone else?”
    Deffenbach continued punching numbers on the phone at the front desk. He ignored her and said to the phone, “Now don’t you hang up on me again, Mrs. Kraus,” and then: “Oh damn!