him next to Javier before grabbing the arms of the driver. He was heavier than Carlos and he had to tug hard to get him moving. Something cracked in the manâs chest and a yelp of pain squeaked out of him.
Mulcahy dropped the manâs arms like they were snakes, grabbed his Beretta from the bed, and pointed it down at the driver. Blood was leaking out of a chest wound that was gently rising and falling. He was breathing.
The driver was still alive.
19
T HE AMBULANCE SCREAMED TO A HALT IN THE SHADE OF THE BILLBOARD and medics and doctors swarmed around it. Everyone else stood back, grimly fascinated by what would emerge from inside and frightened at the same time.
Solomon knew what was coming. The strangely familiar smell of charred flesh had already told him. It warned him of exactly how bad it was going to be too. The siren cut out and was replaced by a howl that came from inside the ambulance.
âHereââ Billy Walker appeared at his side and handed Solomon a baseball cap, his attention fixed on the ambulance. âBest I could do. Got you some boots too.â
âThank you.â Solomon took them and inspected the cap. It had a red flower logo and the name of a weed killer on it. He pulled it over his head, folding the peak around with his hands until he was looking at the ambulance through an arc of shadow.
âYou should use this tooââ Walker handed him a tube of heavy-duty sunscreen squeezed almost empty.
The howl doubled in volume with the opening doors and therewas a clatter of tubular steel as a man, or what remained of one, was pulled from the ambulance. He lay twisted and charred on starched white sheets, his whole body shaking, his hands baked to talons by furnace heat and clawing at the smoke-filled air above him while the inhuman noise howled from the seared ruin of his throat.
âJesus,â Walker said, his voice flat with horror. âI think thatâs Bobby Gallagher. He was driving the grader.â The medics wheeled the gurney to a covered area and doctors clustered around him. âYou reckon they can save him?â
Solomon squeezed sunscreen from the tube and rubbed some onto his neck and the back of his hands, disliking the greasy feel of it but disliking the growing itch of sunburn even more. âNot a chance,â he said.
Bobby Gallagher stared up at the ring of faces crowding over him. Worried eyes stared down.
A doctor leaned in, his face filling his vision. His mouth was moving but he couldnât hear what he was saying. Too much noise. Someone screaming, close by. Someone in pain. At least he didnât feel nothinâ. That was good, wasnât it? Surely that was a good thing.
A penlight snapped on, shining in his eye and making the world turn bright and milky, like everyone was wrapped in white smoke . . . smoke . . .
The fire . . .
He had seen the flames curling toward him, the desert writhing in heat like the surface of the sun. The fire running alongside him, chased by the wind, leaping from shrub to shrub like a living thing. Never seen fire race so fast, faster than that old grader, that was for sure, but not as fast as that Dodge heâd had his eye on, the silver-gray one withthe smoked windows and the V8 under the hood. That would have evened the race out some. Would have bought it too, taken the hit on the finance and all, if he hadnât been saving for something else. He wanted to see Old Man Tuckerâs face at summerâs end when he cashed in all the extra shift hours he was pulling and slipped that big ole ring onto Ellieâs finger. Eighteen-carat yellow-gold band with a one-carat, heart-cut diamond right in the center: three and a half grand cold, every cent he had in the world and all of it for Ellieâfuck Old Man Tucker, the way he treated him, like he wasnât good enough to even speak his daughterâs name.
The penlight snapped off and the doctor leaned in, his mouth moving again,
Mulcahy dropped the manâs arms like they were snakes, grabbed his Beretta from the bed, and pointed it down at the driver. Blood was leaking out of a chest wound that was gently rising and falling. He was breathing.
The driver was still alive.
19
T HE AMBULANCE SCREAMED TO A HALT IN THE SHADE OF THE BILLBOARD and medics and doctors swarmed around it. Everyone else stood back, grimly fascinated by what would emerge from inside and frightened at the same time.
Solomon knew what was coming. The strangely familiar smell of charred flesh had already told him. It warned him of exactly how bad it was going to be too. The siren cut out and was replaced by a howl that came from inside the ambulance.
âHereââ Billy Walker appeared at his side and handed Solomon a baseball cap, his attention fixed on the ambulance. âBest I could do. Got you some boots too.â
âThank you.â Solomon took them and inspected the cap. It had a red flower logo and the name of a weed killer on it. He pulled it over his head, folding the peak around with his hands until he was looking at the ambulance through an arc of shadow.
âYou should use this tooââ Walker handed him a tube of heavy-duty sunscreen squeezed almost empty.
The howl doubled in volume with the opening doors and therewas a clatter of tubular steel as a man, or what remained of one, was pulled from the ambulance. He lay twisted and charred on starched white sheets, his whole body shaking, his hands baked to talons by furnace heat and clawing at the smoke-filled air above him while the inhuman noise howled from the seared ruin of his throat.
âJesus,â Walker said, his voice flat with horror. âI think thatâs Bobby Gallagher. He was driving the grader.â The medics wheeled the gurney to a covered area and doctors clustered around him. âYou reckon they can save him?â
Solomon squeezed sunscreen from the tube and rubbed some onto his neck and the back of his hands, disliking the greasy feel of it but disliking the growing itch of sunburn even more. âNot a chance,â he said.
Bobby Gallagher stared up at the ring of faces crowding over him. Worried eyes stared down.
A doctor leaned in, his face filling his vision. His mouth was moving but he couldnât hear what he was saying. Too much noise. Someone screaming, close by. Someone in pain. At least he didnât feel nothinâ. That was good, wasnât it? Surely that was a good thing.
A penlight snapped on, shining in his eye and making the world turn bright and milky, like everyone was wrapped in white smoke . . . smoke . . .
The fire . . .
He had seen the flames curling toward him, the desert writhing in heat like the surface of the sun. The fire running alongside him, chased by the wind, leaping from shrub to shrub like a living thing. Never seen fire race so fast, faster than that old grader, that was for sure, but not as fast as that Dodge heâd had his eye on, the silver-gray one withthe smoked windows and the V8 under the hood. That would have evened the race out some. Would have bought it too, taken the hit on the finance and all, if he hadnât been saving for something else. He wanted to see Old Man Tuckerâs face at summerâs end when he cashed in all the extra shift hours he was pulling and slipped that big ole ring onto Ellieâs finger. Eighteen-carat yellow-gold band with a one-carat, heart-cut diamond right in the center: three and a half grand cold, every cent he had in the world and all of it for Ellieâfuck Old Man Tucker, the way he treated him, like he wasnât good enough to even speak his daughterâs name.
The penlight snapped off and the doctor leaned in, his mouth moving again,
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