Danger

sundown in zion

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

     

Our hero finds trouble

Nelson shook hands with Sergeant Patterson and watched him walk back to the police department building. He stood for moment thinking, then boarded the vehicle and eased from the parking lot. He didn’t follow the same route by which he arrived but eased onto the highway headed south. He moved through the late morning traffic and kept to the right lane. The flow was languid and slow.

            As he passed the end of the municipal complex campus, another pickup truck moved slowly into the same lane as Nelson but three vehicles to his rear. It maintained the same speed as Nelson at a distance that wouldn’t attract attention while allowing easy visual contact. As the traffic thinned, it moved to a position that kept one vehicle between the two trucks. They soon approached the outer limits of Connorville and Nelson turned left onto a state highway and passed a sign that read, “Armistead 15 Miles.” He increased his speed only slightly, seemingly enjoying a leisurely and thoughtful ride.

            The second truck also turned left as well and followed Nelson’s at the same speed. They soon passed beyond the area of expensive homes on large parcels of land, the scenery changing first to pastures of grazing cattle and next to large expanses of row crops. The truck in rear drew closer to Nelson and dominated the rear-view mirror, It contained two men of young appearance, each wearing baseball caps and sunglasses. It narrowed the distance as they entered a low, wetlands area. Trees and other vegetation began to dominate the landscape.

            As the rear truck drew closer, Nelson increased the speed of his truck. The other did as well. They approached an intersection with a less traveled state highway. Nelson slowed and carefully signaled for a right turn. The other followed. As they entered a remote bottomland reserve, Nelson increased his speed. The other matched it. They continued and soon Nelson’s speedometer was showing 70 miles per hour. The rear truck followed and began lurching forward at times to within fifty feet or so of Nelson’s. He drove faster.

            A hand appeared from the passenger side of the following vehicle and three loud popping sounds erupted. A pistol was now plainly visible and the truck was approaching at a greater speed than Nelson’s. He swerved slightly as two more pops were heard. Nelson swerved again. As the rear truck maintained its speed and direction, they came to a gentle curve in the highway. Nelson made a slight turn to the right and suddenly spun his steering wheel to the left and applied his brakes in time to slide into an intersecting county road that had been out of sight until that moment. He maintained control and sped forward. The driver of the other truck had no time to respond and his truck sped past the intersection.

            Nelson gunned his vehicle and it screamed through a dense forest of cypress trees growing along the narrow, but paved road. He slowed as he came to a gentle switchback in the road. Exiting it, he sped forward along a straight stretch before crossing a long bridge spanning a bayou of black water. At the end of the bridge, he braked and eased his truck to a stop 500 feet beyond. He took a deep breath and exhaled.

            He then put his truck in reverse gear and began backing the truck. When he reached a speed between 20 and 30 miles per hour, he turned the steering wheel all the way to the left. The truck spun around on the narrow road as if rotating on a spindle. Near the end of the spin, he changed to a forward gear and the truck stopped spinning. It now rested in the center of the road facing the bridge over which he had just passed. The roar of the other truck approaching could be heard over the bayou waters. When it slowed for the switchback, Nelson gunned his truck and lurched forward.

            As he approached the near end of the bridge with increasing speed, the other truck emerged from the curve and roaring toward the other end of the bridge. Too late, the driver saw Nelson’s truck coming toward them. The driver panicked and his truck shot to the left, crashing through the bridge abutment and becoming airborne. It remained so, arching gently, like a ballet dancer, before crashing headlong into a large cypress tree. Its motion stopped and it remained there for a portion of a second before sliding slowly into the dark water.

            Nelson had stopped in the middle of the bridge and now moved to a point even with the other truck. He leaned over and lowered the passenger side window to allow a clear view of the other truck. The driver lay against the steering wheel, unmoving. The passenger door opened and a figure half-fell, half- stumbled from the truck. His right hand hung useless against his side. As he gained footing in the two-foot deep water, he pulled a pistol from the seat of the truck and flung it toward the middle of the bayou. Then he turned to face Nelson.

            His hat was gone and his hair was matted with blood that still ran from cuts on the top of his head. All that was left of one eye was a mass of red tissue, veins, and blood. He wiped the blood from his other eye and stared at Nelson as if choosing between defiance and submission. With his good arm, he brought his hand around to grasp the broken one. Still staring at Nelson, he began to sob.

            Nelson saluted him and drove away. “Always know your terrain,” He said aloud. He drove back to the state highway and took it for several minutes before turning on to a county road that took him past his old house and toward Barker’s Store.