Chapter 31
Penn
The desert air is a dry, choking fist both wrapping around my throat and down it.
Off-road tires tear into the loose silt, kicking up a massive wall of brown dust behind us that hangs in the late evening.
I grip the handlebars of the black ATV, and I’m not a fan of straddling something with four wheels.
It doesn’t feel natural despite my early years whipping around the backwoods of our lake house on them.
Jethro rides slightly ahead, his red beard covered by a black bandana like the rest of us. We’re as blacked out as possible riding into enemy territory in the desert. If we’re spotted, we’re as good as dead.
Stephen’s lucky he didn’t lie about the snake pit. If he had, he wouldn’t have been able to get far enough away before Butch had him by the balls, dragging him through Gravelton like cans behind a wedding car. We decided to let Butch handle him if he lied. Put the blood on someone else.
Jethro raises a gloved hand, and we all slow down, killing the engines and lining up in formation. “Looks like your girl’s baby daddy really did want to save his skin.”
“Why the fuck aren’t they doing this shit in the old mineshaft rather than the makeshift shelters they’re working in?” Zep asks.
“Have you seen those chemicals? Confined spaces become quick death. Look at them all wearing gas masks.”
Looking through the binoculars, I notice the red rashes and burns on the exposed skin of everyone working under the tented roof. The sides are open, likely to allow for ventilation, and with no one coming out here to check, it doesn’t really matter if they’re seen or not.
“If people saw how the shit they put into their bodies is made, do you think it would deter them? I mean, who in their right mind thinks injecting shit people have to wear gas masks to make and suffer from severe chemical burns making it is a good idea?” I ask.
“Did showing smokers the black lungs they’d end up with stop them from smoking?” Jethro asks. “Besides, you’re asking addicts to care about anything more than their next fix. Not likely to happen.”
I don’t have an issue with people doing what they want to their bodies, but this type of shit doesn’t make sense to me.
Getting high and fucking your brains out is fun.
Have at it. But this shit literally kills you.
Rots in your veins, and I honestly can’t figure out the business plan for it.
How much money can you really make killing off your clientele?
“No guards,” Pacino says, looking through his binoculars. “Didn’t Patterson say there’s more at night?”
“Maybe they’re just that convinced no one would come out here this time of night,” Capone offers.
Turning around, I scan the darkness around us. “Unless they’re not directly near the snake pit. They could be watching us from a distance.”
“Doubt it. They would’ve stopped us long before we got close enough to see what’s going on,” Zep says. “We’d be dead.”
That’s a comforting thought. There are no guards because we haven’t been blown to pieces. Really nice considering he has a new baby at home, and I have a baby about to come any week now.
“What’s that over there?” Kannon asks, pointing toward the left of the tent.
Lifting our binoculars, we all search for what he points to in the darkness. The night vision allows us almost perfect sight, and I lean backward when I see it. “Bodies.”
“Looks like there was an accident,” Pacino says.
“Didn’t he say there were explosions?” Capone asks. “Bet it was from one of those.”
“Where are the others?” Zep asks.
Jethro shakes his head. “Blown to pieces. No one really thinks about how dangerous these chemicals are. Especially the gas.”
My stomach churns. Butch just moved the snake pit a hundred yards away to start up production again. He didn’t even bother to bury his workers.
“We always knew he didn’t care about anyone but himself, but this is cold. Even for him,” Kannon says. “It makes my skin crawl.”
“Yeah? Put yourself in my shoes,” Zep says. “The mastermind running all this has his DNA flowing through my veins. So fucking glad I grew up with Mom and Johnny, not that bastard.”
Laughing, Rooster punches his arm. “But you and Wylie could have been best friends. Sharing bunk beds. The whole works.”
“Suggest that again, and I’ll bury you up to your chin, set up a fence around you, and unleash a wild turkey on you.”
“Dick,” Rooster mutters. “I was just kidding.”
Everyone knows Zep and Wylie hate each other with a passion, and it’s not really something to joke about with Zep. Not since he learned Butch raped Jolene, and that’s how Zep came to be.
It’s even harder for him knowing that Johnny didn’t immediately take out Butch when he learned it wasn’t a one-night stand.
Whether he wants to admit it or not, Zep struggles with holding back on getting revenge.
He felt the same way when he wanted Butch’s head for attacking Misty but got voted down.
“Put the masks on,” Jethro orders. “If any of that shit gets into your lungs when this place goes up, you’ll be dead before we make it to the highway.”
Again, why the hell would anyone voluntarily make this shit? No one down there can be comfortable. Besides making this crap with chemicals that literally burn their skin, they’re making it in the fucking desert. You don’t really get much hotter than that.
I slip on the mask, the tight seal pinching my skin, and I hate it immediately. The filtered air tastes dry and sterile. Like breathing in hospital air. Through the glass visor, the snake pit looks distorted as though looking through a funhouse mirror.
It’s actually really trippy, and I’m not a fan.
But I can’t help but laugh when we all look at each other and sound like Darth Vader. We’re wearing the right color, at least.
Pacino grabs the large grenade launcher and twists the pieces together. The barrel, receiver, and stock quickly come together, and I can’t believe we were able to get this from the Drifters as quickly as we did.
And without any questions asked.
“Take position,” Pacino says, his voice muffled but still perfectly clear.
Moving behind the ATV, I grab the shield from the back rack and crouch behind it. It won’t protect against much, but the less of this godforsaken place that touches us, the better.
Pacino steps forward, braces the weight against the shoulder, and aims. He doesn’t hesitate as he sets his sights on the propane tank next to the tent.
The blast is a physical force, and the launcher kicks back.
A split second later, the grenade hits its target with a blinding flash of orange.
The roar is deafening, and I feel the explosion from as far away as we are, using the shield to keep anything blowing our way from hitting me.
Any debris will likely be on fire, and who knows what kind of chemicals are involved.
“They didn’t even have time to scream,” Rooster mutters as he peeks over his shield. Everyone moving like ants is either gone or lying dead on the sand.
The fireball rolls upward as the various chemical containers catch fire. A thick column of black smoke takes over, and it begins wafting in our direction, but it’s the heat that bothers me most. It’s worse than being out here in the middle of the day when it hits over a hundred and twenty.
“We gotta go,” Jethro says after pulling out his phone and taking a picture of the blaze. “Now.”
No one hesitates, and we hop onto the ATVs, riding away with our gas masks still in place. Who knows what’s dissipated into the air by now.
We ride for at least twenty minutes before stopping, and I rip the mask off my head to breathe in real air. As grateful as I am for the protection, I fucking hate wearing anything on my face like that.
Jethro sends a text, his thumbs moving quickly across the screen, a smile spreading along his lips. When I look at Pacino, he doesn’t seem to notice and unscrews the weapon to tie it back up behind him.
“What’re you doing?” I ask.
“We took a vote while you were with Dixie,” he says.
That doesn’t sound good. “About what?”
“About letting Butch know Stephen outed him. As far as he’ll be concerned, his hired middleman isn’t just stealing profits from him, but he ruined millions in profits tonight.”
“So much for letting him suffer until he solves the problem for us, huh?” I ask.
Not that I’m really upset. I just wish I could be the one to end him.
“Oh, he’s suffering. Can you imagine the pure fear running through him when he gets a message from Butch letting him know he’s fucking dead?” Kannon asks. “He’ll probably piss himself.”
That would be quite the sight, and I smile to myself. How I wish I could see that myself.
My phone vibrates, and I see Hendrix’s name on the screen. “Hendrix? What’s wrong? Is Dixie okay?” I ask.
I wanted to leave more than one man with Dixie and Misty, but the guys assured me they’d be fine. But a call from Hendrix tells me she’s not fine. She’s not fine at all.
“You gotta get to the hospital,” Hendrix says, his voice edging on panic. “Now.”
“What happened? Is she hurt?”
“No, idiot, she’s in fucking labor,” he says, breathing hard. “I was assigned to protect her, not hear her cries as contractions hit and see her water break. Which is really fucking gross.”
My eyes widen as the guys all stare at me, waiting.
“I’m on my way,” I say. “Do not let her out of your sight, Hendrix. You keep her safe until I get there.”
“Safety, I can provide. Being emotionally supportive as she pushes a jack-o-lantern out of her hoo-hah is not.”
I shove my phone back into my pocket, my hands shaking lightly as I grip the handlebars. She’s in labor. The baby’s on his way.
“What’s wrong?” Zep asks. “Is she okay?”
“She’s in labor,” I say, the smile growing on my face. “My boy’s on the way.”
I kick the ATV into gear, twisting the throttle until the engine screams, and tear toward the highway where our bikes and truck are parked. There’s only one place I need to be, and I gotta get there quickly.