Chapter Sixteen CJ Taggart
Chapter Sixteen
CJ Taggart
The rain had stopped, and the air had warmed.
The mud was thick, and most of the concertgoers were soaked to the bone.
Drier air sent a sudden rush of warmth through the crowd.
One of the last bands took the stage, and people who had been weary and worn down perked up.
The first electric guitar chord telegraphed heavy metal.
The lead singer’s deep, gravelly voice blended with pulsing guitar riffs that breathed life into the crowd.
Taggart spotted a man pulling a woman through the crowd. She tugged against his grip, digging her heels in as she tripped forward. Fatigue pulsed through Taggart’s body as he caught up to the couple. “What’s going on?”
The man pretended not to hear. The woman yanked against his grip.
“Let her go,” Taggart shouted.
The man’s jaw was set, but the tendons in his arm slackened.
The woman slipped free, turned, and pushed through the crowd.
The mass of humans swallowed her whole. Taggart motioned for the man to move to the edge of the crowd as the crush of bodies pressed against him.
The man pivoted and melted into the crowd.
Taggart didn’t go after him. There’d been a thousand moments like this over the course of the night, and no doubt there were dozens of women he hadn’t saved. This entire event was a cluster, and the best he could do was save who he could as he counted the minutes to sunrise.
A long line stretched from the burger stand, and a few folks in line were shouting for service. He strode toward the tent and found no one behind the counter. Piles of burgers wrapped and ready to sell, and the griddle was still hot.
Buddy stood at the till, dishing out cash as another man shouted an order at him. He grabbed two burgers and tossed them on the table. There was no sign of Patty.
Taggart moved around the table past Buddy, searching for Patty. He half expected to see her lying on the ground from exhaustion. But she wasn’t in the tent.
He turned to Buddy, who was serving a young woman with damp dark hair and a soaked Grateful Dead T-shirt. “What happened? Where’s Patty?”
Buddy didn’t glance back. “She took a break an hour ago. I want to go look for her, but I can’t get away. The line is endless.”
“Which direction did she go?”
“Toward the toilets by the woods.”
“Can I get a burger?” another girl shouted.
He’d known Patty two weeks, but each time he’d seen her in the diner, she was hustling. Always had a smile on her face and seemed to take her responsibilities seriously.
“She sure isn’t going to get paid for the burgers I sold,” Buddy grumbled.
The revenue from this stand was money in her pocket. “I’ll go look for her.”
When the next person stepped up to the stand, Buddy held out a burger. “That would be great. I need her back here.”
Taggart glanced at the supply of burgers. They were dwindling. Buddy and Patty had planned for five hundred people at the festival. But there’d been at least two to three thousand. When the burgers were gone, the grumbling, cold, wet, tired people would grow more restless.
Deputy Paxton pushed through the crowd. Dark circles hung under his eyes. He was breathless when he said, “This can’t end fast enough.”
“No, it cannot,” Taggart said.
“Where’s Patty?” Paxton asked.
“Last seen headed to the latrines about an hour ago.”
“That’s not like her,” Paxton said.
“No, it’s not.” He could cut the power to the stage and order the band to wrap.
But the pent-up energy of the masses could ignite into a riot if they didn’t keep the music going.
Wet, cold, hungry. This crowd was ready to erupt.
But the band did need to slow its pace and bring the energy down.
“Hang out here for a few minutes and contact me if Patty shows up.”
He shoved his way through the crowd, past wet, sweaty bodies that smelled of pot, booze, and desperation. When he made it to the side of the stage, he caught the band manager’s attention. “I need to talk to Rafe Colton. Is he up there?”
“He got back a few minutes ago. He’s on the east side of the stage.”
Taggart ducked under the security chain, then walked around the stage and up a back staircase. The music slammed his head as he stepped over cords and black travel cases.
He spotted Colton standing off to the right, rocking his body. He didn’t bother to strike up a conversation but grabbed Colton by the arm and pulled him toward the exit. Colton’s grin vanished, but he followed Taggart off the stage and to a quieter spot.
“Hey, man, are you okay? What’s going on?” Colton asked.
“You need to order this band to slow its roll. The crowd is getting too amped up,” Taggart said.
“But the guys are in the flow. They’re hitting their stride, and the people are loving it.”
“Tell the band to wind it down.”
“Why? This crazy music is why we’re all here.”
“The people out there are strung tight. It won’t take much to make them snap.”
“Man, I’ve done events like this before.” He grinned and laid his hand on Taggart’s shoulder. “They are amped, but trust me, it’s going to be fine.”
Taggart glanced at Colton’s hand, streaked with red scratches. “Tell the band to wind it down or I’m cutting the electricity to the entire area.”
Colton lowered his hand. “And what will happen if you do that? That mob will get angry.”
“It’s bedlam either way. I don’t care if it’s now or an hour from now. Ramp it down.”
Colton shook his head. “I’ll lose money if we stop now. Christ, can you imagine the complaints and lawsuits. I’ll breach my contract with the town.”
Taggart faced the stage and searched for the cables connected to a generator. He wasn’t sure which to pull, but he’d yank them all until the music stopped.
Hands landed on his shoulders, and his fingers balled into a fist as he turned toward Colton’s contrite expression. He was ready to beat the piss out of the man. He’d lose his job, but right now he didn’t care.
Colton held up his hands. “I’ll talk to the band.”
The veins in Taggart’s neck bulged. He clenched his fists. “Do it now.”
Colton climbed up on the stage and spoke to the manager.
Immediately, the two began arguing as Colton pointed toward Taggart.
It didn’t take sound to hear the string of curses.
But the manager held up his hand. When the band reached the end of the song, he moved onstage and spoke to the lead singer and guitarist.
No one in the band looked happy, and Taggart knew he’d catch hell for this.
The guitarist strummed his chords slower and softer, and the drummer soon joined him.
Boos and shouts rose from the crowd as fists pumped, but the lead singer grabbed the mic and told an off-color joke to the crowd.
Hints of laughter rumbled over the masses. The energy held steady.
The band members looked at each other but kept playing. Taggart climbed up on the stage, watching the crowd. The slower music had the opposite effect. It triggered waves of restless energy.
The singer, sensing the negative shift, picked up the tempo of his song.
His band joined him, and the energy rose.
The new version of the song teetered between heavy metal and the attempted ballad.
Taggart hoped they’d found a shaky balance.
He needed five more hours, and then the sun would rise and this nightmare would end.
At the edge of the crowd, the flickers of the first flames caught in a pile of trash. The red haze rose. By the time Taggart was off the stage and pushing toward the fire, it had jumped to the undergrowth.