Killer Cargo. Dana Mentink

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      Call the cops.

      She ripped her phone open, horrified to see the battery light indicate it was all but depleted. There was no choice but to call when she was safely away from this isolated spot. She shoved the box back where she’d found it, bolted to her feet and jumped into the cockpit. The blood rang in her ears. Her fingers instinctively scrambled over the controls, prepping the engines for takeoff, praying the storm would disappear as quickly as it had arrived.

      Then she remembered an important detail. She needed fuel if she was going to fly out of this no-man’s-land. A quick calculation reminded her she had only two hundred dollars in her wallet. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Through the drops of moisture on the windshield she saw a man in the window of the distant shed on the end of the tarmac. She was going to have to try to convince the guy to come into the storm to sell her a couple hundred bucks worth of fuel, pronto.

      Maria slammed into action. She grabbed a backpack, tossed in her wallet and pulled on a baseball cap. “I’ll be right back,” she told Hank as she popped open the hatch. He pressed his pink nose against the bars.

      Simultaneously, through the pounding rain, she heard a sound that made her breath freeze: the distant rumble of a car. She could barely see the outline of a black sedan and the two male figures in the front seat.

      Her stomach turned upside down. There was no way she could fuel up and get in the air before the car reached them. She was going to have to improvise. One step out of the plane and she could hear Hank thumping around in his cage. He was as alone and friendless as she was. A crazy thought formed in her mind.

      It was ridiculous. The unwieldy cage would only slow her down. They would catch her and kill her, and kill the rabbit, too. She continued down to the asphalt.

      But Hank was helpless and alone. She knew what that felt like. Too well.

      After a moment of paralyzed indecision, she raced back up and grabbed Hank’s cage. It was all she could do to hold on to it and jog along the slippery ground. Thanks to the mountainous roadway, the car was still making its way down the winding path toward the airstrip when she burst through the doorway of the shed.

      The young guy standing on a chair playing the air guitar didn’t look up. The sound of hard rock emanated from his ear piece and a red licorice rope dangled from his lips. He stomped his feet on the cracked vinyl of the chair seat.

      “Hey,” Maria said. “I need some help.”

      The kid continued to play, flipping his long hair out of his face with zeal. He switched from air guitar to drum solo.

      Maria put the cage on the floor and pulled on the guy’s sleeve.

      He looked down with a start and fell off the chair. When he righted himself, the hair drooped over his eyes like a curtain. “Man. You scared me. I think I might have had a heart attack. Where did you come from?”

      She suppressed the urge to shake him. “From the plane that landed an hour ago on your runway over there. Do you have a phone?”

      “Uh, yeah. But it doesn’t work. You don’t have a cell?”

      “Mine’s dead.”

      He chewed a section of the candy rope and gestured to the mountains. “Doesn’t matter anyway. Probably wouldn’t get a good signal here. It’s like living in the bottom of a well.”

      She looked out the filthy window. The black sedan pulled onto the runway. She turned back to the kid, reading the name tag on his jumpsuit. “Look, Jacko. I’m in a lot of trouble and I’ve got to get out of here now. I need a car, truck, motorcycle, anything. Can you help me, please?”

      His eyes widened. “You must be in deep. I can give you a ride on my moped at quitting time. How ’ bout that?”

      Out of the corner of her eye she saw the two men get out of the car and head toward her plane.

      “No, no. I need to take off right now. Please. Isn’t there a car I can borrow? I thought I saw one out back. It’s really important. I promise I’ll return it.” Her voice trembled.

      “Out back? Oh, you mean the Demon.”

      Maria’s breath became shallow and her hands started to sweat. The men were entering her plane and when they figured out she’d opened the box they would head for the shack. She knew their secret. There was no way they’d let her get away. She looked around frantically. Where could she hide? There was nothing but an old card chair and a two-drawer filing cabinet overflowing with papers.

      Jacko extracted a bottle of Gatorade from a foam cooler and took a slug of the green liquid. “Let me think a minute.” His eyeballs did a 360. “Yeah, that might work. That’s my cousin Duke’s car out there. He’s in jail for another six months, probably, not likely to get paroled early on account of he’s not a model prisoner. Maybe you could borrow it, if you get it back here by November.”

      Her excitement soared. “Yes, yes. I’ll take anything.”

      His eyes narrowed. “Wait just a minute. You got some money? Duke would want something for his wheels. He’s gonna need some start-up cash when he gets out of the joint. The car’s a collectible you know. It’s a ’72 Dodge Demon. Sweet ride, great interior, the works.”

      She dug into her backpack with trembling hands and came up with a hundred-dollar bill. “How’s this?” Out of the corner of her eye she could see bags of kibble and kitty litter hurtling out of the open plane hatch. They split open on impact, sending debris flying everywhere.

      “Oh, I don’t know. A hundred bucks? That doesn’t seem like much for a classic automobile. Plus gas. Gas ain’t cheap now, lady. Fortunately, Duke filled it up right before he got arrested. He’s gonna expect it that way when he shows up. And then there’s wear and tear, of course, and the oil will need to be changed when you return it.”

      She tossed another fifty. Her voice rose to a near scream. “Please. That only leaves me a few bucks. You don’t want the rabbit to starve, do you? The poor guy only has three legs.”

      He twirled the red rope thoughtfully as he regarded Hank. “Three legs? Weird, man. Reminds me of my uncle Vic. He’s only got three fingers on his left hand. Great bowler though. The league champion in Chauncy. I watched him last weekend and he was smokin’. Won a trophy and everything. I guess one hundred fifty will be okay.”

      Jacko fished around in a desk drawer. “Here are the keys. Have a nice trip, lady. Don’t forget to bring it back before November.”

      Maria grabbed the keys and the cage, and raced out the back door. The rain was coming down in sheets. Hank hunkered into a soggy ball wedged in a wooden corner. The electric-blue car was parked under a spindly tree. It was caked with dirt but the tires were good, she noted with a surge of relief. She jammed the keys in the lock and turned. It wouldn’t budge.

      “So much for a collector’s car, you rusty piece of junk.” Another savage twist and the door opened. She flipped the front seat forward and shoved Hank’s crate in the back. Duke wasn’t going to appreciate the gouge in his leather upholstery but he was the least of her worries. The sound of angry voices floated through the door of the shack.

      Maria turned the key in the ignition. The engine turned over and sputtered to a stop. “Come on, come on. Start, car. Please, please, please.” СКАЧАТЬ