***
Jacobs, seated behind the wheel of the patrol car, watched the exchange between Max Pary and Anderson. Sheriff Brooks stood just outside the open car door of the patrol car oblivious to anything said from the porch.
“Walt?” Jacobs said finally. “I can’t believe you are involved with this. How long have you been his little tadpole?”
“Shut up, Bill. I’ve already told them I’m out. I didn’t know anything about killing Matt until the other day. They told me and that is when I told them I was through.”
“Walt, are you stupid enough to believe that Max Pary will let you simply walk away? He can’t risk that Walt and the drug runners can’t risk him leaving either. They’ll kill both of you first. Help us get out of here and maybe I can get the GBI to cut you some slack.”
Brooks leaned over into the car and barked, “I said shut up. I know what I’m doing.”
Anderson returned to the car a moment later, nodded at Brooks and then pointed to the open door.”
“Climb in, Walt. You’re going for a little ride with us.”
“Didn’t Max tell you? I’m out?”
“Sure, he told me. We just have to finish up with business here and then you can leave.”
Brooks shook his head. “No. I’m leaving right now. Get out of my way.”
Anderson swung the gun barrel up to Walt’s sweaty face and growled, “Get in the car, Walt. You’re going with us.”
With his free hand, Anderson reached for the holster on Brooks’ belt and removed the police issue automatic. Walt stood gawking in disbelief for a second too long. Thompson, who had been standing near the front of the car, moved back to where they stood, looked at Anderson who nodded, then shoved Brooks down and into the car. As he slid in beside Brooks, Thompson snapped at Jacobs and said, “Drive.”
“Where to, we could be at Six Flags in a couple of hours or how about Tybee Island? Don’t you love the beach?”
“Move it Jacobs and head over toward the gang saws. We’ve got some waste wood that needs to run through the chipper tonight.”
Jacobs’ throat turned dry and scratchy. They would need that break soon to get out of this mess. He started the car and looked over at Thompson. “You’ll never get away with this. The GBI and the FBI are going to wrap this town up tight before sunrise.”
“Well, none of you will be around to see it. It’s a shame to waste such a pretty lady like that one too,” he added, pointing at Gail in the back seat. “Maybe she and I should take a little walk to the other side of the chip pile first.”
“You do that and I’ll choke you with my bare hands.” Gail snapped. “I’d rather jump in the chipper than have you touch me.”
The patrol car swung up to the sawyer platform and Thompson motioned at Jacobs. “This is far enough. Shut it off and get out slow. If anybody makes a sudden move then you’re all dead.”
Thompson got out first, keeping the gun pointed at the car but mainly the Sheriff. He waited for the other men to arrive including Anderson. Then with all the guns covering, he opened the rear doors while motioning Jacobs and Brooks out.
Meadows moved his hand toward his ankle but Chuck quickly stopped him and whispered, “Not in the car. It’s too tight for a clear shot.”
With Anderson in the lead and Thompson at the rear, the group of prisoners quietly climbed the steep steps and walked onto the platform above the chipper belts.
Jacobs stood motionless, staring at the mouth of the machine and feeling the platform vibrate as the three phase electric motors fought to keep the ten-ton rotor and blade system inside the machine revolving.
Chuck pulled Gail closer and felt her quivering. He made a silent vow that if he was going to die then somehow, someway; he was going to drag Thompson into the machine with him.
Anderson, rifle in hand, stood to one side of the trough that held the turning, flat feed belt. The constantly revolving belt system was made to catch scrap pieces of wood and limbs from the block saws and then pull them into the teeth of the chipper. It didn’t take a lot of imagination to realize that a human being stood little chance of rescue once they were down in the seven-foot deep tray and on the moving belt.
Anderson’s partner, a kid named Rusty, stepped closer to the group with his gun cocked and level at Blake. Chuck thought it amazing how crooks could easily spot the most dangerous person in a crowd and single them out and Blake was a raging bull just waiting and looking for a slight edge to swing into action. Rusty, looking into the man’s burning eyes, well knew it too.
Sheriff Brooks turned to Thompson and said, “Are you going to kill me too?”
“No.” He said and stepped over beside him. He placed his free hand on Walt’s trembling shoulder and said, “I’m not going to kill you, Walt.”
Brooks grinned. “Good. I thought there for a moment...”
Thompson cut him off. “But the chipper is going to grind you into itty bitty pieces and save me the trouble.”
Brooks’ eyes widened in horror “No, Thompson. Don’t do it. I’ll keep quiet. I’m not going to talk. I promise! I promise!”
Thompson shoved Brooks backwards toward the belt tracks. The Sheriff stumbled to the edge of the drop off and hung in mid air for a second. Chuck knew that even a six-foot tall man like Walt, once down in the mouth of the machine, would find it impossible to crawl back up the shiny, slick metal sides.
Jacobs, still feeling something for his old boss and fellow law officer, stepped forward to stop the man’s plunge but Anderson’s rifle swung quickly in line with his belt buckle. The man stood smiling, almost daring Jacobs to move again.
Helplessly, they watched Brooks lose balance and disappear over the edge of the rim. His body landed on the moving conveyer belt and rolled. He screamed. “No, Thompson. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
Desperately he grabbed at a loosely riveted seam in the sheet metal and for a second, his fingers locked and held. Blood poured from them as the sharp edges cut deeply to the bones. “No, Thompson. Get me out of here. I’m not going to talk.”
Thompson, unhappy that the Sheriff had found something to hold onto, stepped back and pulled a lever on the gang saw console. A heavy thud sounded from the forward end of the plant and a twenty-foot long oak tree trunk hit the belts. The huge log plowed along, pulled by the belts of the conveyer, and then caught Brooks squarely in the chest.
With a sick screech of fingernails and wood against metal, he lost his grip from the finger hold, the appendages ripped from the joints. His arms flailed wildly in the air and huge geysers of bright red blood spurted from the tips of what had been his four main fingers.
Gail screamed, turning her head and hiding it in Chuck’s chest. The others watched in sick disbelief as Brooks rolled and tumbled along, forced by the huge log into the feeder on the huge machine.
For a desperate second Brooks grabbed the top of the log and managed to flip sideways and the log rumbled past but a protruding limb stub caught his shirt. It dragged him to the edge of the machine’s mouth.
With a last, tremendous effort, he pulled himself forward and almost reached an overhead support brace but his blood-coated fingertips couldn’t grip the slippery edges. The belt carried him the final few feet. With a horrified scream, he fell forward, head away from the blades, and the first set of cutters took off both of his legs even with the calves. The machine’s suction and force from the first blow jerked his body deeper and he squealed one last time. The next set of blades caught him across the waist and cut him in half. Brooks’ face was now expressionless, and then the machine sucked what was left of him off the belts and into the bowels of the grinders. The powerful electric motors barely paused.
Thompson watched the empty belt tray for a moment with a sly, wicked grin of enjoyment on his face. Then, he turned to Catfish, laughed happily, and said, “At least Clark didn’t beg when I pushed him inside.”
Catfish ripped his eyes from the spot where Brooks disappeared and snapped, “Clark? You’ve
killed Clark?”
Squires stepped closer. “When was this, Thompson?”
With a toothy grin, he sneered, “About two hours ago. Rusty caught him making a phone call at the quick stop downtown. It was easy pickings.”
Chuck shouted, “If I get my hands on you, Thompson, you are a dead man. Come on. Give me five minutes with you. You can tie my hands behind my back so how about it?”
“Don’t rush it, Veal.” Thompson laughed. “I hadn’t planned to feed you in until after your lady friend there. So you just wait your turn real patient like.”
He motioned to Rusty and watched the expression on Chuck’s face as the man leaned his rifle against a nearby wall, grabbed Gail’s arm and pulled her away from Chuck. Chuck lunged but Thompson swung the gun barrel and caught him across the side of the face. He went down on one knee in agony.
Thompson sneered at Gail, “Now let’s see. I do believe you said that you would jump in the chipper rather than go with me? Is that what you said, pretty lady?”
Chuck, still holding his head, rose quickly and yelled, “Let her go, Thompson. I’m the one you want. Just kill me and let her go.”
Thompson laughed and said, “Look, boy, you can run your mouth and I’ll put a bullet down your throat or you can sit quiet and I’ll be nice and bust your head again before I feed you down the belt. Now it doesn’t matter to me if it’s a bullet or the chipper.”
Rusty snatched at Gail again and Chuck lunged quickly. Squires, seeing the break he wanted, jumped at Anderson. Jacobs, with his back to both men, was too slow to get immediately involved. Thompson whirled quickly and fired at the big black man. Blake grabbed his chest and crumpled to the floor. His arms dangled over the edge of the conveyor belt and blood began pouring from his shirt.
Meadows shouted, “Oh God. I’m sick, I’m sick,” and fell sideways, toward but behind, Chuck’s figure. Chuck froze when Rusty grasped Gail’s head in a deadlock and yelled, “You move any closer and I’ll break her neck, Veal.”
Meadows hit the floor and pretended to gag and groan.
Thompson, with a gun barrel keeping Jacobs at bay, burst out laughing. “Aw, look at the little federal sissy. Can’t take it, can he?”
Meadows, using Chuck’s figure to hide his intent, grabbed the hidden pistol from around his ankle and rolled quickly to one side.
Thompson, still laughing, didn’t notice until it was too late. Meadows leveled the gun and fired from the floor. The sound was little more than a pop above the machine’s roar but Thompson lifted on his heels and clutched at his chest. A look of shock and surprise covered his face.
Chuck stepped over and knocked the gun from his hand, watching it uselessly clatter down into the tray and onto the belt. A second later, it disappeared into the mouth of the machine with a clink and pop. He looked directly into Thompson’s eyes. He knew the man was going to fall backward into the chipper and his eyes knew it as well. Full of shock and fear, he moved his hand away from his shirt looked. It was soaked in blood. He held it out and reached toward Chuck for help.
Chuck knew he could save him but a vision of Matt and knowing that Thompson was one of the people responsible for his death, made him hesitate. Could he help the man who seconds ago was trying to kill him?
Before the turmoil in Chuck’s mind could be resolved, Thompson’s hand groped for thin air and then he tumbled backwards down into the belt tray. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even try to struggle against the forward motion, and his last vision in this world was of Chuck Veal, standing on the platform over him, still trying to resolve in his own mind, the question of saving Thompson. The motors groaned slightly and the issue became moot. Thompson was gone.
Anderson shocked and still, saw Catfish from his peripheral vision, moving toward him from the side. With a quick motion and turn, he grabbed Catfish by the shirtfront and spun him toward the conveyer tray. Catfish landed on the rough floor, rolled over the edge, and then down onto the machine’s belt. He felt the pull of the conveyer dragging him closer to the mouth of the machine. He could hear the razor sharp teeth whizzing on the rotors at 1700 rpm. He tried to stand but fell sideways, and then slipped forward. He made it to his knees but belt motion rolled him over again. With a quick snatch, he caught himself with a sloppy jump upward and made a one hand catch on the upper brace that Brooks had ever so slightly missed reaching himself. The bar was thin and weak, but was holding for the moment. The tip of Catfish’s boots dangled inches from the massive, whirling, blades.
Jacobs, seeing his cousin go over the edge, dove forward, sliding on his belly to the edge of the belt tray. With both hands, he reached over the side and stretched himself out as far as he could but it was a half-foot short.
At the same moment that Jacobs hit the floor, Rusty realized that Chuck would leave him alone to save Gail, much like Jacobs had gone for Catfish. He shoved her forward and toward the belt tray. She landed face down and then rolled over the edge but managed, with her smaller hands, to grab at a crack between the tray and the plank deck of the platform. She had a weak handhold on the lip of the tray with the tips of her fingers. Chuck jumped to save her. Rusty broke and ran but Anderson swung the barrel of his gun in line with the moving figure of Chuck and began to tighten on the trigger.
From the distant fence of the lumberyard, a lone rifle shot cracked. The powder flash from the end of the barrel lit up the area all around and a heavy “boom” echoed through the sheds of the mill.
The bullet hit Anderson in the throat that proved to be just enough action to knock his aim away. His gun fired and wood splinters spit upward from the floor near Chuck spattering him in the face and neck, but he still reached Gail.
Ignoring the pain, he grabbed both her hands below the wrists and pulled her back over the edge of the tray lips. He turned and watched Anderson fall sideways and hit the floor. His rifle clattered beside him.
Rusty, having stopped his escape for a moment hoping Anderson could get the upper hand with the rifle, lunged for the dropped gun, grabbed it and rolled over on his back. He took quick aim at Jacobs and Catfish spotted him and yelled, “Bill? He’s gonna’ shoot. Watch out for the gun, Bill.”
Chuck, once Gail was safe, turned and yelled at Rusty. “Hey. Do you have trouble with acid indigestion?”
Rusty looked and then moved his aim from Jacobs to Chuck. Meadows, down on the floor bleeding, couldn’t fire because Chuck and Gail were standing in the way. He moved sideways for a clear shot.
Rusty saw him moving, saw the gun in Meadow’s hand, aimed and fired at the FBI agent. He felt the jolt striking his body and tried to take another aim. Rusty, seeing the blood pouring from the topside of Meadow’s chest, found new courage, tilted the rifle back toward Chuck and Gail. Above the roar of the machines, Chuck heard a familiar shout. “Chuck? Catch.”
Standing on the ground some twenty feet away was his brother, Matt Veal. Beside him stood Edie Pary and a female State Patrol Officer holding a rifle. Edie’s face was scratched and ashen and her clothes torn in several places. Matt had tossed a handgun into the air and it was sailing toward Chuck. The state trooper was taking aim with the rifle but couldn't fire.
Chuck gauged the arc of the gun in the air and could tell that it would fall several feet short so he jumped just as Rusty’s rifle boomed and a bullet whizzed past his ears.
Chuck made a wobbly catch in mid air with the tips of his fingers. The Patrol Officer’s rifle boomed and a metal crossbeam near Rusty pinged loudly and the bullet ricocheted harmlessly away into the night.
Rusty fired again and Chuck felt the hot lead whip past his head. Still in the air, Chuck’s fist and fingers fumbled the thrown gun, wobbled it a precious second more, and then locked onto the barrel. With a radical flip of the wrist, Chuck made a fast spin and the gun handle settled into the palm of his hand. Just as his body began to fall, he swung the barrel up and at Rusty. The floor won the race and knocked Chuck’s aim off by a foot and the bullet whizzed away harmlessly. He steadied himself
from the fall lying prone on the floor, aimed again and fired two rapid shots back to back.
Rusty jolted backwards against the wall and a red blotch formed on the front of his shirt. The second bullet missed but spattered wood splinters off the wall and into his eyes. The State Patrol officer’s rifle barked again and this time made it home. Rusty’s chest exploded and he was dead before his head touched the floor. His body then rolled several times and finally went over the edge of the tray and into the chipper belt.
Meadows, now about to pass out, saw the flash of the rifle from the corner of his eye. He swung his gun around, found a figure with a rifle standing in the open yard, steadied himself for a second, and fired. In his pain-racked mind, he didn’t realize that his bullet missed to the right by several feet and struck Matt Veal. Edie Screamed.
Jacobs, still leaning over trying to get a handhold on his cousin, was in serious danger of falling head first into the tray himself. He glanced up and watched the huge figure of Rusty rolling down the belt toward them.
Chuck shouted but neither of the men could hear while they were so close to the whine and roar at the mouth of the machine. He began running but knew he would never get there in time. Gail, who was closer to Jacobs, dove at the man’s feet to give him more ballast from the weight of his body over the gulley of the chipper’s mouth.
Catfish struggled to grab Jacobs’ extended hand but realized Bill was overbalanced. When he saw the crumpled body racing toward him on the conveyor belt, he first thought it was Blake and he would need to save him. When he recognized Rusty’s body, he was back to saving his own self from the coming collision that would jar him loose from the delicate handhold. Could he jump at Jacob's outstretched arms without dragging them both to their death?
Catfish saw Gail dive and pile her weight onto the back of Jacob's legs, realized it might be enough, and with desperate determination, he released his fingers from the beam and lunged at Jacobs’ outstretched arms. They locked together and Jacobs took the full weight of both their bulks. It was too much and Gail flew several feet into the air as Jacob's legs lifted off the floor. He started sliding forward and over the edge.
Catfish shouted, “Forget it. Let me go. Let me go.”
Jacobs wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it. Using the tips of his boots when they hit the floor again, he tried to dig into the wood, searching for any hold, but he still kept sliding forward. Just as he was about to go over the rim, Gail’s body struck his legs again only this time with the added momentum of her fall. It was just enough to tilt the balance back in his and Catfish’s favor.
Catfish’s feet found a slight indention in the metal wall of the tray and he got the tip of his boot jammed into the area. It was just enough lift to take some of his own weight back from Jacobs but if he slipped again, it would mean the death of them both.
Jacobs felt his grip on Catfish’s arms slipping but at the last second, Catfish suddenly felt lighter. With the body of Rusty rolling closer and closer toward them, Bill tossed all caution aside and yanked with all his strength. The force lifted Gail, who was sprawled over his legs, shooting back into the air for a second time only this time she had a hard grip around Jacob's knees and held on for all their dear lives.
Jacobs lifted Catfish’s body up and over the edge of the conveyer belt and rolled him down safely on the floor next to him. Gail looked up with a flushed face and a cut on her chin from hitting the floor earlier. Catfish had cleared the tray just as the body of Rusty slammed against the wall where only seconds before, he and Jacobs both had dangled so close to death.
Chuck, still ten feet away but moving saw Catfish clear the sides and roll with Jacobs and Gail against the building’s wall. He raced over and helped Gail to her feet, and then hugged her with both arms. Catfish lay staring around in surprise and gasping for breath, then spotted Blake laying on the floor bleeding. “Blake?” he yelled.
Everyone raced over to Blake whose shirtfront was soaked in blood. Chuck felt for a pulse looked at Jacobs and said, “He’s alive but this is a serious wound. Catfish? Go get a car and let’s get him and Meadows to the hospital.”
Gail checked Meadows while he tried to focus his eyes on the three shapes in the yard, one a woman who was on her knees beside a man, another was also a woman holding a rifle and wearing a uniform? She was shouting something he couldn’t understand through the pain and the woman on her knees was holding up the palm of her hands toward him and yelling. Was she protecting him?
“Okay” Meadows mumbled to Gail. “I’ll shoot the sucker later.” Then, he rolled onto his back and passed out cold.
Jacobs stepped over and saw the blood on the agent’s side and more coming from his chest. “Chuck, Frank is hit.”
Looking down at the yard below, he saw Edie leaning over a figure on the ground. At first glance, he thought it was Max Pary. On closer look, he realized it was Matt Veal.
“Matt?” Jacobs shouted. “Oh my God it’s Matt?”
Chuck saw Bill shouting and followed his gaze to where Edie was leaning over his brother and then he saw the red soaked front of his shirt. “Matt?”
Gail followed Chuck’s eyes and saw Edie and the man on the ground below. “Is that your brother?”
Together, she and Chuck raced to the steps of the platform and took them down two at a time. Chuck skidded in the dust at Matt’s side. Blood was pouring from a hole in his side and he cried, “Matt? Matt? Don’t die on me now, big brother. Not now, Matt.”
Matt opened his sharp, brown, eyes and focused on Chuck. “Did you get ‘em, little brother?”
“We got ‘em, Matt. Now just lay still and save your breath.”
Matt grabbed Chuck’s arm and asked, “Was that Frank who shot me?”
Chuck nodded. “Yea I guess he thought you were one of them.”
“Is he alive?”
Chuck nodded. “Yea, but he’s hit pretty bad. Catfish’s going to move the car and we’ll take all of you to the hospital.”
Matt smiled and said, “Awww...If it was Frank who shot me then I’m going to be okay. He couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn if I locked him inside the darn thing.”
His eyes closed and he let out a deep sigh. Chuck yelled, “Catfish? Where is the car?”
Five minutes later and with Catfish behind the wheel of the police cruiser, they raced out of the yard toward town leaving a cloud of heavy, reddish dust in the air. Between Catfish and Chuck was Blake, slumped forward with Chuck holding a towel to his chest. In the back seat, Gail sat between Matt and Meadows, trying to hold towels on both deathly white men.
When the car had pulled out of the lumber mill yard and out of sight, Edie Pary asked, “Bill, why did you stop me from going with Matt just now?”
“There wasn’t enough room in the car plus I need to find your brother. I wanted you here for that. Where is he, Edie?”
State Troop Jan Johnston walked up and said, "He's in the office and he's dead."
Edie cried, “I didn’t mean to kill him. I didn’t mean to do it. We fought over his gun and it went off in his face.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill my brother. I was trying to get the gun and stop him from hurting all of you.”
Over the thunder of the chipper’s dying motors the “Whoop...whoop. Whoop” of a helicopter echoed across the yard. A bright floodlight switched on and the area lit up. The voice over the chopper’s PA system shouted, “This is the FBI. Everyone remain where you are.”
Jacobs looked up and motioned with one hand. The voice on the PA said, “Bill Jacobs? Is that you?”
B ill waved his hand again. The voice said, “Stand clear. We’re going to set her down in the yard.”
As they stepped back to let the helicopter land, Edie cried, “I want to go to the hospital with Matt. Please?”
Jacobs nodded. “Okay. Give me just a second to fill these FBI people in on what’s happened and we’ll head over that way.”
John
ston said, “You two go ahead. I’ll fill them in and you can give them the details later.”