Cal would meet her. If he could, he’d be there. He wanted to be there. His kiss had left Fern with no doubt. However, the reason why still eluded her. Why did he feel this way for her? And why did she feel what she did for him? It was unreasonable. Unjustifiable. They were nothing alike, and yet, when she was with him, she saw herself more clearly than she ever had with anyone else. Like a magnet near metal, just the thought of Cal threatened to pull her back to the farmhouse.
Fern turned to check if the house lights were out of view yet. They barely bled through the stalks, but she had to keep going to get farther away. She took another step and heard a rustle in the cornfield nearby. To her right. Toward the farmhouse. She paused, holding her breath. Billy? She couldn’t call for him to check.
Her eyes strained through the dark. A quick flash of light, hardly there at all before it disappeared, came from her right. Another flash, to her left. The flashes were too big to be lightning bugs. A cornstalk snapped, followed by a muffled voice. A man. Two more single flares of light came from her right, then left, closer to the farmhouse now.
There were men in the corn rows, signaling to one another with flashlights.
Ice flushed through her veins and slowed her heart. The Jacky runners were already here. Somehow, they’d known and were closing in on the farmhouse.
Cal and the others weren’t ready.
Fern couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. She should be running away from the farmhouse, but Cal was in there. Whatever happened to Rod or the others didn’t matter to her. But Cal did.
She had to warn them, though she had nothing that would make a noise loud enough to pierce the radio music Cal had turned up to mask their escape.
Panic pooled in Fern’s stomach as she looked in the direction of the three cars, parked at the edge of the cornfield. The flashlight beam to her right had originated from that direction, but she had to try to get close to the farmhouse to warn Cal. Fern backtracked through the cornstalks, praying the men with the flashlights wouldn’t hear or see her.
There. The Roadster’s silver bumper gleamed in the light of the moon. Stalks of corn had been bent and snapped near the back tires and the driver’s side door. Her pulse pounded in the base of her throat as she reached for the rubber bulb on the end of the bugle horn, attached to the outside of the driver’s door—and squeezed.
The shrill, wheezing sound blared through the quiet night. She squeezed the bulb again and again and again as shouts rang from all around her. The men in the cornfield ditched their cautious approach, and in the farmhouse, a curtain twitched. A man filled the window and then disappeared again. The last grating blare of the horn faded as the first gunshots rang out.
Fern pressed against the side of the car, momentarily stunned, but then whipped around and started running through the corn again. Shouts and single pops ofgunfire morphed into a rapid fire of bullets from a machine gun. She ran, arms stretched out before her, plowing her way through the stalks. She didn’t know if she was running toward the road or deeper into the fields, but she was too close to the farmhouse. Too close to the exchange of gunfire.
A small, dark figure leaped in front of her, and Fern slammed her heels into the ground, barking a scream.
“This way!”Billy. His small hand reached for her arm and tugged. Fern’s heart sank but also swelled. He’d been waiting for her.
She followed him through the stalks as gunfire devoured the night. Her lungs screamed, and her legs burned, but she didn’t stop. Self-preservation drove her on faster. Billy’s ragged breathing cut through the unsteady hiccups of gunfire. The sounds got farther and farther away as they ran, her chest aching, her pounding feet reverberating in her skull.
Headlights cut through the stalks around them, and Fern realized with a start that they’d nearly reached the road. A car whizzed by, and she and Billy jammed their feet to a halt before they could tumble out onto the pavement. They bent over, hands on knees, sucking air into their lungs as the red taillights disappeared.
Sweat bathed Fern’s skin, and yet she was shivering. Shouts and bursts of gunfire still blazed behind them at the farmhouse. She tried to see through the stalks, but there was nothing but darkness.
Fern turned to Billy. “I’m heading back toward town,” she said, her throat raw. “Do you have anyone that can help you there?”
“The Thompsons. Our neighbors, up the road a bit.”
She’d feared that he’d have no one, so she breathed a little easier as they continued through the stalks, parallel to the road. The horror of what he’d heard, tucked away in that crawl space would stay with him forever. It wasn’t fair, and the cruelty of it was also too much. Too heavy and too complicated. She didn’t know how to help him or even what to say. Ten minutes or so later, the cornstalks ended, and a grassy field began. A small house could be seen with lights on inside. She felt only a slight reprieve.
“They’ll help you too,” Billy assured her as he picked up speed. Fern hung back.
“You’vehelped me—tremendously,” she said. “But I can’t stay here. I…have somewhere I need to be.”
Worry for Cal nearly stole her concentration again. They hadn’t heard any gunfire for several minutes. A few cars had streaked by, headed away from the farmhouse. They might have had nothing to do with the shoot-out. Perhaps just travelers, driving by, oblivious to the danger through which they passed.
Billy hesitated. He didn’t thank Fern or say anything more before finally turning and jogging toward the Thompsons’ house. They’d helped each other, but his parents were dead, and he had to be confused over why she and Cal had protected him.
Fern continued to follow the road for a little while, but when flashing red lights strobed on the horizon, she lay down flat in the fallow field until the police car had rushed by. Dirt caked the front of her dress and her hands after a few more police cars appeared, rushingtoward the farmhouse. Where there was corn, she walked through the rows. When she passed a farm that had a shed or barn, and she hid from view behind that. But after another half hour or so, there were no more screaming police sirens. No more passing cars on the road at all.
Fern came upon the Coca-Cola barn and broke into a run. Her legs were so tired, and they nearly folded under her a few times, but she couldn’t stop picturing Cal inside, waiting for her. His Roadster might have been one of the cars racing by earlier. But when she entered the barn through the open back doors, that hope dissipated.
It was dark and cold and musty inside. The roof had come down in one spot, so the moon shone on some of the forgotten debris. Collapsed timber beams, a sawhorse, a few barrels, a collection of gallon pails, and rusted farming tools. Exhaustion swept over her. How many more hours until sunrise? Cal had said if he wasn’t there by then, he wasn’t coming.
Hours. She still had hours.
Fern sat in the patch of moonlight, too afraid of the pitch-black corners. As she leaned against a barrel and stretched out her legs, she realized how much they hurt. How much everything hurt. One yawn turned into three, and Fern couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. She let them slip shut, but her ears stayed tuned to the road. At the sound of every nearing car, she held her breath. A handful of them passed the barn, and with each one that drove away, the hollow sensation of being alone deepened.
She checked her pocket. Her fingers brushed thecrisp edges of Cal’s money. Through the gap in the roof, she saw that the sky wasn’t as dark as it had been before.
