Glass and splinters exploded into the motel room, and the double beds collided as the front end of the truck came through the wall. Sammy and I had made it into the doorway to the adjoining room, which afforded us some protection, but drywall and grillwork from radiator under the window landed heavily on us, followed by dust and smaller debris.
The truck was a thirty-year-old workhorse, painted a functional dull orange, and in that queer attentiveness that hits in the middle of crises, I focused on the bullet hole in the windshield squarely in front of the driver's seat.
He killed the driver, I thought dully. We left Joshua loose, and he killed the driver to get the truck.
Joshua Blakely pushed on the driver's side door, but it was wedged against the bent doorframe in the wall beside the window, and only opened about seven inches. As he struggled to squeeze himself out, I hauled Sammy into the other room.
Weston had grabbed the bedside lamp and unplugged it, and was now holding it upside down like a club.
"Out front!" I gasped as we swept him through the room. Sammy and I both had our guns out and ready.
I glanced out the door. Joshua was hidden behind the bed of the truck, and popped off two rounds at my head. Chips of brick jumped from the motel's doorframe and caught me across the cheek.
I fired a couple myself, and he hid behind the thick steel of the pickup.
"We're not gonna be able to get him while he's behind there," I said. "That thing's practically bullet-proof. We gotta find a way to flank him."
Easier said than done. Both of our rooms were in the middle of the long, straight body of the motel. Sammy's truck was parked out the door and one stall down, giving us a good fifteen feet of exposure if we were to try to run for it. Not that it would help us any; Joshua would be able to nail us through the windows before we could get the engine cranked over and into gear.
A voice rang out from the far end of the motel, where the office was:
"What the hell's going on?!"
The motel owner was a round man with a bushy moustache and a combover, and he stood in the doorway of the manager's unit on the far side of Joshua in sweatpants and a Hard Rock Café T-shirt. He held a double-barreled shotgun pointed in Joshua's direction.
I caught a glimpse of Joshua behind the truck as he whirled and fired three shots in his general direction. The manager swore and jumped back inside for some cover.
Heads popped out of a couple of other units, then back in just as quickly.
"Cops are clear in Richlake," said Weston. "Maybe out cruising. If someone calls, they might have a car here in ten or fifteen minutes.
"This is gonna be over long before that," said Sammy.
He leaned out past me. I plugged my ears as he fired his revolver into the truck's back tires. The back end slumped.
"Won't help," I said. "If he needs another vehicle, he'll just steal it."
"Well, I needed to feel like I'm doing something!" he said.
There was a loud report as the manager fired his shotgun. It hit the windows on the other side of the truck, but didn't break them. Probably loaded with rock salt, meant to deter the occasional drunk rowdy.
Joshua fired back twice.
"He's gonna be at least a little bit distracted," I said.
"Not enough to get to my truck," Sammy said.
"I know. But if one of us stays here, maybe we can get Weston out some other way. Back window?"
"I'll check," said Weston.
I kept peeking around the edge of the doorframe while he was gone. There was no more fire from the manager's unit. Maybe he realized that rock salt wasn't going to stand up to a .45. Or maybe Joshua had gotten him.
Two people dead, maybe. Because we didn't finish the job at Weston's trailer.
Weston crawled back, keeping himself below the level of the front window.
"Bathroom window's too small and too high," he said. "There's a window right at the back here, but it's mostly filled with the air conditioner."
"Not for long," said Sammy. He sealcrawled backwards until it was safe to stand, then turned on the air conditioner. I kept my eyes toward the front, out the door, so I just heard the crunch as Sammy pulled the air conditioner clean out of the window frame.
"Rennie," he said. "I can't fit through here. You go with Weston. I'll hold off his brother."
I peeked my head out the door again.
"Avalon!" Joshua called. "You picked the wrong side in this!"
"I know," I called back. "I'm correcting that right now."
I turned to Sammy. "He knows me. If he keeps seeing and hearing me here, he'll think we're all still here."
"I can't fit through --"
"You'll fit fast enough when I kick your huge Pacific Islander ass through. Get! Circle the block, call the sheriff, find someone else with a gun, and get back here and save my hide. Got it?"
"Got it."
He pushed Weston in front of him to the open window frame.
I fired a couple of shots, more to keep Joshua aware of my presence than to do any substantive damage. How long till the cops get here? Five minutes, at best. And that's assuming they were ready to handle the situation. Which they weren't, I could guarantee. There's not a small town deputy anywhere who's prepared to handle a ruthless self-proclaimed messiah.
Joshua didn't even bother firing back.
"Weston!" he called. "You know how this is going to end, right? Let's cut to the chase and save ourselves the effort."
I called back, "Screw you, Blakely."
"Weston," he called again, ignoring me. "You can at least talk to me. No danger in that, is there?"
I kept silent this time, hoping he wouldn't guess.
"Avalon. Rennie. Weston's not there anymore, is he?"
He'd guessed.
"Why don't you walk right in and find out?" I said.
I listened hard, hoping to at least keep him arguing. I listened, and I heard soft footsteps.
He wasn't coming toward me, taking me up on my invitation. He was going the other way, keeping the truck in between us. I wasn't big enough fish to fry, at least not right now. Later, definitely, he planned to take his revenge on me for crossing him. Once he became the full-fledged messiah, empowered from on high.
Once he'd killed his brother.
I couldn't let him circle the motel and catch Weston and Sammy before they got to cover and help.
So I charged out of the motel room door and into the parking lot, gun blazing.
