"Five minutes," Fallows told his men. "That's all."
The men stopped running, some holding their sides, trying to rub out the stitches that had settled into their muscles a mile or so back. Others just dropped to the ground, panting and puffing, fumbling open their canteens, guzzling water. Bedlow was hugging a tree, vomiting on the bark. But no one complained. It was hard to while being watched by Fallows, who wasn't even breathing hard.
"You all on your periods?" Fallows laughed, brushing his white hair with his hand. "Christ, even this little kid can outrun you sissies."
Tim stood next to Fallows, fighting to control his breathing. He wanted nothing more than to drop to the ground with the others and gulp air like a dying fish, but he wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He regulated his breathing, just as his father had taught him. Besides, Fallows pointing him out like that made him feel kind of proud. Funny, he never thought he'd feel that around here. He shoved his hand in his pocket, felt the smooth casing of the 9mm bullet.
"Soon, kid," Fallows said, patting Tim's shoulder, "I'm going to have your father right where I had him in 'Nam. Then you're going to see what he's really made of. The kind of man who let his family be destroyed that way. Who abandoned them the way he abandoned me. He could've been my partner, made a fortune with me. Wars are God's way of letting the strong get rich. But he turned me in instead. Testified against me. Well, he's done the same to you, Tim. That's why we have to stick together."
Tim wanted to cry out, defend his father, but he was afraid Fallows would take his bullet away. And he wanted that bullet more than anything in the world. Besides, Fallows wasn't saying anything that Tim hadn't sometimes thought himself. Why hadn't his father rescued him yet? Was he even going to try? If he was, what was he doing up here where Fallows had to chase him?
Eli Palmer was running down the road toward them, his heavy boots thumping the dirt road. "Sir… sir…" he panted.
"Speak, Palmer," Fallows said impatiently.
"Up ahead… abandoned truck. Same as that pilot said… belonged to the… scientist."
"Any sign of the man?"
"No, sir. Truck had a flat, so'd the spare. No sign of foul play."
Foul play. Christ, Fallows thought, once a cop always a cop. "What about papers? Anything?"
"No. Nothing. But looks like someone has already rummaged through the glove compartment. Probably recently."
Fallows could see by Eli's expression that he was waiting to be asked. Fucking cops. "How do you figure that, Eli?"
"Well, the truck had been there quite awhile. Weeks at least. But I found an empty Coke can in the cab and there were still a few sticky drops on it." Eli Palmer smiled, having finally proved that he had belonged in Homicide rather than Burglary, just what he'd been telling the department for three years before the quakes.
"Good work, Eli." Fallows smiled. "They can't be too far away. We take it slow and easy from now on. I don't want to spook him. Let's go."
Everyone was on their feet and following Fallows.
Fallows turned to Tim and grinned. "Still got that bullet, kid?"
"Yes."
"Good. You're going to need it."