She shook her head slowly and said, “When I heard the shots outside I ran upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom. All I could think of was that you were gone and that I’d be raising this boy by myself.
“I heard Tater yell and run out, then Peggy followed him. There were more shots and then I heard a car drive away. I didn’t unlock my door and come out until an hour ago. I went outside and saw you lying in the snow and I thought you were gone like the others.”
Brandon said, “And the first thing you did after you saw me was check on the mice?”
“They’re helpless,” she explained. Then he noticed her eyes were unfocused and he determined she was likely in shock. She’d succumbed to her maternal instincts because she didn’t know what else to do. His other questions would have to wait. He hoped their baby had no repercussions from her terror and tension throughout the night.
“I’ll get the car,” he said.
“Can I bring the babies?”
He started to object but thought better of it.
“Sure.”
As he turned he heard her say, “There’s a towel in the bathroom for your face.”
Brandon was shocked at the appearance of the person who looked back at him in the mirror. He had two black eyes, an enormous nose, and his face was crusted with black dried blood. A long tear cut through the skin above his right ear and continued through his scalp.
Wade, he thought. Wade had stood over him after he’d shot Pingston and fired what he’d thought was a kill shot to his head. He’d missed, though, and the bullet had creased his skull.
He looked like he should be dead.
When Brandon went outside he saw that Wade had left them a present: all four tires on their minivan were slashed and flat and there was a bullet hole in the grille and a large pool of radiator fluid in the snow.
When he shook his head, it ached.
Then he turned toward the shed.
When he went inside, long-forgotten memories rushed back of observing the old man, Pingston, and various other ranch hands working on equipment, repairing vehicles, and changing out filters, hoses, belts, and oil and other fluids. The old man thought it was a waste of time and money to take his equipment into town for repair so he did it all himself. Those were the days when a man could actually fix his own car. And as the men worked, Brandon would hand them the tools they requested.
It had been another world, but one Brandon eased back into. A world where a man was expected to know how a motor worked and how to fix it if necessary.
The battery in the Power Wagon was long dead so he borrowed the battery from his minivan and installed it. The air compressor in the shed sounded like an unmuffled jet engine, but it sufficed to inflate the tires. He filled the Dodge’s gas tank from a five-gallon can he found in the corner. Then, recalling a technique the ranch hands had used on especially cold mornings, he took the air filter off the motor and primed the carburetor with a splash of fuel.
Like they were for all ranch vehicles, the keys had been left in the ignition. He opened the choke to full and turned the key and was astonished that the truck roared to life.
The Power Wagon reminded Brandon of a grizzly bear that had emerged from its den. It shook and moaned and seemed to stretch. The shed filled with acrid blue smoke. Pingston had been right when he’d inferred that the old truck was indestructible.
When Brandon eased it out through the doors, he saw Marissa standing open-mouthed on the front porch.
It was a rough ride and Brandon couldn’t goose it past thirty-five miles an hour. Blooms of black smoke emerged from the tailpipe. The heater blew dust on their legs when he turned it on. The cab was so high that the ground outside seemed too far down. He felt like a child behind the massive steering wheel.
He’d forgotten what it was like to drive a vehicle without power steering or power brakes. He didn’t so much drive it as point it down the road and hold on tight to the steering wheel so the vibration wouldn’t shake his teeth loose.
On the way into Big Piney, he glanced over at Marissa, who was holding the box of mice in her lap.
“When did you go into the shed?” he asked. He had to raise his voice over the sound of the motor to be heard.
“Yesterday, after I found the nest of mice.”
“How did you get in? The doors were locked.”
“The side door wasn’t locked. The one with all the weeds? That was open and I went right in.”
He nodded and thought about it.
She said, “Are you accusing me of something, Brandon? Your tone is mean.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching over and patting her thigh. “I’m just confused. There are three dead people back there and my head hurts.”
“It was Wade,” Marissa said. “Peggy told me after the three of you left. Wade was behind it all.”
“I get that. But what were they after?”