Chapter 1 - rewrite - Endings

Agitated, Theresa cradled the infant in her arms as she strode for the car. The night was dark and damp; a dampness that follows one around like an unwelcome street urchin. It was present as it was every summer topping eighty five to ninety percent humidity more often than anyone bothered to track. But there was something else in this evening besides the damp. Fear and loathing permeated the mugginess, rode with it, pressed upon the chest to make each breath labored. It was born in the rustle of the birch and oak trees that lined the roadway. Even the crickets were this night were silent.

With jittery fingers Theresa grasped the steering wheel and backed out of the parking space. The lights from the Petro-Chem windows glowed yellow and forlorne. The meeting had not gone well, and from her perspective had been pointless, with George Pembrook alternately stonewalling then bullying everyone. Benton, cowed more than usuall, asked her to take Billie, thier infant, back to the hotel and pack up what things she could for leaving town. Angered at his continued reticience in following along with that blowhard Pembrook, Theresa mused that she was finally getting her way; and yet it was still wrong.

Passing the front gate with its empty guard shack and pulling onto Happy Valley Road, she tried to think of what she could possibly throw into the car and leave town with. Passing the sign in front of the driveway to the plant that read, "Welcome to Happy Valley" Theresa blanched and shook her head.

"What moron named this damned place!"

The frenetic activity in the plant that night didn't belie the danger that was present in the air. Angered words and flared tempers covering the serious to the petty had been flung about in the citizens meeting. That meeting had just broken up but the rancor reached a fevered pitch so that even Benton seemed to stir occasionally from his funk to shoot a worried glance at her. Yet in the end, it was all the same as it had been the last several years. His one act of self reliance earlier that day had not been a harbinger of real change, but nothing Benton did ever satisfied her.

The road curved away from the valley and into a copse of trees lining both sides of Muleshoe creek and shading the bridge that crossed it. In the daylight, on a day other than today, a Rockwellesque portrait of back country fishing creek with shaded lane where half clad little boys played hookey and other gambols could be envisoined. This night they were dark and the shade boded evil intent; absent was the quaintness and good feeling one gets from a countryside bounded from horizon to horizon by planted feilds of wheat kernels on the stalk.

Theresa pressed the accelerator to escape the darkend lane and bridge as soon as she could. It was irrational that the peaceful copse should be anything but what it was. But something wasn't normal. What was normally moonscaped and blue hued in her review mirror was darkened by storm clouds as if the weather sensed what was in the air and attempted to hide it.

Billie lay fussing in her blanket bundle in the backseat.

"Shhh, momma's here, shhh we're going on a little trip," but even Theresa did not buy it. It was no little trip and it was little comfort to both of them that they were racing for the hill to finally leave this place.

Cresting a hill the roadway way was suddenly lit with headlamps on both sides and two squad cars lay off the road with thier emergency lights flashing. There were several sets of double lamps that Theresa could count and her heart raced.

"What is going on? What are they doing?" Theresa said aloud.

Theresa slowed the car and squinted through the brightness of the lights. The glare masked everything in front of her so that the figures standing near and behind the lamps looked like mere shadows instead of people. Pulling to a stop she opened the her door.

"Billie, sweety, momma be back," Theresa croaked.

Stepping out of the car she peered into the brightness and discerned several men with rifles and others milling about behind the wall of lights.

"Mrs. Shields, git back into yer car and go back to the plant," a voice called out.

"Sheriff, what is going on? I'm going back to our home, let me pass!"

"Jes' do as I say, we've got more to say to you hill toppers there and will say it back at the plant."

"I don't know what you think you are doing, but I'm heading home and home is where I'm going."

"You'll do as I say, woman!"

"Don't you think you're taking this a little far, Sheriff?" Theresa trembled in a mixture of fear and anger at his demands. A multitude of forms appeared in and around the cars blocking the road. There were thirty that she could quickly size up and all was hushed save for the low murmering coming from the gathering.

"I'll do no such thing! Now let me by, Sheriff!"

"I's afraid we aint gonna do that, Mrs. Shields, you'll have to turn around and go back to th' plant."

"Damn you Sheriff, I'm going home if I have to plow right through you!" Theresa turned on her heels and strode back to the car. Slamming the door she sat a moment and gripped the steering wheel. The sudden jar set Billie to fright.

"Shhh, momma's here, momma's here. We're going home sweety, we're going home," Theresa repeated more for herself.

Theresa put the car in reverse and backed a little ways down the road before setting it into drive. Gunning the engine, she shot the car forward, the peel of tires on the asphalt declared her intent. Ahead was just the glare of the headlamps and the multitude of hidden faces behind. She'd either scare them out of the way or turn onto the side of the road to make her way around the blockage.

Angling the car to the left took her off the road and onto the shoulder. In those moments, just moments as far as her discernment followed in the quickly moving events, rifle shots punctuated the sounds of her getaway. A sharp tug on the wheel took her off the shoulder and into farmer Peterson's field knocking down his barbed wire fence. The jolt sent little Billie crying out in loud, breathy shrieks. The fields were ripe and the stalks where tall, almost at shoulder height, and she could see nothing but wheat. Something hard and immobile abruptly halted the car jolting her head into the steering wheel.

Theresa lay slumped over the wheel and Billie, jostled by the impact, squawled in the backseat. Theresa lifted her head and felt the world twist and turn from side to side. A cut above her eye trickled blood down her nose and she tasted its saltiness as it driped from her upper lip. She gripped the steering wheel and regained her presence of mind. Catching movement from the corner of her eye she turned to the drivers side window and saw a man in uniform. It was Ed Tate, Jr. and she looked at him numbly as he bent down and stared into her window. Realizing that she was not out of harms way she awoke to the danger. Her feet felt numb and heavy as she struggled to find the clutch, the engine was dead from the sudden stop. The act of putting foot to clutch and accelerator and turning the key to start the car all in a few seconds time was more than Theresa could manage.

The drivers side door opened as she had finally found the clutch and turned the ignition key. A hand gripped the back of her head slamming it into the steering wheel. Theresa collapsed once again onto the collumn.

A crowd of faces gathered around the car as if drawn by the curiosity of the woman slummped over in the front. Ed Tate, Jr. flung a torch into the front seat and then slammed the drivers side door shut. Little Billie suddenly stopped her crying, the flicker of the flames that quickly consumed the vynel bucket seats of the Impala danced upon the cieling of the car. Then rough hands reached for Billie and drew her out of the quickening inferno.