Page 80 of The Burning

“He’s on foot.”

“Armed?”

“I don’t know.”

His eyes widen as he takes in my appearance, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he speaks into his radio, letting the dispatcher know that he’s arrived on scene. That the suspect is at large and possibly armed. And that an ambulance is needed.

“Get the sheriff’s department out here, too,” he tells her.

For several minutes, we walk the scene, our Maglites illuminating the ground, flicking occasionally to the woods on either side of the road.

“Looks like he may have come this way.”

I glance across the road to see Glock kneel, and I start toward him. Sure enough, midway between the Explorer and the woods, there’s a print of a man’s shoe in the snow.

“Nice impression,” I say.

“Plaster guy’s going to like it.”

We look at each other and, despite the fact that I’m still shaken, we smile.

“What the hell happened?” he asks.

I lay out an abbreviated version. “There’s no way I left the Explorer door unlocked.”

Holding my gaze, he pulls out his cell, puts it on speaker. “Mona?”

“’Sup, dude.”

“Cruise over to the Amish and Mennonite Heritage Center. Rope off the parking lot. No one in or out.”

“You got it.” A heavy pause and then, “The chief okay?”

“I’m fine,” I cut in.

“Glad to hear it, Chief. On my way over there now.”

Pomerene Hospital ER is quiet this evening. I’m a regular here, either for one of my officers who was injured on the job, for my own follies, or for some incident in which a citizen was hurt and I need to talk to them. I’m acquainted with most of the ER staff and have a friendly relationship with the staff and doctors. It’s those little things that bolster you when your shirt is covered in an alarming amount of blood, you’re good and shaken up and trying not to show it, and you have a professional image to uphold.

“Were you unconscious at any time during the incident, Chief Burkholder?”

I’m sitting on a gurney in a curtained area of the ER. The young medical practitioner is grilling me while pecking information into a handheld electronic device. I guess him to be just south of thirty, wearing his usual Peanuts scrubs, and not a facial wrinkle in sight.

“No,” I tell him.

He looks at me over the tops of his glasses as if to make sure I’m telling the truth. “Well, the X-rays are all good,” he says. “Looks like your nosebleed has stopped.” His eyes flick down to my neck. “You’ve sustained a new contusion there on your throat. Bruises on top of the bruises from last night. All of it’s going to bloom come morning.”

“I’ve been wanting to wear that new turtleneck I bought a couple weeks ago,” I say dryly.

Grinning, he shakes his head. “Tylenol this evening for pain, use an ice pack if you need it, and you’re good to go.”

I stick out my hand for a shake. “Thanks.”

As he prepares to walk out the door, he turns and points at me, his expression turning serious. “Nothing personal, but I don’t want to see you back here for a while.”

“I’ll do my best.”

And then he’s gone.