FROSTPROOF

Cody Larson was a big man, barrel-chested and full of prison-yard muscle and tattoos. We’d been traveling on the turnpike for several hours and were approaching the Appalachian Mountains when he told me to turn off at the next exit and head down a side road. He withdrew a small plastic bag stuffed with marijuana from his front pocket and displayed it in the neon glow of the dashboard lights. “I got this shit off a college chick in Seattle,” he said. “I figured we’d spark some here and then get back on the turnpike up the way.” He pulled out a sheet of crumpled aluminum foil, flattened it, rolled it into a tube, bent one end up, and molded it into a makeshift pipe. He dumped the marijuana into the bowl. “Just like old times, huh?” he said. I didn’t acknowledge him. I was still thinking about the way I’d left home. The teary, disappointed expression on Samantha’s face as I said goodbye and headed out. The lump in my gut that still remained. Cody flicked his lighter and held the flame steadily over the bowl as he inhaled. Vegetative matter crackled and popped under the concentrated heat. He chortled and white balls of smoke rolled from his nostrils. A pungent, burning-hay odor suffused the interior. He pushed the hot pipe into my hand. “Take it!” he urged, his voice tight from holding in the draw. He leaned his head back and blew out a stream of smoke that exploded against the ceiling and clouded the interior. He turned to me. “What are you waiting for?” he asked. “Take a hit, buddy.” Something about the way he said the word buddy caused a shiver to run down my spine. As if we really were still pals. As if all the sleazy bullshit that had caused our friendship to all but vanish years ago had, in a strange way, vanished itself over the passage of time. Coughing a bit, he added half-jokingly, “Don’t make me force you.” I raised the aluminum foil to my lips, glanced at him and his stony grin, and breathed through the pipe. At first, I didn’t even know if I was getting anything; the draw went down my throat smooth as ice cream. But then, fiery cinders hit the back of my tongue. I coughed through the mouthpiece causing tiny, flaming meteors to fly across the dashboard. I coughed uncontrollably, dropped the pipe, and lost my grip on the steering wheel. The car swerved, threw gravel along the embankment, and headed on a collision course for a pine grove. “Look out!” Cody shouted. I counter-turned, threw more gravel, fishtailed, and then got us back on the roadway. Cody snatched the pipe from between my feet and focused on igniting what still clung to the sides of the foil. The car’s interior came alive with revolving red and blue lights. “Oh, shit!” Panic ricocheted through my brain. “Cops!” A siren whirred and a police cruiser closed the distance between us. Cody lowered the pipe from his mouth; a sliver of smoke escaped his lips. “What should I do?” I said, adrenaline-jacked. “Pull over,” he replied simply. “What else.” “What about Jake’s arm? How are we going to explain that?” Cody smiled crookedly and the corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ll make certain they don’t find the arm.” He leaned down and pushed the pipe under the floor mat, then lit a cigarette and dragged. I braked, edged to the side of the road, and parked. The cruiser quickly took up residence behind us. After a moment, an officer opened his door and stepped out. He put a hand to his sidearm and started toward my door. His partner stayed in the cruiser. I rolled down the window as he approached. “Evening,” I said friendly-like, my stomach sick with worry. “Shut off the car!” the officer ordered. “License and registration!” I turned the key and the engine cut. A flashlight flicked on and the officer threw the beam into my eyes. I blinked at the sudden wash of illumination. The beam swung to the bits of scorched marijuana on the dashboard, to a drift of smoke hanging diagonally across the interior, and then into Cody’s eyes. He squinted. “Had quite a swerve back there,” the officer said. “Anything you gentlemen would like to say before we proceed further?” He flung the light back into my eyes. “I’m assuming you’ll give me permission to search the car? It’ll make it easier on you both.” My heart chugged and I was almost certain the policeman could see it beating in the veins of my neck. I looked at Cody. He kept his face forward and his gaze ahead, drawing on his cigarette as if he were breathing through it; seemingly lost in his own world. “You can’t search the car,” he said. Another police cruiser pulled up with lights flashing. The officer beside my window signaled with a cautious wave. Two more officers opened their doors and got out. The officer beside my window stepped back, unholstered his weapon, and leveled it. My bladder suddenly felt very full. He signaled the two other officers to take up positions behind my Sentra. They came around the back bumper. One leveled his gun while the other jotted down my license plate number. “Both of you step out of the car!” the officer beside my window ordered. “Extinguish that cigarette and keep your hands where I can see them! Permission or no, I’ve got probable cause!” Cody and I remained in our seats. My mouth went cotton-dry and my lips stuck together briefly as I opened them. “What do we do?” I whispered. The other officer stepped menacingly toward Cody’s window. “You boys deaf?” the officer said. “Exit the vehicle!” I shifted in my seat and forced myself not to freak out. Cody clenched and unclenched his right hand. His face, silhouetted in the headlamps from the police cruiser, was dry except for a single drop of sweat that had rolled down between his eyes and now hung from the tip of his nose like a wart. “Okay,” Cody said, in a tone of finality; the corner of his mouth twitched. “I’m comin’.” I watched as he unhooked the keys from the ignition, opened the passenger’s side door, and swiveled to step out. “Get against the trunk!” the officer stated. “Hands where I can see them!” Cody doddered around to the back and stood facing the car. Fear coursed through me as I moved to open my door. “You,” the officer said to me. “Throw the keys and get out!” “I’ve got the keys,” Cody said, and jingled them. “Against the car!” an officer hollered at him. “Throw the keys and get against the car!” “Whoops,” Cody trilled. He dropped the set. The officer closest to him looked down. In that brief instant, Cody launched himself into the man and pummeled him to the ground. They wrestled fiercely. The other officers lunged to help. “Get his hands!” One of them shouted. “Oh Jesus, he’s got my— ” Bam! I jumped in the seat as blood spattered against the back window. The injured officer staggered up momentarily. There was a hole in his forehead where his right eye had blown out. Blood streamed down his face. He took a step and then crumpled to the asphalt. Bam! Bam! Bam! The officers fired. A bullet pierced the car door and whizzed inches from my side into the dashboard. Another shattered the rearview mirror. Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! “Die! Die! Die!” Cody shouted, over the sound of repeated gunshots. “Die!” “Officers down! Officers down!” the policeman in the patrol cruiser screamed into his radio’s microphone. Cody stormed toward the car and aimed his pistol. The officer fumbled for something and then raised his hands protectively and tried to duck. Bam! Bam! Two quarter-sized holes punctured the windshield. The officer slumped forward. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Feeling drained from my body. My cheeks went cold. I sat frozen in a complete state of shock, mesmerized with horror and disbelief, hands glued to the steering wheel, too numb to speak, too appalled to move. An injured officer crawled toward the far cruiser. It was a sick movement, like a possum attempting to drag itself to the side of the road after being squashed by a tire. Blood poured from his side and colored his uniform with a spreading, crimson hue. Cody advance