No Man's Land by G. M. Ford Read Free Book Online Page B

if on cue, an
area a mile in front of the helicopter lit up like a college football
game. From two thousand feet above the desert floor, the banks of
lights surrounding the prison yard formed a blazing bracelet of light
surrounding the unadorned buildings, lighting the rolls of razor wire
spiraling atop the chain-link fences like No Man’s Land curls of
steel smoke . . . making it possible to see the tiny figure in the
blue shirt, walking a crooked line out onto the concrete.
    “They’re gonna shoot another one,” the pilot announced.
    “Just like on the TV this morning. Goddamn.”
    “Put it down in the yard,” Corso said.
    “What?”
    “Put it down in the yard.”
    Arnie made a rude noise with his lips. “You gotta be crazy.”
    “In between the guard and the building.”
    The guy waved him off. “No friggin’ way. Maybe you got suicide
in mind, buddy, but I got me a wife and three boys I plan on seein’
again.” He cut the air with his rigid hand. “I done my tour in
’Nam. That’s the last chance anybody’s ever gonna get to shoot
up my ass.”
    “Put her down just long enough for me to hop out. Maybe we can
save a life here.”
    Arnie rocked his head back and forth. “Ain’t gonna happen.”
    “That’s somebody’s boy down there, Arnie. Just as easily
could be one of yours.” Arnie kept shaking his head. Corso kept
talking. “That was your boy . . . what would you want us to do?
Just sort of fly around up here until he was dead? That what you’d
be expecting of us?”
    “Aw, don’t start that shit with me,” Arnie whined. “You’re
startin’ to sound like my old woman with all that guilt trip crap
you’re throwing around.”
    Corso kept his eyes on the ground, watching as the blue-clad
figure walked slowly across the pavement, then stopped. “Come on,
Arnie. Hurry up. Set this damn thing on the ground.”
    “You’re one crazy bastard, you know that?” Corso made a
resigned face and nodded, but Arnie kept talking anyway. “First
some lunatic says he’s gonna keep shooting people until you show
your ass up at the worst goddamn prison in the country and you just
haul off and agree to come on down, then . . .” Arnie sputtered a
bit. “. . . and then you want me to put us down directly in the
line of fire.” He waved his free hand Corso’s way. “You’re
one sick puppy. You know that? One goddamned sick puppy.”
    “You wouldn’t be the first to think so, Arnie,” Corso
allowed. Arnie looked his way. “What?” Corso raised an eyebrow.
“You want to live forever? I thought only women wanted to live
forever.”
    Other than the slapping of the rotors, the cockpit was silent.
Corso had to smile. The question of his apparent lack of concern for
his own safety had been a major bone of contention in his
relationship with Meg Dougherty and had, in a roundabout way, been at
least partially responsible for her decision to end their often
tumultuous affair. In the months since her departure, he’d had
occasion to consider the possibility that she might have been correct
in her assessment.
    What he’d concluded was that he had as much regard for survival
as anybody else. It was just that there were a number of other
factors which, in his mind, held equal sway. He wanted to endure,
just like everybody else, but it had to be on his own terms . . .
something he could live with when the smoke cleared.
    “Aw goddammit,” Arnie shouted above the noise. The helicopter
started down with a lurch, spinning slowly as it descended, swooping
low over a vast strung-out collection of television trucks, lifting
every loose piece of dust and gravel from every nook and cranny as it
made its way to the center of the prison yard, where Arnie swung the
tail back toward the prison, offering as little target as possible to
the shooters.
    “Pop that belt, buddy,” Arnie yelled as they approached the
ground. “I want your ass out of here in a heartbeat.”
    Corso popped the harness and grabbed the door