Blood Bought: Book Four in The Locker Nine Series

by Franklin Horton

  "Go ahead, Donnie. This is Robert."

  "Just wanted to give you a heads-up that there was a pickup went by here just a few minutes ago. I didn’t get a look at the people in the front, but there were two shady yahoos in the back with rifles. They looked like the dangerous sort, wearing those vests with all the shit hanging off them. They were headed in your direction. Thought you might like to know."

  "Thanks, Donnie. I’ll check into it right now. You be careful and stay low."

  Robert bolted from his seat and hurried through the house. He dug into the pile of gear laid out by the back door and began throwing on everything he thought he might need.

  “What is it?” Theresa asked.

  "Everyone needs to gear up. Donnie just saw a strange vehicle with armed passengers go by his place."

  Is this that congressman?" Teresa asked. “The guy you’ve been expecting?”

  "I don't know. Arm up and take Blake to the basement. Keep a radio on. We’ll let you know when it’s clear."

  He started out the door, then ran back to kiss Theresa. After a hasty kiss, she jumped into gear.

  “Blake!” she called. “Get some of your things and let’s go to the basement.”

  Robert thumbed the mic on his radio. “Sonyea, can you hear me?" Despite some trees separating their farms, there weren’t any hills and they found that the radios worked quite well.

  He was out the door and on the porch before she replied back.

  "What’s up, Robert?"

  "We just heard from Donnie down the road. He's got a suspicious truck headed our way.”

  “Do you need me up there?”

  “No. It could be a decoy so I’d rather have someone watching the back door. You guys stay alert. Keep those kids in the house and keep an eye on the road. Give us a shout if you see anything suspicious."

  “Done,” Sonyea said. “Stay safe.”

  Grace came running around the corner of the house. She'd been in the shop working on a project with Tom.

  "Did you hear any of that?" Robert asked.

  "I heard it. I need to get our gear and get in position."

  The plan they'd worked out for any threat other than a full-frontal assault was that Robert would stay close to the house in case anyone skirted around the observation posts. Tom would take a protected position at the base of the driveway that had been specially constructed with taller walls that allowed him to remain in his track chair. Brandon would take position in a sniper hide along the road. He had a favorite that gave him a long field of view and he’d ranged landmarks at various intervals and had all the data posted at the position, sealed in a plastic baggie. He was dialed in.

  Grace would take the observation post along the same road beyond Brandon’s position. It was the most distant outpost from the house and nearly halfway between their home and Donnie's. She would allow any threat to pass her by without engaging, simply reporting back to Brandon what she observed. If Brandon chose to engage them, she could clean up any stragglers who were retreating. It was simple in theory.

  Robert helped her gather the gear she needed and they loaded it into the ATV. He raced to the shop and she handed off Tom's gear to him. He would drive his wheelchair to his position since it was too heavy to transport in the ATV.

  “You need help with this?” she asked.

  Tom shook his head. “No, I can do it. You better get going. You’ve got the most ground to cover.” While she was handing him his gear, Tom opened his arms to her and locked her into a tight hug. "You be careful, girl."

  "You do the same."

  Grace jogged back to the running ATV and Robert cut her a sideways glance. "You get along with that guy."

  "That a question?" Grace asked, not interested in getting into this. Especially not now.

  "Not really."

  “Good,” Grace replied. “Love you, Dad.”

  “Love you too, Grace.”

  They raced down the gravel driveway, Robert slewing in a four-wheel drift around each switchback in the road. Grace latched onto the roll cage, holding on for dear life. At the bottom of the hill he skidded to a stop where a row of downed trees blocked the driveway and prevented vehicular access by this route. This was as far as he could go.

  “I’m starting to think the biggest threat around this place is your driving,” Grace called, climbing out and throwing on gear.

  "Just trying to buy you as much time as I can. Sorry you have to walk.”

  She shrugged but didn’t reply, dropping her plate carrier over her head and pulling her hair out of it.

  “You have everything?"

  She nodded. "Think so.”

  “Spotting scope?”

  “Yep.”

  Robert hugged her tight. "You be careful. If things get hairy, you know what to do."

  “Fight until that doesn’t work anymore. Then run.”

  “Roger that. Get going."

  Grace slung her rifle and took off running. She was still snapping buckles, tightening straps, and latching Velcro while she flew down the road.

  Robert raised his radio and thumbed the transmit button. "Brandon?"

  "Go for Brandon."

  “You hear the chatter?"

  "Affirmative. In position. Locked and loaded."

  "Grace is coming your way. Keep an eye out for her."

  "Roger that. She’ll be fine. She’s solid.”

  “Can you confirm when she passes your position?"

  "Affirmative."

  Robert sat down in the ATV, the radio propped in his hand, a million thoughts racing through his mind. The deep forest of his driveway was the epicenter of calm. Soothing light filtered down through the leaves. Birds sang. It was beautiful and a complete contrast to the concern that gripped his chest.

  He was a firm believer in being an armed citizen. He believed in being ready to fight off anything and everything, in being able to defend his family. The part he would never get used to was having to put the people he loved in harm’s way.

  “Robert.” It was Brandon on the radio.

  “Go for Robert.”

  “Grace just passed my position. She’s moved off the roadway now and is taking to the woods. She’s no longer exposed.”

  “That’s good,” Robert said. “Those guys have to be at the first barricade by now.”

  “I’m going to give her a few more minutes and I’ll make radio contact with her,” Brandon said. “You get in position. Tom will relay my transmissions if you can’t receive them at the house.”

  “Roger that. Be careful.”

  26

  “What the hell is this?” Bradshaw demanded, rolling to a stop in front of the log barricade.

  “Was there a storm?” Debbie asked.

  Bradshaw looked at her like she was an idiot. She wasn’t, but she was high, the pain pill she’d snorted earlier working its magic in her body.

  “No, there wasn’t any storm,” Bradshaw spat. “Don’t you think we would have noticed?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe it just happened here.”

  Bradshaw frowned at her and killed the engine. He threw open the door and climbed out. Cummings and Stevens hopped down from the bed of the truck and joined Bradshaw around front.

  Bradshaw threw a derisive thumb back toward the cab. “Princess in there thinks we got hit with a storm and it deposited these trees here.”

  The men turned simultaneously and looked back at Debbie. Suspecting they were talking about her, she threw a pair of middle fingers at them.

  “She’s useless,” Stevens said.

  “Yeah, this is a roadblock for certain,” Cummings said. “It’s a good one too.”

  “What’s so freaking good about it?” Bradshaw asked.

  Cummings gestured. “The trees weren’t completely cut. They were hinged so the ends are still connected to the stumps. Even though it looks like a thin connection you’d probably not be able to break it with a truck. You’d need a chainsaw. They also dropped tall trees that would fall
between other trees on the opposite side of the road. They’re kind of locked in.”

  “So what are you telling me?” Bradshaw asked.

  “That you couldn’t drag this out of the way,” Cummings replied. “It would have to be cut.”

  Bradshaw shook his head. “That’s no good. We don’t have a chainsaw with us. Even if we did it would take all damn day. Plus, there goes the element of surprise.”

  “Agreed,” Cummings replied.

  Bradshaw looked back toward the cab and curled a finger toward Debbie, gesturing at her to get out.

  She moved slowly, struggling for a moment with the door latch. When she got out, she strolled around the front of the truck, loose-limbed and defiant. “What?”

  Bradshaw hesitated, staring at her. He didn’t like the attitude. He didn’t like that they were so dependent on her, although right now he didn’t have much of a choice. “How far?” he demanded.

  “What?”

  “How far is the Hardwick home past this point?”

  She flung a loose arm in the air. “I’m no good with distances. Not far though. You could walk it.”

  “Can you walk it?” Bradshaw asked.

  “I guess.”

  He gestured at the other men. “Get your gear on. You’re climbing this shit and going in on foot. She’s going to take you.”

  “Wait a minute,” Debbie said. “Wait, wait, wait, wait. I said I could walk it. I didn’t say I wanted to. I sure as hell didn’t say I would.”

  Bradshaw drew his handgun and stuck it in Debbie’s face. The barrel was less than a foot away from her and aimed at the bridge of her nose. It was not a shot anyone would like to make—it would be messy—but he would not miss and she would not survive.

  “You’re walking it.”

  She took a deep breath and sighed. “I guess I am.”

  He nodded at the men. “Gear up.”

  They did as they were told, leaving Bradshaw and Debbie alone at the front of the truck. They were locked eye-to-eye, his angry eyes against her fiery, half-lidded ones.

  “The congressman isn’t here to protect you. Muncie isn’t here to protect you. I got no skin in your game. Doesn’t matter to me if you make it back to camp or not. Give me one reason not to trust you, one reason to pull the trigger, and I’ll do it. Are we clear?”

  “Clear you’re an asshole,” she mumbled.

  Bradshaw shook his head. “You’re one dumb hillbilly. I got a gun pointed to your head and you can’t keep that mouth shut, can you?”

  “I ain’t scared of you.”

  “You should be.”

  “Why? ‘Cause you got a gun? You ever used it?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She leaned closer to him. “I caved my own mama’s head in with an ax. If you want to get in a pissing contest about who’s the baddest bitch, you go right ahead. I already know, and it ain’t you. It’s me.”

  Bradshaw waited for this inner lie detector to ding, indicating the girl was just slinging bull, but it never did. He’d either lost his mojo or she was telling the truth. Despite the heat of the day, he experienced a chill at the understanding that this woman was not lying. She’d probably done exactly what she said. She had killed her own mother.

  “Ready,” Cummings said, interrupting Bradshaw’s train of thought.

  The two men were wearing zippered tactical vests with body armor. They both carried handguns and rifles.

  “She’s going to take you to the house. If she gives you any trouble or threatens to compromise your mission, kill her and dump her in the weeds. Just do it quietly so the whole neighborhood doesn’t hear it.”

  “You’re not going?” Cummings asked.

  Bradshaw shook his head. “You don’t need me. Too big a group is more likely to draw attention. Besides, someone has to guard the truck. We don’t want to lose our ride home, do we?”

  Cummings gave him a sarcastic look but Bradshaw was the boss. What could he say?

  Debbie looked at the log pile. “So, how do we get over this thing?”

  “We climb,” Stevens said, slinging his rifle and attacking the obstacle.

  These trees were broad and bushy. Limbs jutted in all directions, creating a leafy maze that complicated navigation. Traversing the obstacle was an entirely individual matter, requiring each of them to assess their own abilities—strength, balance, and puzzle-solving. Further complicating things was the fact that the stack was made of several trees atop each other. It was tall and could possibly shift beneath them.

  “I’ll be lucky if I don’t slip and break a leg,” Cummings mumbled.

  “You do and I’ll have to shoot you,” Bradshaw said from the safety of the ground.

  “Hardy har har,” Cummings replied. “You’re quite the comedian.”

  Bradshaw laughed at his own joke and returned to the cab of the truck. He started the engine and turned on the air conditioner. Maybe it was in poor taste to do so in front of his struggling men but leadership had its privileges and he needed a break.

  27

  “Brandon,” Grace whispered into her headset.

  “Go for Brandon.”

  “I’ve got three visitors on the road. They’re approaching my position.” She was not scared but there was urgent efficiency in her voice.

  “Can you get an optic on them and tell me what you see?”

  Grace was in the process of training the spotting scope on them as he said those very words. “I’ve got two guys in tac vests. They’re loaded with spare mags and gear. They’ve both got rifles and... Oh my God!”

  “What is it?”

  “The woman with them is Debbie.”

  “Who’s Debbie?”

  “She’s Mrs. Brown’s daughter.”

  “The one who tried to take your house?”

  “That’s the one. She must be leading these guys there.”

  “Then these can’t be the congressman’s men, right? She wouldn’t have any connection with them,” Brandon reasoned.

  “You never know. These times make for odd bedfellows. Maybe they came together over a common enemy. Us. What’s the play?”

  “I spent a lot of time on sentry duty at Arthur’s. I got a good look at some of his men. If I recognize either of them, I’m taking them out. I’m not here to fight the same men twice. We end this like we should have back at the compound.”

  “They’re out of my sight now. You should have them in a couple of minutes. Be careful.”

  With the men out of sight, Grace repositioned herself to be ready for their retreat. If anyone got away from Brandon, it was her job to clean up.

  28

  Brandon was prone, positioned for an optimal view. His scope gave him a clear picture of the full width of the approach road. At the flip of a lever, he could quickly increase the power to put his round just where he wanted it. He settled his breathing and became part of the landscape. He didn’t swat at the gnats buzzing in his face, didn’t wipe the sweat rolling down his forehead. He just concentrated on the movement of his breath and the scene before his eyes.

  When the trio appeared on the road before him, Brandon spoke into his voice-activated microphone. “I’ve got eyes on our three.”

  “Do your recognize them?” Grace asked.

  “Give me a second,” Brandon said.

  He turned a lever on his scope that made it easier to adjust the zoom. Soon the optic was at full power and he could fill the scope with each person’s face and torso. He did recognize at least one of the men for certain. He’d seen the older man at the compound when they pretended to hang the congressman’s son. He was one of the men that climbed the fence and cut down the dummy, thinking they were doing a body retrieval. Brandon had an excellent view of that incident and had no doubt this was the same man.

  “I don’t have much time,” he said. “I recognize one of the men. These guys were definitely sent by the congressman and we all know why they’re here. They present a threat and I’m taking them. Grace?”
r />   “Roger,” she replied.

  “Tom?”

  “Roger,” he replied.

  “Robert?” Brandon asked.

  No reply.

  “He’s out of range,” Tom said. “I’ll relay. Take your shot.”

  While Tom was relaying the message, Brandon made one final adjustment to the scope. He rested the crosshairs on the bridge of Cummings’ nose. That was the man he recognized for certain. He released his breath. Before drawing it back in, he squeezed the trigger.

  The weapon was an M2010 Enhanced Sniper Rifle. The caliber was .300 WinMag. Before Cummings even heard the shot, the round punched a hole in his head. Brandon worked the bolt and swung the rifle a fraction to the right. Stevens looked confused, unable to lock in on where the suppressed shot originated from. Debbie recoiled in horror, stumbling backward, unable to take her eyes off what remained of Cummings.

  Stevens raised his rifle across his body, ready to return fire, but unable to determine where to send it. Then his head caught a round. His hat flew off as a shockwave rippled the flesh and the shape of his head changed. He crumpled to the ground, blood staining the road as if it had been sloshed from a bucket.

  Brandon worked the bolt, adjusted to acquire his last target and could not find her.

  “Grace!”

  “Go for Grace.”

  “The men are down but the woman disappeared on me. I didn’t see where she went.”

  “On it.”

  “Be careful, Grace,” Tom said.

  “Grace, I’m coming down to the road and sweeping in your direction. Watch for me,” Brandon said.

  “Roger that,” Grace replied. “Same here. Shoot the mean girl and not the nice one.”

  29

  Bradshaw’s crew was barely out of sight before his eyes closed and he was sleeping hard in the air conditioned truck. There had been too many late nights and too few opportunities to catch up on lost sleep, making this moment of peace and comfort irresistible.