The Woodsman (The Jackson Clay & Bear Beauchamp Series Book 1)

by B. C. Lienesch

  “Maybe,” Jackson replied, “Either way, we bothered them enough that they wanted to know what we were up to. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re out right now still looking for us after we lost them last night.”

  He thought about how aggressively the Lokos had pursued them after just a couple of encounters. Whatever was going on, they didn’t want prying eyes around. It made him wonder what they had to hide. Then a thought struck Jackson.

  “How many Lokos are there in all,” Jackson asked.

  “I don’t know,” Bear answered, “100? 150?”

  “Over 100 and the same three knuckleheads ended up tailing us,” Jackson said, “Do they have guys specifically tasked with doing security stuff?”

  “Not sure. Why do you ask?”

  “Maybe we don’t need to get all 100-150 out of our way to have a look around. If there’s a handful tasked to security, maybe we can thin them out.”

  “And how do you suppose we do that?”

  “They’re looking to go after us. Let’s give them something to go after.”

  Jackson sat forward and booted up his laptop. He brought up Google Maps and searched the area where the Lokos had their compound in the woods. Only about half of the buildings Jackson remembered seeing could be seen on the satellite imagery. The rest were obscured by the trees overhead.

  “How many times have you gone out there looking at their place,” Jackson asked.

  “Maybe a half dozen or so,” Bear answered.

  “Could you draw me a layout of their set up,” Jackson asked.

  Bear nodded and disappeared down the hall, returning with a piece of paper.

  “There’s one entrance in and out near as I can tell,” Bear explained, “It intersects with the mountain road. You know, what we drove in on. I know that because I’ve seen guys sit out front with their guns like they’re guarding the place.”

  Bear scribbled on the paper, illustrating the foliage that blocked views of the place from the mountain road. Behind it, he began to draw a series of squares and rectangles.

  “From what I’ve seen above,” Bear continued, “there’s a bunch of smaller buildings up front, near the entrance. Then you have the old abandoned mill in the middle of that opening here. And there are more small buildings that go around it sort of in the shape of a horseshoe.”

  Jackson noticed the buildings Bear diagrammed didn’t go all the way around to the other side of the mill, opposite the entrance to the place.

  “What about back here,” Jackson asked, pointing to the empty spot on the diagram, “What’s back here?”

  “Not a whole lot,” Bear answered, “I think they use it for target practice mostly. Shooting off into the woods. There’s not much more than some random stuff stored back there.”

  “So that’s where I’ll set up. It’s the least likely place people will be to begin with, and we’ll see how much emptier you can make it when you give them something to go after.”

  Bear looked at him quizzically.

  “And how exactly am I going to do that,” he asked.

  Jackson stood up from the couch and looked out the window at where they had covered up Bear’s red Suburban, the silver bowtie emblem catching the sun as the end of one of the tarps flapped in the breeze. He turned to Bear.

  “We didn’t want them to make your Suburban,” Jackson said, “Well, now, let’s make sure they do.”

  57

  Six hours later Jackson was lying prone on the forest floor northeast of the Lokos compound. He was a few yards from the tree line that broke into the clearing where the mill was located with a good view of the back half of the place. More importantly, though, nobody could see him.

  Bear had insisted Jackson use a ghillie suit — camouflage clothing that would have its wearer resemble a walking piece of vegetation — he had, but Jackson convinced him it wouldn’t be helpful if he had to have a look inside the buildings. It would be too bulky and cumbersome in close quarters. Bear wouldn’t compromise on Jackson wearing a bullet resistant vest, though, and Jackson slipped one on over his RealTree hunting jacket.

  Now Jackson lay on his belly, the earth scooped around him for better concealment, and watched one of the Lokos leaning against the backside of the mill, smoking a cigarette.

  “You still hear me good, buddy,” Bear’s garbled voice blasted into Jackson’s earpiece.

  Bear didn’t know how good cellular service was near Lokoville – he’d seen guys use cell phones around the compound but wasn’t sure about the surrounding woods – and had suggested they use a couple of radios he had for hunting. Jackson attached an earpiece to his radio to limit the noise.

  “Yeah, I’ve still got you,” Jackson answered.

  “I’m looking at a big, black sky behind you,” Bear said, “Looks like a storm might be rolling in. Don’t know if that changes how you want to do this.”

  “Rain or no rain, I need to get in there,” Jackson replied.

  He began crawling on his stomach, approaching the tree line. The guy leaning against the back of the mill had finished off his cigarette and lit another one. Jackson started to slowly raise himself into a crouch when the door on the backside of the mill flew open as if someone had kicked it. The sound startled the man leaning against the wall, who straightened up as two other men trotted down the stairs from the backdoor.

  Jackson put his binoculars to his eyes to get a better look.

  “Son of a bitch,” Jackson muttered to himself.

  The two men were Solomon and Silas Ash. Jackson recognized them from the photos in the packet Detective Bailey had given him. The two brothers were in a heated argument with one another, though Jackson couldn’t make out what it was about.

  “Bear, I’ve got Silas and Solomon Ash on the back side of the mill here,” Jackson said quietly into his radio.

  “Ash,” Bear replied, “That’s their last name?”

  “These days it is,” Jackson answered.

  “So, these guys aren’t Lokos so much as they are Ash-holes.”

  A staticky laugh prodded at Jackson’s ear drum.

  “Bear, focus,” Jackson said, “They’re back here arguing about something.”

  “Okay, so what do you want me to do,” Bear asked.

  “I think it’s time you greet the neighbors,” Jackson replied.

  Three quarters of a mile away on the other side of The New City of David, Bear sat in his Suburban on the mountain road. He held his radio up to his ear as Jackson’s message transmitted. A boyish grin stretched across his face. He put the SUV in gear and rolled forward.

  58

  Bear moved slowly down the road in his Suburban, the downward slope propelling him forward more than the V8 engine itself. He rounded a bend, navigating the towering oak trees on either side of him and came into the clearing in front of the Lokos’ compound. Just as he’d seen the half dozen times he’d driven past before, two men watched the road leading in.

  They were just in front of the thick brush that sheltered Lokoville like a wall. One of the men sat on an ATV, the other leaning against a stubby black willow tree. Bear hit the brakes hard to grab their attention. The suburban skidded on the gravel, its front fender kissing the grade road as the SUV’s generous suspension gave under the weight of the large vehicle and the man driving it. The Loko on the ATV hopped off and stared out at Bear, gripping his hunting rifle with both hands. The one leaning against the tree flicked out a cigarette and followed suit.

  “Alright, looks like they see me,” Bear said into the radio.

  “What are they doing,” Jackson asked.

  “Looking at me,” Bear answered, “I think they’re talking to each other.”

  The two men turned to one another, their conversation becoming more and more animated until the one that had been on the ATV pulled out a radio twice the size of the ones Bear and Jackson were using.

  “One of them is talking to someone on a radio now,” Bear said.

  “Yeah, the goon next t
o Solomon and Silas over here just approached them holding a radio,” Jackson said. “They seem to be talking about whatever was said.”

  Bear stared at the two men, anticipating some sort of move towards him. The two Lokos stared back, waiting for an order to do just that.

  “Hold on, Silas just took the radio from the guy over here,” Jackson said, “He’s talking to someone.”

  Just as Jackson said that, the man out front put his radio to his ear. He said something back into it before hopping on the ATV and firing it up.

  “They’re coming,” Bear said.

  “Let’s go,” Jackson replied.

  “Roger,” Bear said.

  The ATV veered off the drive and took a direct line at Bear in his suburban, tearing through tall grass as it went. The other Loko began walking towards him. Bear hit the gas, all 200 horses of the Suburban’s modified V8 engine coming to life at once. Just as the fender had dipped when he stopped, it now bucked in the air as the truck kicked forward. The man on the road put his gun to his shoulder and aimed down the sight. Bear leaned right and ducked behind the dashboard as a round came flying through the windshield.

  “Jesus H Christ,” Bear yelled over the sound of shattering glass.

  He popped back up just in time to see the man who’d shot at him dive out of the way of his Suburban. The ATV flew out of the tall grass, picking up the grade road behind Bear’s Suburban, pursuing the red SUV. As Bear headed into the woods on the other side of the clearing, he looked back just in time to see another car roar out of the compound and take up position behind the ATV.

  “I’ve got two on me,” Bear radioed to Jackson, “An ATV and what looks like a Jeep SUV.”

  “Copy that. You’ve stirred the hornet’s nest in here,” Jackson replied, “You know what to do. Head for Harrisonburg, if you don’t shake them by the time you’re close, make the call we talked about.”

  “Got it,” Bear said, “Good luck, brother.”

  Bear bobbed and weaved the truck around blind turns as the road wound its way up the mountain on the northside of the valley. Fishtailing around the switchbacks on the road, the Suburban kicked up clouds of dust so thick the Loko on the ATV had to put his head down to power through it. Seeing that, Bear had an idea.

  As the road turned through a switchback and broke out onto a level plane, Bear powered the SUV around the turn. Keeping his foot on the gas, the Suburban kicked up a wall of dirt and dust until it regained traction down the straight stretch. That’s when Bear hit the brakes and skidded to a stop, kicking up even more dirt. He waited. A second later the ATV came flying out of the cloud. The Loko driving it didn’t see the Suburban until it was too late.

  The ATV slammed into the back of Bear’s truck, throwing the Loko riding it into his tailgate as he bounced off and hit the ground. Bear laughed menacingly as the Jeep swerved to avoid the mess. He hit the gas again, gaining distance between him and the last of his pursuers. The Jeep righted itself on the road and took off after him, leaving the downed ATV rider to fend for himself.

  As the dirt road emptied onto a rural highway, Bear hung a right, using the paved road as opportunity to open up what his truck’s engine could do. He hopped from highway to highway, zigzagging his way past Smith Mountain Lake as he headed north. Outside the small town of Buchanan, Bear picked up Interstate 81. From there, it was a straight shot to Harrisonburg.

  For the better part of 90 minutes, the Jeep stuck with Bear and his Suburban. Bear wasn’t particularly worried about losing them. If they were following him, they weren’t on Jackson. Plus, he had a plan.

  The sun had disappeared into the crevasse between the western mountains and the approaching storm. As the skies opened up, rain tattered Bear’s broken windshield, dripping through the bullet hole just below the rearview mirror. As his wipers swooshed the water away, his headlights lit up a sign next to the highway.

  HARRISONBURG NEXT 3 EXITS

  Bear made a phone call.

  “How’re ya doing,” Bear said, “I think Jackson Clay told you I might be calling. Him and I need that favor.”

  The voice on the other end said something back.

  “First exit for Route 11, you’ve got it,” Bear said, “See you then.”

  As he hung up, Bear saw the exit for Route 11 approaching. He swerved across two lanes of traffic to catch the exit ramp. The Jeep behind him followed, nearly hitting a Ford Focus in the middle lane.

  Bear merged on to Route 11 and stayed in the right lane. Up ahead, a silver car sat in the parking lot of a State Farm Insurance office facing the road. Bear flashed his headlights twice and sped up. By the time he passed the car, he was doing 10 mph over the speed limit and the Jeep behind him had followed suit. As it streaked past the silver car, the car pulled out into traffic and sped up to get right on the Jeep’s back fender. Bear watched in his rearview mirror as the silver sedan came to life in a disco of red and blue lights, signaling for the Jeep to pull over.

  Bear convulsed with laughter.

  “See you Ash-holes later,” he yelled to no one in particular.

  The police cruiser came to a stop behind the Jeep and focused its searchlight on the back window. The door opened and a figure got out, slowly approaching the Jeep. The man driving the Jeep rolled down the window. He waited as the figure, a woman in a navy pantsuit with a full head of curly hair, came to his door and lifted up the badge dangling around her neck.

  “Good evening,” said the officer, “Detective Angela Cole with the Harrisonburg Police Department. How are we doing this evening?”

  59

  Jackson watched as news of Bear stirred Lokos inside the compound into a frenzy. He could see Solomon Ash yell something at his brother, Silas, who in turn began yelling at a handful of armed men and women around him. Jackson couldn’t tell if Silas was admonishing them or giving them orders, but when he was done, the group fanned out, most of them heading away from Jackson.

  “I’ve got two on me,” Bear shouted into his radio, “An ATV and what looks like a Jeep SUV.”

  Jackson could barely hear him over the background noise. Bear must be in the thick of it now, he thought.

  “Copy that. You’ve stirred the hornet’s nest in here,” Jackson replied, “You know what to do. Head for Harrisonburg, if you don’t shake them by the time you’re close, make the call we talked about.”

  “Got it,” Bear said back in a garbled transmission, “Good luck, brother.”

  The distraction had certainly gotten people’s attention inside Lokoville, but Jackson wasn’t sure it had had the desired effect. The same lone man stood by the back door to the mill, and instead of lazily filling his lungs with poison, he was now alert and looking around.

  Jackson knew he couldn’t make it across the open field to the man before he’d alert others, and shooting him would draw attention as well. Instead, he rotated himself along the tree line in an arc until he was to the lookout’s side. Now, a small stack of oil drums and a parked tractor broke up the open ground into shorter stretches and Jackson could see around the side of the old lumber mill towards the front of the compound. No one else was coming. It was time to make his move.

  Staying low, he stepped out of the clearing and jogged hunched over to the oil barrels. The man at the back of the mill didn’t notice. Jackson looked to his right towards the clearing. A woman climbed onto an ATV and took off towards the front of the compound, disappearing from view. He was still good.

  From the barrels Jackson crawled on his belly using the large back wheels of the tractor to shield himself from the man. As he got to the tractor wheel, he slowly peeled himself up off the earth. Rising, he peeked over the top of the tractor. The man standing guard looked less alert than he had a minute ago. Boredom was already returning.

  Jackson shifted around to the front of the tractor and crouched down behind the tractor’s bucket. It was a thirty-foot gap of open ground to the side of the mill. He had no choice but to go for it. When the man looked the other way
, Jackson made his move. Breaking out into a run, Jackson crossed the gap in just a few seconds. The lookout was distracted by something the other way. He didn’t stand a chance.

  At full speed, Jackson hit him like a linebacker, driving a shoulder into the middle of his back as he grabbed the man’s legs from underneath him and planted him into the dirt. Shooting up onto one knee, he grabbed the man’s two wrists and put them behind his back. The man didn’t resist. He was too busy trying to catch the breath that Jackson had knocked out of him.

  Jackson reached into one of his cargo pockets and grabbed a pair of zip tie cuffs and restrained the man. Jackson looked down at him. The man was trying to look back at him out of the corner of his eye as he panted for oxygen.

  “Listen to me very carefully,” Jackson said in a low voice, “That door to the mill, is it locked?”

  The man shook his head, still sucking wind.

  “What about inside,” Jackson asked, “Is there anyone on the other side of the door?”

  Again, the man shook his head.

  “I don’t think I need to tell you lying would be very bad for you here,” Jackson said.

  “No. No one,” the man managed to say.

  “Good boy,” Jackson said.

  He tore off a piece of duct tape and put it around the man’s mouth.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” he said.

  Jackson climbed off the man and took the stairs up to the door two at a time. He drew his P320 as he stayed crouched and checked the door. It was, in fact, unlocked. Slowly, Jackson opened it, moving with the door and scanning the room, his gun drawn. The room was a small office. There was an old metal desk with an accompanying desk chair. On top of it, papers were strewn about. In the corner stood an empty coat tree and a shelving unit filled with tools. Aside from the dated furniture, though, the room was empty. The lookout had told the truth.

  Jackson hopped back down the stairs, grabbing the bound man, and dragged him up into the office, shutting the door behind them. He began to search the room for evidence of Sara Beth. The papers scattered on the desk seemed to be a mixture of receipts and manuals for hardware equipment, most likely the stuff on the shelves. Jackson was looking at these when he heard a loud bang come from somewhere deeper inside the building. He looked in the direction it had come. There was a second door to the office.