by H. L. Wegley
“We need to take care of our feet. They keep us alive. Let me know if it gets any worse.”
She nodded and put her shoe on.
“Twenty-three miles left to Happy Camp. You ready for this?”
She nodded. “Lead the way.”
They were off and running, again.
As the morning sun rose higher in the cloudless sky, the day grew hot. Too hot for a marathon. Steve’s shirt was wet enough to ring out the sweat.
He slowed to a stop as Julia fiddled with her blouse. She unbuttoned the lower buttons and tied it as high as possible above her waist.
They each took two swigs of water.
Despite their situation, it was impossible to ignore Julia's shapely body. Even with her sweaty hair, the perspiration making dust tracks down her cheeks, she was beautiful. But her ability to draw physical strength from a mysterious reservoir somewhere deep inside of her feminine exterior, was an even greater attraction.
Julia Weiss was a woman full of mysteries, and it seemed she had won the last bit of Steve Bancroft's heart. That was frightening, yet at the same time exhilarating. But what was she doing?
She wasn't running in a straight line and her stride was uneven, almost off-balance.
Steve pulled Julia to a stop. “Something's wrong. What is it?”
“I'm just a little tired. How far have we come?”
“About twelve miles.”
“Halfway?”
“Yeah. Now tell me how you feel. You're shaking. I can see that. What else?”
“I feel a little weaker than I should, dizzy, and my headache is making me nauseous.”
“It's low blood sugar. We can't have you vomiting. That would give us a real problem.” He looked down the road. They had been running a series of switchbacks for the past two miles. One more lay ahead before the road approached the creek lined with bushes and trees. “Can you make it to the next switchback?”
“I think so.”
“There's food ahead. Blackberries. They grow all over southern Oregon and Northern California.”
“How do you know that?”
“Survival training. And ripe blackberries are packed with sugar. They'll stop your symptoms and keep you going for a while, provided you get some fluids in you.”
After they rounded the switchback, Steve pulled her off the road toward the creek. The blackberry bushes were loaded with berries, ripened by the August sun.
A small flock of birds squawked their protest as he and Julia drove them away from their feast.
Steve pulled out the water bottles and studied Julia standing by the blackberry bushes.
She had already crammed her mouth full of berries. Purple juice ran down onto her chin.
“Stop gorging. It'll make you sick.”
She chomped on the berries deliberately squirting out more purple juice. “I'm not gorging, just replacing blood sugar.”
“You said you were nauseous. Did you know that overexertion, dehydration, and low blood sugar are all causes of vomiting?” He shoved her water bottle at her. “Here drink some water.”
She finished chewing the mouthful of berries, tilted her head back and took a swig of the water, then pointed up the mountain. “Look, Steve.”
Two figures ran down the road, several switchbacks above them.
Julia crouched behind the berry bushes. “How far away are they?”
Steve knelt beside her. “About two miles, unless they start taking shortcuts across the switchbacks.”
They had to outrun them, or outsmart them. Julia had nearly hit the wall a few minutes ago and the blackberries weren’t going to keep her going for twelve more miles. “Julia…”
She looked up at him hopeful and expectant, with trust in her eyes.
Steve's phone tickled his side. He pulled it out. “It's Jeff. Let's see what he has to say before we make any decisions. Eat some more berries, but don't gorge.”
She pulled more berries off the vines as Steve put the phone to his ear.
“Steve here.”
“Are you both okay?”
“Yeah. Were halfway to Happy Camp. Had some action on the mountain. I'll fill you in on the details later. We've got to go now. Two of Deke's crew are dogging us, about two miles up the mountain.”
“Wanted to let you know we’re moving again. We’re on old Highway 99, almost to Ashland. If no problems arise, we’ll reach Happy Camp in about three hours.”
“Listen, Jeff, if you don't see us before you get into Happy Camp, go through the village and up Grayback Road. We’ll flag you down when you get close. But keep in mind that if these two men see the van, they’ll have a description. Getting to Eastern Oregon alive could get a bit iffy. Gotta run now.” Steve ended the call.
If the men saw the van …
Steve must ensure that they couldn’t.
“Come on, Julia. Jeff and the others are about three hours out, so we've got some evading to do.”
Julia swallowed a mouthful of berries. “Can't we just outrun them?”
“Are you up to that?”
She smiled and purple juice ran out the corners of her mouth. “Sprinters are always good for another half marathon.”
“Really? I thought they just ran like crazy for about ten seconds then stopped.”
“Nah. I’m juiced now. Let’s go.”
He looked at the purple stains around her mouth, covering her lips. “That you are.”
Ten minutes later, Steve stopped behind a Madrone tree big enough to hide them and stop bullets. He waited for the two men to come into view. He pulled out his NOD, now on a daytime setting, and scanned the switchbacks on the lower part of the mountain.
In a few seconds, they appeared on the last switchback by the creek. Only a mile and a half away, now. By their dirty uniforms, they appeared to be a captain and a sergeant.
Steve looked at Julia who stared up at him from where she sat at the base of the tree. “We need to hide here and ambush them.”
Julia's face morphed from wide-eyed shock to mortal pain. “You can't just murder them.”
“It's not murder. They're trying to kill us, Julia. This is self-defense.”
She didn’t reply.
For the past five minutes, Julia had sat with her arms folded, silent. At least she would be safe behind the big tree when the shooting started.
Up the road, the sounds of footsteps crunching in the dusty gravel on the shoulder of the road grew louder.
Steve knelt in firing position and aimed his gun.
He glanced her way.
Julia covered her face and tears ran through her fingers.
He tried to ignore her words of protest, her crying. He should've been able to ignore it all and do his job. But could he?
Two men stepped into view on the road.
Steve aimed at the sergeant’s chest, then slowly, almost involuntarily, the gun barrel lowered. The gun cracked in rapid-fire as he shot a short burst, swinging his aim across the man's legs.
The sergeant went down hard. He'd never fight again without a new set of knees.
Deke dove for the ditch.
Steve sprayed bullets, but they only kicked up dirt on the bank above Deke's head.
Steve studied the ditch, barely deep enough to hide a man. He watched for a couple of minutes. Still no Deke.
Fifty yards up the road a quick movement caught his eye.
Steve turned and fired, but Deke had made it into the trees.
“We've got to go, now, Julia!” He pulled her to her feet, then shot a long burst into the trees where Deke had disappeared, heading up the mountain away from their position.
If he got Julia around the next bend in the road, they could probably outrun a cautious Captain Deke. And the terrain plus the vegetation would give Deke no shots at them if they maintained their lead.
Alone, without his chopper, it was hard to guess what Deke might do. If he had some kind of support left in the Cave Junction area, he would probably return and Steve and Julia would be sa
fe. But Steve couldn’t count on that.
He pulled Julia into a run, which she seemed to welcome, and she kept his hand as they ran. What did that mean?
Five minutes later, Julia squeezed his hand. “Steve …” Her words came chopped apart by heavy breaths. “What about the … wounded man? I know … you didn't kill him… because…”
“Yeah… because…”
A single sharp crack sounded in the distance behind them. “I didn't kill him, but Deke just did.”
No reply from Julia. She kept his hand in hers and simply ran, staring down the road ahead of them.
What was she thinking? Did it even matter with this seemingly unbridgeable chasm between them? Steve shut off the troubling questions and ran down the dusty road.
Soon pulsations came through his hand and ran up his arm. He glanced at Julia. Her eyes were wide, glassy looking, like she was facing death. She ran with an uneven gait, limping on her right leg.
Steve scanned her bare leg down to her cross trainers. Blood painted an ankle red and the back of her right shoe wasn't a dusty white anymore. It was dark red.
He pulled her off the road toward the creek and hid behind some bushes. “Why didn't you say something, Julia? I could've—”
“No, Steve. We had to run. I could've gotten you killed if we'd stopped.”
She might still get them killed by dissuading him from shooting Deke, but this wasn't the time for that discussion.
Steve pulled off her shoe and winced as he saw the slab of skin missing from her heel. He'd seen men try to run with lesser injuries to their feet. They had all failed. Somehow, Julia drew on an inner strength that still puzzled him.
He had a small medical bag in his pack, but this foot would take too long to doctor and she still wouldn't be able to run on it.
He dropped her bloody shoe in her hands, scooped up Julia and stood.
“No, Steve. Please don't carry me. I can—”
“This is the best way to beat Deke.” Steve checked the road above them, then ran toward Happy Camp.
When he picked up the pace to a sprint, Julia laid her head on his shoulder and cried softly.
What was going through that head of hers? What was going through that soft head of his? If he had done his job, they wouldn't be running now and Julia's heel wouldn't look like freshly ground hamburger.
Steve's arms ached, now. His blood sugar had long since bottomed. Julia had nearly slipped from his hot sweaty arms several times, but Happy Camp finally came into view.
He picked a sheltered spot along the road, a place with a view up the road in case Deke wandered in. They would wait here for the van.
It might be a long, lonely wait, as Julia hadn't spoken a word since he scooped her up and began the final run. She seemed to be deep in thought where he’d set her down in the grass by a Maple tree.
A good sign, or a bad one? He'd wait for her to tell him. Right now, he needed hydration or his body would rebel against the abuse he’d given it over the past two hours. Steve guzzled water as fast as his stomach could tolerate it.
A silent two hours later, a white van rolled through the village toward their hiding place. Steve recognized Jeff in the driver’s seat.
When the van approached, Steve flagged it down and climbed in behind Julia.
Benjamin's smiling face surprised him. He’d had no confirmation that Benjamin was still alive after Jeff’s house was nuked.
He and Julia took the empty seat in front of Brock and KC in the back row.
Benjamin cocked his head. “Steve, you look like you saw a ghost? “
“I thought you might be one.”
“That's not theologically correct.” Brock's voice came from the back seat.
Steve shook his head. “But you get the drift. So, what happened when they blew Jeff's house all to blazes?”
Benjamin grinned. “I had made it to the trap door when the overpressure hit. It blew me out the door, but I landed on my feet, running full speed, and I didn't stop until I reached the church.”
“We all got away, somehow,” Jeff said. “But, right now, we need to park before we reach I-5. It's nearly three o'clock. We can leave about ten o'clock this evening, after dark.”
“Let's drive a few miles toward I-5 and then hide his van for a while,” Brock said. “It looks like a couple of us need some rest.”
Steve looked at Jeff in the driver’s seat. “How safe are we in the van?”
“Darkness will eliminate satellite detection,” Brock said. “But this is a pink area. There are a few Hannan supporters, so we have to evade the police. If they get a description of the van … we're toast.”
Jeff nodded as he drove away. “Yeah, bro. Even taking the back roads to Eastern Oregon doesn't eliminate all the risk. We still have a few miles to go on I-5 and an hour or so along Highway 97 before we head into the back country.”
Steve reached for Julia's ankle, spun her around in the seat, placing her ankle in his lap.
She didn’t say anything. Wouldn’t meet his searching gaze.
He started cleaning and dressing her heel. “One chopper could take us all out, giving Hannan a huge victory to crow about. He’d get some more supporters if he pulled that off.”
Julia still remained quiet staring at the floorboard while he dressed her ankle.
Brock snorted his disgust. “If that happens and the red states start caving, it's curtains for the USA.”
Allie sighed. “Then we need to pray that we make it back to Central Oregon tonight, safely.”
Julia's tears started flowing again. She met Steve’s gaze, as he finished dressing her wound, and mouthed the words, “I'm so sorry.”
Steve was sorry, too. Sorry he’d let Julia influence him. Sorry he hadn't killed Deke, who now could help Hannan locate them.
Despite his sorry state, her words warmed his heart. But a lot of relational damage had been done in the last three hours. Knowing that and the danger that lay ahead of them, though he was dog tired, he’d probably miss another night of sleep.
Chapter 19
Surely Captain Deke, with his remaining men and a Stealth Hawk, could find seven people running around on the ground, trying to hide. So why hadn’t Deke reported in?
In the past, it had been because of bad news. Whatever the news was, Hannan wanted it now. He hit Deke’s secure phone number and waited.
“Captain Deke here, Mr. President.”
Hannan listened. No background noise. Even the Stealth Hawk would make enough to hear over the phone. “Where are you, Deke?”
“Sir, I’m about thirty miles south of our original target.”
“I don’t hear the chopper. Don’t tell me you ran over those mountains.”
“As a matter of fact, I did, sir. At least most of the way.”
“So you ran after Daniels?”
“Uh … no, sir. It turned out to be the Ranger and the Weiss girl.”
“Where in the blazes are Daniels and Banning?”
“They … uh … got away.”
“Didn’t you send the chopper after them?”
“We thought they went into the mountains. We attacked their position this morning, only to find we’d been lured away by that Ranger.”
“And a girl who just got over Ebola. Brilliant, Deke. Did you get them? Where’s the chopper? What’s the status of your team?”
Silence.
The churning in Hannan’s stomach was soon going to produce nausea, or something just as compelling, that would send him running for his private bathroom. “Give me your status, now, or I’ll rip those bars off your uniform myself.”
“I have information, sir.”
“I’ll take that later. Status. Now! You …” Hannan’s slurs spared no part of Deke’s family tree.
After Hannan ended his tirade, a sharp blast of air came through the phone from Deke’s end. “Sir, all of my men are dead. The Stealth Hawk was shot down and destro—”
“Deke! I can’t believe I actually tr
usted you to oversee my personal security in case of an attack. You can’t even protect yourself when you’re doing the attacking.” Hannan fought for control to get the last bit of useful information Deke might have. “Did you kill any of Daniels’ group?”
“Maybe one. We’re not sure.”
Hannan lowered his voice though he wanted to scream at the man. His tone would convey the message Deke needed to hear. “You’re fired.”
Deke would know what he meant. It was a death sentence, unless Deke was a man of many disguises.
“Mr. President, don’t you want to hear my full report?”
“Why? You accomplished nothing except to get twelve men killed and a 200-million-dollar, top-secret aircraft destroyed.”
“If you refuse to hear it, you’ll never know.”
Impertinence. Sarcasm. Hannan had heard enough from this incompetent commander of cowards. First Blanchard and now Deke. Hannan only needed a few good men. This president’s army was supposed to be full of such. Why couldn’t he find them?
What about all the men you riffed and forced out for their religious beliefs?
He refused to answer that question. Trained warfighters were trained warfighters.
But are they truly warriors?
He shoved the second question from his mind.
“Well?” Deke said.
He might as well hear this. “Okay, survivor, give me the good news.”
“I picked up their trail after the ambush and—”
“Ambush? You mean they ambushed you? I thought—”
“Mr. President, do you want my report or not?”
“Go ahead.”
“After they killed my weapons sergeant, I followed them to the edge of Happy Camp.”
“Is that all you have.”
‘No. They hid there for a couple of hours …”
Deke was obviously dragging this out. Probably his way of getting a measure of revenge for being fired.
Hannan waited.
Silence.
He’d never heard this level of disrespect from Deke. But getting fired can do that to a man with a big ego. “Alright, tell me the good news.”
“They got into a white Chevy van, about six or seven years old. The van turned around and headed east on Highway 96, toward I-5.”