by Nick Thacker
Twenty feet behind the crouched man. The edges of Ben’s vision dotted with stars.
Fifteen feet behind the sniper. His arm shook. Finger on the trigger.
Ten feet away, Ben lifted his right foot and set it down. He saw it a split second before it happened. A coil of metal, thin and shiny, sitting on the ground. His foot touched it, causing the metal to jiggle. It made a sharp, wobbling sound.
The sniper lifted his head and then turned.
Ben pulled the trigger. Or, he tried to pull the trigger, but nothing happened.
The safety. It was still on.
The sniper raised his rifle toward Ben. Out of the corner of his vision, Ben saw both Ember and Dalton look in his direction.
Ben dodged to the right as the sniper’s gun went off. A booming blast of a shot made Ben’s ears ring. No time to be distracted. Still on his feet, he lunged forward, directly for the sniper.
As Ben collided with him, he heard two quick gunshots from over by Ember and Dalton. But with the sniper’s body blocking the area, he couldn’t see anything.
Ben collided with the sniper, pushing him back. Ben heard a whisk of metal as the man let go of his rifle and drew a silvery blade from a holster on his belt. He raised it high. Ben threw up a forearm to block the knife as the man tried to slash downward. Ben knew the man had an advantage, being above him.
He pressed with tremendous force, trying to shove the blade into Ben’s neck. Ben’s forearm kept the blade at bay, inches above his collarbone. Both of them grunting. Pushing. Fighting, in a stalemate. With gravity working against him, Ben had to move. This guy was going to win the strength battle in another second or two.
Ben thought to shoot the man, but he couldn’t feel the gun in his hand any longer. He must have dropped it when he’d lunged.
But he still had a free hand.
Ben grabbed the sniper by the shirt and shoved with everything he had in him. He drove the man back, making him stumble and lose control of the knife. They collapsed backward, and the man smacked the back of his head into the concrete barrier he’d used as cover.
His eyes closed. He stilled. A spot of blood on the concrete.
Panting, bug-eyed, Ben hunted around in the nearby rubble for the pistol. He could feel wetness on the side of his neck. The blade had kissed him there, leaving a trickle of blood.
Ben found the gun and pointed it at the man, arms out, locked. But it didn't matter. The man was still breathing, but he had been knocked out from the head injury. Still and quiet.
Ben stood and grabbed the sniper rifle, then threw it as far as he could. He looked over toward Ember and Dalton. Only one of them was still standing.
43
Ben stood up, his back aching and his neck bleeding freely. He could now feel the slice of the knife on his neck, just above his collarbone. It was a shallow cut, but he could feel the blood cooling as it tricked down. He slapped a hand over the top of it to stop the bleeding.
The sniper was still on the ground, still breathing, but his eyes were closed and he made no attempt to stand. He was out cold.
Fifty yards away, Ember stood, holding her pistol. Dalton was in the dirt, motionless. Her shoulders heaved up and down as her venomous eyes stayed glued to his inert form on the ground.
She walked toward him, still with the pistol out. When she neared him, she crouched and studied his eyes. After a few seconds, she seemed to be satisfied. The tension left her shoulders, but she kept her finger on the trigger.
"You okay?" Ember called out to Ben while leaving her eyes on Dalton. He hadn't moved in at least fifteen or twenty seconds.
“Yeah. He cut me a little, but it’s alright. Not too deep.”
“Did you kill him?”
“I don’t think so.”
Ember stuck her pistol in the back of her waistband and then marched over to Ben. She studied the sniper on the ground for a moment and then drew a blade from the back of her shoe. With a quick flick, she sliced it across his neck. He gurgled a couple of times and then went silent as his neck and chest turned into a curtain of blood. One last wheeze of air escaped his lips. His eyes stayed closed the entire time.
“Don’t you need a witness or something?” Ben asked.
“No, it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Do you kill every person who crosses you?”
Ember shook her head. “No, it’s not like that. I’m not an evil person, Ben. I knew this guy. If I hadn’t killed him, he would have hunted me to the ends of the earth because of his wounded pride.”
She wiped each side of her blade on her pants and then faced Ben. "Let me see your cut." He lifted his hand away from his neck, and she squinted at the wound. "You might need a couple of stitches, but you'd probably be fine with a Band-Aid if you don't feel like explaining at the hospital why you have a stab wound on your neck."
“Okay, good to know.”
She took a step back and met his eyes. “You don’t want to go to the hospital, do you?”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re telling me I shouldn’t talk about what I’ve seen today, or over these last few days?”
“Because I am, Ben. This is over. It’s done. No one is going to come after you, or your brother, or your mother. But you can’t ever speak on what you’ve learned about the DAC. I’m going to trust you to keep our secrets and move on with your life. I’m going to trust you’ll forget you ever met me after today.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t even know who I would tell.”
She pushed out her lower lip for a second, then beckoned him back toward her car. She slid into the driver's side, and he followed a moment later.
“Five days ago, I made you a promise. Things didn’t work out the way I’d hoped or expected this week, but I want you to know I’m going to keep my word. You did what I asked you to do, and this is me holding up my end of the deal.”
She leaned across him and punched open the glove box. Inside, she pulled out a clear baggie filled with dozens of little white objects and then dropped the baggie in his lap.
“These are the teeth from the bear that killed my father?”
She nodded. “It’s the real deal. That part was always true. And they’re yours.”
“Thank you,” he said, turning the bag over and over in his hands. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with these.”
Ember shrugged. “I don’t know. Make a necklace, or glue them on the hood of your car, or set them on your dad’s grave. Put them in a jar, above your fireplace, on the mantel.”
“Well, I don’t have a fireplace or a mantel.”
“Then you should get those things.”
Ben shoved the baggie in his pocket and turned in his seat toward her. “What’s going to happen next for you?”
"It's going to rain shit on me: Kenny's death, Salty's death, Dalton's death. I brought weapons and a civilian into a Post Office. I'll get sent before the Review Board, for sure. Probably expelled, or given a trial by combat."
“Trial by combat? That’s a real thing?”
She nodded. “There’s still a lot you don’t know about the Club. Maybe I can talk my way out of this one, or maybe I’m dead. Who knows?”
“I hope it works out okay for you.”
“Thank you for all of your help, Ben. I missed that sniper. I would’ve been dead if you hadn’t tackled him.” She paused, studying him. “And I’m sorry I got you involved in this mess in the first place. I know you told me to stop apologizing about it, but you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.”
"As I said, I had nothing better to do. I'm glad I met you, Ember Clarke."
“I’m glad I met you too, Harvey Bennett. Let’s get you back to your car.“
44
When Ben hit Highway 287 going south, he finally felt free. A bag of bear teeth sat on the passenger seat of his truck, and he looked over at them occasionally. He still didn't know what to do with them. Fifty-two teeth—plus the one in his pocket—that belonged to a creature Ben h
ad shot and killed a decade before. A creature that had caused more havoc than the killing of his father. Layers of havoc, reverberating through Ben's life.
Having them now, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Had it brought him closure? Not really. It didn’t change what happened. Having the teeth had not brought Johnson Bennett back from the dead.
A lake appeared on his left, and something told Ben to slow down and take the next exit. The truck took him under the highway and onto a side road.
He pulled into a dirt parking lot ringed by a wooden fence, with a log cabin type bathroom off to one side. At least it wasn’t a privy. After a summer in Rocky Mountain National Park, he never wanted to see the inside of another of those ever again.
He exited the car and breathed in the crisp air. A couple thousand feet higher in elevation than Denver, he could feel the difference in the altitude. Cleaner. Colder.
The blue of the lake called out to him, with a slight breeze rippling the water, making the afternoon sun bounce in a thousand directions from the surface. Ben sat on a log, overlooking the water. Pine trees encircled the lake, and he saw a trio of women with backpacks and hiking poles on the far side. They looked in his direction, and he lifted a hand to wave. All three waved back.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and Ben took it to see Reese's number on the screen. Ben's friend from Rocky Mountain had called a few days ago, promising an opportunity. Ben hadn't been in the right headspace to answer the phone at the moment, and the last few days of chaos hadn't provided the right environment to call back.
Ben couldn’t think of a good excuse to ignore the phone call now, so he lifted the phone to his ear. “Hey, Reese.”
“Harvey Bennett. I tried to call you a few days ago.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve been in a bit of a situation the last week. A lot of crazy stuff happened.”
“Oh, okay. Everything alright now?”
He thought about Lucas, the last time he’d seen him. The mad chaos at his house, barely getting out alive with Marietta. The funeral. “I’ll be alright. How are you? How is Dry Tortugas?”
“I haven’t been at Dry Tortugas in at least a year. I’ve been at Yellowstone for a while now.”
The wheels turned in Ben’s brain. Reese had said before, he’d had an opportunity. Ben didn’t know for sure yet, but he could feel Reese’s impending question.
“What are you doing at Yellowstone?”
“Oh,” Reese said, “boring admin stuff. I don’t get out in the field like I used to. But, I was looking forward to having a work buddy again. They told me you were working with the game manager.”
“I was,” Ben said. “I took a sabbatical after Rocky Mountain.”
“I saw your file. Kind of a long sabbatical.”
Ben sniffed. “It’s good to hear from you, Reese. Was there something you needed?”
“Actually, yes. I’m moving on to Glacier National Park, and there’s going to be a ranger vacancy at Yellowstone. I’d like you to come back and fill it.”
“A permanent job?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
Ben winced. “I’m not sure if that’s right for me anymore.”
“Come on, Bennett. What are you going to do? Work in an office? You know being a park ranger is in your blood. You need adventure. You need fun.”
Ben gripped the phone and watched the three hikers disappear around a bend and into the trees on the far side of the lake. “Adventure, huh?”
“Damn straight.”
“I don’t know, Reese.”
“Yes, you do. I’ll be here for a couple more days. Get your ass up here so we can have a beer or ten before I have to take off.”
Reese ended the call, and it took Ben a second to realize it. He held the phone out and stared at his face in the black screen. The breeze picked up, making ripples across the water.
“Adventure,” he said, musing on the word.
Ben stood up and slipped his phone back in his pocket. As he did, his fingers brushed against the bear tooth. He extracted it and held it in his palm, turning it over and over.
He walked back to the truck and leaned in the open passenger window. In the moment, it felt like the right thing to do. No second-guessing. He took the fifty-two teeth from the bag and poured them into his palm with the other one.
Then he walked to the lake. He imagined throwing them. All fifty-three teeth pelting the water like raindrops, sending a collage of ripples out from their sources. Would it make me feel free? Is this what I’m really hanging onto?
Another minute passed, and Ben turned and walked back to his truck.
Ben took his keys out of his pocket. If he drove hard, he could reach Yellowstone by morning.
AFTERWORD
If you liked this book (or even if you hated it…) write a review or rate it. You might not think it makes a difference, but it does.
Besides actual currency (money), the currency of today’s writing world is reviews. Reviews, good or bad, tell other people that an author is worth reading.
As “indie” authors, we need all the help we can get. We are hoping that since you made it this far into our book, you have some sort of opinion on it.
Would you mind sharing that opinion? It only takes a second.
Jim Heskett
Nick Thacker
A NOTE TO READERS
If you’re ready for more Ember and the Assassins Club, look for the Six Assassins series, coming in 2020.
AND, skip ahead a few pages to read an EXCLUSIVE first look at the a couple chapters from the first book in the series.
Want to know get books by Jim Heskett for free? Take a gander at the Micah Reed thriller Airbag Scars.
Micah Reed’s name isn’t Micah Reed. It’s on his driver’s license, but that’s a lie. A lie people have died for.
Airbag Scars is not for sale anywhere, but you can get it FOR FREE at www.jimheskett.com/readergroup.
SIX ASSASSINS
BOOK 1 SPECIAL PREVIEW
Week One - Day One
EMBER
Ember Clarke collected her black hair with one hand while she readied the poison dart with the other. The hair usually fell past her shoulders, and she twisted it with the one hand several times before tucking it into the back of her shirt. Of course, she’d forgotten to bring a hair tie. On a night like this, of all nights, she hadn’t remembered to bring a hair tie. Typical.
She was outside in Rocky Mountain National Park, near the Moraine Park Campground. A wide open valley corralled by snow-capped mountains on all sides. This early in the morning, she couldn’t see much of that. Aside from the few dozen sleeping campers in their tents, she had only the stars above and a collection of elk on the other side of the valley as conscious companions. Almost midnight.
Driving the twisty road through the park with her lights off had been a challenge. But, she hadn’t become one of the best in her business by fearing risk. Secrecy above all. That’s what her mentor taught her. Secrecy and efficiency would keep you alive for years past your due date.
In this campground, between ten and twenty feet separated most tents. Waking a person in one would have a domino effect on all the others. Not only from her. If a deer or elk happened to wander by and step on a twig, that could wake the whole area, too. That’s why she needed to move fast.
Ember loaded the poison-tipped dart into the X-2 dart gun. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to use it, because while it wasn’t as loud as a real gun, it wasn’t silent, either. Much better to approach her target and jab the dart into his neck manually. But, she didn’t always have that luxury, did she? Secrecy and efficiency had to sometimes take a back seat to urgency. At all costs, survive and get the job done.
Not ten seconds after thinking about it, a deer appeared on the edge of the campgrounds. Its eyes glowed for a moment when it looked in her direction, catching moonlight from above. Ember stared at the deer and the deer stared at her. She had to decide what to do if the creatu
re moved in her direction. Surely it would be smart enough to avoid bumping into these tents, but even a hoof striking the ground could be enough to wake someone.
For a moment, she considered using her dart gun against it. She did have a couple of non-lethal darts in her back pocket, but those were to be used on human targets of at least 150 pounds. No way the deer could weigh that much. And, Ember wouldn’t take the chance. If she tried to subdue the deer and ended up killing it, she would never sleep soundly again. People? No problems killing them. But an animal? Never.
So, she waited, still, to see what the deer would do. After a few moments of a staring game, the thing turned back toward the valley and plodded off in that direction.
She let out a breath and refocused her mind on her task. As she breathed, her watch lit up. A quick glance told her she was only at eight thousand steps for the day. Pathetic. She’d have to make up for it tomorrow.
Ember didn’t often take contracts inside the United States, and she rarely had a chance to do them inside Colorado. She lived only an hour south from here. A nice bonus to get the kill and be home for a nap by the time the sun was coming up. Then, a few days off. Another perk of her chosen profession: she did actual work only three or four days per month, and only when she wanted.
This job, though, she was happy to complete. The target’s name was Rodney Palmer, twenty-four years old. He had raped a teenage girl two years before. Rodney’s mother had provided a bullshit alibi for him on the night the attack had happened, so the police never looked into him too closely. The case was technically still open, but lost in that cold case graveyard amid all the newer, fresher, sexier cases. Ember knew the victim would forever have to languish there, unless someone intervened.
Rodney had suffered no consequences. Tonight, that would change. Ember had been contracted to make sure he would understand the error of his ways and never be able to do that to another person ever again.