The cat was howling, full throttle toward the high fence, doing all of ten miles an hour. Caterpillars, it turned out. Weren’t very fast.
“It’s all downhill from here,” she told him. “Throttle’s wide open. They can only stop it if they get inside.”
The shooting from the house had turned serious, men spilling out the doors to fire at the screaming D8.
Sam stepped out, knelt, and took aim. Call it two hundred yards. He figured the bullet would drop, put the front sight on a man’s head, and triggered the gun. The Marlin went off with a bang. In the distance, the man dropped, screaming, and grabbed his crotch.
“That a payback for the women?” Breeze asked dryly.
“I was aiming for his head.”
“Which one?”
The Cat thundered onto the high wire. Ripping the posts out of the ground, it clawed its way forward, snagged enough wire to pull at an angle, and tore through the chain-link like it was tinfoil.
The huddled captives were staring in horror as the yellow beast—pulling shredded wire behind it—bore into the first wall tent. Fabric wrapped around the blade, having all the resistance of tissue paper.
The sight of the diesel beast collapsing wall tents around and on top of it, must have been mesmerizing. The shooting had stopped, everyone staring.
“Come on,” Sam gritted. “Get the hell out of that compound!”
But the hostages had been just as ensorcelled by the spectacle. Some barely managed to gather enough wits to scramble out of the way as the Cat, shrouded in wire and canvass, clattered its way past.
“Damn it!” Sam charged out, running for the compound. As he passed the front of the garage, smoke and flames burst out of one of the middle garage doors.
“Hey!” he bellowed. “Run! Get out of there. This is your chance!”
The hostages turned, torn between his screams and the impossibility of the caterpillar crashing into the downhill fencing, tearing down the entire wall.
“Come on, damn you!” Sam was waving, wishing them to move by will alone.
The Cat continued to thunder its way toward the house. It was almost to the stone patio now, grinding along, the tracks ripping and shredding bits of fencing shroud that were pulled beneath the high blade.
“Someone stop that damn Cat!” came the bellowed order from below.
Edgewater’s shooters, were leaping to their feet, charging the bulldozer. Some tried to find a way, but the thing was wrapped in wire and torn canvas. A whipping snake of the razor wire that had once topped the camp caught one man by the thigh. Like a chainsaw, it cut through his leg.
The rest of the men jumped back, some lifting their weapons, shooting entire magazines into the Cat, the staccato reports mixing with the spatters of bullets on steel.
Sam had reached the torn ground where the compound wall had stood. “Everyone run!” he bellowed. “Get out now! Head for the mountain!”
“Go!” one of the older women ordered, pointing. “Let’s get the hell out of here!”
And like sheep finding sudden comprehension, they ran. Only a few headed for Sam, the rest, for whatever reason, were headed north. Apparently making for the valley where it headed for Cody.
“Sam!” Breeze bellowed. “Let’s go! Now!”
He turned, followed by the older woman, a couple of men in their fifties and sixties, and a few middle-aged men and women.
Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he saw it happen. Slowed. Couldn’t help but watch. The Cat didn’t hesitate as it plowed through the patio furniture and smashed into the high, plate-glass windows.
It bounced over the sill in a shower of falling glass, went snarling into the recessed den, the mantle of wire and canvas trailing around and behind. Crashing and breakage, like chaos could be heard as it crossed the sunken lounge, veered right, and tore into the great river-stone fireplace. For a moment, the Cat stopped, tracks clawing on the floor. Then the fireplace toppled. Tons of round rocks smashing down.
A giant cracking sound came from the house. Like a series of tree trunks being snapped in two. Then Cat’s roaring exhaust could be heard as it caught traction. The thing disappeared into the depths accompanied by more banging, cracking, and snapping sounds.
Armed men came boiling out through the smashed windows, firing blindly.
Sam tried to estimate the drop, worked the lever, and shot. Beside him, Breeze’s M4 let loose with a staccato of fully automatic fire. As quickly, the men below broke, running for the sides, leaving their dead and dying behind.
In the sudden silence, Breeze’s radio crackled.
She pulled it from her hip. “Yeah?”
“I think it’s time to get the Dodge out of Hell. Shanteel says that a whole bunch of trucks are fogging down the road in our direction. We’ll cover you.”
“Got it.”
“Now, run, Sis!”
After Breeze stuffed the radio into its holster, she fished one of the smoke grenades out of her pack. Their small party of freed hostages was running full-out for the canyon. Shooting Sam a glance, she asked, “You ready?”
“Yep.” He waited long enough for her to pull the pin and toss the smoke grenade. Then he lurched to his feet, pounding for the canyon mouth. Shots echoed down from Brandon and Willy’s position, and a couple of bullets snapped angrily past. Sam got the surprise of his life when just the sound of their passage energized him like a cattle prod. He never knew he could run that fast.
Then they were in the trees.
He looked back just in time to see the mansion’s roof fall. It sagged, then let loose with a sound like distant thunder. A moment later, it was followed by an explosion. A huge ball of fire rose from what was left of the lounge roof. Sprays of glass from every window shot out like bursts of diamonds in the morning light. The force of the blast had flattened the milling men, some batted like rag dolls to crumple as they hit the ground.
Bits of debris, fire, and twirling pieces of house rose high to arc and cartwheel back to earth. Splintered wood, sections of buckled plywood, and shreds of Tyvek danced in the sky.
“Son of a bloody bitch,” Breeze wheezed.
“Wooo Hooo!” Sam chortled.
Breeze’s radio crackled. “Sis? Couple of vehicles headed your way with some serious guns on them. Worst is a Jeep Rubicon with what looks like two big guns on the roof.”
Even as Brandon said it, the cackle of gunfire could be heard. Different. Louder and deeper than the rifles they’d been hearing. “What the hell?”
“Big stuff,” Breeze told him, whipping her radio out. “Brandon! Get the hell off that ridge! They spot you and Shanteel, those guns will tear you apart!”
And then she wheeled, running flat-out for the canyon. Over her shoulder, she cried, “Run like hell, Sam, or we’re going to die here.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Breeze led the way, feet hammering on the torn trail left by the logs that had been skidded out of the valley. Behind, Sam ran for all he was worth. He could hear the growling of vehicles, occasional gunshots, and then the deep-throated staccato of the heavy machine guns.
A trail of blood spots led to the body of a brown-haired young woman who sprawled face-first in the trail, her clothes matted in coagulating crimson. The freed hostages barely spared the dead girl a second look, they just ran harder.
That was two who hadn’t made it.
Sam felt oddly better as the valley closed around them, the high walls rising to either side. Once they were past the breastwork, across that open area and behind the boulder, they were safe. They’d have made it.
If the hostages could make it that far. They were all wheezing, half staggering, those in street shoes slipping and sliding on the grass. The older man in his sixties was red-faced, huffing, and bug-eyed as he kept running slower and slower.
A secondary explosion sounded from behind and echoed its way up the canyon.
Sam followed the skid path past the last of the narrow-leafed cottonwoods and stared i
n disbelief. Five of the freed young women were milling hesitantly, glancing unsurely toward the wounded Polaris and the torn bodies, and then back down the canyon where occasional shots could still be heard.
“What the hell are you doing?” Breeze shouted, her breath already coming short from the hard run.
The women, dressed irregularly as they were, started back down the trail toward Breeze in a shambling trot.
“Run! Damn it! They’re coming!” She lifted her M4. Sam could see it as she fought the urge to fire a burst over their heads to provide an incentive that words couldn’t.
Sam cast a desperate glance over his shoulder, half expecting to see the Jeep Brandon had warned about appear on the trail. It remained empty, but a pall of black smoke was rising beyond the canyon gap.
“Where do we go?” a panicked black-haired young woman asked. “Up there? Into the wilderness? And to what?”
“Someone murdered those people?” an ash blonde almost whimpered, tears streaking down her red face.
“You want to be...back in that mess?” the slim gray-haired woman demanded. “The only way out is up this canyon.”
“What...about...the rest?” the red-face man puffed. A hand to his heart.
“They’ll be hunted down!” Breeze declared. “Now, all of you. Get your asses over that barricade!”
Sam cursed, charging forward as he shouted, “Get your fucking asses moving. Amber died to get you silly bitches out of there. Now move, ‘cause if they catch any of you, it’ll be worse than a bullet to the brain.”
“So, run, God damn it!” the gray-haired woman thundered.
Breeze lifted her M4. Fired a round to motivate them.
Three of the women turned and scrambled over the piled logs, two, to Sam’s absolute disbelief, fell on their knees, weeping, arms up, pleading. The hostages had no such confusion. They were slipping and sliding over the piled logs.
“Breeze,” Sam said as he stopped, heart hammering, before the kneeling women. “Go! I’ll get these two. You get the rest up to that boulder. We might need the cover.”
And then he bent down, shifted his rifle, and bodily picked the smaller woman off the ground. Threw her over his shoulder, shouting to the other, “You, red shirt. Get up and come along, or I’m leaving you.”
“I can’t,” she sobbed. “I’m scared.”
Sam bent down, used the rifle barrel to lift her chin, and calmly said, “You can. You have to. Safety’s just there, up ahead.”
Breeze didn’t take time to listen.Over her shoulder she called, “Damn you, Sam, leave them. Call it Darwinian selection.”
The three who’d followed instructions were tip-toeing past Amber’s body and the corpses of the men, trying not to step on blood or body pieces.
“Go, damn you,” Breeze bellowed as she pounded her way up behind them. “Climb.”
From the mouth of the valley, Sam could hear the Jeep now, coming slowly, the driver no doubt worried about ambush in the trees.
To Sam’s relief, the black-haired, bawling woman he had so calmly talked to, was right behind Breeze. Bringing up the rear, Sam pounded along, breath blowing as he labored under the smaller woman’s weight.
Puffing like a steam engine, he made the breastwork as Breeze was pulling the black-haired woman over.
“Come on,” Sam urged as he swung the woman down and onto her feet. “Over you go.”
She wasn’t more than a girl, Sam realized. Redheaded, fifteen if she was a day, and wearing slightly too big jeans with one shoe on, her other foot bare.
“Here, take my hand.” Breeze practically hauled the girl over.
“Shit,” Sam said, his eyes fixed down the trail. “They’re here.”
He turned, lips working. “Breeze, give me one of the grenades.”
“Sam, we can make it.”
“Now, damn it!” He measured the distance. “Grenade. I can take them out, and I’ll be right behind you.”
“Sam, you can’t single—”
“It’s the only way.” He reached out, snapping his fingers. “I’ve got a plan.”
Light on painted metal now. It would only be a moment more and they’d be visible. Reaching into her pack pocket, she slapped the grenade into his hand and turned, running behind the redheaded girl, shouting, “Go! Run! They’re right behind us.”
“My foot—”
“Turn your fucking mind off and run.”
Ahead of her, scattered along the trail, the others were running with various amounts of speed.
Sam watched as Breeze unslung her M4, fired a burst over their heads, and saw a singular and most sudden display of enthusiasm. The lithe young redhead in front stumbled, almost fell, and then ran like a gazelle.
How far yet?
The first of the fleeing women passed the slash pile, feet flying. Making distance on the rest.
Sam turned as the Jeep broke cover. The only thing between him and the muzzles of the two mounted machine guns was empty air.
Only thing left is to buy time for Breeze and the rest.
He smiled as he dove for the bloody dirt.
See you soon, Shyla.
Chapter Forty-Five
As Breeze threw a glance over her shoulder, she could see light on painted metal as the vehicle ground its way up the skidway in the valley bottom. It would only be a moment more and they’d all be visible.
As she charged forward, it was to find the redheaded girl limping, shoulders jerking as she sobbed. The older man was puffing and stumbling, at the end of his endurance. The other hostages, the freed women, were calling reassurance to each other. All of them winded, pushing themselves as hard as they could.
From somewhere down in the valley, gunfire crackled on the morning air. Breeze guessed that some of the errant hostages had been run down.
Catching up with the redheaded girl, Breeze shouted, “Go! Run! They’re right behind us.”
“My foot—”
“Will heal. That big boulder is safety.”
Ahead of her, scattered along the trail, the others staggered along. Breeze slowed as she reached the flagging man. He wore a dirty white shirt, suit pants, brown loafers. Looked like a businessman. His mouth gaped, face red, sweat shining. He shot her a sidelong glance. “Can’t...go...farther.”
“You’ve got to. There’s a truck coming with guns.”
He stopped short, then, bent to wheeze. “Go on. Get them...out of here. I’m...dead.”
She saw the vehicle emerge from the trees.
The fleeing hostages were moving too slowly to make the boulder. Without a second thought, Breeze raised her M4, fired a burst over their heads. The lithe young redhead in front of her stumbled, almost fell, and then ran like greased lightning.
Breeze dared not look back. “Run. Run,” she prayed between breaths.
Damn it, Sam. What possessed you?
Her lungs burned. She had run, uphill, all the way from the garage, most of it at full speed. She hadn’t slept well the night before, had awakened long before dawn. The days on the trail had been hard work, constantly pushing, and little quality sleep. Just dozing at night...and fitful dreams.
How much did she have left? Her legs had that rubbery feel, muscles aching from fatigue. She couldn’t suck enough air. Her heart thundered painfully in her chest.
She passed the slash pile, wishing she had a lunge whip to slash the black-haired woman across her buttocks. The little redhead had passed her and was now hot on the heels of the rest. Only the black-haired woman lagged, and she was trying. She just didn’t have the wind.
“Fucking run, bitch,” Breeze panted, hating to take the breath necessary to make words. “Don’t...give...up.”
The first of the hostages staggered their way past the boulder.
Almost there!
Ten yards. The redhead had almost reached the rock.
Thudding, rasping hisses tore the air overhead; the valley above them exploded in flying dirt, burst rock, fragmenting bullets, and splin
tered wood. Even as it did, the hammering of the guns came from behind.
Then she heard a shout: “Halt! Freeze, or we shoot to kill!”
“Go! Run!” Breeze bellowed in the sudden silence as the hostages staggered to a horrified halt. “Behind the rock!”
She whacked the black-haired woman on the butt with the muzzle of her M4.
I’m going to die here.
It would come now. Any second.
She wouldn’t feel it—just have that quick image of her body being blown apart. A sensation of impact as large caliber bullets ripped her flesh, bone, and muscle into pieces.
The world seemed to slow into a weird and oddly tranquil reality.
As the hostages staggered for the great boulder, a detonation behind her made her throw a quick glance over her shoulder.
The Jeep—a copper-colored Rubicon—pitched rear up. A yellow ball of fire caught in the instant. Men, like black silhouettes, were catapulted forward and out. The twin machine guns were frozen in that moment as they were ripped from the Jeep’s roll cage.
Down the valley, she could see men with rifles who stood rooted just this side of the narrow-leafed cottonwoods. Five of them, they were staring at the burning Jeep. The Polaris lay on its side.
Below the slash pile, the businessman lay sprawled, blood on his white shirt.
The men started forward.
Breeze raised the M4, figured the range at three hundred yards. Bracing against the boulder to steady the sight picture, she fought to steady the rifle, couldn’t with her pounding heart and puffing breath.
She triggered a burst. The distant men ducked; a couple threw themselves flat. They shouted back and forth, turned. Then they were running back the way they’d come, disappearing down the trail.
Slipping behind the safety of the boulder, she stopped, braced herself as she sucked her lungs full and blew it out. Sweat was beading, slipping down her sides under her shirt, tickling and drawing flies on her face.
“Can we rest now?” the older, gray-haired woman asked from behind the boulder’s safety. She was bent over, sucking air like a bellows.
Dissolution: The Wyoming Chronicles: Book One Page 33