Hawke's Target

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  The air was filled with thousands of tree frogs’ shrill songs. He pressed the comm button on his chest. “Got eyes on the barn, maybe fifty yards away.”

  Yolanda answered immediately. “Got it, too.”

  Catching glimpses of men moving around inside, Perry Hale angled himself to see down the length of the barn to more than a dozen trucks parked in front. Two armed guards walked into the open at the opposite end. It was dark enough that he couldn’t see them clearly, just the outlines of their bodies and glinting reflections of their guns.

  A faintly chemical smell competed with the odor of wet pines.

  Taking shallow breaths, he crept through the dark woods, placing his feet carefully to avoid dead branches that littered the forest floor. Soon he rounded the barn and found the open lane leading to the highway. Perry Hale settled down beside a bush and pressed the button again, speaking softly. “Around front. I have many armed players.”

  “Sonny’s not going to know where we are if things start happening.” Her voice was soft in his ear.

  “Knowing him, he’s going to find that lane and walk straight up to the door. We just have to make sure no one sneaks up on him from behind.”

  He heard a crackle and spun just in time to duck a swing that would have taken his head off.

  A guy dressed in full woodland camo made a serious mistake. Instead of shooting Perry Hale in the back, the man tried to sever his head with a large bowie knife. The absurdly long blade that looked like a machete sizzled overhead. Shocked that he’d missed the guard who’d been waiting still as a tree, Perry Hale used his rifle to deflect the backhand swipe that was just as hot and dangerous.

  His right hand shot out and caught the assailant in the nose with the sound of an elastic snap. Blood exploded as the man’s head snapped back and his knees went rubbery. Perry Hale pressed the advantage, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting backward in an acute angle that incapacitated the arm. The knife dropped onto the pine needles under their feet.

  Suddenly the guy was yanked backward and Perry Hale saw Yolanda with her arm locked around the guard’s neck.

  The slender warrior was shorter than the man, and she used her lower center of gravity to bend him backward. The guy wouldn’t quit. He snatched a pistol from the holster on his hip and Perry Hale grabbed the gunman’s hand. At the same time, he drew the Ontario Mark 3 knife from its sheath on his belt and buried the blade fast and furious into the man’s chest until he dropped.

  Yolanda let him go and the body dropped. She leaned in to whisper. “He’d been following you.”

  “I should have known.”

  “He was good. You think anyone heard?”

  “Not with all these frogs singing. I’ve never heard them so loud.”

  “Good.

  “You were supposed to be watching the other end of the barn.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, well.”

  “You’re out of breath. You gonna need more P.T. when we get back home?”

  “I’m in better shape than you, big boy. It’s ’cause you’re so close.”

  “Charmer.”

  Neither looked at the body as they separated and took up positions to cover the barn.

  Chapter 59

  It was sundown when a glow on the highway told Tanner another vehicle was approaching. He again faded into the trees, only a hundred yards from the turnoff leading to the fertilizer barn until a loaded logging truck was past.

  He resumed his walk and soon reached the fifteen-foot-wide cut through the woods. He found a small clear spot in a thick tangle of brush where he could keep an eye on the turnoff. He settled onto the ground with his back against a thick pine and closed his eyes, giving in to the pain still lingering from two beatings and the fear in his stomach.

  Fighting the urge to weep, he finally calmed enough to drift into that gray world between sleep and wakefulness. The peace lasted only five minutes before tires slowing on the now-dry pavement brought him fully awake. It could have been those looking for him, but he hoped it was who he’d come to intercept, Uncle Alonzo.

  Headlights cut through the gathering gloom, sweeping past his hiding place and nearly blinding him. Blinking away the spots, he heard a truck stop, idling a few feet away. It took a few moments for his eyes to readjust to the muted light, and when they did, he recognized the model.

  Tanner rose with a painful groan and pushed through the understory brush and out to the lane on the passenger side. All four windows were down, and the decaying odor of a rotting corpse made him step back. The dash lights illuminated his uncle slumped behind the wheel.

  “Uncle Alonzo?”

  White as a ghost, the man slowly raised his eyes and struggled to focus through the open window. “Tanner?” His voice was hoarse and weak.

  He stepped to the door. “Yessir.” The odor of death was stronger, and he glanced into the back seat to see an object wrapped in a blanket. The dash lights revealed a dark stain on Alonzo’s shirt and pants. His eyes widened. “Good God. Your’re hurt.”

  “Nope. Past that. Dyin’.”

  “That’s not you I smell, is it?” The familiar odor of decaying animal corpses was something country people grew up with. Lit by the dash lights, the thing wrapped in the back seat was human shaped. He knew he’d scream if it rose up and started moving. “What’s that?”

  “Your Aunt Betty.”

  He recoiled from the window.

  “Easy, son. I just brought her home.”

  “Uncle Alonzo, I can barely make out what you’re sayin’. You’re talking like you had a stroke.”

  “Doped up with pain pills.”

  “Look, you can’t drive up there, especially not with her like that. Daddy Frank’s waitin’ on you, and he’s been looking for me.”

  Alonzo picked up a mini flashlight from the penholder in front of the console and flicked it on, directing it at Tanner’s face. “Looks like he’s already found you.”

  “Both him and Dad.”

  Alonzo pulled himself upright and squared his shoulders. The effort cleared his speech, at least for the moment. “I’ve looked in the mirror and seen the same presents from both of them bastards.”

  “You need to leave. Go somewhere else.”

  Instead of answering, Alonzo tilted his head back and emptied the contents of a plastic pill bottle into his mouth. He swallowed, gagging, then swallowed again. Obviously trying to retain the contents of his stomach, he pitched the empty container into the brush and waited before speaking. “No place else to go. I doubt I’ll make it to the end of this lane.”

  “I’ve been waitin’ on you to get here. Turn around and let’s get gone.” Tanner circled the hood and put his hand on the door handle. “Here, let me drive.”

  Alonzo held up a hand covered in dried blood. “No. You get out of here.”

  “Come go with me.”

  “I done told you. I’m dead already. I’m gonna drive this truck right inside that barn and set it off. When I’m done, you’ll be the only one left. I put that money in the bank I told you about. Mailed you the key. You and Donine go start over somewheres else.”

  Tears rolled down Tanner’s cheeks. “That’s all over and done with.”

  Alonzo didn’t seem to hear him. He reached into the penholder again and picked up a homemade detonator, keeping his thumb away from the simple silver toggle switch. “I’m gonna pull into the barn right up next to Daddy Frank and set it off. When I do, this whole damn riverbottom’s gonna go up, so you get on outta here.”

  “My daddy’s there. I don’t want you to kill my daddy.”

  “You said he beat you.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want him dead. Come go with me.”

  Alonzo gave the young man’s hand a pat. “You’re a good boy, Tanner. Just born in the wrong family.”

  He slowly accelerated down the narrow road, leaving Tanner behind. The young man watched for a minute, then trudged back onto the two-lane, wondering if Donine had found the good-bye le
tter he’d left on their dresser.

  Tanner took the phone from his pocket once again and saw that he had two full bars. Wracked with indecision, he finally dialed Jimmy Don’s number to warn him about what was coming.

  Chapter 60

  From his vantage point in front of the barn, Perry Hale saw even more men walking around with trouble in their hands. Armed men took up positions behind the parked cars.

  He pressed the comm button. “You copy?”

  “Yep.”

  “I have eyes on a small army.”

  “Roger that. I see two who just came out the back.”

  “You see Sonny?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “You want to pull back?”

  “Not yet. Let’s see what he does.” Perry Hale snugged the stock of his AR against his shoulder and waited. Sixty seconds later, gunshots echoed through the trees

  * * *

  Fifty yards away from the rear of the barn, Yolanda saw two armed men rise from the bushes at the pops of firearms and rush inside through the rear doors. From her angle, she could see inside the length of the barn. Men took up weapons and sprinted toward the front, disappearing from sight.

  Everyone was facing the opposite direction toward the lane leading in from the highway. That meant their backs were to her.

  She smiled.

  Chapter 61

  Alonzo held the steering wheel in a death grip, barely capable of steering, though the truck was rolling along at idle speed.

  “We’re almost there, baby, and then we can both sleep. We need to sleep.”

  I sure am glad. I’m tired and you are, too. We need to rest.

  His legs were cold, and both hands were almost numb. “Just a few more minutes.”

  Fifty yards down the lane, Alonzo groaned when his headlights picked out two men standing in the middle of the lane. Sammy and Clifford Raye waited, automatic rifles resting in the crook of their arms.

  Clifford Raye held up a hand to stop. His face relaxed and he smiled, apparently recognizing Alonzo’s truck. He approached the driver’s side, and Sammy stepped up to the passenger door.

  Think, boy.

  I’m so tired.

  You want to kill that old man in there, you gotta think. Study hard!

  Alonzo shook his head to clear his vision. The agony boiling in his stomach had subsided for the moment, allowing him a few moments of relief.

  What to do?

  Back through the smeared, bug-splattered windshield, a massive shape the size of an elephant ambled across the road.

  My imagination’s playing tricks on me.

  Maybe these guys ain’t real, like that elephant. That wasn’t real, was it?

  Sammy spoke through the open window. “Alonzo. Glad you made it. What the hell’s that smell?”

  Men there with rifles. They’re here to kill me.

  That old sonofabitch’s trying to ambush me.

  “Betty, we’re goin’ home.” He picked up the Glock that had been laying in his lap, expecting it to be heavy as a cinder block. Instead, it came up as if made of Styrofoam and centered on Sammy’s chest.

  Two muzzle flashes were blinding in the darkness. Strobe-like, they froze the startled look on the man’s face as the 9mm rounds traveled only a few inches to blow out his heart. Sammy’s finger involuntarily tightened on the trigger as he fell backward, sending a stream of 5.56 rounds through the truck’s door, Alonzo’s body, and Betty’s corpse in the back seat.

  In incredibly slow motion, Alonzo swung the pistol toward Clifford Raye, who stumbled backward, trying to swing the Russian-made rifle into position. He was too close, and the barrel rapped the side of the truck cab. “No no no, it’s me . . .”

  The Glock hammered a third time, then a fourth. The first caught Clifford Raye in the clavicle, shoving him backward. The second entered just under his left eye and blew out the back of his head.

  Alonzo punched the accelerator and fired as he passed a man in a hat. He threw a shot at him and a shotgun boomed. A hot dagger plunged through both cheeks. His left shoulder went completely numb, and new fires arose in his side.

  Feeling as if he were weightless, Alonzo laid the pistol on the padded console and focused on steering down the drive. The tires veered into brush, and the fender crunched against a tree. He overcompensated and rebounded across the shallow ruts to glance off another tree like a bumper car.

  The shotgun boomed again, disintegrating the back glass. Lighter cracks of gunfire reached his ears, and his foot slipped off the accelerator. Quickly losing speed in the soft sand, the pickup rolled down the lane at school-zone speed.

  Warm yellow light spilling from the open barn doors in the distance became his target.

  His vision dimming, Alonzo’s fingers searched for the detonator that wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

  Chapter 62

  As I waited at the edge of the dark lane with the sawed-off twelve-gauge across my arm, my mind was going ninety-to-nothing. The smart thing would have been to wait for dawn and any support that might come from the feds, local law enforcement, or my Rangers.

  On the other hand, the idea of plastic explosives scared the pee-waddlin’ out of me, and the truth was, I wanted that vigilante. Sometimes I suffer from narrow focus and have to get away from everything in order to think things through.

  After dragging around the state behind this guy, having people run me off the road and wrecking my truck, my blood was up.

  This is why you’re not home, dummy. Working during the day and spending the nights with your wife. You go off half-cocked and look where that gets you.

  The Old Man’s voice was as real as if he’d been standing beside me, and that showed how mad I was getting.

  Headlights appeared in the distance and bounced up and down as the vehicle approached on the rough road. They stopped a hundred yards away and I heard voices. Flitting through the trees, I made my way close enough to see two shadows materialize from the woods and stop a light-colored truck. The interior lights defined the weapons in their hands. A flashlight came on in the cab, giving me a great look at all three men.

  The driver was white as a ghost.

  It looked like the guy I’d shot in the RV park.

  Is this my guy?

  Excitement rose in my throat at the same time the peaceful evening ended with the pops and flashes of firearms that strobed the pickup.

  Men fell, and the driver accelerated like he was in a school zone. He shot at me and I returned fire.

  Chapter 63

  A whip-thin man with steel gray hair stepped out of a black Expedition parked in the middle of the two-lane highway a quarter of a mile from the turnoff leading to the barn. ATF agent Gerald Marrs waited for his men to secure the area blocked off by a dozen similar vehicles.

  More SUVs arrived, painting the dark trees with their headlights. Another Expedition crept through the blockade, discharging DEA agent Hart Lowell, who’d been cut from the same cloth as Marrs.

  Surrounded by men in tactical gear and bristling with firearms, Marrs and Lowell met over several pages spread out over one of the SUVs. Since the primary information referred to plastic explosives, Marrs took charge.

  “I’d rather not do this tonight, but the call I received from a Texas Ranger named Sonny Hawke suggested that these guys may try to use these explosives tonight or first thing in the morning. We can’t wait.”

  Planting his feet, Lowell crossed his arms. “Like I told you on the phone, these guys are suspects in the shooting of my agents. Thanks for the call. Just between you and me, I don’t care if we take these people in while they’re still breathing.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Marrs held out a printed satellite map. “We drive to here.” He pointed. “Then we form a skirmish line and move through the woods to the clearing. That will get us close enough to simply step out into the clearing around the barn and take them into custody.”

  “Sounds simple.”

  Marrs shook his h
ead. “It won’t be. Something always happens in the dark.”

  Everyone on the road ducked at the sound of gunfire. Realizing it was coming from farther down the wooded lane and no one was shooting at them, they straightened. Lowell’s face hardened as he waved at his men. “Like you said, something always happens.”

  A line of vehicles turned down the lane as the men from both agencies melted into the wet pine forest.

  Chapter 64

  Daddy Frank and Jimmy Don tensed at the sound of gunshots echoing through the trees, which told one story. The string of automatic weapon fire after that added punctuation. Deep shotgun booms added new chapters.

  Jimmy Don weighed the pistol in his hand. “Looks like the boys ran into something.” Agitated, he paced back and forth. “What do you think happened?”

  The old man snorted in disgust. “What makes you think I know? Y’all get ready.”

  They listened to the night sounds that resumed after several minutes. Daddy Frank’s men waited behind several of the parked trucks like defenders behind embankments. Watching the darkness with the intensity of a wild animal, Boone unsnapped Mud’s chain and led the pit bull to the door by his collar, then released the dog, who charged into the darkness with a roar.

  Daddy Frank shouted. “Hey!”

  Boone followed the dog into the woods.

  “He turned my damned dog loose!” With no other way to express his anger, Daddy Frank shoved his son. “Why’d he let my dog go?”

  Jimmy Don snickered. “Your dog let your dog go. That’s funny.”

  “Not one damned bit, it ain’t!”

  The growl of an approaching diesel truck reached their ears. A minute later a pair of headlights flickered around the slight curve leading to the barn. The white truck struck a parked pickup with a glancing blow, straightened, and plowed through an opening between two other vehicles that was too narrow for the truck’s body width. Punching through, it headed for the barn doors as Daddy Frank’s men opened up with everything they had.