by Ray Wench
Bobby backed away.
“Wait.”
Bobby stopped.
Lynn moved toward him. “You have to give your father a chance to do what he set out to do. It may take some time. However, if it gets that late, come to me. I’ll give you the keys.”
Bobby nodded. “Thanks.” He walked back to the barn.
Lynn watched him go inside. Becca’s threat replayed in her mind. If anything happens to my father, I’ll be coming for you. If anything happened to Mark, Becca wouldn’t have to come for her. Lynn would die without him.
Sixty-One
Mason cackled but quickly covered his mouth. His excitement was almost uncontainable. The uniforms were in the woods. They were looking for him. Oh, they were trying to be tricky, chasing the man in the bright orange, but Mason knew they were really hunting him.
Well, he could be tricky too. With so many targets out there, he barely knew where to begin. It would be a long slow process, but he wanted to get them all. He rubbed his hands together vigorously.
A shiver of anticipation raced through Mason. He needed to relax. He flexed his hands and sucked in long breaths. Once he was in control, he set out to hunt. He would take the soldiers first, and then the orange man.
The uniforms would never take him. He would be confined again. That motivation alone was enough. With a fire burning inside, he moved. Mason Armstrong was hunting again.
Something was wrong. They had been running through the woods for more than an hour. Mark had done a good job of dodging the pursuit. It wasn’t easy to do wearing this ridiculous vest. He dodged behind a tree and rested.
Lieutenant Grayson was more of a sadist than an actual leader. Mark remembered how close the shots had been placed when he started off. The hope was the sound would draw the killer. So far nothing had worked. There had been no movement in the woods at all.
If nothing happened in the next hour, he would suggest moving to the other site where six more soldiers were already patrolling.
Okay, this has to go. Mark peeled off the vest and buried it under some leaves and branches. Grayson hadn’t trusted him with a weapon, so Mark was defenseless. Well, that wasn’t true. He might be weaponless, but never defenseless.
Peering around the tree, Mark watched and waited. There were six men chasing him, working in pairs. Grayson and his partner were in the middle. Mark pictured where the flanking team nearest him might be. It was time to cheat.
Mark crawled in the direction of the turnpike. To his left, perhaps twenty yards away, someone rustled some leaves. Mark froze and focused on the area. A darker shape moved through the dense brush. The figure moved, stopped, and moved again.
Mark scanned to the right of the man. He had to find out if he was the end of the flank or if there was one more pursuer he had to avoid. He waited. When the first form had walked farther away, Mark moved one leg forward.
Dried leaves crunched. Close.
Mark froze again. His heart beat faster. His eyes were the only thing he dared move. He could clearly see the camouflaged legs of a man moving toward him. Within seconds, the soldier would walk right on top of him.
Mark wanted to avoid any conflict with the soldiers. It would only increase their belief that he was the killer. Their pursuit would turn more deadly. But if the soldier continued forward, Mark would be discovered.
The chaser moved closer. He was being very careful, advancing with a great deal of stealth. Mark decided to take the man down without hurting him and then move off in a new direction.
The man stepped nearer. Mark prepared to pounce. He was mere seconds from being discovered. His heart raced with anticipation. He flattened his hands on the ground, ready to spring up. Then, from a distance, the cackling filled the woods with an eeriness so haunting, the entire area went still, as if some supernatural force sucked the life from the woods.
The soldier in front of Mark spun in the direction of the maniacal sound. He paused. The laugh came again, and the soldier ran toward it.
The breath rushed out of Mark. He got up, and in a crouch, moved away from the area. Mark didn’t want to be anywhere near when the soldiers found their prey. He wasn’t going to get caught in the crossfire. The cackling had saved him. However, if that creepy sound was what he thought it was, another man was dead. The cackle was a sort of victory celebration for the crazed killer. When the soldiers realized one of their number was dead, they would be shooting anything on sight, which included him.
Mark needed to escape. There would be blood in the soldier’s eyes now. They would not care that he had not killed their friend. He would still be blamed.
Mark broke from the woods and noticed the sun was already setting. He had been in the woods longer than he thought. But he welcomed the night. It would be easier to hide.
He slid down the slope toward the roadway below. From there, he sprinted toward the overpass. From now on, he would become the hunter. He would still have to duck the soldiers, but now he knew the killer was in the woods too. The only way to save his own life was to capture that madman.
As he scooted back up the slope to the very corner of the woods, Mark lay down and scanned the tree line in both directions. The armed jeep was parked down the road at the intersection, guarding against any non-soldier leaving the woods.
He looked to the sky again, at the descending night. Now that he was free, he should run. However, the general would only send a stronger force against the community next time. No, he had to see this through. But the hunt for the killer had to end tonight.
Sixty-Two
Becca was pacing again. Bobby and Myron had talked her down twice already, but her nervous energy continued to build. Soon they would not be able to stop her from leaving the barn.
Once night fell, Becca became irritated. With each hour that passed, the anxiety increased. Now it was well after midnight. Being forced to rein in Becca had left Bobby tired and irritable. If following their father was inevitable, they might as well go now before further escalation occurred. He no longer had the energy to fight her.
Bobby also wanted to avoid a confrontation with Lynn. Was she serious about giving him the truck keys? He stood, stretched, and casually walked toward the door.
“Where you going, Bobby?” Becca asked.
Without turning, he said, “I’m going to get the keys.”
“Now you’re talking. Let’s go.”
“No,” he commanded. “You stay here, I’ll get them.”
“What? I don’t understand. Why can’t I go?”
He sighed and faced her. “Because I want to avoid a fight between you and Lynn.”
“Oh, trust me, there won’t be much of a fight.”
“See, that’s what I want to avoid.”
“Why? If she tried to stop us, I’d deck her.”
“That’s not going to happen. You stay here. I’ll get the keys.”
“And what if she doesn’t want to give them to you?”
“She will.”
“Bobby, what’s going on?”
Here was the other moment Bobby feared. In fact, he’d been dreading it for a while now. He’d hoped that once they’d found Dad, the old Becca would return.
“Because you don’t handle people very well. You’re not yourself. You get angry too fast and want to hurt people.”
“But only people who try to hurt us, or stand in our way, like that bitch.”
“Don’t you see, Becca? This is Dad’s home. He built it and brought these people together. He put Lynn in charge because he trusts her. When things settle down, we’ll live here too. You can’t go around threatening everyone. These are Dad’s friends. And whether you agree or not, we’re going to need as many friends as possible to survive.”
“Bobby, I’m still your sister. You make me sound like I’m crazy.”
“The truth is, Becca, even though I love you and always will, I can’t trust you to make rational decisions. You’re too angry. I miss the old Becca. She was kinda prissy at times
, but I could count on her. I’m going to get the keys. You stay here.”
Bobby didn’t wait for a reply.
Sixty-Three
Lynn was sitting at the dining room table alone, wiping silverware. She looked up as Bobby entered. She sighed and gave him a small smile.
“It’s time,” he said.
“I know.” She sat there without moving for a moment, and then dug the keys out of her pocket and slid them across the table.
Bobby thought there would be an argument. He was relieved to see there wouldn’t be. Something told him this woman was important to his father. He had seen the way they looked at each other. Bobby would never point it out to his sister. She’d go ballistic.
He nodded his thanks and picked up the keys.
“Bobby, please be careful. Your father is going to be angry with me for letting you go, but I could be damned if I don’t, damned if I do. If I let you go and you get hurt, your father will never forgive me. But if something happened to him, I … well, let’s just say I would never forgive myself.”
Bobby smiled. “I understand. We’ll find him and bring him home.”
“I hope so.”
Back at the barn, he said to Becca, “Let’s go.”
“Wait, you mean she just gave you the keys?”
“Yep.”
“Without a fight or anything?”
“Yep.”
“Huh!”
“Yep.”
“Myron, you coming?”
“Ah, yeah, sure.” He picked up his bow and quiver and followed them out.
Bobby asked, “Are you any good with that thing?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You ever kill anyone with an arrow?” Becca asked.
“No.”
“Well, not yet anyway, huh?” Becca said, excitedly. “Don’t worry. This could be your lucky night.”
Myron swallowed hard.
Once inside the car, Lynn’s son, Caleb, came to the driver’s window.
He nodded at Bobby and glared at Becca. “I, uh, I hope you find your father. But if you ever threaten my mother again, I’ll put you down like the psycho-bitch you are.”
The silence that followed had a life force of its own.
Caleb slapped the truck door, backed away, and said, “Good luck.”
Bobby reversed down the driveway and drove away from the house. He expected some wild, angry outburst from his sister. He waited, but nothing came. He glanced her way. Instead, Becca’s eyes lowered. Her lower lip quivered. She let out a breath that, for a moment, seemed to deflate her body. Unblinking, she stared out the windshield.
A few minutes later, she said, “Bobby, am I crazy?” Even in the dark, Bobby could see the gleam of tears on her face. He put an arm around her and she placed her head on his chest.
“No, Sis. We’re just all going through some tough times. We’ll be all right.”
“I’m scared, Bobby. Sometimes I don’t think I’m me anymore. I think Daddy feels it too. What if he doesn’t want me anymore?”
“Don’t be silly, Becca. He loves you no matter what. We just need some time to be normal again without all the violence.”
“You think?”
“Uh-huh.”
Myron cleared his throat. “I-I don’t think you’re crazy. I, uh, I think you’re beautiful.”
Becca lifted her head and looked at Myron. “Aw, Myron, that’s so sweet. Thank you.” She kissed his cheek, and then wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I’ll be all right. I’ve got two strong men to lean on. How could I not be all right?”
That was a question Bobby wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to.
Sixty-Four
Mark entered the woods again. This time, however, he was the hunter, not the prey. A large moon filled the sky, but the trees blocked much of its light out. He worked his way toward the opposite end of the trees. Unless something had changed since he exited on the far side he should be coming in behind the soldiers.
Along his journey, the cackle once more chilled the forest. Down to four. This time the killer’s laugh had come from deep in the woods. He must have circled the soldiers. Pretty soon, the madman would have his targets shooting at each other. As if on cue, automatic fire ripped through the trees. The length of the barrage made Mark think the soldiers were spraying and praying in panic.
“Where are you, you bastard? Show yourself,” one of the soldiers shouted.
The voice sounded like Grayson. Is he calling to the killer or me? Mark continued until he reached the far tree line. The armed jeep would be forty feet to his right. Staying undercover, he moved east. He stopped several times to listen. There was still a little moonlight seeping in, but the rays didn’t reach far. Mark wanted to at least locate the soldiers so he wouldn’t waste time tracking to the wrong person.
A noise to his left froze him. He ducked and peeked through some branches. Four uniformed men were gathered together. Grayson was giving orders.
“He’s in these woods somewhere. Just tell the general we need as many men as possible to surround the area. Go.”
One of the men took off running. The rest stayed and fanned out, leaving only about eight feet between them. “Sir, isn’t it more logical that he left the woods and is running for safety?”
“I think if he wanted to run, he would’ve done it before killing Smith. He wants to kill us all. That will be his mistake. He should’ve run when he had the chance. Let’s move toward the far end. When the others come, they may flush that bastard toward us. If you see him don’t hesitate, give warning, or announce it. Just fire.”
They hadn’t moved ten steps when a scream filled the air. Immediately Grayson turned and sprinted toward the sound. The others followed. The cackle made the hairs on Mark’s neck stand up. Was the killer a ghost? How could he take down all those men without being seen? With not even a shot fired in defense?
Mark tried to anticipate where the killer would move next to avoid detection from the soldiers crashing toward him. If he moved south, he would run out of woods. Would he know the jeep was sitting there waiting for him? No, he’d move north where he would have more room to maneuver.
Mark went straight across the woods. When he judged he had gone a little more than halfway, he stopped. Finding a dense area of branches and undergrowth, Mark set up his watch.
There was scant light now, but just enough to be able to see a man-sized shape move. If the killer came this way, Mark would catch a glimpse. The time slipped by. No sign or sound of the killer or the soldiers.
Then, what looked like a darker shadow passed twenty feet away. Very light sounds began scribing a path: a leaf, a twig, the scrape of cloth, moving from left to right. Someone was close. But was the shadow friend or foe? Was there a difference now?
Mark followed the path, even though he couldn’t see much. Shadows flitted twice, and once a dark shape filled his vision. Mark wanted to move with the shadow, but was afraid to give himself away. Also he had to consider that the killer was armed and he was not. Still, he couldn’t let the image disappear.
Mark moved from cover a few steps still in sight of the dark shape. Then whatever he was tracking stopped. Mark froze and lowered slowly. Neither ghost moved. Movement by someone who didn’t care that he was making noise came from the left. The soldiers were coming.
Locking on to the shadow’s position, Mark used the cover of the soldiers’ advance to move closer. As he crept nearer, the shadow began to take shape. It was not an animal. He circled wider to come up behind his target. His path would cross directly in front of the soldiers unless he hurried.
The thundering steps closed the gap. Suddenly the men were in sight. Mark went flat to the ground. If he tried to shout a warning, they would most likely shoot him.
Another cry of pain, and a body crashed to the ground right next to Mark. The man rolled and cried, clutching his leg. The other two men looked at their fallen comrade. Then they turned as someone ran in the opposite direction. They fired
a long burst.
Grayson took off in pursuit yelling, “Don’t let him out of your sight.”
With a quick glance at the injured man, the soldier followed his leader.
Sixty-Five
“The woods across the street from the base are just past those two houses,” Myron said. “If we stop here, we should be able to sneak up on them.”
Bobby pulled to the side of the road. They got out and gathered their gear.
“Don’t try to take too much. It will get in the way and make noise.” Bobby checked his semi-automatic, chambered a round, and holstered it. He carried his rifle and had small binoculars in his pocket, although since they weren’t night vision he doubted he would be able to see much.
He looked around at the darkness surrounding them. Then Bobby shifted his gaze upward at the still climbing moon. It offered some light, although it would be limited once they got into the trees.
Myron carried his bow, a handgun in his belt, and ten hunting arrows in the quiver he wore across his back.
Becca was fingering the empty scabbard tied around her thigh. The missing knife seemed to bother her.
“Here,” Myron said, sliding his survival knife out and handing it to her. Her mouth dropped open and a sparkle lit her eyes. “But, won’t you need it?”
“It’s all right. I think you need it more than I do.”
She accepted the gift and hefted it, then slid it into the sheath. “Thank you.”
“Let’s move,” Bobby said. “Spread out a bit. When we get to the woods try not to get separated.”
They walked off like they were on a street in an old west gunfight. Past the last house they moved away from the road and entered the woods behind the backyard. It was instantly much darker. Whether it was the night or the woods, Bobby wasn’t sure, but a chill closed around him.
Five minutes later, a scream pierced the trees. Gunshots followed. They dived for the ground and whatever cover they could find.