Bolan leaned back in his seat. He wasn’t feeling in the best physical condition. His body still ached, and the persistent dullness inside his head told him he still had a distance to go in regard to total recall. He had realized his condition stemmed from the severe blow to his head and fatigue following it. A return to normalcy would come only in its own time. Curbing his impatience was a necessity.
“Six miles,” Devon announced; she made it sound like a flight attendant telling passengers they had just crossed the Nile River. “That’s how far we’ve come. You had a long walk last night. Especially in your condition. No wonder you fell down.”
When Bolan glanced at her he saw the slight grin on her face.
“Are you always this flippant?” he asked.
“Only when I’m trying to cheer up a patient.”
They rounded a curve and Bolan spotted the SUV with its nose buried in the thick trunk of a tree. Devon eased her 4x4 to a stop and they checked out the area.
“You were moving fast when you hit that tree. Now we know how you got your lumps.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“So what are we looking for?”
“I’ll tell you if I find it,” Bolan replied.
He opened his door and climbed out. The rain had washed away any marks on the road. It made him wonder if he had skidded, leaving burn marks, or had simply coasted off the road into the tree. He approached the SUV cautiously, some inner sense telling him to be thorough.
He saw the bullet scores on the hood, door and the windshield; the glass had also been further cracked on impact with the tree. It had been no accident, he realized.
A sliver of recall made him relive the moment when someone had fired at him. His reaction to the volley of rounds had forced him off the road and into the tree....
The driver’s door was partway open. He saw bullet holes, which had punched right through the door, and when he checked he saw where a couple of slugs had drilled inside. His hand went to the sore spot on his hip.
Rain had drifted inside the vehicle. The seat leather gleamed wetly. Bolan hunched into his coat as he eased the door wider and checked inside. There was nothing evident until he glanced at the doorframe. The angled metal showed a smear of dark, long dried blood. He automatically touched the gash on his head; he felt a flash of remembrance—nothing more than a fragmentary glimpse in his mind’s eye, just like a cinematic jolt from a scene. It came and went in a split second, but it told Bolan this was where he had sustained his head trauma.
Devon was at his side then, holding his arm. She had spotted the blood.
“Was this the place?”
Bolan nodded. “Where I hit my head. Yes. I just saw it. A quick flash. There was someone shooting at me. I was chasing them and swerved off the road and hit the tree.”
“Don’t try to force anything. Just let things come back naturally.”
Bolan stepped away, scanning the area.
“I must have blacked out for a while. Then I remember walking on the road....”
Devon turned him and leaned him against the side of the SUV. She pulled the door wider and checked inside, reaching to open the glove box. She pulled out a folded document. Still leaning inside she unfolded the paper and read.
“The rental form,” she said, “is signed by M. Cooper. At least we know where you picked up the vehicle. Seattle-Tacoma Airport. You drove a long distance to get here.” She checked out the rest of the vehicle and came up empty. “You either travel light, or somebody has been here and cleaned the vehicle out.”
“Most likely the latter.”
“I didn’t see any cell phone inside. You don’t recall carrying one?”
Bolan shook his head. “If I did, I seem to have lost it. I had a gun. A Beretta. That’s gone, too.”
“Come to think of it, Mr. Cooper, you had no ID in your clothing. No wallet. Nothing except a few dollar bills in a pocket.”
Bolan checked the road behind them. “Where had I come from? Where does this road go?”
Devon shrugged. “It runs a long way up country with very little along the route. About three miles back there’s an abandoned freight warehouse. It closed down years ago.”
She saw the flicker of recall on Bolan’s face.
He stared back along the road.
“Something?”
“Can’t be sure.”
“Give the word, Mr. Cooper, and we’ll go take a look.”
The rising sound of a car engine broke the quiet. A large SUV burst into view from where it had been sitting concealed from the road. The large tires hit the pavement, squealing as they fought for traction. The vehicle swung off track for a few seconds as it headed directly at them, giving Bolan and Devon time to turn and run.
“Let’s go,” he yelled.
He grabbed her hand, yanking her close as he dragged her around the front of his wrecked car and into the heavy foliage edging the road. In those few seconds Bolan had realized there was no way they would have been able to outrun the SUV on the road, or even get back to Devon’s 4x4 and take off. All they could hope to do was hide in among the trees and undergrowth. It was a thin hope but at that moment they had no other choice.
The solid crack of handgun fire rang out behind them. Bolan heard the sound of the slugs drilling into the surrounding timber. Off target but still too close. Bolan’s hope was that their pursuers kept on shooting while on the move; it reduced the chance of them being hit; firing a handgun while running tended to lessen accuracy. He tried to stay in among the heavier stands of timber where the trees were growing closer together. It was the only tactic he had available. He was without a weapon, so he had nothing to fight back with.
Devon moved with him. She made no protest. She simply matched his speed, gripping his hand with increasing tension. She faltered only once, almost tripping. Bolan held her tightly, practically dragging her back onto her feet. He felt a bullet graze his hip, felt blood trickle down his leg. He ignored the burn and the protest from his bruised ribs. Easing off now would be akin to lying down and quitting. Mack Bolan had no such thought.
They ran for long minutes. The sound of pursuit faded behind them. Bolan maintained their pace. Any gain they might have could easily be lost if they stopped running because they believed their pursuers had quit. He felt exhausted, but he knew they had to continue on. Bolan called on his reserves of strength, hoping he could keep up the pace.
To their right he glanced the silver flash of water through the trees.
“The river,” Devon said, gasping for air. “It runs past Hardesty some miles downstream.”
“Can we cross it?”
“It’s possible, but with all this rain it has probably risen. If we cross it, we hit the main forest area.”
Bolan angled her through the trees in the direction of the water.
Devon realized his intention and held back for a few moments.
“Are you serious?”
They broke into the open near the bank. Bolan stared at the swift-moving current.
“It could get us out of this area pretty quickly. If we can get across, they can’t follow in the SUV.” He glanced at her. “You can swim?”
“Well, yeah, but my name isn’t Flipper.”
“All we need to do is let the current take us. It’ll get us away from here.”
“You ever sell snake oil, Mr. Cooper, because you talk a good talk.”
Bolan shrugged out of the long coat and dropped it at his feet. After a few seconds Laura did the same.
“That’s as far as I go,” she said. “I don’t know you well enough yet to go skinny-dipping.”
They eased down the bank and into the river. Almost immediately the current started to tug at them. By the time they were waist-deep, it was taking control.
“Don’t fight,” Bolan yelled above the rushing water. “Let it take you.”
They waded through the deepening water, feeling the current push against them. Overhead clouds, swollen and heavy, closed in. The downpour increased. Hard rain pounded them. Faraway harsh rumbles of thunder sounded.
“We chose a great day to go paddling,” Devon said.
“Anyone can do it in the sunshine,” Bolan replied.
“So I guess only idiots do it on a day like this.”
Bolan gripped her hand tighter as the swirl of water threatened to pull them apart. He hauled the woman in closer until he felt her hip nudge his.
“Why, Mr. Cooper, this is so unexpected,” Devon said.
Give me a woman with a sense of humor anytime, Bolan thought.
“Under the circumstances, you’d better call me Matt.”
They were in the widest part of the river now. And the deepest. The water surged almost to their armpits. The current had a stronger push, and it was doing its best to take them under its control.
Devon remained silent now. Her free arm gripped Bolan’s shirt, her fingers twisting at the material as she turned her body tightly against his. Cold water splashed at their faces as the hard current pounded them. It took most of Bolan’s remaining reserves to keep them both on their feet. The riverbed dipped without warning, and even he was unable to stay upright. For a long few seconds they went under, Devon determined not to panic. She would have let go of Bolan if he hadn’t wrapped an arm around her and held her tightly.
The rush of water filled his ears. He fought against the current to get his feet back on the riverbed. Once he had them planted, the soldier dug in hard, pushing upright, and felt the slap of rain as his head cleared the surface. Bolan sucked in a breath, then hauled Devon clear. She threw her head back, water gushing from her mouth before she took in fresh air. He caught a glimpse of her face, her eyes wide, her hair plastered to her skull. He had to admire her not going into meltdown. She remained reasonably calm.
Bolan strained against the current. The ceaseless downpour hurled rain into their faces, hard enough to be painful. Foot by slow foot they traversed the watercourse. As they neared the far bank, the power of the current lessened slightly. It was still powerful, but Bolan had his momentum now and he was able to fight against it. He kept moving, not daring to pause. If he did, the rush of water would overpower him and drag the pair of them downstream.
He realized after what seemed a long time that the water was starting to became shallow. It dropped from chest height to his waist. The relentless drag against him slackened. It was still strong but less so. He stumbled over the rocky bottom, into more shallow water, hauling the woman with him.
Knee-high, the rain still falling against them, they dragged their chilled, battered bodies out of the water and collapsed. Bolan allowed them a couple of minutes before he stood, still holding on to Devon’s hand. She gave a groan of protest.
“I have an idea,” she said. “Let’s stay here.”
“No quitters on my team,” Bolan stated.
“Oh? I don’t think I want to be on your team anymore.”
Bolan pulled her to her feet. “No backing down in midstream.”
“We are not in the stream anymore.”
“Let’s go,” Bolan said.
The wooded area protected them from the direct force of the heavy rain but not all of it; water sluiced down through the branches and leaves. The ground underfoot was waterlogged.
They paused by a massive tree and Devon leaned against its thick trunk, shaking her head as she caught her breath.
“I guess I’m not in as good shape as I thought I was.”
“You’re doing fine,” Bolan said.
“We cut through this way,” she said. “There’s a fire road along here.”
As he went to take her arm, Bolan picked up movement ahead of their position. The rainfall had drowned out sound. He pushed her back around the tree, raising a hand to keep her from speaking, then swung around to meet the guy emerging from the thick foliage.
He wore a leather jacket, a dripping ball cap, and he carried a pistol in his right hand, using his left to sweep aside the dripping greenery. His slow gaze centered on Bolan as the Executioner moved to intercept him. The guy’s response was fast. The weapon swung around to find its target. Bolan was faster. His left arm intercepted the guy’s move, knocking the pistol aside.
The weapon discharged with a loud crack, the slug failing to find a target. In the same instant Bolan’s right fist slammed into the gunner’s exposed cheek. The guy’s head snapped to the side, the cheekbone fracturing from the powerful blow. The guy grunted, momentarily stunned by the force behind Bolan’s punch. In that thin window of opportunity Bolan clamped his left hand around the pistol’s barrel and twisted brutally. The weapon was wrenched from the man’s grip; as he felt it turn, the gunner was too slow to clear the trigger guard and his finger snapped.
Bolan heard the guy’s gasp in the moment before he used the heavy pistol as a club to put his adversary down hard. As soon as the man dropped to the ground unconscious, Bolan made a fast search of his pockets. He found a couple of extra magazines in the pockets of his opponent’s thick coat. He found a cell phone as well and pocketed that.
“Take this and keep watch,” Bolan said, passing the pistol to Devon.
Bolan stripped off the unconscious man’s belt and used it to secure his wrists, then dragged him into the cover of thick foliage.
“How did he know where to find us?” Devon asked when Bolan took the pistol back. “Come to think of it, how did they know to come at all?”
He was checking the weapon, a 9 mm Beretta 93F. The fitted magazine was full, less the one bullet the guy had fired.
“It was late yesterday when it happened. Maybe they thought I was dead. Too injured to be any more trouble. It got dark, so they decided to cut their losses until daylight.”
“But someone figured to make sure?”
He nodded. “I figure they must be running a sweep along this side of the river in case we made a crossing,” he said.
“You think he would have shot us?”
“Maybe. I’m glad we didn’t find out.”
“Maybe?” Devon shook her head. “Matt, I’ve decided I don’t like your friends.”
“Me neither,” Bolan said, “and I’m sorry I got you involved.”
“Well, I don’t think you did that deliberately.”
“Nicest thing anyone has said today.”
He took her hand and led the way in the direction the woman had indicated.
“You think he might have more friends in the area?”
Bolan understood the meaning behind her question. “He isn’t on his own, that’s for certain.”
“They might have heard the shot?”
“Yeah.”
“Then we need to keep moving.”
Bolan continued on. Though the narrow path was visible, the foliage and the dense trees pressed in close on either side. He noticed the ground was starting to rise in a gentle slope. He felt the cell phone in his pocket vibrate. Someone was checking on the guy who had carried it. The caller was smart enough not to use a ring tone. That told Bolan that he wasn’t up against rank amateurs. The people running the pursuit were astute enough not to advertise their presence more than was needed. Bolan took the cell phone from his pocket and checked the screen.
The screen portrayed a single name.
Rackham.
The name meant nothing to Bolan. He had been hoping it might stir his memory, offer him something he could relate to.
There was nothing else to the text message.
“One of his partners?” Devon asked.
“Yeah, wondering why he’s dropped off the grid.”
“If we don’t keep moving we might be next.”
“That’s just what I was thinking. Let’s go.”
Chapter 5
Bolan let his concern over his lost memories slip away. He needed to concentrate on keeping himself and Laura Devon away from the men hunting them. He had no doubt that the pursuit was still on. If the enemy had come back looking for him after what had happened the day before, it was a sure fact they weren’t about to quit now.
With Devon’s guidance, they worked their way deeper into the forest, climbing the sloping ground above the river. The woman knew the area well, and she took him in a direction that would keep them clear of Hardesty until they decided on a workable plan.
The forest grew denser around them. The area was almost primeval. They could have been a thousand miles away from anywhere civilized. Despite how he felt physically, Bolan had a sure feel about the forest. There was almost a comfort in being here, deep in the protection of the dense timber and undergrowth. Instincts shadowed by the loss of memory rose to the surface, and Bolan knew this wasn’t the first time he had been in similar surroundings. He could react in a place like this, put himself on a level with any enemy. His innate caution clicked into place and he kept himself and the woman moving at a steady pace, his senses alert for any sound, or sight that warned of the enemy.
He had accepted that the men searching for them were just that.
The enemy.
Then he recalled Bremner.
The guy’s name slid into place again. This time with clearer remembered images: the abandoned freight warehouse; men with guns and Bolan fighting back.
Images jerking to life like a video being taken off pause. Bolan’s meeting with Bremner had been interrupted before the man had been able to brief him. The trauma from his accident had robbed Bolan of the background to this rendezvous with Bremner. He had no idea why he had gone to meet the man. What was behind it all. That, for the immediate moment, was filed away. Bolan and Devon needed to lose their pursuers before anything else could be decided.
The skies opened and the already persistent rain turned into a deluge, sweeping down through the greenery over their heads. The rain hit them like a cold shower, pushed by a wind that accompanied it. Runoffs from the higher ground tumbled like instant streams, sluicing away fallen leaves and small branches.
Viral Siege Page 4