He was now in line with them and about five foot to their left. With each step he was getting closer, now he was getting deeper into the grass, about to pass them by. Maggie could feel her heart thumping in her chest.
He had passed them now, and was about ten paces behind them, having failed to spot them. Maggie slowly turned her head so she could see Bobby. She was about to signal him to start to crawl forwards when Winter stopped in his tracks.
Now he was behind them he couldn’t see what he was doing. They could hear his breathing. They waited. His footsteps started again, but this time passing across and behind them. He must have changed direction and was circling back around. Running now would be suicide.
“And do you know one tactic we used to use to flush people out of the jungle?” Asked Winter. “We would fire into the trees. Use a silencer, of course, so we wouldn’t give away our position. Nothing like the pain of a gunshot wound to make them yelp.”
Bobby looked at Maggie in fear.
There was another sound. The click click of a gun being cocked, and then a pause.
Nothing happened for a few moments. The breeze picked up again.
Sssnaapp. There was a tearing sound from the grass a few feet to their right, and a thud, as a cloud of dirt exploded into the air, and rained down on them.
“Nope, not there.” He was enjoying taunting them. Maggie was trembling on the ground, mouthing please, please, please in silence.
“Let’s try again shall we?” Sssnaapp. This time a small patch of ground blew into the air a little to their left.
“Come out, come out wherever you are. I know you’re in there somewhere. I can smell you. I can taste you. I can almost touch you. One more go? Why not?”
Another pause. Longer this time. It seemed he was savouring the moment, enjoying the fear as he cranked it up a notch at a time, slowly driving his prey into despair.
Sssnaapp. Maggie felt the bullet whoosh past her left ear, tearing at the long grass as it approached her, and hitting the ground a few inches from her head. The force of the impact fired the dirt back into her face, it stung her eyes, her nose and her mouth, chocking her in the process. The pain of the impact was stinging and sudden. She was blinded by the dirt, but dare not risk moving to wipe her face, or try and spit out the soil for fear of making a noise and giving away their location to this madman.
Instead she lay there, eyes screaming in pain, mouth full of earth, praying that salvation would come.
Laying there helpless, frightened and blinded, all she could do was listen and wait. As she listened to the sounds around her, she could hear the traffic in the distance, the monotonous rumble of passing cars as they made their way down Interstate-5 on their way to their destinations. In the distance she could hear sirens.
Then there were footsteps coming from in front of her. Another gun being cocked. A bigger gun this time.
“Hey fucker!” A loud gunshot echoed around the field with a crack! Behind her she heard a rustling sound of something hitting the ground. Had the killer been shot? Is it safe to move? Bobby was still right next to her, she could sense him, but was unable to communicate to him. All she could do was wait.
“Hey!” Shouted the voice once more. “We called the cops on your ass. No use hiding down there!” The sirens were definitely getting louder.
There was a rustling behind them, and another Sssnaapp. The sound of something being struck in front of them.
Crack! The ground further behind them exploded. “Hey fuck you asshole! Was that a fuckin’ silencer?! Jezzus H Christ!” The sirens were getting close now.
Somewhere in the distance a flock of birds that were startled by the gun shots came to land in the grass.
The sirens were coming close. The sound of tyres on gravel. The car park in front of the diner was covered in gravel. The sirens stopped. Doors slammed. Footsteps running.
A rustling behind. He was up a moving away fast. Moving away from them towards the trees.
“There! There! There he his!” More footsteps running towards them from in front. Then there was barking. Lots of barking.
“Police! Freeze! Or we will open fire!” The sounds of men running with heavy boots through the grass came tearing past them, the rattling of dog chains were racing ahead. The sound of gun fire echoed across the field once more, and travelled away from them towards the trees.
“Maggie come on.” Whispered Bobby. Maggie spat out the dirt from her mouth and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. She quickly looked up to see her brother already standing and running back towards the buildings. She stood and started to follow. The bearded man was standing at the corner of the red brick walls of the bar and grill holding a rifle, next to him was the woman with bleached blonde spiky hair. She was holding a white cloth to her throat, and Maggie could see that it was stained red with patches of blood.
As the twins approached the two of them they turned to look behind them. The police were following their dogs into the woods, who were already disappearing into the trees.
“What kind of trouble are you two in?” said the bearded man. “And what kind of devil was that?” He said, pointing his gun towards the trees.
“Thank you so much” said Maggie.
“Sorry it took so long” said the blonde woman. “We could see him taking target practice with you’s both – didn’t fancy taking him on our own see, so we had to wait for the cops to show. Took their freckin’ time an’ all. Only when I told them Joe here was goin’ to get a gun an’ put a stop to it did they take any note an’ come tearing down the interstate like their hair was on fire.”
“Thank you both. You saved our lives. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Nothin’ too it, little lady” said Joe “You saved my Skylar back there. Say – what did you do to get the lights to go like that? No – you know what – doesn’t matter. What God decides to give you, he decides. Anyway, looks like you could do with cleaning up. Covered in mud the both of yer. Say where are you both headed?”
Maggie looked at bobby “Mexico. The border at San Diego.”
“You both really are on the run aren’t ya? Going for the border eh? Well it just so happens that me and my lady Skylar here are heading that way too. Happy give you a ride if you don’t mind riding trucker style, that is? Seeing as your car looks like it ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Bobby and Maggie exchanged glances before Maggie spoke. “Sure, that would be great.”
“Say, what’s your names’ anyway?”
“I’m Maggie, and this is my brother, Bobby.”
“Well, Maggie and Bobby – time to saddle up for a wild ride.”
Forty seven
Joe and Skylar had met three years previously, at a roadhouse bar in Kentucky.
Joe was still training for his trucker’s licence, and worked the bars to make ends meet whilst he took his tests. He was in no rush to get his credentials, partly because of the cost, and partly because he liked travelling the country as a bartender for hire. He got to meet some great characters, see the country, drink some beer and watch some great bands play.
Joe loved it when a band would walk into a bar. Normally in time for sound check, before a lot of people had come in from work to start drinking, they would saunter in like they owned the place.
Joe could spot the good bands just by the way they walked. The swagger. They didn’t have to make a big song and dance about their entrance. That was for the amateurs wanting to give it the big I am. No, the truly gifted ones didn’t have to nod at anyone, or make any noise, they had a presence about them that made everyone stop and look. People didn’t even realise they were doing it. You just noticed the eyes flick up towards the doorway when they came in.
And that’s when Joe first laid eyes on Skylar. She walked in with her band the Sex Kittens one day in July, in Kentucky.
Joe noticed the eyes of the patrons flick up and looked over to the doorway himself.
Walking in were three girls and two guys, dressed he
ad to toe in old leather, silver and tattoos. The guys both had long jet black hair, jet black bug eye sunglasses and were carrying guitar cases.
Two of the girls had long dark hair with red streaks over shaved sides.
But it was their singer who stopped Joe in his tracks. She came strutting up to the bar with her hips twisting their way on top of knee high stiletto boots and short spiky blonde hair with streaks of pink finishing off the look. She responded to the wolf whistles in the bar with an I don’t give a fuck shrug, which added to the intimidating aura that was already having an effect on the young barman.
“Hey hon I’m Skylar. Where do we set up?”
Joe beckoned over to the corner of the room where a space had been cleared for the bands, and the Sex Kittens began plugging in amps, assembling drums and tuning guitars.
Well, four of them did anyway. Skylar didn’t get involved. “They are quite particular about all their gear.” She told Joe. “I wouldn’t touch any of it.”
Joe and Skylar spent most of the night talking over Joe’s bar. Sometimes you just click with people. She would later say when asked about their relationship.
Joe was so lost in conversation with this woman, that when she said “Well hon, gotta get ready.” He had almost forgotten that she was in his bar to perform.
If he wasn’t completely bowled over by this woman after talking to her, watching her band play sealed the deal.
The Sex Kittens were filthy, sleazy, sexy rock and roll. Like Aerosmith on heat, mixed with the sneer of the Sex Pistols in their heyday. The two guys playing guitar played dirty riffs and screaming solos with effortless ease. The drums were pounded by one of the girls like a pro, and the bassist sneered like Sid Vicious.
But it was Skylar that lit the room up. She had a magnetism that seemed to draw you in, make you watch her every move. She didn’t have to do much, she just exuded confidence. She had attitude. And Joe was hooked.
Over the next two years, Joe became the Sex Kittens unofficial road manager. He booked the gigs, did the PR, drove the bus and made sure the band turned up to shows sober enough to play.
He loved his life on the road, and loved Skylar even more. Their relationship blossomed into something that was passionate, loving, feisty, argumentative, powerful and dangerous. Two kindred spirits that that were lost in the world, but had found their soul mates in each other.
It didn’t matter what the world could throw at them, Joe and Skylar would throw it right back, plus interest. They would face the road together, and together they would be beautiful.
But then disaster struck. The bands enigmatic bass player, Jessica, took an accidentally large dose of heroin when no one else was in her motel room, and, unable to wake up, chocked on her own vomit.
Joe was the one who found her when he kicked down her door the next morning trying to locate her, and saw her lifeless body crashed out on the bed, the needle stained with blood next to her on the sheets.
After that the band went their separate ways for a while. Never actually splitting up, but all agreeing to go on hiatus for the foreseeable future; until a time came when they could regroup and talk about the next steps.
Since then Joe and Skylar stayed on the road. Joe driving long distance trucks and Skylar working the bars and road side restaurants as bar tender and a waitress to earn some money. Once they had enough cash together they would take a month off and travel. Sometimes within the US, other times across Europe or Asia.
Once you have had a life on the road, it is hard to stop moving.
Joe had fitted out his cab with a double bed sleeper section, a fridge, and even a microwave that ran off a separate power pack that is charged off of the engine. The perfect machine for a couple on the road. Doing what they love – travelling – whilst earning money at the same time.
These children of the world were open to adventure, and whatever the universe wanted to show them today. And today was certainly different.
So as Bobby and Maggie climbed aboard the cab, Joe and Skylar gave each other a knowing look. A new story was about to start. And it felt good.
The road was waiting for them.
Forty eight
John Winter was running through the woodlands. They started out as quite thin, but had gotten denser now he was deeper inside. His heavy footfalls made surprisingly little sound as he moved swiftly across the undergrowth and up an incline.
He could hear the sound of the dogs approaching, and it wouldn’t be long until they caught up with him. Good. He thought. Let’s get this over with so I can get back business.
He saw this chase by the police as a minor interruption. An irritation. Nothing more than a mere formality to attend to until he can get back to the business in hand. The other issue is that they now of course have his car, so he would have to find another. No matter, he could steal one once he was out of the woods. Literally speaking.
He sat on his haunches on a mound just behind a tree and waited. His boots squeaked a little as he waited, but no matter. He wanted the chasing pack to know his whereabouts.
He was wearing workman style boots with steel toecaps. Good boots. He thought. Good and rugged. Good enough to run over rough ground, but also blend in with the man on the street. Steel toecaps also useful for kicking people in the head. Good boots.
The dogs were approaching now. He could hear their rapid footfalls as they scrambled up the bank, their heavy panting punctuating the still afternoon air.
They had stopped moving. He couldn’t see enough yet to know what they were up to, but he guessed they were now sniffing the ground as they were getting close to him.
His suspicions were confirmed when the scrambling sounds started again.
Their panting was getting louder now, when out from behind a tree sprung the first K-9. Moving fast and changing direction with its whole body leaning over, the dog started barking when it saw John crouched by the tree. Good he thought. Just what I wanted them to do. Draw the rest in. The second dog appeared moments later, and both Alsatians came racing towards him, barking to alert their owners of their find. Jaws open, both dogs prepared to leap at Winter, aiming for his sleeve as they had been trained. They had also been trained to spot guns, so John had to draw quickly.
Sssnaapp.
The bullet blew a hole through the lead dogs head, stopping its run dead, but the momentum of the animal carried it along another ten yards or so, sending it crashing into the tree in front of the gunman.
The second dog saw what had happened to its comrade, and quickly changed direction to avoid a similar fate. However, the ground under foot was loose, and it skidded and scraped as it fought for grip.
Sssnaapp.
This time the animal slumped lifeless to the ground, blood pumping out from a hole in its neck.
John Winter disliked killing animals. Most of the time he felt a closer connection to nature than he did to humans. He also saw them as graceful, spiritual. Not something he wished to execute. But, needs must, as they say.
Anyway, the flat footed, trigger happy officers must have been alerted to his location by now. Only a matter of time before he can get the job done.
Five officers from the K-9 branch of the LAPD were slowly making their way toward the source of their dogs barking in a flanking formation.
John had moved slightly further back and higher up the hill so he could survey the scene of the dogs below.
A crunch and a snap under foot ahead of him alerted him to their arrival. Amateurs he thought.
They appeared moments later, clearly having spotted the dead dogs lying next to the tree, the two owners rushed over a knelt beside them. The other three formed a semi-circle around them, all carrying M4 carbine assault rifles. They held them up at eye level, and were swinging them left and right across the trees in front of them, adopting a slight squat position as they moved. All three had their backs to the dogs and the two handlers (carrying Beretta M9 9mm pistols) and were trying in vain to save the two useless lumps of meat
bleeding out next to them.
All five were wearing bullet proof vests, and helmets. John thought to himself that they seemed to still expose vital areas of flesh, such as the base of the skull where it connected to the spine, which was where John was aiming now on the left hand officer.
Sssnaapp.
A volley of blood and spine flew out from the font of the first cops’ neck. He moved like he had been slapped hard in the back. Falling forward, leading from the chest with his arms flailing outstretched.
John quickly turned and pointed at the right hand man and aimed at the same spot.
Sssnaapp.
More blood as the bullet ripped a fatal hole in the man’s oesophagus.
This all happened in under two seconds. Not enough time for the second man to react, but enough time to cause the third man standing to have to change his mind. First he saw his comrade shot, and instinctively turn to his right, away from the shot, but then as he turned, see the second bullet inflict a fatal wound on the other.
Winters’ plan worked, as he allowed himself a small inward chuckle as he watched the middle officer panic as he darted left, then right to try and find cover. In the end the remaining man standing and the two K-9 handlers dived to the ground and started commando crawling across the floor, away from the smirking assassin.
John was already on the move and made to the left, traversing along a wide arc around the kill zone, making a path to circle around and cut them off at the front.
He moved expertly over the ground, hardly making a sound as he did. He moved wide enough as to not be seen by the crawling men, and swung around to face them about fifty yards ahead.
He was now ahead of the three remaining officers, in a crouch position behind enough foliage to be concealed. The men had stopped crawling, and were listening for any movement. Both had their Berettas pointing directly in front, without realising it, straight at Winter.
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