by Bruno Miller
Joel nodded. “Okay.”
Ben looked at both of them. “You both have your pistols, right?”
“Yes,” Joel answered quickly.
“Yep.” Allie reached down to her hip and touched her hand to the holstered .38. “Is Gunner staying with us?”
“Yeah. I think it’s a good idea. He knows how to be quiet in a blind and he’ll be able to hear anybody coming long before you guys will,” Ben said.
“Be careful, Dad,” Joel said.
“I will. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” And with that, Ben headed off into the woods.
Joel turned to look at Allie as she stood there in her mud-encrusted hiking boots, holding the shotgun in one hand with the other resting on the .38.
She was a different person than the girl he had found hiding in the attic less than a week ago. She was somehow stronger in spite of the circumstances. For all they had been through, she gave off a confidence that was contagious. She somehow made him feel like there was hope and a reason to believe everything would be okay again someday.
Or maybe it was the fact he was falling hopelessly in love with her.
Chapter Three
Ben hated leaving them there but he’d make better time on his own. As soon as he could figure out what was going on, he’d get back to the kids, and they could come up with a plan.
He headed east toward the bridge, jogging when the vegetation allowed. The peninsula they were on was only a few miles wide according to the map. He wished the atlas was more detailed, but he was fortunate to at least have what he did.
He tried to cut an angle through the woods that would take him close to the main road. The ground would be higher and easy to navigate. On the map, this area looked pretty wet, and he didn’t want to get stuck wading through any marshy areas.
Also, if he kept to the woods, just off the road, he could watch for any patrolling vehicles, although if their trappers had been looking for them since last night, they may have resorted to searching the woods as well by now.
He was glad he had listened to his instincts last night and gotten them well off the road. He wondered if the kids thought he was being too cautious by going so far past the end of the trail. He hadn’t wanted to mention his suspicions at the time and cause them to worry for no reason.
Of course, none of that mattered now.
He was going to have to remind himself to be honest with Joel and Allie and not hold back with any information or observations he made. They needed to be part of the decision-making process from now on, and they deserved it. They were both holding up well, all things considered. He knew the journey would be hard but he hadn’t realized it would get this bad this quickly. He was not only impressed, but also proud of them.
Joel had really stepped up his game, and Ben had noticed a big change in him. And even though he hadn’t known Allie for very long, he found himself thinking of her like one of his own kids. He was equally impressed with how she had handled herself up to this point.
Considering the loss of her mother and the uncertainty of her father’s well-being, Ben thought she was a real trooper. After all the stuff they’d seen and been through in the last few days, he doubted there were many kids their age that could keep their composure as well as they had.
They’d had such a good travel day yesterday it was hard to accept the fact that things had deteriorated into the situation they were in now. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened to Joel or Allie.
When Ben thought about how much time this was costing them and the potential danger they might be in, anger wormed up his spine. He resented whoever was behind it. In his opinion, there was nothing worse than a person who was willing to harm others for personal gain.
He’d seen the strong take advantage of the weak too many times in some of the places he’d been stationed over the years. He’d seen the suffering and the hardship firsthand. In part, that was what convinced him to terminate his Army career. Nothing ever changed in these places they were sent to. Wiping out one faction only created a void for a new and sometimes far more nefarious version to step in. Oftentimes the locals were left no better off than they had been at the start.
Ben focused on the way in front of him. He could make out an area ahead where the tree canopy thinned out considerably. He altered his course to run alongside the clearing. Glimpses of the road were visible through the thinning vegetation.
He maintained a somewhat steady pace now in the sparse woods and was only limited by his own aches and pains. This was the farthest he had run in a few years and the first time he had felt his age in a while.
A few more minutes in, he stopped and rested the rifle against a tree while he wriggled out of the backpack and took off his long-sleeve overshirt. He balled it up and stuffed it in the backpack as he glanced at his surroundings from time to time.
With a sigh, he repositioned the pack and caught his breath. Picking the M24 back up, he stood motionless for a minute or two and listened. He didn’t hear any cars, and he hadn’t seen anything yet.
Maybe whoever was doing this to them had given up looking and was now waiting at a roadblock ahead. If that was the case, it would make things simple. He wouldn’t have to worry about the kids or the truck.
Of course, he’d have no way of knowing how many they were up against, but all that really mattered was getting across that bridge. It wasn’t his responsibility to make it safe for any other travelers that might come after them.
If he was ever going to see Bradley and Emma again, he had to be selfish. At least that’s what he told himself. Too bad his conscience wasn’t buying it.
Chapter Four
Ben could see open sky past the trees a few hundred yards ahead. He slowed to a brisk walk while he got his bearings.
On the map, Route 67 cut across the peninsula in a broad arc that curved right. He had been following the curve of the road for a while now, and he must have been close to where the bridge started. The map also showed a thin strip of land that ran under the bridge for a bit before stopping at the river. But he would see for himself soon enough.
He slowly picked his way through the last several feet of underbrush until the bridge came into view. He crouched alongside a large tree at the edge of the clearing. Once positioned, he slid off the strap of the rifle sling and brought it around to his shoulder. He flipped the lens cover up and surveyed the bridge through the 10 × 42 scope.
It was much larger than the first bridge they crossed last night but still had only two lanes on each side. The concrete median that separated the east- and westbound traffic was much wider. In the middle of the bridge were two concrete pillars that must have been 100 feet tall. Long, round steel supports ran from the top of the columns and down the bridge, forming two giant inverted steel cones. It was impressive to say the least, but all Ben was interested in was looking for blockages.
He turned the ring on the scope up to 10, taking full advantage of the magnification it offered. He scanned the bridge, starting from the far side and looking for any roadblocks, accidental or otherwise. Unable to believe his eyes, he had to scan the bridge again from one end to the other.
It was clear, at least what he could see of it from here. This should have given him some measure of relief but it didn’t. It was too good to be true, and he knew it. Outside of a busy town the size of Alton, there should have been at least a car or two on the bridge.
A few hundred yards of dense woods remained between Ben and the start of the bridge. The four-lane bridge ran into the tree line he was using for cover. The woods prevented him from seeing exactly where the highway funneled onto the bridge. He was going to have to get closer to inspect the rest of it.
He closed up the scope and slung the rifle over his shoulder. He was careful to hike through the woods much more slowly now as he approached the edge of the road. Taking his time to go around vegetation and dry leaves when he would rather go through them, he was trying to make as little noise as poss
ible.
As he got closer he started to make out the shapes of vehicles on the road at the beginning of the bridge. He crept to a nearby tree and took a knee. With a hand on the tree, he used his arm for a gun rest and looked through the scope at the massive mountain of mangled cars and trucks that walled off the entrance to the bridge.
They were piled two or three vehicles high and as many as two or three deep in some parts of the makeshift roadblock. No one was coming or going over this bridge. Clearly, this was meant to isolate this side from Alton on a permanent basis for whatever reason.
Whoever had done this must have had access to some large equipment, like what Ben had seen back at the quarry they passed yesterday.
Ben’s mind began to work as he started to piece together what little information he had. Immediately, he wondered if there was some connection there. But more importantly, how were they going to get around this?
They would have to go north to get to the next bridge across the Mississippi, and he knew that was realistically a day’s travel away. There was no guarantee the next bridge would be open, either. All these river crossings would be choke points where people could be funneled through and exploited by those who chose to do so.
Just like this one.
At the sound of a vehicle coming down the road, Ben instinctively dropped to the prone position. He pulled the rifle in close to his body as he scooted alongside an old log and watched.
A blue Ford Bronco drove by. Its big mud tires whirred as they rolled over the pavement at high speed. It looked like there was only a driver in the truck.
He got within 20 yards of the roadblock and stopped in the center of the road. The driver shut the engine off and got out. The man wore a red ball cap and carried some type of hunting rifle as he walked to the edge of the highway and stood there like he was waiting on someone.
A brown Chevy pickup emerged from the opposite side of the woods and drove onto the shoulder, where the man was waiting. The Chevy parked and two men got out and walked to the man in the ball cap. They both carried guns as well. The passenger had a shotgun and the driver had a large-caliber pistol that he stuffed into his belt behind his back as he approached the other guy.
“Any luck?” the man with the shotgun asked.
“Nothing,” the man in the ball cap replied. “But I’ll tell you this: they said not to come back to the quarry until we found them.”
Ben strained to hear what the men were talking about.
“Man, that’s bull! We’ve been out here all night. It’s not like they’re going anywhere!” The driver of the pickup threw his hands in the air as he turned to look at the pile of cars blocking the bridge.
“I’m just tellin’ ya what they said to me on the radio. Talk to ’em yourself if you want.” The man in the ball cap offered him what looked like a handheld radio.
“Forget it. They don’t care about us.” The pickup driver waved him off and pulled out a pack of cigarettes instead. He lit one up as he leaned against the hood of the truck.
“They oughta turn up soon. It’s still early,” the man with the shotgun said.
“Well, I guess I’m gonna check downriver a little ways from the other bridge again. That’s the last place we saw them last night. They gotta be around there somewhere. Maybe I’ll go all the way down to that old trail this time. Why don’t one of you come with me?” the man in the red ball cap asked.
The man with the shotgun stepped forward immediately. “I’ll go.”
“Oh, come on, man!” The guy smoking stood up straight. “I always get stuck here while you guys have all the fun,” he hollered.
“Somebody’s gotta stay here in case they come this way. Besides, you’re a lousy shot.” The man in the ball cap pulled out a can of dip. “I had to finish the last guy off for you.”
A chill ran through Ben’s veins when he heard that, and he immediately understood what type of lowlifes he was dealing with.
“You try shooting at a moving car and do better.” The man took a long draw off the cigarette, then threw it on the ground before heading around to the back of the pickup. He reached into the truck bed, pulled out a beer, and cracked it open. “Just go find them so we can go back. I’m starvin’ out here,” he whined before taking a long drink from the can.
“All right then.” The Bronco driver loaded his lip. “Stay alert and quit screwin’ around.” He spat on the ground before heading for his truck.
The man with the shotgun scurried around to the other side and jumped in. They turned around while the other guy stayed by his truck and leaned over the bed as he drank his beer.
The driver leaned out his window and said something before they drove off, but Ben couldn’t hear him over the truck’s exhaust.
At least he knew how many people they were dealing with. He felt it was safe to assume it was just the three of them at this point, although by the sounds of it, there were more members of the group back at the quarry.
He could worry about the others later. Right now, he had to deal with these three—and quickly.
Two of them were headed straight for Joel and Allie.
Chapter Five
It all made sense to Ben now. From the quarry, they could see any travelers headed east as they passed by. Then they could swoop in behind them, closing off the first bridge and any chance of escape.
By the time the unsuspecting victims realized the second bridge was blocked, it would be too late. If they tried to make a run for it, they would soon realize they were trapped in the middle.
All three of those guys had probably been waiting at the second bridge for them last night. It was a good thing they had gotten off the road and not gone any farther.
Ben and the kids would have had to face all three at once, and he didn’t like those odds. While he had confidence in Joel’s ability to handle himself with a gun, he knew neither Joel nor especially Allie was prepared for a shootout.
Ben had no choice but to take these guys out. At this point, he couldn’t assume anything but the worst about their captors and their intentions for him and the kids. These men were armed and dangerous killers—and it was time to deal with them.
He waited until the blue Bronco was out of sight. He hoped the other two men wouldn’t hear the shot from his .338 Lapua, but just in case, he’d stay put for a minute or two and be ready for them if they came back his way.
He had a good vantage point over the road from his position, and he could easily take out the driver before the two even made it back to check on their friend. While he waited, he could reach out to Joel on the radio and warn him.
Through his scope, Ben watched the man drink his beer. As the crosshairs drifted across the man’s head, Ben squeezed the trigger smoothly… BANG! The gun jerked back and up for a split-second, and when the scope came down again, the man was no longer in the crosshairs. Only a large bloody splatter—and a bullet hole—remained on the side of the truck bed.
Ben glanced at the body to confirm the man was dead. The only movement came from the half-empty beer can rolling around on the ground and leaving a trail as it spilled its contents.
Ben was satisfied the job was done but unhappy he had to do it. It was an emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time and one he’d hoped to leave behind when he parted ways with the Army. Ben quickly shifted his position to face down the road while he dug through the backpack and grabbed the radio.
“Joel, come in. It’s Dad. Over.”
“I’m here. Go ahead. Over.”
“There are two guys with guns headed down the trail we were on. One scoped rifle and one shotgun. Stay put. On my way to you. Over.”
“Copy that.”
“I repeat: stay put. Watch your 12 o’clock. Start radio silence. Over”
“Roger that. Over”
Ben listened to see if he could hear the Bronco coming back. Maybe they hadn’t heard the shot after all. The exhaust had been kind of loud, but he really wished they had picked up on it now.
He was going to have to beat them to the kids.
Rather than run back through the woods, he decided to make use of the beer drinker’s pickup. He threw his bag over his shoulder and grabbed his gun, securing both things. He pushed up off the ground and sprinted for the old Chevy.
All he could think about was how he hoped the dead guy had left the keys in the ignition. When he got to the truck, he did his best to ignore the chunks of gray matter splattered across the bed rail. Some of the blood was already beginning to dry on the truck’s side in the hot morning sun.
“Yes.” Ben sighed with relief as he reached over the steering column and felt the keys hanging in the ignition.
He threw his bag in and laid his rifle across the far side of the bench seat. Then he hesitated, but after a second of thought, he decided to drag the body off the road and into the bushes. Always a good idea to cover his tracks when possible. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about the large pool of blood in the road and the trail he had made by dragging the body.
Satisfied the body was sufficiently hidden, he scrambled back, got in the truck, and fired it up. It was a manual transmission with a stick on the floor.
“Been a while since I’ve driven one of these,” he said to himself. His Jeep back in Durango was an automatic. The last time he drove something with a manual transmission was in high school, when he had his old Toyota pickup truck. Overcompensating with the gas pedal, he spun the rear tires on the blacktop as the truck lurched forward. He grabbed the shifter, and after grinding his way up through the gears, he was speeding down the road in no time. The old Chevy needed a new clutch badly, but it sure beat running.
If he couldn’t catch them on the road, he would have to get as close as he could and cut through the woods the rest of the way on foot and try to head them off. Either way, the truck would save him time and energy. And he didn’t have to be careful with it, because it wasn’t his.