The man stopped a little beyond arm’s length. “I ain’t nobody. I’m unarmed. Got nuthin’.”
“Why are you out here sneaking around?”
The man seemed surprised. “Because it’s the only safe time to move. Don’t you know about the gangs up and down the river?”
“No,” he admitted.
The guy whispered. “The gangs make sure no one can walk down the street no more without being hassled for food and water. Even sitting inside your house ain’t no guarantee. They come in and help themselves to what’s yours.”
“So you came out here?” he asked with doubt.
“We try to escape. Most of KC was blown up by the falling star. I had to go out to find some, uh, food for my family, but the gangs chased me all the way to here.”
“How far are we talking?” The answer might give him a clue how many people were on shore in the miles ahead.
Even in the darkness, the shrug was evident. “Not sure how far. Ran all day in the woods along the levees next to the water. It’s the only place they don’t have eyes. I got turned around a couple times. Now I’m too far to get back through all them tough guys. That’s why I was giving myself up. I’ll take my medicine from them and get back inside the city.”
He heard laughter in the distance, causing him to seize up like a rabbit spotting a hawk. “Are they still following you?”
Ezra thought the man nodded yes, but he didn’t wait. He spun around and ran for his friends.
“Wait up!” the guy said in too loud a voice.
“Come on,” he replied, anxious to get the man to shut up.
He ran around the trunk of a huge tree and found Butch stoking a tiny fire. “Put it out!”
“Why?” his buddy replied, instantly tipping the kindling and throwing dirt on it.
“Company. We have to get out of here.” He almost forgot about the man behind him. “The first guy is with me.” As he said it, he wondered if it was true. How easy would it be for a group of bad guys to send one loner in front of them to lure victims into a false sense of security? While they focused on the men laughing in the background, the faker could get the jump on everyone.
“Haley, grab what you can. Get on the boat. Butch, watch this guy with your rifle.”
The man came out from around the trunk, winded from trying to keep up with Ezra. There were fewer trees near the water’s edge, making it easier to see the guy was in his fifties or sixties. Balding head. Thick glasses. He didn’t appear overly dangerous, nor did he seem to carry any weapons.
He and Haley yanked the tents down and rolled them into crude balls, with the poles sticking out and the sleeping bags inside. He threw his in the middle section of the deck, then caught Haley’s as she tossed it onboard.
“Let’s go,” he hissed.
Butch retreated to the boat.
The man came with him. “Take me upriver. P-please,” he stuttered. “It will get me around them!”
Ezra had a split-second decision to make. The sounds of men talking and laughing was closing in on them, as if the gang members wanted to be heard. It meant they carried no fear of who they might encounter. By contrast, the lone man shook in his tennis shoes.
Ezra reached out a hand. “Welcome aboard.”
Chapter 14
Somewhere in Central Wyoming
“Get your gun ready!” Grace shouted over the revving engine. She’d punched the gas pedal, squeezing every ounce of horsepower possible out of her park service truck.
“It is,” Misha said, holding the rifle she’d taken from the TKM guard.
“Not that one,” she blurted. “The big-ass gun!”
The helicopter shooter had stopped firing as she reoriented on the moving truck. Grace wasn’t driving according to any plan or template for dealing with flying aircraft. Instead, she was motivated by the base instinct of survival. The only spot on the entire frontier she could get safe from the bullets was directly below the helicopter.
Misha had to kick the wooden partition behind the rear seat, but he struggled against the g-force of her acceleration as he tried to get in the far back.
The helicopter began moving, though it was hard to tell where. She imagined the woman yelling to the pilot, telling him to swing her around to get a shot on the truck as it sped away.
She smashed the brakes once more when she estimated she’d reached the underside of the copter.
“What!” Misha cried out, falling back into the rear seat again.
“Just hang on. I’m doing something. Be ready with the gun out the back window.” She’d never experienced such focus. Her insides rode a tidal current of panic swirling around fear, but Grace didn’t let it show. Not in front of the hitman. Not in front of Asher.
She cut the wheel before the truck stopped, which whipped the back end sideways. Misha went tumbling again, this time into the rear cargo space. In the middle of the action, she let herself smile at the minor bumps and bruises she was giving to the guy. However, the important fact was he was with his Lahti. It was the only reason she was trying such dangerous maneuvers.
The U-turn wasn’t as clean as a professional stunt driver’s, but she was proud of her performance. As she hammered the gas once more, her truck was aimed against traffic. Lights far down the highway were only a vague concern. They’d either be dead by the time the lights reached them, or…
“Be ready!” she screamed.
“I am trying,” Misha replied.
“It’s still there,” Asher said, looking behind them.
“I know,” she exhaled.
“It’s turning…”
“I know,” she repeated. Her plan was dead simple. Get the helicopter pilot to think she was going to speed down the highway, force them to start a turn to match, but then reverse course at the last second. The park service truck might have been clunky and unwieldy, but it was still more agile than the helicopter when turning on command.
“I can see them now.” Misha spoke dryly. The workman-like tone of an assassin dialing in on his target. “I need second.”
Grace heard the Russian jam metal on metal, like he was cocking the heavy rifle. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed it was balanced on the broken rear window. The lights of the helicopter were coming into view. She also saw the woman behind her own big gun. “Oh, jeez,” she croaked.
Looking ahead, the world turned orange. The tracers fell from the helicopter as the whir of the machine gun dialed back up. However, an ear-splitting hammer drop came from the rear end of the Suburban as Misha fired his anti-tank rifle out the back.
“Holy shit!” she screamed reflexively, only half-aware of what it was. The concussive blast slapped her on the back of the head with real force.
“Hit!” Misha exclaimed, sounding a little excited.
Fingers of light danced outside her window, flying into the fields on both sides of the roadway, suggesting the hit hadn’t stopped the shooter up there.
Another concussive pop rattled the inside of her brain.
Distantly, Misha claimed a second hit.
Grace’s heart begged her to slow down, get out of danger, jump from the target on wheels, do anything to allow it a breather. The orange tracers swung closer to her truck, forcing her to both swerve right and ignore every inch of her body except the two hands working the wheel. One of the orange fingers of death appeared inches from her window. If the bison hadn’t ripped off her side mirror days ago, the maniacal woman’s bullets would have done it in that second.
She swerved onto the shoulder. The grassy median offered a little extra room, but there was a wire running down the middle. If she got caught up in it, game over.
Misha fired a third shot. Her ears were about to burst from the pressure and the painful thunderclap. He scored another hit, but his voice sounded like he was yelling from far down the roadway.
The orange flares of tracers shut off in an instant. The returning darkness outside seemed absolute. The sudden switch seemed to indicate he’d struck true
with his shot. However, he spoke with frantic urgency. “We have to jump out!”
“Out?” she replied, not sure if she heard his muted voice correctly.
Asher reached over. “He’s right!”
She trusted Asher. Grace hit the brakes, feeling lost. Was the helicopter still there? Wouldn’t they be easy targets on the outside? Didn’t Misha have the super gun? He couldn’t carry it with him…
Asher immediately opened his door the second she had the truck parked.
She hopped out of her door, still disoriented.
Someone grabbed her by the arm.
“Misha?”
“In ditch!” he ordered.
She ran with him for about fifty feet until they both fell into the tall grass in the median of the highway. Looking back, out of breath, her watery eyes confused by everything, she saw a small fire in the back of her beloved truck.
Misha got up in her face, as if she couldn’t hear him speak. “Do you hear it?” He pointed up, intentions clear.
She searched the sky for the helicopter.
Admittedly, she wasn’t sure her ears even worked.
Kansas City, MO
Ezra watched as Butch gave Susan’s Grace a huge shove off the bank. He was about to start the motor, but he thought better of it when he observed how quietly they’d departed from shore. “Butch. Be ready with the rifle. We’re going to float out of here.”
The big guy looked at him, not saying anything for several seconds, before replying. “I understand.”
It didn’t take long before the voices came closer to where they’d been. Flashlights bobbed and weaved in the trees, arriving at their camping spot even as the boat drifted out into the current.
“What’s your name?” he whispered to the man they’d picked up.
“Kelly. Kelly Hobson.”
“Well, Kelly, nice to meet you. I’m Ezra. That’s Butch, and the young lady is Haley.” His intention was to keep the guy calm. The guy’s entire body shook violently, as if panic had taken deep root inside him.
Kelly kept talking, a little louder than he was comfortable with. “I hate to ask, but do you guys have any pain meds? I’ve got a bad back…”
Ezra reached over and touched the guy on the shoulder. “Stay quiet, okay? We’re in the middle of a maneuver, here.”
The boat drifted in the night.
The lights became more distant.
Even the voices faded.
“I think we made it,” he finally said.
Kelly spoke as if he’d been waiting his turn. “So, about those meds?”
Ezra looked at him anew. Kelly wrapped his arms around himself as he sat up against the bulkhead by the motor. He was also sweating profusely, constantly removing his glasses to wipe his brow. Something was seriously wrong with him, and it wasn’t the fear of being captured by gangs.
“I’m sorry, Kelly. We don’t have any meds. We can offer you a little food or water, if it would help you or your family.” He’d said he’d come into the woods looking for help for his family.
“Damn. Well, can you take me upriver like you said? I need to get out.”
While the man put his head in his hands, Ezra grabbed his rifle and set it against the side of the boat on his right. He caught Butch’s attention and got him to secure his as well. Haley was near the front of the boat, well outside the reach of the probable addict.
Ezra let the boat drift for five additional minutes. Kelly asked a half-dozen times about meds, where they thought he might find some, and if they knew anyone in the area who might, possibly, just this once, prescribe some for him.
Finally, he started the motor.
“Hold on, Kelly, we’ll get you upriver like you asked. Then you’ll be free of the gangs and able to find what you need.” He felt bad for the guy, but he represented an unnecessary risk to him and his crew. The sooner he could kick him to the shore, the better.
It was impossible to mask the sound of the engine while on water. He and Susan used to sit on their dock watching boats ply across Kentucky Lake. The far shore was almost two miles away, and they could still hear the boats on that side when they were at speed. On the Missouri, they only had maybe two or three hundred yards from one bank to the other. His options were to drive slowly and keep his engine noise to a minimum or go fast and get past the search party in the least amount of time.
“Butch, we’re going to take it slow. Be ready.”
He throttled up enough to get them moving, staying on the opposite side of the river from the group of men, and hoped they wouldn’t be of interest to anyone. He assumed there were other boats on the river, and there was no way the men could reasonably suspect he’d picked up the guy they’d been searching for.
Over the course of those minutes he’d begun to wonder about Kelly’s story. If he was an addict, what were the chances those men were lawful citizens trying to catch someone who’d done them harm? Why did it have to be a crazed group of gangbangers? Of course, the laughter and loud voices of the searchers didn’t seem overly professional…
Ezra kept one eye on the far bank.
And the other on their strange passenger.
Denver, CO
Out of everything happening in his life over the past week, including living under the threat of a rock dropping on his head, Petteri hadn’t come close to being frightened to the point of panic. However, holding the cool metal of the pistol while sitting in absolute, smothering darkness made him appreciate a new bottom on his fear spectrum.
“Sir, are we supposed to sit here and do nothing?” Dorothy asked from close by.
He noted she wasn’t latching on to him, like in a movie where he was the hero. Instead, she sat about five feet away, if he was any judge of voices in the dark. It bothered him on a fundamental level that she seemed so confident while he experienced such fear.
The building shook, as if another bomb went off. It wasn’t his building, so he didn’t care much about the damage being done, but each strike indicated the police were getting closer to his position. Breaching walls, as his man in the lobby had relayed before he cut and ran.
Another item nagging at him.
He gripped the gun firmly. Whatever was heading his way, and however fearful he was inside, Petteri Tikkanen didn’t cower in the darkness and take it. He’d used a gun before. It was time to do it again.
“I’ll protect you,” he said to the young woman.
Dorothy grunted noncommittally, which he tried hard to not hear as her mocking his statement. If there was one thing he was confident about, it was his own confidence. The young lady would be grateful to have him around. All he had to do was show her. He aimed at where he thought the door was.
A burst of gunfire rattled from close by.
Several booming shotgun blasts came from another part of the level. Since he was inside an interior room, the battle seemed to be all around them.
Men shouted.
Petteri’s old heart skipped up to jogging speed. Then a sprint.
The battle raged closer. Gunshots and screaming men mixed into a soundtrack of destruction. How anyone could survive it was beyond his understanding.
An explosion seemed to come from right at the door. An object struck his head in the darkness. Not in a painful way. More like someone slapping him. In reaction, he fired the gun toward where he thought the entrance was located.
Dorothy’s reaction to his gun was to squeal with fright.
“I’ve got you,” he said, mimicking the tone of the action hero he knew he could be.
The room filled with light as the door blew open.
“Breach!” a man shouted.
Petteri’s ears popped with the pressure, and his eyes filled with dust, but he aimed at the dark shapes coming through the doorway.
In seconds, the gunfire seemed to erupt from all over the room. How many of those shooters were searching for him?
Heroes don’t die like this.
Chapter 15
Somewher
e in Central Wyoming
Grace hopped out of the grass, intending to stop the fire now burning in the rear corner of her truck.
“Wait,” Misha advised. His eyes were on the helicopter.
“My truck—”
“A second, pajaloosta. Please,” Misha implored in mixed Russian and English.
She did take a pause. Asher quickly crawled across the grass to get next to her. Together, they waited for the green light.
“It is going,” Misha assured her.
“I’m good?” she asked.
“You seem fine,” he agreed.
“I mean, can I go to my truck?” she said with exasperation at his English comprehension.
“Da! Go!”
She hopped up and sprinted to her truck. On the way, she made sure Misha was right; the helicopter rotor noise faded into the night. She also tried to triage the truck. The flames didn’t appear to be spreading. They were focused on the rear corner of the driver’s side.
“Help me put it out!” she yelled to Asher, not knowing how to do it. They didn’t have a fire extinguisher or more than a few small bottles of water.
By the time they arrived, he’d unbuttoned his park service shirt and ripped it off. The second she opened the rear gate, he patted the fire with his makeshift blanket.
“Over there. Get it!” She pointed to a secondary fire spreading along the rear wheel well. The carpet had been singed. There was also a large hole in the frame of the truck. She looked straight through to the road below, which was now bathed in light from an arriving vehicle. Before she pulled herself from the smoky cargo area, she took note of the fill pipe leading to the fuel tank. The heavy machine gun shell had narrowly missed it. It also missed the rear tire.
“We got lucky,” she said.
Misha sauntered up to them.
A big rig slowed and stopped beside her truck. The driver, a young woman, rolled her window down. “You folks okay? From back there it looked like a fireworks show had gone wrong. What the heck happened?” She checked out Asher, who was shirtless and panting to catch his breath.
Impact Series Box Set | Books 1-6 Page 92