Among the Dead

by J. R. Backlund

  Gifford decided that was good enough. He gave his brother a pat on the shoulder and jumped out. “Take care of yourself,” he said and closed the door.

  * * *

  Just below the ridge to the west, lying behind an outcrop of gneiss rock, a sniper and a spotter from the Buncombe County Sheriff’s Office Special Response Team watched through a pair of high-powered scopes as Gifford got out of the truck and went inside the house.

  30

  Rachel stood at the back of the packed conference room as Lieutenant Brian Davis went over the plan for a second time.

  “We unload at the intersection,” he said, standing in front of a dry-erase board mounted on the wall. He had drawn a rough sketch of Gifford’s house and the surrounding property, complete with trees, roads, and other terrain features. There were also photos of the house, each taken from a different vantage point, taped up beside the board. He looked at his men seated around the table and pointed at a spot on the drawing. “Entry team and north-side perimeter security will stay behind the BearCat as it heads up the road and onto the driveway to this point, then you’ll split. Perimeter will circle this way to the back of the residence”—he made an arc with the marker—“while the entry team approaches the front door, moving along the south wall. East-side perimeter security will ride shotgun on the running boards. After the split, the BearCat will haul butt to this point”—he drew an X on the board—“where you’ll jump off and cover any escape attempt to the east. Overwatch has our approach covered from the west. Lowry County deputies will move in behind us to assist. An ambulance will be parked a half mile down the road, should we need it. And Harris Regional has been notified. Any questions?”

  Braddock asked, “How many of you are going inside?”

  The entry team leader was holding the shoulder straps of his tactical vest. He spun in his chair to face Braddock and said, “Six of us.” He stood, walked to the board, and pointed at the entrance drawn on Gifford’s house. “Based on what Mister Hood told us, we expect this door to open up to the main living area, with a kitchen and laundry room to the left, bedrooms and bathrooms down a hallway to the right. Once we enter and control the living room, two men go left to clear the kitchen and laundry, the rest of us go right to clear the bedrooms and baths.”

  Braddock glanced at Rachel. “Okay. Whatever you guys need to do. I just want everyone to remember that our main goal here is evidence collection. We’re hoping to find something in that house that will tie the suspect to two homicides.”

  “We understand, Chief,” Davis said with a smile. His tone was on the edge of patronizing. “And we’ll do what we can to keep from disturbing anything we don’t need to. But the safety of my team comes first, so we’re going to be sticking our noses in every nook and cranny that looks big enough to hide someone. If that’s going to be a problem, it’s not too late to change your minds about this.”

  Braddock looked over again and said, “Rachel?”

  Everyone turned to her. She thought about the options that had been ruled out. Simply knocking on the door would be too dangerous, they had decided. Surrounding the house and ordering Gifford to come out could turn into a standoff, and they would lose the element of surprise. They had considered a phone ruse, but no one could think of a convincing way to lure him outside without making him suspicious and taking the risk that he might destroy whatever evidence they hoped to collect. The assault had to happen.

  She scanned the faces of the team—the twelve operators dressed in tactical gear, the driver of the armored BearCat, Lieutenant Davis, and the handful of deputies that Braddock and Curtis had chosen to back them up on the perimeter—and suddenly felt the weight of her decision. The deal she had made with Jensen could have terrible consequences. If something went wrong, one or more of these men might not make it back alive.

  “Safety first,” she said. “These guys know what they’re doing.”

  Then she thought about the soil samples Carly had collected and the possibility of finding some of the same soil on Gifford’s shoes. Or perhaps on the floor in the house. She said, “Of course, it might help if we get some video of you guys washing your boots off before you load up in the BearCat.”

  The entry team leader tried to stifle a laugh. He put a hand to his mouth, but it was too late. The rest of the room erupted. They seemed to appreciate that she would be willing introduce a little levity to the situation. She didn’t have the heart to tell them she was serious.

  The meeting broke up, and the team went outside to double-check their gear, weapons, and communication equipment. Davis walked over to Rachel and Braddock and asked, “Did your informant leave?”

  “He’s in my office,” Braddock said. “Been there all day. I think he’s about to go nuts cooped up in there.”

  “I get the sense that he trusts you the most,” Davis said to Rachel.

  “He knows I’m not a cop anymore.”

  “Can you talk him into coming along for the ride? Maybe keep him in the car with you?”

  “I can try. You think you’ll need him there?”

  He shrugged. “You never know. He’s the only one we have who’s been inside the house. But more importantly, I don’t want him talking to anyone until we get the place secure. Considering his father’s relationship with the suspect’s mother . . . I’d just like to keep him under wraps until it’s over. And especially keep him off his phone.”

  Rachel nodded, and Braddock said, “Well, that’ll certainly make the ride more interesting.”

  * * *

  Rachel stood by the passenger door of the Tahoe and watched Braddock coordinate with the deputies. Jerry was in the back seat, peering through a window. Pritchard was on the sidewalk, looking like he wanted to be more involved, but Braddock had convinced him to stay behind in case they needed any support from the office. Fisher pulled up with the warrants just as the team was loading up. He rolled down his window, took a look at the men climbing into the black armored BearCat, and whistled.

  “Hell yeah,” he said. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about. You all ready to get this show on the road?”

  Braddock yelled, “Shane, ride with Carly. And where the hell is Tina?”

  “Wish I knew, Chief,” Fisher said as he rolled up his window. He wheeled into a parking space, then jumped out, ran over, and climbed into Carly’s Tahoe.

  “Melvin,” Braddock said, “you ride with Lieutenant Davis. I’ll drive mine over with Rachel and meet you guys at the intersection.”

  Davis stuck his head out the window of his white Dodge Charger and said, “Chief, I need you and Captain Curtis both to ride with me.”

  Braddock hesitated for a second, then tossed his keys to Rachel. “Just park at the back of the line and wait for me to call you.” She nodded and moved to the driver’s side. He started for Davis’s car, then stopped and turned back, ran to her window, and said, “Let me have the radio in the cup holder.” She handed it to him, and he adjusted the frequency, gave it back, and said, “You’ll be able to listen in with this.”

  Rachel started the engine and watched the line of SUVs and cars fall in behind the BearCat.

  “Dang,” Jerry said from the back seat. “Y’all ain’t playin’ around. This is one helluva badass parade.”

  31

  When Pratt had called to check in after lunch, Fisher had said that he was waiting on some guy named Jerry Hood to show up so they could question him. Said Curtis had told him that one of the deputies had found a possible match on the truck. But she had wanted to stay clear of the office, so she told him she would start going through the DMV list anyway.

  “Just in case it turns out to be nothing,” she had said. “But let me know if anything comes of it, so I’m not out here wasting my time.”

  After that, she found three of the trucks on her list—none of which matched—before her boyfriend called and asked her to quit early. Asked her to meet him at her place. When she asked him in a playful tone what he had planned, he described
things that had her giggling into her phone. She teased him and said he wouldn’t do those things, but he promised he would if she’d only give him the chance to prove it.

  So she went home to wait for him. He was almost an hour late when he finally came through the door. His apology sounded sincere, so she decided to forgive him. She led him into her room and kissed him, pulled his shirt off, and pushed his pants down. The phone rang, but she ignored it, took him in her hand, and worked him until he was ready to make good on his promise.

  An hour later, the phone rang again. Pratt’s head was nuzzled against his shoulder, and she didn’t want to move. She let it go to voice mail and closed her eyes, started to drift asleep. But another call jarred her awake.

  “Dammit,” she said, getting to her feet. She stomped out to the kitchen and snatched the phone from the counter just as the ringing stopped. The screen said the calls had come from Fisher. She sighed and called him back.

  “Jesus, Tina.” He was almost yelling into her ear. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Sorry, my phone died. I’ve just been running around going through this list. So far—”

  “Forget about the damn list. We’re moving on a suspect. A whole bunch of us are on the way there now. We’re following a damn armored personnel carrier, for cryin’ out loud.”

  “Wait. Slow down . . . what the hell are you talking about?”

  “Sheriff Harrelson sent us his SRT guys. They’re all loaded up and ready to kick ass. I got the warrants in hand. We’re going to bust this sorry sucker’s door down. And we’ve got some other guys going to his brother’s house to seize the truck.”

  “Shit.” Pratt pulled open a drawer and pushed the contents around until she found a pen and a pad of sticky notes. She pulled the cap off the pen with her teeth, spit it out, and said, “Give me the address for the brother’s house. I’ll handle the truck.”

  She wrote it down and ended the call. Turned to go back to her room and bumped into her boyfriend, giving her a start. He had been standing right behind her.

  “God . . .” she said and caught her breath. “I’m sorry, sugar, I love it when you rub up on me like that, but I gotta run. Something big is going down.”

  He followed her into the room. “What is it? What’s going on?”

  “We’re getting ready to make an arrest.” She grabbed her pants from the floor and lay back on the bed to pull them up. “I’ve been ignoring the damn phone. Danny and Sheriff Pritchard are gonna be pissed at me.”

  “Then I guess you better get out of here.”

  She fastened her bra in front, spun it around, and slipped her arms into the shoulder straps, then stopped for a second to look at him. “I’m really sorry I have to run out on you like this.”

  “Don’t be,” he said. There was a bit of urgency in his voice. “You don’t have to worry about me. I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”

  She pulled on her shirt and stepped into her shoes. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

  He kissed her. “Get out of here. I’ll make sure I lock up.”

  * * *

  As soon as she went through the door, Bishop was on the burner. He heard the first ring and stepped to the window, lifted a slat on the blinds, and looked out to make sure she was leaving. He saw the door on her Pathfinder close. The lights came on as she started the engine.

  32

  Rachel parked behind the last patrol car but kept the engine running so they could have air conditioning. She adjusted the volume on the radio and watched the activity up ahead at the intersection. Jerry slid to the middle of the back seat and looked over her shoulder. The sun had fallen behind the nearest ridge, but there was still enough light to see clearly.

  “Check ’em out,” Jerry said. “They dressed for war.”

  The team filed out of the BearCat. Eight operators formed a line at the back, holding their AR-15 rifles with the muzzles pointed low and the buttstocks pressed against their shoulders. Another man holding a battering ram jumped out and got in line. Two others hopped onto the running boards and held onto a bar above the door. Several voices checked in over the radio: the entry-team leader, the four men assigned to lead perimeter security, and the operator still in the BearCat with the driver. Lieutenant Davis talked to Braddock, then Curtis, then the three of them were gathering the deputies and giving them orders.

  Davis came on the radio and said, “Bradley, how are we looking?”

  “LT, Bradley, looking good from up here.” Rachel realized she was hearing the spotter on the mountainside west of the property. “No activity outside. You’re all clear to go.”

  “Copy that,” Davis said. “All right, everyone, green light. Move up, move up, move up.”

  The BearCat started at a crawl, turned right, and headed uphill with the line of heavily armed men marching behind. They disappeared around the corner, leaving a pair of deputies to guard the intersection.

  * * *

  The phone was ringing, and Gifford’s mom was yelling for him to answer it.

  “I hear it,” he said, rushing out of the bathroom. His hands were wet. He wiped them on his jeans, picked up the phone, and tapped the screen. “Yeah?”

  “Run,” Bishop said. “Right now. They’re coming for you.”

  * * *

  Jerry was looking through the passenger-side window, trying to get a view of the house.

  “Man,” he said, “I can’t see a damn thing from here.”

  Rachel was holding the radio close to her ear. The operator in the BearCat said, “Twenty yards to the driveway.”

  Davis said, “Copy—”

  “LT, Bradley, we got something . . . Suspect is on the move. He just ran out the back. He’s headed east toward the woods.”

  “Move, move, move!” Davis yelled.

  Rachel and Jerry both looked uphill.

  “Entry team . . . shit, take the house. Perimeter teams, move on the suspect.”

  “He’s in the woods now,” the spotter said. “We’ve lost visual. Repeat, we’ve lost visual.”

  “Everyone move it, goddammit . . . Is he armed? Bradley, is he armed? Chief Braddock, get some deputies back on the road. See if you can cut him off.”

  “LT, he did not appear to be armed.”

  Jerry pressed his forehead to the glass and said, “Oh, shit, I see him.” He jumped back and jabbed the window with his finger. “Look, there goes that motherfucker. He’s right there.”

  As soon as Rachel saw him, she put the Tahoe in reverse and spun around, stopped on the opposite shoulder, threw it in drive, and took off after him. “I have a visual on the suspect,” she yelled into the radio. “He’s moving east on foot.”

  “Rachel.” It was Braddock. “Where are you?”

  “Headed downhill. East on Howell Branch—”

  “This ain’t Howell Branch no more,” Jerry said. “That ended back up there.”

  “Shit. Headed east downhill . . . I don’t know . . . the same road we came in on.”

  “He’s turnin’,” Jerry said. “Look, there he goes.”

  She tried to look but almost ran off the road. “Which way?”

  “Uh . . . he’s goin’ left. His left.”

  “Away from us?”

  “Yeah.”

  She got back on the radio. “Suspect has turned—” The road made a sharp turn to the right, and she was going too fast. She slammed on the brakes and dropped the radio as she took the wheel with both hands.

  “Whoa, mother—” Jerry yelled as he was thrown onto the center console. “Dang, woman. You gonna get us killed.”

  They slid to a stop on the shoulder, missing a tree by less than a foot. She put it in reverse and said, “Can you see him?”

  “No. Back up, though. I think I saw a trail.”

  They ran uphill in reverse until Jerry said, “There. But I don’t think this thing can handle it.”

  She reached down for the radio but couldn’t find it. “Screw it,” she said and switched over
to four-wheel drive. “I guess we’ll find out. Hang on.”

  “Aw, hell no.”

  They went over the side and slid down a steep slope, losing traction on the sand and rocks beneath them. When they hit the bottom, the ground turned up quickly, sending them airborne for an instant. The Tahoe bounced onto a narrow path meant for dirt bikes and ATVs, and Rachel struggled to keep from losing control.

  Jerry held onto her seatback and said, “You just went and lost your damn mind, girl.”

  Braddock came over the radio. “Rachel, we’re headed downhill. Do you still have him?”

  “Jerry, find that radio. I think it fell under the seat.”

  The entry team leader said, “We’re going in.”

  And Davis said, “We’re in the woods heading east. Someone talk to me.”

  “Rachel.” Braddock sounded desperate. “Where are you?”

  “Jerry?” she said.

  Jerry was crouched on the floorboard. “I think I can feel it—”

  They hit a bump, and he yelled in pain. Came up holding his forearm.

  “Forget it,” she said. “Just keep an eye out for him.”

  They veered around a bend, and Jerry said, “There he is.”

  Rachel saw him a moment later, running alongside the trail to her left about fifty yards ahead. She floored the accelerator and started to overtake him. They were almost on top of him when he looked back and ran across to the other side and into the woods.

  “Find that radio and tell them where we are,” she said and planted both feet on the brake pedal. They skidded to a stop. She put it in park, jumped out to run after him, and yelled over her shoulder, “Honk the horn. Keep honking it until they find us.”

  Gifford was just ahead when she plowed through a pepper vine and caught sight of him. He looked back at the commotion, slipped and fell to one knee. She broke into a sprint, and he got to his feet and started along a path that hugged a rock face. Jerry was yelling something unintelligible. Then she heard the horn and distant, muffled voices over the radio. Rachel’s adrenaline pushed her forward just as it seemed Gifford was starting to lose steam. She leapt onto the path and reached out to grab him. At that moment, she thought about her pistol—a black 9mm Glock 19—stored securely inside the gun safe in her apartment three hundred miles away.