by A P Bateman
He was the right side of the bridge. He could see it half a mile to the north. After another hour he was on the road, or more accurately, walking through the trees parallel with the road. He was cautious, he did not want to be seen by anybody, not even an innocent motorist. It would only take one word, a casual comment and he could be outnumbered and hunted again in no time.
At a fallen tree, he got down on the ground beside it and rested. His body craved carbs, and he was driving himself mad thinking about the imaginary doughnuts in Beth’s glovebox. Of course there wouldn’t be food in there. The woman was a size eight and worked out daily.
He worried for her, but he knew she was tough and resourceful. She would get by. When he got back to Abandon he would search for her. He would get to a cell phone signal and call the authorities - the state police and the FBI. People could not go around terrorising folk, kidnapping them – especially a law enforcement officer. He would make some calls to Washington DC. By the end of those calls he would be running the show.
He looked up at the sky, resting on his back. He had exerted himself, especially for the past six hours. If he rested any longer his limbs would cramp up. He rolled over and rubbed his hamstrings and calf muscles. They were sinewy and tight. He got to his feet and shook them out. With the rifle shouldered once more, he set off along the treeline and checked all around him as he went.
It was another hour before he stepped out of the trees and chanced the narrow road. He could finally see the police cruiser parked half on the road, half on the muddy rock-strewn shoulder. He watched, searched the ridge for movement, for shine or glare, for colour at odds with nature, for profile – particularly straight lines or diagonals. There was nothing out of the ordinary. However, Stone was cautious, maybe even more so after today, and he stepped back into the treeline and made his way beyond the vehicle and a further three hundred metres. He stepped out of the trees and into the brush of the plateau. He struggled to find the road, but then remembered that the asphalt had given way to track. Still he could not find the track. After thirty more minutes, he stumbled into a large open area, chewed up with heavy tyre tracks. The worst of the tyre marks, like a ploughed field, was at the far end. The clearing was about the size of a football field. Stone walked to the end, and saw that it gave way to a cliff edge. Beyond that, shale and rocks had been dumped in enormous quantities. So much so, that the mountain was becoming larger in mass. He was sure that the ground he now stood on had once been fresh air. The opposite end the track clearly acted as an entrance and exit. Off from this, like the quarter hours on a clock face, another roadway branched off. Stone walked across the turning area and followed the makeshift road for two hundred metres or so. The road opened up into what looked like an airstrip. Shaped like a giant 4 it created three runways. True enough, a windsock hung limp in the centre. To the edge of the longest edge a fuel wagon was parked up without a tractor unit. A fully functioning airfield, which he had not seen on any map as he had driven into Aldridge Valley. Perhaps the airplane he had heard earlier had landed and taken off from here.
Stone was certain of it.
He walked back, followed the track and after ten minutes he could see the police cruiser and the asphalt road beyond. Stone reached the vast crater. He assumed a few truckloads of the same waste which had been tipped off the cliff would soon fill the void. He stepped down into the crater and searched. He found the remains of detonators and contact wire in the crust. It would have been a hugely powerful bomb, most likely blasting plastic explosive or TNT. He supposed those were materials that people could have in large supply around these parts. Especially people in the mining business, or people wanting to blast out tree roots to make way for more trees to be planted.
Stone made his way to the vehicle. The nearside front tyre was almost off the rim. But the keys were in the ignition. There were no doughnuts or Twinkies in the glovebox. Stone popped the trunk. There were police things in there. Necessary equipment for a small law enforcement agency. Traffic cones, flares, blankets, bottled water – which he opened and emptied in a few mouthfuls, and a tool kit. He moved all of these items aside and lifted the lid to reveal the spare wheel. He stood and stared for a moment. The spare was new and fully inflated. That wasn’t the problem.
He reached in and picked it up.
It was a custom piece. A Bushmaster M4 carbine. Picatinny rails housed a laser-dot designator and a x4 night sight. The weapon had a magazine attached. Stone released it and looked at the ammunition. He prodded the top bullet and the stack dipped, the spring absorbing and indicating there was room for one more. Beth had her weapons taken away by Claude’s men. She had been left with nothing but a night stick and handcuffs. Why was a custom assault rifle in her car? And why was there a round missing?
He walked around the vehicle and put the weapon in the passenger foot well. He started to change the wheel, jacking up the heavy car and getting to work on the wheel nuts. He had been worried about Beth, feared for her safety. But his mind was now a fog. There were suddenly too many questions that needed answering. The man at the grave had been about to tell him what was going on, but had been silenced by a single shot. The shooter would have needed a weapon equipped with a night sight. Bart Conrad had one. But so did Beth. And Beth’s weapon had one round missing. And why the hell was Beth driving them both here, when clearly here was not on the way to Claude Conrad’s place?
And then it hit him. A nagging memory at the back of his mind, something not quite right. He had not told Beth that the man he had killed at the grave in the clearing had his back to him. But she knew. She had reminded him of the fact when he talked about contacting the FBI.
28
The police cruiser was not handling at its best. Stone doubted whether it ever would again. It rolled when he used the brakes and turned easier to the right than it did to the left, and although Stone had changed the wheel there was wobble there, indicating something had been badly twisted underneath. His progress, however, was swift and he relished the comfortable seat and the fact that he was eating up the miles.
He had turned onto a wider road now and the trees either side of the road were tall and the gradient flattened out considerably. The crossroads left him in a quandary, and he waited, the big V8 throbbing, as he decided on the best course of action. The fuel gage came into play, heading for the interstate and north to Portland was not an option. He could make for any larger town and call for the state police, but he had a mere quarter of a tank, and he figured the Dodge would barely return twenty to the gallon and the damage underneath could soon render the vehicle un-drivable, which was why he turned left and made for Abandon. He needed food and a shower also, but that wasn’t just it.
He needed to confront Beth.
Ahead of him the pickup truck had pulled across the road at an angle. He could see two heads bobbing up, rifles aimed. The men were taking cover behind the loading bed. It was a good ploy, the bed was reinforced and constructed of thicker metal than the cab. But it was an American-made truck, and not a Japanese-made Taliban special, so maybe it wasn’t going to fair as well under fire. Stone slowed the cruiser, then almost instantly his brain started to compute and he floored the throttle as a hail of bullets rained down on the car, and started to tear up the road around him. The Dodge gained speed rapidly and the shooters in the trees to each side of him couldn’t quite catch up and the trail of bullets shattered the road in his wake. They had stopped to reload, and quick though they were, the Dodge was undeniably fast. Not only was Stone becoming a more difficult target, the speed with which he moved had the two men who were sheltering behind the truck more than a little worried. They started to fire. Stone picked his target, kept a rigid grip on the wheel and ducked down on the passenger seat. The windscreen shattered and the tiny squares, like tumbling diamonds, rained on his back and shoulders. The ram-bars struck the pickup midway between its front wheel and the driver’s door. The men had turned and run at the last moment, but as the cruiser hit the t
ruck at sixty and gaining, they were sideswiped and thrown high and far. The truck spun around, its rear wheels caught where the asphalt met the gravel drainage strip and the truck rolled over onto its roof and slid, spinning a complete turn and then coming to a halt.
The Dodge spun around, its tyres caught a grip and momentum did the rest. Stone was thrown into the foot well as the car rolled over – too many times for Stone to count – and the sound of tearing metal on the road was like cannon fire, sending off a vicious report every time the car made contact with the road. The glass shattered and the roof was crushed almost flat. When the car finally came to rest, Stone was left drifting into unconsciousness, his ears ringing and the sound drifting off with every fitful nod of sleep.
“Move your fucking ass soldier!”
Stone snapped awake and looked around. There was no gunnery sergeant there shouting at him, but there didn’t need to be. He was on it now.
The car rested on its roof. The metal under him was rippled and sharp, he could see the truck, twisted and smoking. Fuel had spilt onto the road and was steadily leaking from the tank. Chances were it would ignite. Resting in the fuel, bent, broken and still were the two men who had taken cover behind the truck. Twenty metres out from the car, laying in the middle of the road was his AR-15, along with most of the items Stone had seen in the trunk.
The two men reached the truck, their weapons shouldered. They looked at their two dead colleagues, but kept their rifles trained on the Dodge. They seemed to confer, then separated and approached one on each side of the road.
Stone felt for Beth’s rifle in the foot well above him. He caught hold of the stock and pulled, but it did not budge. He could see that the seat had moved, had twisted under the impact. He looked back at the road. Both men approached slowly, now sixty metres distant. Stone turned his attention back to the rifle. He pulled, but it held firm. He pushed, wriggled it wildly. It gave a little, but something was caught. He reached up with both hands, a searing pain caught in his shoulder and he realised he was injured. He did not know what that injury was, but it made it difficult for him to reach and pull at the weapon. He knelt up, slipped his hands under the seat, felt and realised that the night-sight had caught on the seat runner. He pulled as hard as he could and felt a little give. A glance told him both men were close, they stood by the debris, one pointing at the battered rifle in the road. They edged closer. Stone pulled with all of his strength and the scope started to slide off the rail. Stone imagined metal shaving, like iron filings as the clamp of the night sight held on and the sight rail was slowly scraped away. He kept pulling, the rifle gradually getting nearer to release.
“Stop moving in there!”
“Let’s just shoot him up!”
“No. We’ll take him alive. The boss will want to cut his balls off for all of this.”
Stone risked a look. He could see they were no more than thirty feet away. “I’m stuck!” Stone shouted. “I give up! My leg’s trapped!” He pulled as hard as he could ever imagine, his face beetroot with exertion. The rifle pulled clear and he up ended it, brought it close to him. The sight had come off, and as the M4 needed its front and rear iron sights removed to house a riflescope, it was now equipped with no sights at all.
One of the men held his rifle loosely and squatted down to take a look. The other kept his rifle aimed on the door. There was little to see as the roof had squashed the window flat.
Stone could see them, but all they could see was a slit of open where the window once was and the crushed interior, with part of Stone’s body exposed. He took a deep breath. If the two men moved, he would be a sitting duck. They could merely walk around the other side of the vehicle and tear it to shreds. He readied himself and pulled the cocking lever as he spoke. “Help me out, my leg is trapped and…” He fired four shots. A double tap at the man aiming his weapon. The second man had fallen down onto his backside in surprise. Stone fired twice and he fell backwards and lay still. He took another two shots at each prone body, then pushed, kicked and crawled his way along the roof to the back window.
Thousands of rounds a week, sometimes not using the sights at all.
29
It was getting dark when Stone walked into Abandon. He carried Beth’s M4 over his shoulder. He had taken the rest of the dead men’s ammunition, loaded four magazines and placed them back into his pockets. He had the sheath knife he’d earlier taken, as well as his own lock knife.
He stopped by the hardware store, but it appeared empty. He was hoping to buy some more ammunition if the Conrad brothers had left the owner with any. There was a closed sign on the door. Stone made his way to the diner. The restaurant was empty, but the lights were on. Deborah sat at the counter reading a magazine. She looked up as Stone walked in. She stared at him, at the rifle, then back at him. She rushed over, clamped her arms around him and hugged him close.
“My God! You look like hell!” She kissed him on the cheek, then brushed a lock of her auburn hair out of her eyes. “What the hell happened?”
“You don’t know?”
“Why would I know?” she frowned.
“Small town.”
“I know Dave Conrad’s boys went out looking for you,” she said. “Come on, let me get you a cup of coffee. Jesus, I thought they’d killed you!”
“What about Beth?”
“What about her?”
“Is she okay?”
“Why wouldn’t she be?”
“Have you seen her?”
“Today?” She put a cup down on the counter. “She drove past around lunchtime.”
“In what?”
“The Sheriff Department’s SUV. Why?”
“And you’re sure it was her?”
“Unless we have another attractive forty-something sheriff,” she smiled. “Why?”
Stone spooned a lot of sugar and poured a lot of cream into the coffee. He stirred it into a milky froth and drank it down. “I need food,” he said.
“And a shower.”
“Thanks.”
“You can use mine, upstairs.”
“Too hungry. I’ll shower afterwards. Seriously, cook me some food,” he smiled.
“What do you want? It’s on the house,” she grinned.
“Burger. No, two, rare. Fries and onion rings.”
She smiled and disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later, after Stone had finished his second cup and was helping himself to another, she reappeared. Stone could smell charring meat and hot oil.
“Why so concerned about Beth?”
Stone looked at her. “Beth was taken with me, abducted. She was taking me to Claude Conrad’s place to confront him. We were blown off the road with a bomb. Two trucks took us away, her in one, myself in the other. We went separate ways.”
“A bomb?”
“Yes.”
“And they kidnapped you?”
“Yes.”
“Wait a minute.” She disappeared and Stone could hear sizzling, the smell intensifying. He was salivating. When she came back he was disappointed she was empty handed. “Not long now, cheer up. Are you sure she was taken prisoner?”
“Absolutely.”
“But she was definitely driving earlier.” She shook her head. “How well do you know Beth?”
“Well.”
“Previous to coming here?”
“We were lovers,” he said. It sounded lame. He shrugged. “She was separated from her husband. They got back together, yo-yoed. As did we. They seemed to make a pretty good go of it one time, I backed off and relocated. They had a son together. He was young, it was the right thing to do.”
She nodded. “God, you make me hot. Where has a good guy like you been all my life?” She smiled and patted him gently on the cheek as she turned and walked back to the kitchen. When she came back out after a couple of minutes it was with the biggest plate of food Stone had ever seen. “This will get your strength back,” she smiled.
Stone wasted no time and took half a burger
in one bite. The bread was soft, the meat was smoky and coarse textured, but not firmly bound. The cheese tasted like Monterey Jack, and was melted into both the bread and the burger. There was some secret sauce in there too, like thousand island dressing crossed with Marie Rose seafood sauce. It was a hell of a burger and Stone rated it about the best he’d had. Made all the better by thirty-six hours of hunger, pain and exhaustion. “Damn, that’s good!” he said through his mouthful. He was almost through and did not bother with the fries, just picked up the second burger.
“You need cleaning up,” Deborah said.
“I’ll get back to the hotel, get a clean change of clothes.”
“Sleep here tonight,” she smiled. “No strings. I’ll take the couch.”
“But I have a room,” he grinned.
“It might not be safe,” she said. “I don’t know what on earth is going on, but all of Claude’s and Big Dave’s men have been out looking for you, and I don’t like what you said about Beth. Why would they take her and just let her go? It isn’t safe. Nobody will look for you here.”
“Thanks,” Stone replied. “I may well take you up on it. But I have a few things to do first. Tell me, what happened after Bart Conrad bought you back here from Doctor Fallon’s?”
She shrugged. “He drove me, I got out. He drove off.”
“And that’s it?”
“He’s not a bad guy, Rob. He’s tough, but he always seemed fair. He has two shithead brothers, but he’s loyal. He won’t go against his brothers. So I guess he’s as involved as they are.”