by Bobby Akart
Duncan led the way as they rode up a slight incline to an elevated hill alongside the interstate. It was just past this area that Banda indicated they’d find the road to a historic meteor crater. From there, he suggested they ride toward the southwest, where they’d find themselves well beyond Winslow and the only significant population center before they entered New Mexico.
Just as they got to the top of the hill, Duncan saw the paved service road leading toward the south. He also noticed trouble in the distance. He removed his rifle from the scabbard and used the powerful Leopold Mark 4 scope to study the highway ahead.
A railroad crossed from north to south, bisecting Interstate 40 about a mile ahead of them. There were several vehicles and people milling about under the highway overpass. Duncan caught movement from the interstate above the railroad. Two men came running down the side, waving their arms.
Duncan moved his rifle to gain a better view of the westbound lanes of the interstate. Off in the distance, there were vehicles approaching from Winslow. He adjusted his focus and squinted. Two trucks. One car.
“Dang it,” he muttered aloud.
“What is wrong, Duncan?” asked Sook.
Duncan lowered his rifle and weighed his options. “Sook, our friends from Peach Springs are driving into trouble. There are men who plan to attack them on the road. I have to help them.”
“I will help them too.”
Duncan chuckled and reached for her hand. “This might be dangerous. I need you to wait here or …” His voice trailed off as he looked through his scope again, this time attempting to find the meteor crater location Banda had suggested. He found it. A single structure stood near the crater. It might be a safe place for them to stay the night. But it also might be occupied by someone, so he couldn’t send Sook down there alone.
He dreaded the thought of sending her off without his protection. Separating was not a good idea, especially for someone unfamiliar with their surroundings. He also didn’t want to put her in harm’s way, but if he was killed protecting Banda and his men, then Sook would likely suffer a similar fate at some time. And it wouldn’t be quick or merciful.
Sook sensed his angst. “Duncan, I can help you. I am not afraid.”
Duncan surveyed their surroundings. Near the road to the meteor crater, two stone monument signs flanked the entrance, which also stood on a rise overlooking the interstate. By his estimation, this would give him a clear shot to the highway overpass of about three thousand feet.
“Piece of cake,” he muttered as he used the scope to sweep the killing field. He cradled his rifle in his arms and turned to Sook.
“You have to follow my instructions.”
“I will.”
Duncan smiled at her and nodded. “Let’s go.”
He started them out slow and then picked up the pace, as he could see the convoy of trucks from Peach Springs approaching the ambush. Under the overpass, a hodgepodge of vehicles ranging from motorcycles to some type of Mad Max-looking dune buggy readied for their assault.
They quickly dismounted upon reaching the stone structures, which were the perfect hide to rest his sniper rifle on top. He could steady his aim and choose his targets with ease.
Sook took the reins of the horses and began to walk them down the asphalt road toward the meteor crater as instructed. A billboard sign with several Joshua trees stood about a hundred yards from the monument sign. This would provide Sook and the horses some cover in the event the attackers returned fire.
The convoy, led by Banda’s vehicles and the tanker trucks, lumbered across the overpass doing about thirty miles an hour. They were old, slow-moving machines, especially with the tanker full of gasoline.
Duncan focused on the attackers. Their plan was obvious within seconds. They waited for the convoy to cross above them, and then they would split their group in two, with each traveling up opposite sides of the embankment. When they reached the interstate just past the guardrails, they would converge on either side of the convoy, effectively creating a kill zone.
Duncan readied his Barrett rifle. As soon as the group split up and were out of each other’s view, he would eliminate the threat on the side nearest to him.
The convoy passed over the bridge, and the Mad Max bunch fired up their engines. A Toyota pickup truck and two dirt bikes tore off to the back side of the interstate. A dune buggy and two more dirt bikes took the side closest to Duncan.
They spun gravel and dust into the air as they took off, speeding up the embankment at an angle. As the ground flattened, the driver of the dune buggy steadied the wheel and kept the vehicle from swerving. Duncan took aim.
BOOM!
The crack of the Barrett echoed up and down the highway. His bullet found its mark, ripping into the upper body of the dune buggy driver. He let go of the steering wheel, which forced the vehicle to careen to the left and up the embankment toward the eastbound lane of the highway. It struck the guardrail head-on, causing its front end to rise into the air, momentarily suspended on its rear-mounted engine before tipping backward onto its roll bar, battering the man inside, if he survived the gunshot.
Duncan resisted the urge to watch the entire scene unfold, focusing on his next two targets instead. The motorcyclists, shocked at what had just happened, slowed to look and then sped forward to continue with the task at hand. Their hesitation was a mistake for the lead bike.
Another shot rang out, sending the powerful round in the direction of the first rider, striking him in the leg. It wasn’t a kill shot, but his day was ruined. The man writhed in pain on the ground as the last motorcycle on this side sped past. The shot was much more difficult as the rider began to approach the asphalt highway.
Duncan had practiced shooting at a moving target since he was a child. The first step was to get a good look at the target and accurately identify its path. Today, this job was made easier by a lack of obstacles. Duncan’s brain was able to calculate whether the driver’s speed was increasing or decreasing, and the proximate location where he would approach the convoy.
This was different from bird hunting, where your rifle follows the target before firing. Duncan likened it more to professional football in which a seasoned quarterback, like Dak Prescott of the Dallas Cowboys, made a timed throw to his receiver. He threw the ball to a location in front of the receiver, based upon speed and timing, rather than directly at the moving receiver’s last location.
Duncan’s mind recalled all of his training and instincts and squeezed the trigger. The shot sailed through the air, breaking through the arid atmosphere, and ripped a gaping hole in the rider’s neck. The force of the round threw him off his dirt bike, over the guardrail, and tumbling over into the middle of the highway.
Duncan quickly drew his sights on the Toyota truck and the other motorbikes, which appeared over the elevated roadway. They were in pursuit of the convoy as it continued moving forward, but now Banda’s truck had slowed to move to the rear of the procession. He had seen the threat.
It was impossible for Duncan to help at this point. The other three vehicles were shielded by the slope and the guardrail. It was up to Banda now, but at least it would be a fair fight.
Duncan watched the fight through his scope. Banda’s partner turned around in the seat of the old Bronco II and opened fire with his automatic weapon. Bullets tore up the asphalt. One of the motorcyclists was hit, sending him and his bike sprawling to the pavement.
A passenger in the Toyota truck returned fire, but his round missed the mark. The Toyota closed on Banda’s bumper but was met with several rounds, which shattered the windshield and killed the passenger.
The driver, sensing that this was a losing battle, threw his left arm out of the driver’s window, made a fist and held it in the air as he pulled to a stop.
Banda and his convoy continued on to Peach Springs, having no idea who the Good Samaritan was that probably saved their lives.
Chapter 24
December 2
Near Winslow, Arizona
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br /> For Duncan, the battle was not necessarily over. He took a moment to look back towards Sook. She had done a fairly good job of hiding herself behind the billboard posts and the native vegetation. He was pleased to see the horses were not spooked by his gunfire. The retort of the Barrett was thunderous in this open terrain.
The driver of the Toyota pulled his dead passenger out of the cab and abandoned him on the side of the interstate as roadkill for the vultures. The other motorcycle rider was injured, but not dead. They loaded the damaged dirt bikes into the back of his pickup.
Then they returned to the area of Duncan’s three kills with caution. Probably puzzled by the turn of events, the survivors appeared to be uncertain who had caused their plans to go astray. They were carrying AK-47s, from Duncan’s best estimate, and pointed them in all directions as they searched both sides of the highway for any movement.
Duncan was well-concealed behind the monument sign, and at nearly a mile away, he wasn’t readily visible to the naked eye.
Satisfied that the assault on his group was over, the leader ordered the other dirt bikes to be loaded into the pickup. The man Duncan had shot in the leg was placed in the cab after his leg was wrapped with a jacket.
The hulk of a man, who was obviously the leader, walked up to the dune buggy, which had been totaled by the impact of hitting the guardrail. After rearing back and kicking one of the front tires, he reached into the demolished dune buggy, grabbed the dead man’s rifle and stormed back to his truck.
Then he suddenly stopped. He removed a scarf wrapped around his neck and took off his camouflaged baseball cap, revealing a shiny bald head. He allowed the scarf to blow in the wind, and Duncan recalled seeing something similar in his past.
It was a shemagh, a scarf often worn in the Arab world as a simple way to protect your neck and face from the sun. In areas of snow or strong winds, it was used as headwear. In the military, Duncan, like many others, chose an olive drab or desert sand camo design as part of their uniform.
“He’s military,” said Duncan aloud as he trained his sights on the man. He considered taking him out, but the remaining riders could give chase on their dirt bikes from different directions, making it near impossible for Duncan to defend himself and Sook at the same time.
Instead he studied the man, who sensed he was being observed. He slowly turned around and shielded his face in an attempt to look toward Duncan’s position to his west. The setting sun made it impossible for him to see Duncan, but Duncan could make out his facial features more clearly through his scope.
His face was rugged, hardened by battle. It bore a scar that stretched from his right eye down to his chin. And his left eye was gone. The socket was not protected by a black patch or a round piece of gauze. The man’s eye socket lay open for all to see, gruesome and menacing. Duncan was looking at evil, a man whose face he’d never forget.
Duncan held his position as the one-eyed man gathered his remaining marauders and headed east toward Winslow. When they were well out of sight, Duncan trotted down the hill toward Sook.
She saw him coming and bolted from behind the billboard’s posts. She crashed into him with a hug and laughter. “Three shots! You beat the enemy with three shots!”
It was the oddest reaction that Duncan could imagine. There were no tears of joy and happiness for his safe return. No congratulations for his success. She provided him accolades instead—on ammunition management, of all things.
“Well, thank you, Sook,” said Duncan with a laugh. “So you know, I did not miss.”
“You are a great soldier, Duncan!”
This drew another laugh from Duncan, who was still taken aback by her girlish enthusiasm. Sook was the most intriguing woman he’d ever met. She was clearly a woman, as her natural beauty proved. Mentally, she could transition from attentive nurse, to girlish hero-worshipper, to a ninja. They say you should find a lifelong mate who keeps a relationship interesting. Duncan held Sook for another moment and realized he’d never get bored with her.
He broke their embrace and smiled. “Sook, it will be dark soon. I need to go down to the highway and check the bodies to see if there is anything of value. A knife, a forgotten gun, or a cigarette lighter can all be useful to us.”
“I will go with you,” she said happily. “The horses are ready for a ride.”
“You do not have to go, Sook. The bodies are, um, very dead.”
“I know. There will be many more.”
She turned to retrieve the horses, and Duncan looked toward the west. They had just enough time to look for anything of value, and then they could return to the meteor crater. He hoped the small building that was located there would be suitable for shelter and was uninhabited.
The two arrived at the scene. First, they approached the dune buggy and found the driver suspended in the front seat, hanging upside down with his seat harness still intact. Duncan pulled a dark blue ski mask off his face to get a look at his kill.
Sook noticed it first. “He’s Korean! Duncan, this man is a Korean.”
This surprised Duncan. A Korean man was out of place in this part of Arizona. He searched his pockets and found a stiletto-style switchblade. There was also a set of brass knuckles in the other pocket.
The two walked their horses to the dead motorcyclist in the middle of the road. He was also Korean.
“Sook, this is very odd. This is not a part of America where Koreans live. They are primarily found in large cities, especially in California.”
Without hesitation, Sook rolled the body over and studied it. “Duncan, this man has many tattoos like the other man. See this one? It is the same.”
Duncan studied the tattoo, which matched the other man’s. “They might be part of a gang.”
He gathered a lighter out of the man’s pocket and another switchblade before leading Sook to the third body. The third dead man was also Korean, but he didn’t have any tattoos or anything of value in his possession.
Duncan stood in the middle of Interstate 40 with his hands on his hips. He slowly turned in a complete circle as he studied the vast desert around them.
What is a gang of Koreans doing in the Arizona desert? And why were they following a bald guy, most likely an American, with one eye, as their leader?
He looked at the quickly setting sun and helped Sook mount her horse. They began their ride to the meteor crater and, hopefully, a safe place to sleep for the night, albeit a restless one.
Chapter 25
December 2
Meteor Crater Natural Landmark
Winslow, Arizona
Duncan held Sook back while he approached the meteor crater visitors’ center alone. The parking lot was empty, and there didn’t appear to be any sign of forced entry as he walked around the large contemporary-style building. The EMP had struck when the visitors’ center was closed for the day, and it didn’t appear that any wayward travelers or Winslow locals had thought about gaining access to the building. Duncan smiled as he realized this building was more than a place to rest for the night. It also provided an excellent opportunity to forage for much-needed supplies for their ride home.
He chose a window on the back side of the complex, which wasn’t readily accessible to anyone who might wander upon the place during the night. Most likely, an intruder during the evening would break out one of the large plate-glass windows at the front entry, which would act as an alarm for Duncan.
After carefully breaking out the glass to give them easy entry, he returned for Sook and the horses. He found an oversized fenced utility area that held a small forty-yard dumpster on wheels. After he easily rolled the dumpster out of the pen, there was plenty of room for the horses to lie down. He removed their saddles and spread out their blankets to provide some semblance of bedding. Then he and Sook promised their most valuable assets they’d return with water and something to eat.
Once inside, Sook followed Duncan as he systematically cleared every room just to make sure they were alone. As they walke
d through the building, he made mental notes of potentially useful items, although none were more valuable than the stacks of bottled water and cans of food in the kitchen of the Subway restaurant.
Duncan gathered up some large pots from the kitchen and filled them with bottled water for their horses. He located some bread that hadn’t molded yet and used that for feed. He then made his way to the front of the building and began pulling out the tall grasses used as landscape material. This was not what the horses were accustomed to, but by the same token, they had most likely been raised in the wild and later tamed to allow riders. Their survival instincts had not been tamed.
When Duncan returned to the Subway dining area where he’d left Sook in the dark, he found her walking back and forth to the kitchen, wearing a children’s miner’s helmet that had a light attached.
She greeted him by shining the light into his eyes. “Look at my hat! It is for mining. Now it is for making a meal.”
She turned her head so Duncan could see how busy she’d been, and then she focused on one of the tables, where a variety of snacks and two bottled Cokes sat on the table ready for them to partake.
“Wow, you have been busy!” Duncan exclaimed after he saw all of the canned foods spread out around the room.
She handed him a helmet, which was way too small for his head. “For you, Mr. Miner.”
Duncan let out a heartfelt laugh. Once again, her childlike playfulness amazed him. He played along and put the ill-fitting child’s helmet on his head. Then he turned on the light. Despite how silly he thought he might look, the helmet served its purpose.
The two enjoyed a snack of Cheetos, peanut butter and crackers, and warm Coca-Cola. Sook admitted she’d never had a real Coke before. She knew the brand, however. There were only two countries in the world that did not sell Coca-Cola—Cuba and North Korea. The North had attempted to copy it, but she said it was flat and too sweet. Completely unaware of the slogan adopted by the Coca-Cola brand, she raised her glass and said, “This is the real thing.”