by Rob Buckman
Night fell fast, bringing a cold wind with a hint of winter in it and a promise of events to come. The campfire was warm and welcome, sending shadows dancing and flickering around the clearing and into the trees. They formed an ever-changing light show, dancing and jumping from tree to tree. Dinner was quick and easy, two thick steaks, one rare for Max, one well done for him. The rest of the meal was freeze-dried concentrate, courtesy of 'Mountain House'. He placed the remainder of his, mostly fat and a few vegetables with Max's steak by the fire to keep warm. Cold steak was something that neither of them could stand. Coffee, dessert, and one of the four "Blackroot" cigars he permitted himself each day came next. Over a can of peaches for dessert, he contemplated the chunk of float, turning it in his hand, flashing gold and white fire in the light from the lamp, igniting his imagination. The chunk of 'float' tantalized him with the unspoken story of where it had come from, but he wasn't foolish enough to drop what he was doing and go rushing off in search of El Dorado. That might come later, but only after some careful planning during the coming winter. He sat back in the camp chair, letting the soft sounds of the forest and the music coming from the disk player wash over him. His selection tonight was light and sweet, something to match his mood and the deep quiet around him. At first, he thought the faint sound was Max returning, but Max never made that much noise. Lost hikers? Campers coming over to say Hi? He doubted it. You don't come up on a man's camp at night without letting your intentions be known. He adjusted the napkin on the low table beside him just in case. He didn't have to wait long.
"You just sit right still mister and you ain't gonna come to no harm!" a voice sounding like gravel falling down a steel chute informed him. Then he added a nasty chuckle for good measure. Mike had to admit it was a good performance, probably scaring more than one hiker or camper out of his or her pants. It didn't do much for him.
"I wish you would use correct English, Cretin," he commented casually, “and stop making so much noise, I can't hear the music."
He didn't bother looking up, and to all appearances, it looked as if he was concentrating on nothing more than music and his can of peaches. His eyes, on the other hand, under the brim of his 'Panzer’ cap scanned the darkness behind them, seeking, probing, his mind calculating the different aspects of the situation. There was dead silence for a moment, then.
"What?!" came the puzzled reply.
"Shut up Jack!" a second voice snapped. "Hey mister! Tell us where your stash is, and we'll be long gone." He snarled at Mike.
At least they had the sense to split up, coming at him out of the dark from two directions. Not that it made any difference. They'd screwed up by coming together, inside the fire light. One armed with a shotgun, the other a rifle. The shotgun was a pump action twelve gauge Winchester, the other a .300 Savage bolt action, rifle by the look of it. No handguns evident, no bulges under the jackets, his mind registered.
It was an automatic response, cold calculating, his mind doing what it was trained to do. Their clothes were new, as were their boots and packs. Both sported expensive watches and rings, adding revealing details to their story. His mind went on cataloguing the items, while another part examined the different possibilities, working out a clear course of action for each. It felt strange to sit there and be so detached from his surroundings. Not that he was a stranger to this condition. He searched within for the anger, the fear, and found nothing. In some ways, finding nothing was more frightening than finding it. Where had his feelings gone? When did he lose them? He looked, finding no answer. He knew that at one time he would have been scared, almost peeing in his pants. That was before his grandfather had taken him out to the desert and left him there with nothing but a dull knife. He vividly remembered the hot sun waking him up, and seeing the desert stretching away from him in all directions. Panic hit him then, terror following hard on its heels. He looked around in desperation, finding no help in any direction. All he had was a canteen of water, a few pounds of beef jerky, a dull knife, and a few odds and ends in a leather pouch. That first day, he sat in the shade of a rock and cried, or screamed at the sky for an explanation. There wasn't one. In the end, it dawned on him that it was either learn to survive, or die.
He survived. His grandfather had taken a boy into the desert. What emerged was a man. Dark brown from the relentless rays of the sun and a warrior’s feather in his hair. The three long scratches down his forearm were a test of his courage in taking the tail feather from his brother, the eagle. The rattlesnakes bite on his ankle a test of his courage against death. He'd died and been resurrected, but the price was high. Having died once he no longer feared death. He didn't care whether they’d kill him or not. Taking another peach out of the can, he spooned it into his mouth, savoring the taste and the moment, his eyes scanning the pair. He watched out of the corner of his eye to see if there were others. These two might be working alone, or have a buddy or two out in the darkness. Something told him they were working alone, and he would only have to deal with them, instead of a back up. Just then, he spotted Max and his playmate come to the edge of the clearing, both sitting down near a stump, waiting. He knew Max wouldn't be far away, but he wondered where he found the playmate.
"Hey shit-head! Are you listening to us?!" One asked waving the shotgun in what he imagined was a threatening manner. This one was a short, fat individual, starting to develop a beer belly. His long greasy looking hair hung over the collar of his jacket. It also smelled as if he hadn't had a bath in a month.
'I bet he hasn't got a round jacked into the chamber.' Mike thought. 'That will be the next action. Scare the unlucky person into obedience.' Still receiving no answer, they moved forward, closer to the fire. Making an even better target.
"Mister! We're talking to you! You deaf or stupid? Where the fuck is your gold!" He poked the shotgun forward. "Don't give us no shit about not finding any either, we've bin watching' you all afternoon." Mike looked up, his face expressionless. "Are you two still here?" there was no missing the note of annoyance in his voice. For a second they both looked at each other, not believing what they heard.
"Mister, you are starting to piss me off, and I’m about to blow a hole through you just for the hell of it." The man raised the shotgun again. The end of the barrel having dropped in surprise, pointing it at Mike again.
"To do that, you stupid imbecile, you first jack a round into the breech. Then point it in the right direction, push the safety off, and squeeze the trigger. It's a very simple operation, really. Even someone with your obvious genetic damage and very limited intelligence should be able to do it." A look of astonishment passed across the men's faces. The fat one's mouth dropped open, his eyes blinking as if he couldn't and didn't believe his ears.
"You dumb shit-head! You think I ain't got no round in this gun?" He said, pushing the barrel towards Mike.
"Yes!" Mike said off-handedly, appearing more interested in the music, than what was going on.
His spoon waving in time with the music, a counter point to the guns and ugliness around him. He anticipated the next move and for a moment hope flared, was there a round in the chamber? Had he read the man wrong? It would be so easy if he had. This sad cycle of life and death would be finally over. The man grinned.
"Well let’s see." Very slowly, he squeezed the trigger. A dry click was the only sound that came out of the weapon, much to the man's embarrassment. Mike felt a sharp sense of disappointment. Then relief washed over him. He wasn't sure which he preferred. He'd gambled and won, wondering again if the price of life was worth the effort.
"You dumb shit! Jack a round in like I told you, and stop fucking around!" His partner snapped. "You!” He glared at Mike. "You're too damn cool. No one takes a chance like that unless he has an edge?!" He said, quickly scanning the dark forest. Half expecting to see a gun pointed at him. This one was short, skinny, and nervous looking as if he expected a bomb to go off under him any second.
"Edge?" Mike shrugged, looking surprised. "I don't have
one," he said, and he didn't. Unless you consider not giving a damn if you lived or died as having an edge. If he had a round in the chamber, it would be all over now. He'd no longer have to worry about going over the edge.
"Then how come you was willing to take a chance the gun wasn't loaded?" Skinny didn't like it. There was something wrong here. This guy was too damn cool, too cool by a long shot. Mike sighed.
"Personally, I don't give a shit if there was or wasn't a round in the chamber. I doubt he has the intelligence to put his hat on in the morning without an instruction book, let alone play with guns." Mike gave a long sigh. "I'm surprised you let him have a loaded weapon. He's as liable to shoot you as me." That shook them both for a moment, neither understanding what they had heard. No one could be that willing to die. Everyone wanted to live, that was their edge.
Hikers and camper up in the hills always came across with what they wanted. Money, booze, pussy, it didn't matter. Point a gun at them and they'd shit in their pants. If they didn't, as some had, they could always shoot them and drop their bodies down an old mine shaft. They couldn't buy into Mike’s act. Something wasn't right.
"Man, you’re crazy!" There was a note of fear in the skinny man's voice now. "Stop bullshitting us and tell us where your stash is or my friend will blow your fucking head off!" For emphasis, the fat man finally figured out how to jack a round into the breech, looking pleased with himself. However, skinny still had an uneasy feeling that something wasn't right. As if the victim was in control, not them.
"No!" Mike said, plain and simple. He'd gambled and won, and from here on it would be simple to manipulate these two. If you didn't give a damn if you lived or died, there was nothing any one could threaten you with.
"No!" the skinny one repeated. What do you mean no?" This was weird. The situation was getting completely out of hand now. This wasn't supposed to be the way it went.
"No I'm not going to tell you if I have any gold or not. Nor tell you where it is, if I had it, and no, he's not going to blow my head off." The man with the rifle grinned.
"Why the hell not?" Skinny's voice climbing the scale, becoming shrill, his confidence quickly vanishing. Something about this whole situation screamed deep trouble. Mike looked at them steadily for a moment. His green eyes becoming as cold as arctic ice.
"Because, if you don't leave in the next few seconds, either I'll kill you or they will," he said, pointing with his spoon across the clearing at Max. Neither looked around.
"You don't really think we're going to fall for that old trick do you!?" was skinny's sneering reply.
"Yeah, we've bin watching you all day, and you're up here all by yourself." Fatty's voice said he wasn't so confident that that was true. Mike sighed.
"Max! Say 'hi'." Mike said in a soft voice. Max let out a growl that became a long low rumble, his girlfriend following suit in response. Two heads snapped round, looking wide-eyed at the glowing red coals of their eyes. Firelight dripping off blood red lips curled back to reveal gleaming white fangs. Max and his girlfriend were belly low to the ground, hackles raised. Ready to attack. Both intruders knew a wolf when they saw one. This situation had just gone from bad to worse. Turning back, they found themselves looking down the barrel of a 9 mm M92SB silenced Beretta.
"Oh shit!" The fat one muttered. The situation just turned from worse, to total cluster fuck. The black eye of the barrel pointed at a spot right between the two. Neither could figure out where it had come from. Unless it had been under the napkin. It didn't matter. They were up to their necks in it. If he didn't get them, the wolves would.
Both dropped their weapons without being told, raising their hands over their heads. The black eye of the Beretta spat fire twice, bright, hot, scalding, the two shots sounding like a cough. Both clapped hands to an ear that felt as if someone had ripped half of it off. Someone had. Mike's shots clipped the cheek and ear lobe off each man. For a few minutes, they hopped and danced around, howling and screaming curses, ruby dark blood streaming down their necks, lances of pain stabbing the sides of their faces. Mike laid the weapon down, continuing to eat his dessert. His face expressionless. He watched their antics with dry amusement. At last, still cursing a blue streak, they stopped as Max growled louder.
"Son of a fucking bitch! You cock-sucking shit-head!" Each added uncomplimentary details as to his character, parenthood, and general sexual preference, cursing themselves at the same time. Now they knew his edge, or thought they did. Mike really didn't give a damn.
"Hey mister, we was only joking." The skinny one stammered. "We didn't mean no harm! Honest!" Both spluttered apologies as fast as they could. Not feeling any easier, even after Mike place the Beretta on the camp table beside him. Mike quietly waited for them to run out of steam. At last they did, standing there with blood trickling down their necks, soaking slowly into shirts and jackets. Picking his spoon up, he scooping the last piece of peach out of the bottom of the can, then looked up, ice green eyes unreadable.
"I would like both of you to listen to me very, very carefully." He said, his voice like iron. "I will only say this once." He looking at each in turn. "If I see either of you two again, ever! I will kill you where you stand. Up here, in town, anywhere. Do you understand?"
"What!..."
"You will not have a second chance, do you understand?!" The cold iron in his voice unmistakable.
Both knew there were some who'd bluff, trying to scare you, and some you could bluff by throwing it back in their face. This man was neither. As sure as anything else in their lives, they knew that if this man saw them again he would do just what he said. He'd kill them on sight.
"Yes sir!" First one, then the other said in a soft voice.
"I might add that if I don't get you, he will." Again, the spoon pointed across the clearing. Both knew without looking what he was pointing at. "Now drop your packs and empty your pockets. Dump anything you've got on the table, and I do mean anything!"
Hurriedly they dumped the packs and reached into their pockets. Blood sticky hands hanging up as they hurriedly pulled the contents out and placed the items carefully on the table. Each heard a low growl behind them as they did. That done they stood back, waiting, their eyes switching back and forth between Mike and the two wolves.
"Now the boots belts and socks."
"What! You can't do tha..." Mike chopped of their complaints with a cutting motion of his hand.
"Do it or I'll let the wolves kill you now. Move it!"
Hurriedly they complied with the order, standing at length, angry and scared in bare feet, holding their pants up. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. They were the ones who gave orders, doing and taking what they wanted, watching everybody else pee in their pants or panties. Mike contemplated forcing them to strip completely, sending them down the mountain stark naked. But no. That might push them beyond a certain point. They might feel 'honor' bound to return. Not that it bothered him, he'd kill them anyway. On the other hand, having bodies lying around meant that people would started asking stupid questions, and he didn’t want that.
"Now get out!" They didn't need telling a second time.
Without looking backward, they ran from the clearing, tripping and scrambling down the riverbank. Max and his mate added a few woofs to encourage them on their way. They ran for their lives, trying to hold their pants up, crashing into trees and tripping over roots in the dark. Fear added speed to their movements, feeling as if the devil himself was chasing them.
The day had indeed been profitable, garnering an additional fifteen hundred dollars from the pair, plus a rifle and shotgun. There was a set of car keys among the items, and Mike bet these belonged to his departing guests. It would be a long walk back to town in bare feet. Unless they knew how to pick a lock, and hotwire a car. The backpacks contained an assortment of ammunition; freeze dried food, lenses, cameras, watches, binoculars, plus five wallets. There were three handguns, two small autos and a .357 Smith and Wesson, all three in holsters. The guns, a
mmo, and money he'd keep, their confiscation not bothering him at all. The rest he'd drop off at the sheriffs' office the next time he went into town, and be returned to the owners if possible. The keys, boots, and belts might be of help to the local law in identifying and locating the two. Not that he particularly cared. If he saw them again, he'd have to assume they were going to kill him. In which case, he'd have to kill them first. It was as simple as that. Max coaxed his girlfriend near the fire, offering her his steak, which she sniffed suspiciously. Mike pulled another from the freezer chest and laid it on the plate, watching the female back off a little as he came nearer. This she took and retreated into the darkness of the trees to eat. Max on the other hand happily lay down and chewed on his, not stopping until he'd finished it all and cleaned the plate. At length he plunked himself down at Mike's feet and rested his head on a foot, belching for good measure. Reaching down, Mike absently scratched him behind the ear, starting a low rumble of pleasure. His reluctant girl friend wasn't too happy about that. Lying down by the stump of an old tree, she watched the scene with unblinking eyes. Mike returned to his contemplation of the chunk of 'float', examining it in detail in the lamp light. He noted the sharp edges to the quartz and the rough texture of the gold.