Young Guns 3Beyond Limits

by Remington Kane

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  Jones smiled weakly at Phelps.

  “Of course, I didn’t mean to insinuate otherwise.”

  Phelps went back to watching for Tanner, then saw an unusual sight.

  “He’s placed Barker on his back to use as a shield.”

  Down below, Tanner was crouched beneath Herb Barker’s body with his head ducked down. As he moved forward while holding tight to Barker’s arms, the dead man’s legs dragged along in the sand behind him. Barker’s wider frame hid Tanner from view, and the bulletproof vest gave protection.

  Although he’d been expecting it, the impact of Phelps’ first round into Barker’s body knocked Tanner off balance.

  He sprawled forward with Barker’s weight on top of him, then was nearly struck in the left elbow by a rifle round. Tanner hoisted Barker onto his back again and headed toward the heavy brush Jones had mentioned. As Tanner moved deeper into concealment, five more rounds slammed into Barker’s corpse, but the vest did its job and the rounds never penetrated flesh.

  When a break came in the firing, Tanner threw Barker’s corpse off him and sprinted deep into the brush, where he fell onto his belly and began crawling behind the crumbling stone wall. As Tanner suspected, Phelps had been reloading his gun. By the time the sniper had fresh ammunition and placed his eye to the scope, Tanner was out of sight, and likely out of range.

  “You can’t let him get away,” Smith said.

  Phelps cursed as he studied the terrain below and saw nothing definitive to shoot at.

  “Have your men drive the jeeps in and we’ll hunt Tanner down.”

  “I repeat,” Smith said. “This man cannot get away. Find him and kill him, Phelps.”

  “Yes sir,” Phelps said. “Consider him dead.”

  Tanner crawled behind a dune, then used the harsh sand to clean globs of blood and motor oil from his face. The sand wouldn’t remove all of the foulness, however, perspiration would cleanse his face eventually, as he wiped the sweat away.

  He sat up and checked to see if any sand had made its way into his weapon. The gun was fine, but the situation wasn’t. His vehicle was parked off in the other direction and he had no idea who or how many were gunning for him.

  And then there was the heat, which was hovering above 100-degrees. Tanner being Tanner, he had dropped caches of water along the route he’d taken in, as well as the surrounding area. It was a precaution he took whenever venturing into the desert to meet a contact.

  Rising from the sand, Tanner ran along the rear of the dunes with the aim being to circle back to his vehicle. As he ran, he thought about Herb Barker’s last words.

  They have my daughter, Tanner. They have my Andrea.

  Miles away, Andrea Barker was seated on the closed lid of a toilet inside a mobile home. The bathroom’s tiny window had bars attached on the inside but allowed a view. There was little to see, as her captors were parked on an abandoned road in the desert.

  Andrea, who was sixteen, recalled how terrified she was when the men burst into her home. They were young, her captors were, not much older than herself. Their names were Rudy and Cord, or at least that’s what they called each other. Rudy had brilliant green eyes while Cord wore a cowboy hat and boots. Andrea couldn’t be certain, but she thought they might be brothers.

  It was Cord who punched her father in the stomach, while Rudy held her by the arms. They were working for a man named Smith. Smith had been with Rudy and Cord, along with a man he referred to as Mr. Jones.

  Smith was an Englishman who had cruel eyes, and he was the one who ordered Cord to punch her father in the stomach. Nothing Smith said made any sense to Andrea, but her father had understood him. From what she’d gathered, her father had been involved in something shady. That was not a shock to Andrea. She loved her father to death, but the man had never worked a regular job during her lifetime, while always having money.

  “I’m a facilitator.”

  That was what her father told her when she was twelve and asked him what he did for a living.

  “What’s a facilitator?”

  “I coordinate the activities of different people. Let’s say that man A wants a certain job done but lacks the skill to do it himself. My job is to act as a go-between for man A and man B. Man B has the skills, but no client. When I introduce him to man A, a client, man B gladly gives me a fee for doing so.”

  “Oh, but how come you don’t need an office for that?”

  Her father had smiled at her.

  “That’s too much overhead, honey, besides, I’m a people person.”

  That explanation had satisfied Andrea back then, but now she knew there was more to it. Either man A was angry with her father or man B was, but someone had sent thugs to their house to abduct her, so that her father would do what they wanted. No, Smith was in charge. Andrea was sure of that. She couldn’t imagine that man taking orders from anyone.

  The sound came of the bolt being slid back on the bathroom door and it opened. It was Rudy, the boy with the green eyes. If Andrea hadn’t known what a psycho he was, she might have thought him cute.

  Rudy certainly seemed to like her, as he stood in the doorway and looked her over. Andrea knew she was good-looking, but thought her breasts were too small. She was so self-conscious about it that she always wore her long dark hair forward, to flow over her chest.

  “Are you hungry?” Rudy asked.

  “Where’s my father?”

  “He’s fine, don’t worry.”

  “What was it you wanted him to do for you? Is it dangerous?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just doing my job. Do you want to eat or not?”

  Andrea shook her head no.

  “You’re pretty, you know that?” Rudy said.

  Cord’s voice carried from the front of the motor home.

  “Leave the bitch alone. Mr. Smith said we weren’t to talk to her.”

  “Is Mr. Smith his real name?” Andrea asked.

  “I doubt it, but whoever he is, he pays good. Cord and I are getting two thousand apiece just to keep you here.”

  “My father will pay you more if you take me back home.”

  Rudy was about to speak when Cord appeared beside him.

  “Hey, we’re not supposed to talk to her.”

  “What’s the harm?” Rudy asked.

  “That’s not the point. This is an easy job, so let’s not blow it. Maybe Smith will give us more work.”

  Rudy said, “You’re right,” then he eased the door shut while staring down at Andrea’s legs.

  While Rudy had been looking at her legs, Andrea had been staring at the gun Rudy wore on his belt. She saw that the loop was unsnapped on the holster. Andrea wondered just how easy it would be to yank Rudy’s gun right out of it.

  7

  So Far, So Good

  BAJA CALIFORNIA, MEXICO, JULY 1998

  By sunset, Cody had made great progress and ate up more than forty-one of the one-hundred miles he had to cover. It had come at a price. He was exhausted from eight straight hours of trudging along in high heat and felt as if there wasn’t enough water in the world to slake his thirst.

  He’d spotted Spenser’s truck off in the distance once, as he neared one of the designated water stops. There, he had found two quarts of chilled water. One went in his canteen while the other was poured down his throat. That had been the last time he refilled the canteen, at his next stops for water, he drank both quarts without stopping.

  The temperature had been brutal, while the humidity drifting in from the sea to the west made the air humid. Upon reaching his next stop for hydration, Cody drained the water jugs, then decided to eat for the first time.

  He had no hunger other than his need to complete the course in time, but he felt that taking in a few calories would only help. He wolfed down two protein bars, then reached inside his pack for the headlamp he would need to wear overnight.

  He stood while doing all this, as he feared that sitting might make h
is muscles cramp. Using the headlamp to check the pedometer he wore, Cody saw that he had covered 41.4 miles. He was sure he’d be well past the halfway mark by midnight, leaving him twelve hours left to cover the miles that stretched out before him. If he hadn’t been so tired, he would have thought he’d finish in easy fashion, but the truth was he was already wasted.

  He thought about what it would feel like to see Spenser smiling at him as he crossed the finish line with minutes to spare. The image of that moment energized him, and he began moving again. The night grew deeper and the protein bars felt like lead sitting in his stomach.

  Four miles away, Romeo was strapping on his own headlamp.

  He had done better than Cody, having traveled 42.6 miles, but a muscle in his back had begun to ache. Romeo took the time to change his socks, then his shoelaces, because the shoelaces always seemed to break at the worst moments. After downing his water, he was on the move again. The ache in his back was as sharp as a knife.

  After dropping off enough water to get the boys through the night, Spenser returned to the trailer for a few hours of sleep. The boys were doing fine. He knew that, everyone did well in the beginning. The agony didn’t begin until later in the run.

  He thought back to when he had gone through the test and the memory made him cringe. There had come a point when he’d had nothing left and just knew he couldn’t go on. But, of course, he had, after finding a reserve of strength he didn’t know he’d possessed.

  They’ll both make it. He told himself. He had come to love both boys as if they were his sons and didn’t want to lose either of them. If they both failed, he would feel as if he’d let them down.

  That was ridiculous, and Spenser knew it. No one failed the test unless they didn’t have what it took to pass it. As he told the boys at the start of the race. This wasn’t a test for their bodies, their stamina, but a trial that would judge their mental toughness.

  Cody and Romeo would face themselves out there in the desert, and they’d be better men for it someday. Whether they would also remain his apprentices remained to be seen.

  After showering, Spenser turned on the radio and received a shock.

  The weather forecast had been updated and the news was not good. The revised forecast called for temperatures in the 112 to 115-degree range. By the time the race ended at noon, the boys would be running in a furnace.

  Spenser set his alarm so that he would wake up early, then spent the next hour staring at the ceiling.

  They’ll both make it. He told himself again, but it sounded like wishful thinking.

  8

  The Safari Twins

  DEATH VALLEY, CALIFORNIA, AUGUST 2012

  Phelps looked at a pair of Mr. Smith’s men and shook his head in consternation.

  “Why are you two dressed like that?”

  The men were wearing safari outfits with short pants, along with pith helmets. Phelps thought they looked ridiculous. They had each arrived in open-top jeeps. Mr. Smith and his aide Mr. Jones would take one jeep while the safari twins helped Phelps with Tanner.

  The taller of the two men looked down at himself.

  “What’s wrong with our outfits? This is the desert, right?”

  “Never mind your clothes,” Mr. Smith said. “You have a job to do. You’re going to flush Tanner out of hiding and steer him toward Phelps.”

  The shorter safari twin spoke up after raising his hand in the air.

  “Do we have to kill anyone, Mr. Smith?”

  “Phelps will see to that. It’s what I’m paying the man to do.”

  “Good, because I never killed anyone.”

  Phelps climbed into the rear of one of the jeeps the men had arrived in and laid his rifle across his lap. He pointed as he spoke to the safari twins.

  “Let’s get going; head that way.”

  “That’s the wrong direction,” Jones said, then he blanched under the stare Phelps leveled at him.

  “I know which way Tanner was headed, but he left his car in the other direction. With luck we’ll find him there, otherwise I’ll just disable the vehicle.”

  “Oh, good thinking,” Jones said.

  “Let’s go!” Phelps said, and his tall safari driver climbed behind the wheel, as the shorter man took the passenger seat.

  “I don’t like him,” Jones said, but only after Phelps was out of earshot.

  “As long as he kills the assassin he’s fine by me,” Smith said. “I want anyone else thinking of accepting a contract on my life to know that I will fight back.”

  “What about Cynthia? Will she be similarly… punished?”

  “I won’t have her killed if that’s what you’re asking. Despite the fact that she wanted me dead I still love her. However, there will be changes in our relationship.”

  “You’re staying married to a woman who put a contract out on you?”

  “Cynthia is a child yet, despite being eighteen. I’ll divorce her, but I won’t let her go. When I tell her that I had Herb Barker killed she’ll fall into line.”

  “You’re right. She’ll do anything you say.”

  Smith smiled. “Some good will come from this after all.”

  Tanner breathed heavily from the exertion of running hard in extreme heat. He was half-hidden behind the trunk of a Joshua tree while he used the set of compact binoculars to look at his jeep. He needed to determine if anyone were lying in wait for him.

  There was no one around the vehicle, but when movement caught his eye, he saw that another jeep was headed toward the area where he had parked.

  He was too far away for his gun to do him any good, while he knew that there was at least one rifle in the fight. He glimpsed that rifle through the binoculars as a tall man with sandy-colored hair stepped out of the rear of the jeep.

  Phelps found the rifle Tanner had left in the jeep and handed it off to the short safari twin.

  “Damn it,” Tanner said, not only because of the loss of his rifle, but because he knew what was coming next. He was proven correct moments later when Phelps fired three rounds into his vehicle’s radiator. Oddly, the two men with Phelps let out a cheer. They were dressed in what appeared to be safari outfits.

  “Idiots,” Tanner muttered. With his jeep lost to him, he turned and began running back the way he’d come. The desert sun was dehydrating him, and he had to get to water. He had dropped over a dozen bottles along the old road as he drove in, with the nearest bottle being only a few miles away.

  As he ran, Tanner formulated a plan for survival. Once survival was assured, then it would be time for revenge.

  9

  Feed Me!

  BAJA CALIFORNIA, MEXICO, JULY 1998

  At 3:59 a.m., Romeo smiled as he saw that he had covered nearly seventy-two miles in sixteen hours. Before coming to the desert and training with Spenser, that would have been impossible. However, over twenty-eight more miles remained, while Romeo knew he had little left in his tank.

  He’d been tired before, and utterly exhausted in recent weeks, but he had never felt the bone-deep weariness that seemed like it was a part of him. And his back, his damn back was screaming at him with every step he took.

  A much minor pain was the spot on his wrist where he wore his watch. The band had been chafing his skin, and so he took off the watch, sat it in his backpack, and used a tube of cocoa butter on the affected area.

  As he had been looking through the backpack for the balm, he came across Spenser’s letter. Romeo held it for several seconds, then shoved it into his back pocket to read later, when the sun came up.

  A sound reached his ears that told him something was moving nearby. After scanning the darkness with his light and seeing no one, he assumed that what he was hearing were the movements of some night creature. Whatever it was, it wasn’t that close, so he put it out of his mind. He was near the abandoned silver mine, and it only made sense that some animal would call it home.

  After downing water, Romeo decided to lie flat on his stomach in an attempt to str
etch out the kink in his back. It helped a little, while it felt wonderful to be off his booted feet.

  Romeo felt his eyes closing on their own and popped them open. If he fell asleep it could be disastrous.

  Just minutes later, Romeo was being congratulated by Spenser for finishing the race in record time. Of course, it was all a dream. Romeo had fallen asleep.

  Not having the sun beating down on him was a relief to Cody, but the temperature was still hovering around ninety degrees.

  At four a.m., Cody was at the seventy-three-mile mark. He had slowed considerably overnight, partly due to the darkness, but largely due to fatigue. He had lost track of how many gallons of water he’d consumed along the trek, while all thoughts of food repulsed him. One thought was in his mind, and that was to win.

  As Cody leaned his head back to take a drink a streak of agony ran through his right calf. The sudden pain was so sharp that it caused Cody to drop the water bottle he’d been holding. The bottle rolled off into the inky blackness that the ground had become, as it lost its precious water.

  Cody turned his head in that direction and the lamp strapped to his forehead illuminated moist sand. He cursed the luck, sat on the ground, and massaged his calf. He was leaning with his back against what remained of an old shack someone had built during the seventies for some unknown purpose. After opening a new bottle of water, he downed it while swallowing a pair of salt tablets and a multi-vitamin that contained potassium.

  It was the first time he had been off his feet in over sixteen hours and it felt like bliss. His eyes closed. Cody jerked awake seconds later and checked his watch. Relief swept over him when he saw that only minutes had passed since he’d stopped moving. He was not someone given easily to emotion, but his pulse raced with the knowledge that he had come close to sleeping through the end of the test.