by Jeff Carson
Their pursuers hadn’t made their presence known yet, and it had been over thirty minutes of running downhill. At the beginning, when Wolf and Jack had reached the valley floor, he saw one of the men come over the lip of the cirque high above. Wolf opted not to stop and shoot at the distant light. The other man might have been lying in wait, aiming, waiting for a still target.
Since then, there had been no radio activity. So Wolf was reasonably certain there wasn’t some other person waiting for them below.
“We’re almost…there.” Wolf said in two breaths. He jogged behind Jack, holding the .357 in his right hand with the rifle strapped on his shoulder. His arm was numb now, and he felt weak, like he was suffering from a blood sugar crash. The blood loss was taking its toll, getting worse and worse with all the exertion and pumping of his heart.
“Any reception?” Wolf asked.
Jack looked down at his glowing cell phone. “No.”
They continued on like that for the next twenty minutes, and as they finally reached the truck, all hell broke loose.
…
They came through the final stretch of forest, and to an opening ahead, where Wolf’s old Toyota truck shined in the moonlight.
Wolf had the .357 in his belt line, his car keys in his right hand, and had been mentally rehearsing inserting them into his door lock, starting the engine, and driving away for the last few minutes.
When they reached the truck, Jack went to the passenger door on the right, and Wolf to the driver’s on the left.
Just then the rear window of his pickup shattered and dropped in a million pieces into the truck bed. And then another bullet zipped past him and exploded bark off the side of a pine tree. And then another bullet, accompanied by another loud report, a close report, hit the side view mirror right next to Wolf’s shoulder.
For agonizing seconds, he pushed the key at the driver’s side keyhole, missing each time.
“Quick!” Jack said from the other side of the truck. “They’re right there! Dad!”
Wolf’s vision was tunneling down. He tried again with the key, this time feeling the smooth insertion into the lock.
Another bullet hit the truck with an earsplitting slap, just as Wolf lifted the handle. He reached in and pushed the automatic lock on the inside of his door, and jumped in.
The other door didn’t open, Jack wasn’t on the other side of the truck anymore.
Wolf turned just in time to see Jack was near the rear of the truck, pointing the pistol, which was kicking and spitting fire in his hands. He fired four times, and then opened the door and got in.
“Jack, what are you doing? Get down!”
“I got one of them!” Jack slammed the door and jumped onto his knees on the seat, looking through the back window and using the headrest as a shield.
Wolf started the truck, and was relieved when it roared like it had countless times before in its one hundred fifty-thousand mile lifetime. He pushed the clutch and crammed it into reverse, then grabbed Jack’s shoulder.
“Get on the floor.”
Jack slumped down.
Wolf backed up and cranked the wheel to the left with his right arm to exit the lot, a move that put Jack’s door directly in the line of fire. He held his breath as he lurched the truck back, pushed the clutch again, put it in first, and sped away.
The truck jumped over rocks and ruts and barreled out of the lot, sending Wolf’s head into the ceiling, and Jack against the underside of the dashboard. In less than ten seconds they were around a bend, and into thick virgin forest.
Jack climbed back onto the seat and buckled his seatbelt.
Wolf drove with one hand, feeling revived with every second they sat. He pushed the limits of the truck’s suspension for the drive down the perilous road, covering the distance that had taken them over an hour to ascend in less than fifteen minutes.
“Holy shit.” Jack said, as they finally reached cruising speed on the dark highway far below.
Wolf looked over at Jack, and looked him up and down. His son was completely fine. “Yeah,” he said. Holy shit.
Chapter 15
“Can you please slow down?” Officer Patterson squirmed in the passenger seat of the RPPD Explorer, gripping her tiny hand on the ceiling handle.
Rachette ignored Patterson’s whining and pushed his foot to the floor. The Explorer lurched as it downshifted, then caught and sucked them back into their seats.
The siren screamed, and the engine was revved so high Rachette thought it might just explode, but it shifted back up a couple gears and mellowed out as they reached a downhill straight away, and just over one hundred ten miles per hour.
The drive from Rocky Points to the County Hospital was just over a half-hour’s drive south on a normal day. Rachette aimed to make it in half the time this morning. Simple math: Double the speed, half the time.
He got over into the left lane and passed a semi-truck and a car that didn’t have enough reaction time to move to the right shoulder at the speed they were going.
“Please. Officer Rachette.” Patterson’s eyes were clenched tight, and her teeth were bared, like she expected them to die at any moment.
“He’s in trouble.” Rachette said.
Patterson wouldn’t quit. “He’s fine for Christ’s sake! They said he’s fine. Slow down!”
She just didn’t get it. After one afternoon on the force, without even spending time with Wolf, there was no way she could understand how much the man meant to Rachette, and to the whole department, and to the town. Now this new chick was telling him he needed to chill out? To not worry about the only man he’d ever looked up to in his whole life? To take his time while his mentor sat in a hospital bed with a gunshot wound, with tubes sticking out of him, and machines beeping, and God knew what else? Screw that.
They climbed a hill at the end of the straightaway, and Rachette let off the gas. At the apex, a yellow sign rose into view with a right arrow and 45mph underneath it.
Rachette mashed the brakes, sending them forward in their seats against the restraints. The whole vehicle shuddered. The tires squealed and the police cage behind their heads rattled with the vibration. Another vehicle was halfway through the turn ahead, coming the other way, so Rachette had to crank the wheel to keep in his own lane, or risk a head-on collision.
He clenched his teeth and held his breath as the left wheels screeched and the right wheels lifted. With just the right combination of physical forces applied at the right amounts, at just the right time, they missed the other car. The instant the blur of paint was out of Rachette’s peripheral, he compensated his steering to the left, sending all wheels back to the pavement, and the Explorer drifting into the other lane.
Rachette let the SUV coast as he jerked them back into the right lane, and watched the speedometer needle dip below ninety, eighty, then sixty-five. He let out a deep breath and felt himself go nova in the face.
Suddenly Patterson’s tiny frame seemed more imposing next to him. It was probably the veins popping from the thin muscles of her forearm as she gripped the center console, or the death clench on the ceiling handle, exposing her rock hard arm muscles.
When she kept silent for another few seconds, Rachette stole a quick glance at her, to make sure she was still conscious.
Her face was pale, and her lower lip jutted out. She didn’t blink as she stared out the windshield. With a slow, deliberate movement, she swiveled her head and glared at Rachette with her ice blue eyes.
“Sorry.” He said, thoroughly creeped out by the near collision, and now the deadly vibe he was getting from Patterson.
With a sudden move she let go of the handle, sending it smacking against the ceiling on its springs. She leaned back, crossed her legs, and stared out the passenger window without blinking or moving another muscle.
Rachette swallowed, and slowed to the sixty mile an hour speed limit. He kept that pace for the next few minutes, and was obliged to keep it that way for the remainder of the trip.
Chapter 16
Wolf can hardly imagine a less habitable environment than the heat of a Sri Lankan jungle, just before a breaking monsoon.
He looks at the line of people shuffling forward onto the CH-47 Chinook, and is at least grateful for their mission objective—to get in, get the embassy employees, and get the hell out. If it weren’t for the twin rotor wash of the giant helicopter, he’s certain he would have melted out of his ACU by now.
Sweat is pouring out of his helmet as he gazes into the thick jungle at the edge of the embassy lawn. He knows there is real danger out there. That’s why they were called here. They’re only called to places with real danger.
“South, check,” a voice calls in his earpiece.
“West, check,” he responds.
“North, check.”
“East, check.”
Wolf continues to scan the edge of the thick lush growth. There are leaves hanging off trees that probably weigh as much as him, full of gallons of water. He looks to the sky, which is a muddy haze, ready to dump warm buckets of rain any second.
The line of people is getting smaller back at the Chinook, only…seven more to load. Seven more people waiting to escape the latest flame up of violence from the local faction of Tamil Tigers. Then they’ll be on their way, and into an air-conditioned building on the India mainland. Then, if the rumors were right, a week in Diego Garcia for his team, a tropical paradise Naval Support Facility nine hundred miles south. And some much needed R and R. If the rumors were right.
A movement catches Wolf’s attention to his right, against the line of vegetation, just in between he and the helicopter.
“I have movement on the west jungle wall.” Wolf narrows his eyes, and confusion overtakes him for a moment. It’s a child, no older than eight years old. “It’s a kid. Stand by.”
Wolf moves toward the child in long, fast strides, through a patch of hip-high grass.
The child is barefoot, wearing a bright colored backpack, and approaching the helicopter with a fast walk. It’s a little boy. He is holding something in front of his face, in his hand, like a popsicle or something, and he wants to show the people on the helicopter what he has.
Then Wolf freezes, and the blood drains from his face. As the little boy gets nearer the helicopter, he looks over his shoulder to the jungle, toward the trees with wide eyes, like he’s searching for approval, like a kid in a soccer game looking over to the sidelines for encouragement from his parents, and Wolf takes in the truth of the situation in an instant.
The popsicle in the child’s hand is a bomb detonation device, a black rod with a thumb poised over the red switch, and the kid is wearing a backpack, filled with explosives. He’s looking over his shoulder at men who have just ducked down, and have scurried away into the jungle, leaving swaying leaves in their wake.
Wolf shoulders his Colt M4A1 just as a grasshopper lands on his face. He takes aim, and fires without hesitation. The boy’s head wrenches back and he falls at an awkward angle, dead before he hits the ground.
Wolf opened his eyes and sucked in a breath through his mouth.
He was slumped in a hospital bed, staring at a low cot next to him, where Jack lay facing him, snoring softly under a red blanket with a stream of drool coming out of his mouth.
Wolf took a deep breath. His heart was still racing, and a trickle of sweat fell down the side of his cheek. He reached up to wipe it off, and it felt like a nail was hammered into his left arm.
He winced and looked down, and saw the bandage and sling, and memories flooded back to him. More recent memories.
They were in one of the rooms of County Hospital. Wolf had shown up with a gunshot wound to his arm in the early am. Jack had practically carried him inside, and Wolf had been hooked to an IV, got his wound stitched, and slept for the remainder of the night. He remembered Jack chugging a lot of water, and eating like a horse, and not much else.
Wolf checked his watch, it was 7:32 am. At some point he’d spoken to a couple cops last night, though he couldn’t remember what was said, or who the officers were.
There was a soft knock on the door, and Wolf turned to see a man in a green police uniform on the other side of the rectangle glass.
Wolf nodded and scooted off the bed. He planted his feet on the cold floor, picked up his jeans folded on a plastic seat, and awkwardly pulled them on with one arm. He kept the hospital gown on top, as his t-shirt was nowhere to be found.
He glanced at Jack, who hadn’t moved a muscle, and stepped out into the hallway.
“Sheriff Wolf?” A police officer Wolf vaguely recognized from seeing over the years stood in front of him with an extended hand. “Sergeant McCall, Glenwood Springs PD.”
McCall stood a few inches below Wolf, looking up with pine green eyes, almost the same shade as Jack’s, Wolf thought. His hair was closely cut and light brown, and he had a solid beard of matching color and trim. He was muscular, though not bulky, much like Wolf.
“Hi,” Wolf said. “Did I talk to you last night?”
“No, sir. That was a state patrolman and another one of ours.”
“Is anyone from my squad here?” Wolf asked.
McCall shook his head. “No, sir. I’ve heard they are on their way. We didn’t get to speak to you much last night. Your son told us what happened, and they took an official statement.” He held up a pen and paper. “I’d like to get yours, now. If you don’t mind.”
Wolf nodded. “No problem. I could use some coffee.”
“Good idea,” McCall said, and they walked down the hall to a coffee machine.
McCall appraised Wolf’s bandage and shook his head. “As if you guys don’t have enough going on in Rocky Points this week.”
Wolf looked at him. “The music festival? Yeah. This isn’t going to help.”
“I’d actually been pushing my boss to let me volunteer for that. But we’ve already got a couple other officers going over. Maybe next time.”
“Really? I would think having to come to Rocky Points to run security for a couple nights would be a crap assignment.”
McCall shrugged. “I like Rocky Points, and I was thinking I could use a change of scenery.”
“Your boss, Sheriff Greene?” Wolf asked, as if there were another boss of the GSPD he would have been talking about.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’d put a word in for you, but you’d probably be fired shortly thereafter.”
McCall raised an eyebrow. “You two don’t get along?”
“You could say that.”
“Then I guess I should let you know he’ll be coming in the next few minutes, and he’d like to speak to you as well.”
“Oh good.”
McCall chuckled.
They grabbed a Styrofoam cup of coffee and walked back to a group of chairs outside the room.
Wolf rehashed their adventures from the night before, and Sergeant McCall was an attentive listener, furrowing his brow and shaking his head, raising his eyebrows and making exasperated noises as he took copious notes.
When Wolf ended the story with Jack shooting one of the men, and their narrow escape, McCall sat back and shook his head. “Good lord. We gotta get these two guys.” He widened his eyes and looked down the hall. “We’ve got officers up on the trail now. They’re saying there weren’t any vehicles in the lot, and they haven’t seen anyone. We’ve also checked every hospital in the area. Nobody had a man come in with a gunshot wound last night.”
They turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.
“Sheriff Wolf,” bellowed a deep voice.
Wolf winced as he bumped his injured arm against the chair and stood up. “Sheriff Greene. Good to see you again.”
Sheriff Green stopped on thick trunks for legs and held out a flesh-pillow hand. “Yeah, right.”
Wolf had no clue what that response meant. Going on thirteen years now, Greene had never liked Wolf, and found it necessary to pretend that Wolf didn’t like him back. Why exactl
y, was a mystery Wolf had never solved.
Greene wheezed gently as his cold hand shook Wolf’s with the vigor of a dead squid. “Sounds like you got into some trouble last night, boy.”
Wolf nodded. “You could say that.”
Greene was worse looking than Wolf had seen him last. Redder, and larger, were two words that came to mind.
“Didn’t think I’d see you down here,” Wolf said.
“Why’s that?”
Wolf shrugged. Just like Hal Burton had been before Wolf stepped into the role of the RPPD sheriff, Wolf knew Sheriff Greene had checked out since he would be retiring within the year. On top of that, Greene had always been a delegator, preferring the warmth of his office to the world outside, so this close to retirement, it really was a surprise to see him.
“I’ve just gotten word that we have a double attempted murder, and a possible homicide, in my jurisdiction. Why the hell wouldn’t I be down here?”
“I stand corrected,” Wolf said, “thanks for coming down. I appreciate it.”
Greene glared at Wolf and heaved his barrel chest.
“I had just finished telling Sergeant McCall about what happened last night.”
Greene nodded. “I’ll read the report. Spare you telling it again.”
Wolf nodded, taken aback by the kindness. “Thanks.”
“Coffee,” Greene declared, turning around and walking down the hall.
Wolf watched his ample frame lumber down the hall and wondered just what it was that had been wedged between he and that man over the years. It wasn’t like they’d seen each other more than once or twice a year, but when they had, Greene had always been on the defensive. Wolf suspected it was something his father had done, years ago, and Wolf had inherited Greene’s hatred.
Wolf went to the room door and looked in the window. Jack still slept, now sprawled face down on the cot.
“My son saw one of them,” Wolf turned to McCall, “and says he can give a decent description.”