by David Yates
After another moment, she reached out and took the gun, cradling it in both hands.
As he faded slowly out of sight, the last thing he saw was her brave, tough, fearful face.
Braden appeared on a dark gravel road. He could hear the sounds of crickets and frogs in the thick woods around him. Somewhere close by, he could hear the gurgling of a mountain stream. He looked around, trying to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. About two hundred yards to his north, barely visible through the trees, were man-made lights. He eased to the side of the road and quietly slipped into the tree cover.
He made his way through undergrowth that was so thick at times that it was impassable. He had to detour around several of these, but always went back on course when he cleared them. He kept his eyes on the lights ahead of him, occasionally stopping and checking around him to make sure he was still alone.
When he was nearing the clearing where the house was, he stopped about twenty feet inside the treeline and took a knee. This was the same house in the file pictures, no doubt about it. He surveyed the area, and then directed his attention back to the house. It was a large, sprawling two-story log dwelling with a spacious deck at the back door. There was also a second-floor deck at the rear of the house. Braden had no doubt that this upper deck would give a breathtaking view of the mountains behind the house during the daytime. A new-looking, cream-colored Escalade was parked in the driveway at the front of the house. A large pile of cut logs was stacked against the wall near the back door. Braden glanced up and saw a chimney poking out of the roof.
He crept forward to the edge of the treeline and stopped again. So far he had seen no movement. His attention was mostly focused on the lit windows; he was hoping to see someone pass by. He waited for two minutes. He still saw no movement in or around the house. He decided to take a chance and break concealment.
He took a deep breath and sprinted from the treeline to the back corner of the house. He stopped, peering around the corner and down the back wall. Still nothing. He bent low and crept forward, following the back wall to the open deck. He silently climbed the short railing and slid up to the log pile. There was a window just above the pile of logs. He placed his hand on a log and eased upward, peering in the window.
He saw an airy country kitchen without a hint that a female had ever set foot in it. A few clean dishes were stacked in the drainboard. The walls were mostly bare, except for a knife rack and a spice rack. He could see through the kitchen into what was either a living room or a large den. The floors were hardwood, and there was a large throw rug on the floor in the living room-or-den. The centerpiece of the living room-or-den was apparently a hideous glass-topped wagon-wheel table that no woman in her right mind would have allowed in her home. Braden was convinced by these things that Silas lived alone.
He thought quickly. He believed he had seen enough to satisfy him for tonight. There were just two more things he needed to find out, and he could answer both questions at the back door. He wanted to see if the door was locked, and if it was alarmed. Then he would return to the hotel and Kendra.
His reasoning was that if the door were unlocked, Silas was there. He briefly considered that Silas might leave his doors unlocked when he left, since he was out here in the willy-wags and it was unlikely that someone would break in. But as tightly-wound as he knew Silas to be, he thought Silas would lock up his house like a fortress whenever he left.
He went from a crouched position to a standing position, bent over at the waist. Before he could take a single step, he heard the unmistakable sound of a weapon bolt clicking into place behind him. He froze, his right hand still resting on the log.
"I knew you would come sooner or later,” Silas said.
Kendra lay in the bed in the hotel room, looking at the TV. Not watching TV, just looking at it. The set was on, but she was paying absolutely no attention. She couldn't have even said what show was on, if asked. All of her attention was on Braden. She glanced at the clock beside the bed for about the hundredth time since he had left. He had been gone for twenty-five minutes. He said he would be back in fifteen minutes, she thought.
She got up and began pacing the room, glancing at the clock every thirty seconds or so. When the clock said he had been gone for thirty minutes, she walked quickly to the dresser and grabbed the keys to the rental car. She stopped as her mind asked her, Where do you think you're going, girl?
He's in trouble! she exclaimed silently. I have to help him!
So what are you going to do? Jump in the car and ride to the rescue?
I know where the house is. I saw it on an online map before we left Florida.
And you know exactly how to drive there?
Well, no, but I can stop at a convenience store and get a map of Utah.
The house is one hundred and thirty miles away. It will take you the better part of three hours to get there. Maybe longer, since you have to read the map in order to get there.
But he needs me! I feel it!
You've never been a silly, bubble-headed girl. Stop being one now. Just wait. He'll probably be back anytime.
She stood in front of the dresser clutching the car keys, undecided. That fact alone irritated her. She couldn't remember ever being this undecided in her life.
And what if you leave on this wild-goose chase and he comes back five minutes later? Comes back and finds you gone
That hit home. She reluctantly placed the keys back on the dresser and walked back to the bed. She sat down heavily and looked at the TV screen without seeing. The I-want line was back with a vengeance, but this time there was no one there to see it and cave in to her demands.
She looked at the clock. Thirty-five minutes now.
Braden didn't respond to the voice. He stood bent at the waist, left hand hanging at his side, right hand on the woodpile. He thought briefly about drawing on Silas, but he thought it would be suicide to try. He judged from the sound of the weapon bolt and Silas’ voice that Silas was only about ten or fifteen feet behind him. He didn't think even he was fast enough to get Silas before Silas got him.
"You're smarter than you look, kid,” Silas said in a mocking voice. “If you were gonna draw on me you would have already done it."
Braden slowly rose to a full standing position. He didn't move either of his hands. “If you knew I would come, why didn't you come after me first?"
Braden heard a shrug in Silas’ voice. “Because I didn't know if I would have to and because I couldn't."
Braden said, “That doesn't make much sense."
Silas emitted a short chuckle. “I didn't know if I would have to because I didn't know if you were alive or dead. I couldn't because I didn't know where you were."
Braden said nothing. Silas said, “I should have made sure in Kansas City. It's embarrassing for me to admit it, what with me being a professional and all, but I made a mistake. My shoulder was busted up and singing Ave Maria at the time. When I saw you lying there on the floor, I just walked out. While I was laid up recuperating, I began to have a bad feeling that you were still alive. I tried to find you but you hid well. I'll give you credit for that. I exhausted every resource at my disposal and couldn't find a single hint as to where you were."
Silas paused and added, “You didn't have to come here, kid. You could have stayed in your hole and lived your life. I was done looking for you. I guess I got enough revenge on you in Kansas City. In fact, we don't have to do this right now. You can just walk away. We'll make a gentleman's agreement. You forget I ever existed and I forget you ever existed. We go our separate ways and live out the rest of our lives."
Braden was slowly wrapping his fingers around a slim chunk of wood on the pile. He thought he had Silas’ position and range from the sound of his voice. He would only have one shot at this, and that's if he was lucky. He had been taught in his training (from the same instructor who had drilled into him to never give up in a battle) that the human mind could only concentrate on one thing at a time. If a man
was talking, his mind would have to forcibly disengage from his train of thought to pull a trigger. Therefore, from a law-enforcement standpoint, the trick was to engage the “bad guy” in conversation and then catch him by surprise, striking while he was still talking.
To Silas he said, “Why are you offering me this now?"
"Hell, kid, call it professional courtesy, if you want to. I've seen your work firsthand and, believe it or not, I actually respect you. From one warrior to another, let's say."
"And if I agree to this proposal, I have your word that we never see each other again?"
"You have my word as a professional. And if I wasn't serious about it, I would have already shot you in the back, right?"
"Point taken,” said Braden. He had a tight grip on the log; it was now or never.
"Silas,” Braden said, “I just can't live my life knowing that you're out here somewhere crawling around under a rock with the rest of the snakes. My answer is no."
Braden was surprised to hear that Silas’ voice was tinged with what he thought was real regret. “I'm sorry to hear that, kid. It's going to be a shame to..."
Braden whirled and threw the log with all his might at the sound of Silas’ voice. Silas was just beginning to register surprise when the log hit him right in the kisser. He fell backward, his automatic weapon firing off a few rounds blindly into the air.
Braden wasted no time. He sprinted for the back yard and the treeline, drawing his guns and running low. Rounds from Silas’ unpredictable weapon chased him into the trees. As soon as he was in the treeline, he changed course 90 degrees to his right. He ran straight for a few yards, then stopped dead and crouched, listening. He looked back toward the house. Silas was nowhere in sight. He was no longer lying on the ground where he had fallen.
He remained crouched where he was, trying to pick up sight or sound of his adversary. He saw nothing for several seconds. The he saw slight movement low at the corner of the house. He wasn't sure if it was a man or an animal, or even if it was just the shadows playing tricks on his eyes. He peered intensely into the gloom, raising his guns and aiming them at the corner of the house.
He suddenly saw a bright flash of light, far too bright to be the muzzle flash of a weapon. The flash was followed by a small flame streaking across the back yard in his direction. He realized an instant later what the small flame meant. He turned away and threw himself prone on the ground.
The RPG exploded perhaps ten feet to the right of where Braden had been crouched. The noise was cacophonous in the quiet clearing. Dirt, shrubs, and chunks of trees large and small flew everywhere. Braden felt a sharp searing pain in his right calf and screamed in pain. He got up and tried to run, but his right leg wouldn't support him. He went back down to the ground and looked at his leg. A large, sharp section of tree had pierced his right calf. It was sticking out from both sides of his leg. The chunk of wood was about eighteen inches long and as big around as a man's closed fist. He glanced up and saw Silas moving across the yard, a rifle in his hand. Braden was fortunate that Silas apparently didn't know his exact position; Silas was moving toward a point in the treeline that would put him to Braden's right, maybe another twenty yards beyond the point of the RPG impact.
Braden grabbed the chunk of wood and pulled. The wood slid a little but didn't come out. He glanced up again and saw that Silas had reached the treeline and was entering the woods. He looked back down at the piece of wood and pulled again. He had to bite down on his lower lip to keep the scream in. The wood moved a little again but stubbornly refused to come out. Braden looked up and could barely make out Silas’ silhouette moving through the trees. Moving in his direction.
Braden raised one gun and aimed at Silas. The pain hammering up his leg was throwing off his aim. The gun wavered off target repeatedly. This was a new experience for Braden, who was accustomed to hitting whatever he aimed at. He could even do it with his eyes closed or blindfolded, providing that he got a glimpse of the target before his vision was obscured. It frustrated him greatly. He lowered the gun and looked around. There was a large and very thick stand of undergrowth about twenty yards behind him. It was of the same type that he had had to detour around on his approach to the house. He got a good hold on his guns and began dragging himself toward the undergrowth, using his left foot to propel himself across the surface of the earth.
Braden reached the stand of thick bushes and glanced back. Silas was moving parallel to the treeline, and had reached the point where Braden had initially crouched. He stopped and looked around. Braden froze as Silas’ head was pointed in his direction. Then Silas’ gaze passed on and he continued scanning the area.
Braden pulled himself into the stand of bushes as quickly and as quietly as he could. He burrowed deep into the bushes, ignoring the thorns and sharp sticks which pierced his face and hands. When he was several feet inside the undergrowth, he turned and looked back. Silas was still moving parallel to the treeline and was now getting farther away. Braden laid his guns on the ground next to him and lay on his back. As he lay there with fire alarms jangling up his leg, it occurred to him for the first time that he could have traveled away as soon as the log had collided with Silas’ face. For that matter, he could leave right now and escape Silas completely. Why hadn't he done it?
The answer popped up immediately. He remembered Manny saying something once about him being young. With youth comes impulsiveness, Manny had said. Now he had proof that Manny had been right. He hadn't traveled after striking Silas with the log because, in his youthful impetuousness, it simply hadn't occurred to him.
And now? Why not just get out of here right now? He was injured, he had a professional killer stalking him, and he had the added responsibility of getting back to a woman that he loved and who loved him. So why hang around?
The answer was simple, stupid, testosterone-charged stubbornness. When he thought of traveling back to the hotel, or to a hospital, his pride rose up in him and violently protested. He had come here to do a job, and he was going to finish it. Also, if he left now, he knew that his chances of finding Silas again were nil. Silas would vacate this house for good before the sun rose tomorrow morning, and Braden would never see him again. It had to be tonight. Right now.
Braden sat up in the bushes and looked around cautiously. Silas was no longer in sight. He reached into the pocket of the duster and withdrew a bandana. He folded it double, then doubled it again. He stuck the bandana between his teeth and bit down hard. He took hold of the chunk of wood sticking out of his leg, took a deep breath, and yanked with all his might.
The wood slid out of his calf slowly with a liquid, meaty sound. As it slid free, dizziness overtook Braden and he swooned. He fell sideways, dropping the chunk of wood and catching himself with his hands. He sat there unmoving, waiting to see if he would pass out. He felt suddenly nauseous, and turned to the side quickly just before he regurgitated on himself. He crawled away from the stinking, steaming puddle and lay down until the dizziness passed.
He slowly came back to his senses. He realized that he must have passed out after all. He looked up at the stars but they were completely covered by the trees. He glanced around at his surroundings. He couldn't see or hear Silas. He looked at his watch. It was just a little before midnight.
Silas had to be gone by now, he reasoned. He must have figured that Braden had teleported himself away from the area. He may even be gone already, Braden thought with dismay. He slid himself across the ground and picked up his guns. His leg was throbbing like the world's largest impacted tooth. He pulled himself to the edge of the stand of bushes and peered out. There was no movement or sound. There were still a couple of lights on inside the house, but he could see that some had been turned off.
Braden pulled himself out of the bushes and stood up on his left leg. He slowly added weight to his right leg. The leg shot his brain an express telegram via his central nervous system. Message as follows:
Too much pain. Stop. Can't take it. Stop. Please s
top. Stop. Stop! Stop.
However, the leg did support his weight, which meant his leg bones were probably intact. He hobbled forward until he was near the edge of the treeline and stopped behind a tree, looking toward the house. The back door was standing open. Would Silas leave the door open if he was gone? Probably. If he wasn't returning, he wouldn't really care one way or the other.
Braden stood and fretted about what course of action to take. He couldn't very well sprint across the open yard this time. For all he knew, Silas was somewhere in the shadows with a high-powered rifle, waiting for him to break cover. Was he there? Was he gone? Braden had to find out.
If Silas was gone, the Escalade would no longer be parked in the driveway. The possibility that Silas had escaped him caused a large lump to rise into Braden's throat. He had to know. He began edging his way through the treeline toward the front of the house, hobbling from tree to tree. As he slowly made his way along the treeline, he mused on his situation. He knew he was in no shape to be involved in a battle, especially in one to the death with a professional mercenary. A professional uninjured mercenary, he corrected. The rational part of his mind knew that he should just get out of here while he still could, get back to Kendra and disappear again.
But two things prevented him from doing so. First, of course, was his stubborn male pride. The second, more important reason was what he had explained to Kendra on the night before they had flown to Salt Lake City. If this was his calling, if this was really what he was meant to do, what he was meant to be, then this was the time to prove it to himself. Injured or not, professional mercenary or not, he knew he must face his destiny head-on. If he died here tonight, then he had been wrong and it wasn't meant to be. He was determined to find out, one way or the other.
He was almost in position to see the driveway. He moved from behind one tree toward another tree and Silas shot him in the right thigh. He went down, his leg screaming all over again. Well, he's still here, Braden thought wildly, lying on the ground and grimacing in pain.