Collective Retribution

by Edwards, D. S.

  “There’re a few people in town who have wagons and teams for the parades and the fair.”

  “Where do you want me to take you?”

  “Turn left at the next intersection. It’s the last house on the right. I want to go home and check on Susan before I go to the office.”

  They pulled into Luke’s driveway.

  “Why don’t you go in and check on your wife?” Nirsch said. “I’ll unload the ATV and come in when I’m done.”

  Luke jumped out of the truck and jogged toward his house.

  “Susan,” he called, “I’m home!”

  He disappeared into the house. Nirsch thought about Michelle and the kids. He couldn’t wait to get home to them. He unloaded the quad and both generators, as well as all the regular gas and one of the fuel pumps. He knew he wouldn’t need any of those for the rest of the trip, except maybe one of the fuel pumps. There were generators at the ranch and plenty of gasoline.

  He got into the backseat and took a few items out of the bag from the hospital. He left the majority of medical supplies in the bag, as well as all but one of the working radios and a flashlight he’d found in the glove box. He grabbed the hindquarter of elk from the back, slung it over his shoulder, and headed for the door.

  He knocked. “Hello?” He turned the knob and went in. “Luke?”

  “In here.”

  He followed the voice into the kitchen. Nirsch set the hindquarter on the table and handed Luke the medical bag. Luke introduced him to Susan.

  She wasn’t at all what Nirsch expected. She was blond, probably five feet five inches, a little larger than he’d imagined yet very pretty. She had smooth skin, big soft green eyes, and a kind face. She must have weighed close to one hundred eighty pounds and appeared to be about ten years younger than Luke, maybe twenty-five or twenty-six. He shook her hand.

  “Nice to meet you. My friends call me Nirsch. You’ve got a good man here.”

  “I think so.”

  She stood on tiptoes and kissed Luke’s cheek.

  Nirsch gestured to the medical bag. “There’s medical supplies in there, three working radios, and a flashlight. I’ve unloaded the ATV, all the gasoline, both generators, and one of the fuel pumps.”

  Luke pointed at the drying hindquarter. “What about the elk meat? You want me to slice some off and wrap it for you?”

  No, it’s okay. I’ve got the backstrap. That’s enough to get me home, which I have to do as soon as possible. Not knowing about Michelle and the kids is driving me crazy. You want me to take you to your office on my way out?”

  “No, thanks. I want to put on a clean uniform first.”

  They both laughed. Susan looked at them, confusion on her face.

  “I’ll take the ATV when I’m ready,” Luke said.

  “Be careful. It’ll make a good target.”

  “I think I’ll be okay in uniform. Everything seems a lot more peaceful here than it was in Klamath.”

  “I’ve gotta get going.” Nirsch held his hand out to Luke. He shook it and clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Thank you, Nirsch, for everything. I consider you my friend. Hopefully one day when this is all over, we can get together again and maybe do some huntin’ or fishin’.”

  “I’d like that. I’d like you to meet Michelle and the kids. You guys would get along great. The offer still stands for you to join me at the ranch if things fall apart here.”

  “I think we’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure there’s no one in town who’ll be relocated without a fight.”

  “Okay, my friend. Keep your head down.”

  They shook hands again, and Nirsch headed out the door. He got into the truck, backed it down the driveway, and turned it toward his home and his new life.

  “Michelle,” he said, “I’m coming home.”

  19

  LUFKIN RANCH

  A TAPPING SOUND WOKE LARRY FROM A DEEP SLEEP. LARRY roused and checked his watch: 6 A.M. on the dot. It felt like they’d just gone to bed.

  “I laid out some clean towels and washcloths for you in the bathroom,” Betty said through the door. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “These people are so nice,” Amanda said, “to take in total strangers and share their home with us.”

  Larry groaned and rolled over. “You have no idea how sore I am this morning. It feels like I was kicked in the ribs and run over by a truck.”

  Amanda lifted the covers to examine Larry and gasped. “Boy, are you bruised.”

  He had purple and blue bruises up the entire length of his torso. Amanda gently touched his ribs. Larry winced and shrunk back. Amanda waited until he settled down, and gently touched the bruises again. He winced again. She leaned over and kissed him softly on his whiskery face. Larry turned over and met Amanda’s lips with his. Excitement grew in him, filling his body with warm shivers.

  They were interrupted by Jerry’s grizzled voice booming through their door. “Breakfast is ready. Would you mind givin’ me a hand with the chores?”

  Amanda giggled. “So much for that idea,” she whispered.

  Larry smiled. “I’ll be right out,” he called.

  They dressed, made the bed, and followed the smell of biscuits to the kitchen. The most amazing feast awaited them. Fresh hot biscuits, homemade butter, fresh honey still in the comb, strips of crispy bacon, and fresh eggs with dark orange yolks.

  “We may not go to Seneca. Can I be your daughter, Betty?” Amanda asked.

  Betty smiled and looked up at Amanda with her soft brown eyes. “You’re welcome in our home anytime, dear.”

  Jerry came into the kitchen and sat down. Betty placed the last plate of food on the table, sat next to Jerry, and grabbed his hand. The next moment, Betty reached over and grabbed Amanda’s hand. Larry understood. In an instant, they were all holding hands and bowing their heads.

  “Thank you, Lord, for this food and the loving hands that prepared it,” Jerry said. “Thank you for the Collins’s and for leading them to safety yesterday. Lord, we ask you to watch over and comfort those who are hurting out there, and we are asking for your justice to be served on those responsible for this. Guide us in all that we do and protect Amanda and Larry on their journey. Amen.”

  “You say you need some help with the chores?” Larry said.

  “Yup, if you don’t mind givin’ me a hand.”

  “Not at all.”

  They finished their breakfast. Larry bundled up and followed Jerry outside into the predawn light. The snow had quit sometime in the night, leaving ten inches of fresh powder behind. The sky was clear and the air crisp. The mountains to the east were beginning to turn a fiery orange as the sun struggled to rise above them. Jerry and Larry fed chickens, cows, sheep, and horses, and broke the ice out of water troughs.

  “You know much about horse flesh?” Jerry said.

  “Not much. We ride whenever we visit the ranch. I couldn’t tell you the difference between a good or bad horse.” Jerry walked over and rubbed the nose of a grey mare. “How many horses do you have?”

  “Too dang many, now that our boys don’t live on the place anymore,” Jerry said. “All horses do is eat and crap! Mangy things.” Jerry took a plug of tobacco out of his pocket, bit off a chunk, and made a show of spitting a stream into the fresh snow. “You know how to saddle a horse?”

  “Yes. We learned the first time we visited the ranch.”

  Jerry thrust a cracked, wrinkled thumb over his shoulder. “Go into the barn there and grab a couple of saddles and blankets. Get the small one from the left side and grab any of the other ones.”

  Larry walked into the barn and retrieved the saddles and blankets. “You need the reins and bits?”

  “Yep, bring them too, and grab a rifle scabbard off the wall.”

  Larry placed the saddles on top of each other, grabbed the blankets and tack, and walked back into the cold winter morning. Jerry was inside the corral with a rope around the gray mare he’
d rubbed on the nose earlier.

  “Here,” Jerry said. He handed the lead rope to Larry and opened the gate. “This here is Matilda. Go ahead and saddle her with the small set up, and I’ll grab Snickers.”

  Larry saddled Matilda and tied her to the corral. Jerry came out a few minutes later with Snickers and checked Larry’s saddle job.

  “Looks good,” Jerry said. “Saddle’s not too far forward, everything snugged up. It ain’t perfect, but it’ll do.” He took a crumpled piece of paper out of the pocket of his overalls and handed it to Larry. “You read that and tell me if it’s okay.”

  Larry unfolded the paper and began reading aloud: “To whoever reads this I Jerry Lufkin bein in my right mind give these horses to Larry and Amanda Collins. I give em to em of my own will as a gift. Sinsearly, Jerry Lufkin.”

  Larry felt choked up at the gesture, yet fought to keep from laughing at the old man’s handwriting and grammar.

  “I don’t understand,” Larry finally said.

  “I’m givin’ you these here ponies. You got a long ways to go, and this time a year, you may never make it on foot.”

  Larry started to protest, but Jerry ignored him and disappeared back into the house. Larry just stood there feeling awkward. Jerry emerged a minute later with a cracked set of saddlebags and a Model 94 .30-.30 rifle. He placed them on Snickers.

  “I put a curry comb in there, an extra lead rope, and a couple a feed bags, as well as a little grain and some extra ammunition,” Jerry said. “Make sure you rub ’em down real good every night, and give ’em a little grain every mornin’. I also put in some fire-startin’ jelly and a couple lighters. It’ll get cold at night, but if you got a good fire goin’, you should be all right. You should make it to Seneca in about five or six days.”

  “We can’t accept these. You’ve already done so much for us. You may need these.”

  “Nonsense! There was a reason the good Lord brought you to my door last night. I mighta been born for just this moment. Who am I to question the wisdom of God? Now quit arguing and go in an get that wife a yours. You got a long ride ahead of you. If you ever get out this way again, stop in.”

  Larry shook Jerry’s hand with tears in his eyes.

  “You’re a good man, Jerry Lufkin.”

  “Awwww.” Jerry spit an extra juicy stream into the snow.

  Amanda emerged from the front door. She carried snowshoes, backpacks, and a large bulging pillowcase, and had tears in her eyes.

  Jerry spit again. “Are all you folks from D.C. cryers?”

  Larry laughed and helped Amanda stow their gear on the horses. Betty came out, and there were hugs and tears all around as they said their goodbyes. Larry and Amanda mounted up and rode into the sun, headed for their new life, leaving behind newfound friends.

  20

  FIVE MILES NORTH OF SUMMER LAKE, OREGON

  7:40 A.M., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 27

  THE FRONT WINDOW OF THE PICKUP TRUCK EXPLODED AS THE bullet passed through it, creasing Nirsch’s cheek and burying in his headrest. He braked hard and turned the wheel to the left, the pickup bouncing into the ditch, up the other side, and through a barbed-wire fence. The extra diesel cans and pump in the back flew out and littered the hillside, spilling their vital contents into the dirt. The side window of the truck exploded, another bullet missing Nirsch by inches. He stomped the gas pedal to the floor and climbed a sagebrush-covered hill. Mud flew as all four tires left the ground when he crested the top. He slid the truck sideways, slammed the shifter into park, and jumped out with his SCAR in hand.

  Nirsch dove to the ground and scrambled on all fours to the top of the hill. His ears rang and his cheek felt like it was on fire. He touched his face, discovered a canyon of missing flesh, winced in pain, and withdrew a blood-soaked finger. He tore a sleeve from his shirt, wrapped it around his head, and tied it off. He peeked over the hill. Three men crouched by a group of large boulders on the far side of the highway, about four hundred yards out.

  I have to hand it to you. Four hundred yards is an amazing distance to hit a moving target by anybody’s standards.

  “I knew I should have stopped at daylight,” he said aloud. “How could I have been so careless?” A few hours earlier he’d warned Luke of this very thing. “Driving the only working vehicle makes you a prime target.”

  It was too late now to heed his own advice. Ignoring it had almost gotten him killed. “If I get out of this,” he promised himself, “I’m waiting until dark to move on.”

  The men crouched next to the road seemed to be talking about what to do next. Nirsch didn’t have full line of sight and didn’t think he could get all three from where he lay. If they came up to investigate, he’d try and take them closer, where his reaction time would improve the odds.

  They stayed put for several minutes. Nirsch decided he’d have to go to them or risk being stuck in a standoff for days. If he could get one good shot off from his position, he could take at least one target out, then the others would tuck in tighter to the cover. This would give him a small window to slip up on them and end it.

  Nirsch mapped the terrain in his mind. There wasn’t much cover directly below, but a deep draw led in the opposite direction and met the road back the way he’d come. Across that road was a shallow creek bottom that led to within forty yards of their hiding place. He didn’t think the creek would be too full of water. He decided to go with the plan.

  Nirsch scooped out the dirt under his arms, creating a solid cradle for the rifle. With no scope, iron sights, and a slight cross breeze, this would not be an easy shot. He knew he’d get only one chance to make it count.

  He picked out the target. Six inches of one man’s head showed above a rock. A quarter of his body was visible to the side of the rock. There were no vitals visible next to the rock, so Nirsch decided it had to be a head shot or nothing at all. He estimated the amount of wind, made the necessary calculations in his head, and settled in.

  He held high and right. If he calculated wrong, the .308 round would miss its mark. He took a deep breath and visualized the shot in his mind. It was like watching a movie in slow motion. He could see his finger tip on the trigger. A wisp of breath passed over his lips and evaporated in the desert air. He imagined the bullet as it exited the muzzle, spinning, surrounded by heat waves. It was like a finger of death floating on air currents to its destination. He slowly exhaled a small amount of breath, held it, and gently put pressure on the trigger.

  The rifle bucked.

  Seconds passed.

  The top of the man’s head separated from his body. He sat frozen for several seconds, then tumbled out from behind the rock, limbs twitching in the frigid winter air. No one else moved. Nirsch knew this was his chance. He rolled backwards off the mound, crouched low, and ran to the draw. He jumped in and half slid, half ran to the bottom. He got to the road and paused to catch his breath. He ran across the road and jumped into the frozen creek. The ice crackled under his weight. He prayed it would hold him.

  Nirsch carefully moved up the creek, raising his eyes just above the bank periodically to keep his bearings. He paused close to where he figured the men crouched behind the rock and looked over the bank one last time. Their hiding place was about seventy-five yards out. Another thirty yards up the creek and he would end this. He scanned the terrain on either side of the rocks, looking for anything unnatural, anything that didn’t belong.

  Satisfied, Nirsch started to lower again, and froze in mid-crouch. Movement, twenty yards back down the creek. A man, crouched behind a large cottonwood tree, preparing to light a cigarette. Nirsch hadn’t seen him before, but with all the shooting, he had to be with the other men He’d either moved from the rock or been sitting there the whole time.

  Nirsch’s heart pounded. He’d passed by him, fortunately undetected, not five yards away. What an idiot. He’d been so intent on the boulders and the men he’d seen that he’d broken a basic rule of combat: always be aware of your surroundings. If he’d come
up and started firing, he would have been exposed on the blind side, an easy target for the man now smoking a cigarette behind him.

  He knew he had to deal with this before he took out the men at the rocks, and he had to do it silently. He studied the terrain and landmarks in the creek bottom. He picked out a large piece of wood directly behind the man, focused on it, and moved toward it. His feet barely lifted off the ice as he worked his way back down the creek. He pulled his knife from the sheath and stopped next to the chunk of wood.

  Nirsch was directly below him now. His heart pounded in his ears. Nirsch closed his eyes and focused. His breathing evened out and his heartbeat slowed. A total calm enveloped him. He pictured the map he’d laid out in his mind. He slowly rose until just his eyes were above the bank.

  The man hadn’t moved. He was puffing away, eyes forward, not a care in the world. Nirsch could try and immobilize this threat without killing him, but there was a small chance the man could regain consciousness and warn his companion down the creek. Nirsch decided the only choice was to kill this man. He felt a twinge of sadness, knowing he would end this man’s life in the next ten seconds. He hated killing people. He hated the fact that it was necessary to protect himself and the innocent, and he hated the fact that killing would increase in the near future as people’s desperation grew.

  All these thoughts ran through his mind as he stood, placed his left hand over the man’s mouth, pulled him backwards, slammed his knife to the hilt at the base of the man’s skull, and twisted. The man looked up at Nirsch with terror and surprise in his eyes. His body went rigid. A silent scream pushed against Nirsch’s palm. When the body was still and the eyes no longer glimmered with the light of life, Nirsch gently lowered him to the ice-covered creek, wiped off his knife blade, re-sheathed it, and quietly moved back up the creek.

  Nirsch got to the landmark he’d identified earlier and slowly lifted his head to take a look. Only one man sat by the rocks. Where had the other gone? Was the guy he just took out the other one who’d been sitting there five minutes earlier? Or was there someone else hiding, taking aim at him right now? Nirsch ducked and thought.