“That’s bullshit,” Theo said. “We haven’t heard anything about that on the radio.”
The man lowered a hand, reaching for his pocket. Before Theo could say a word, a gunshot cracked, followed by a second and third.
The man screamed and stumbled forward, then dropped to his knees. He gripped his chest where one of the bullets had exited. A flower of blood blossomed on his white coat. The facemask fell away, revealing the youthful face of a teenager. Blood bubbled out of his mouth as he tried to speak. In seconds, it was over. He crashed to the ground, dead.
“You fucking idiot!” Theo yelled at the man who had fired the shots.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought he was reaching for a gun.”
Theo shook his head.
The dead kid reminded Fenix a bit of Tommy, the pimpled-faced SOL soldier he had tossed out of the Castle for trying to help Ty Montgomery escape.
Theo moved the kid to his back, and then pulled a bloodstained envelope from his hand. He stood to read it.
“Holy shit,” Theo said. “The kid wasn’t lying.”
— 5 —
Colton was dreaming again. He was back at the Kandahar Air Force Base with PFC Reddker, pursuing the pickup truck.
The tire track peeled away like the skin of an orange, and the rim screeched across the pavement. Raptor 2 continued firing, rounds peppering the cab of the truck as the driver tried to maintain control. Blood and dust caked the windshield.
Colton punched the pedal harder. The diesel engine hummed, straining, as they gained speed.
“They’re toast,” Reddker said.
The Toyota fishtailed, lost control, and flipped onto its side, tumbling over and over. The back door broke open mid-flip, and a small body flew out.
Colton almost closed his eyes, but that felt like a cowardly thing to do.
Fire suddenly exploded from the truck. It rolled to a stop as the underbelly burst into flames. Two of the tires streaked away in a cloud of smoke and shrapnel. Colton slammed on his brakes and stopped the Humvee a few feet away from the tiny, broken figure face down on the tarmac. He put the truck in park and jumped out, the scent of fuel burning his nostrils. Sirens wailed from all directions. The shouts of soldiers and support crew were barely audible over the piercing shrieks.
A fire truck sprayed the wreckage of the Toyota as Colton rushed over to the Afghani girl.
“Someone get me a medic!” he shouted.
With deliberate care, he scooped the child up in his arms and carried her away from the burning pickup truck. The heat burned the back of his fatigues, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the mental pain of seeing the child’s injuries. She had the same dark eyes as his own baby girl. They stared up at him, pleading and terrified.
“It’s okay,” Colton said in English. Then he changed to Dari. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
It was a lie. Blood blossomed around what appeared to be a bullet wound. Her chest slowly moved up and down, breath rattling.
“Hold on,” Colton said in Dari. He ran as fast as he could toward an ambulance. Reddker was still screaming behind him, “Sarge, LT wants you!”
Colton didn’t care about orders right now. He had to save her. An explosion rocked the tarmac. He shielded the girl from the wave of heat as best as he could. When he looked down, tears were streaking away from her eyes. She tried to say something. Instead, she took in a long, final gasp, and died in his arms, five feet away from the ambulance.
He awoke in a cold sweat, sitting up so fast his head hurt. No matter what he tried to tell himself, it wasn’t just a bad dream. It had happened, and he would never forgive himself for that girl’s death. He hadn’t saved her, just like he hadn’t saved little Melissa Stone. In his mind’s eye, he saw Kelly and Risa lying in the street, their bodies riddled with bullets.
In a fit of anger, he grabbed the bars and screamed, “Let me out of here!”
His voice rang against the walls, but no one answered.
Colton went to sit back on his bench when the door at the end of the hallway creaked open. Footfalls pounded the concrete. Multiple pairs of boots. He listened to the approaching men, knowing that this was it. They had finally come to shut him up.
To his shock, Sheriff Thompson appeared in front of Colton’s cell with a grin from cauliflower ear to cauliflower ear.
“Mornin’, Chief.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “I thought about your suggestion, and I figured I’d take you up on it.”
Thompson jerked his head at Ivan, the massive Russian man with thick black eyebrows and chest hair that crept out of his collar. He pulled out a key and unlocked Colton’s cell.
“Hands behind your back,” he said in his Russian drawl.
Colton did as ordered, and Ivan snapped a pair of handcuffs onto his wrists.
“Come on,” Thompson said, jerking his chin.
Colton stepped out after a second of hesitation, and followed Ivan and Thompson down the hallway. They passed several other cells with more prisoners. He kept his gaze ahead, trying his best not to dwell on the fact there was a ten-year-old boy in the final cell. The kid was sitting up in his bunk, arms folded across his chest like he was hugging himself, teeth chattering from the cold.
They continued into the departmental offices. It was far different from the Estes Park police station. This was more like a barracks, with sleeping bags spread out throughout the workstations. But all of the beds and the desks were empty.
So where was everyone?
Thompson rounded the next corner, and pushed open a door into the lobby. Glass doors leading outside were propped open with bricks. The sun edged over the horizon, revealing a light dusting of snow over the parking lot and two dozen people standing in a circle. Several of them wore coats adorned with the Larimer County Sheriff’s logo.
Ivan nudged Colton in the back when he stopped. They continued outside onto the landing, down the steps, and into the parking lot, where Ivan unlocked Colton’s cuffs.
“Let’s see how tough you really are, Marcus,” Thompson said. He took off his coat and dropped it on the ground. Dressed in only a t-shirt and black tactical pants, he raised his fists, muscular arms flexing. His boots moved back and forth as he prepared to fight.
Colton couldn’t believe his eyes. The sheriff had actually taken him up on his offer of a brawl.
“Beat his ass, Sheriff!” shouted one man.
“Kill ’em,” yelled another.
Within seconds the crowd, gripped by bloodlust, broke into a frenzy; shouting profanities and threats.
A rock hit Colton in the side. He glared at the crowd, bending over in pain. Thompson also turned to look for the culprit.
“Who the fuck threw that?” the sheriff shouted.
That quieted his people down.
By the time Thompson turned back to Colton, he was ready to fight. He strode forward in a boxer’s pose, leading with his left foot, his balled hands up to protect his face. It was something a fighter never forgot, like driving a stick shift vehicle.
Colton knew he couldn’t let Thompson get him on the ground. The sheriff was a UFC fighter, which meant he knew mixed martial arts. Colton had to keep this fight on both feet, or he was screwed.
Thompson regarded the stance with a wide grin.
“You beat me, and I let you go today. If you don’t, then you better hope to God your people—”
Before Thompson could finish, Colton jabbed at him with his right fist, shutting the cocky sheriff up with knuckles to the mouth.
Thompson took a step backward and reached up with a finger to feel the blood streaming from the cut on his lip. He pulled his fingers away and laughed. “You’re fast, old man.”
Thompson threw a fake right hook and ended up kicking Colton in the left thigh. Pain lanced up his hip and side. He fell back on his left foot, hunched down slightly, fists up. Then he stepped forward, planting his right foot, and threw a punch.
Thompson easily moved
away from the blow with the speed of a man ten years younger. Before Colton could defend himself, Thompson kicked him again, hitting Colton in his right thigh this time. He did everything he could to stay standing, but lack of proper nutrition, fatigue, and the cold had taken their toll.
Colton let out a grunt and dropped to one knee, looking up just as Thompson slammed a fist down into his right eyebrow, with a crack so loud that the crowd screamed with approval.
The pain was sharp, but Colton ignored it. He got back up and focused on Thompson, who had his arms up in V-shape while his people chanted his name.
Colton just needed to clip the bastard once, really good, and this would be over. Blood dripped from his eyebrow, and Colton wiped it away with his sleeve.
He waited for Thompson to come to him. Colton watched his boots and hands, trying to predict which he would use first. Thompson swung as he approached him. Once, twice, then a third time. Colton deflected the blows with his arms. He threw a jab after the volley of shots, and nicked Thompson’s left ear.
“Shit!” Thompson yelled. He reached up and clutched his cauliflower ear.
“That had to sting,” Colton said with a grin. He let out an icy breath and followed up the punch with another right hook, but this time Thompson hunched low, moving beneath the jab and coming up with one of his own, which hit Colton in the side of his jaw.
The blow stunned him, giving Thompson another opportunity. The sheriff seized it with a punch that impacted Colton above his left eyebrow. He felt knuckles open up his flesh.
Colton stumbled backward, stars floating before his vision. Blood streamed down both eyes now, and his jaw pulsed from the pain.
Get it together. You’re fine. You’re…
He took in a deep breath and brought his hands back up, watching Thompson move, his eyes flitting from shoulders and hands to legs and boots.
The next move came as a kick to Colton’s shins, not that hard, but the steel-toed boots still hurt enough to send a shockwave of pain up his leg.
Colton swung wide with his right hand, and then came in for a left jab that was meant for Thompson’s face. It hit him in the neck instead. This time Thompson staggered backward, reaching up to grip his neck. He sucked in breath through his nose.
Colton moved forward, using the stolen moment while the sheriff was trying to catch his breath. But just as he went to throw another barrage of punches, Thompson hunched down, dropped his hands, and used his legs to propel him forward.
Bringing his elbow down, Colton hit Thompson in the back as the sheriff plowed into him like a linebacker. There wasn’t anything Colton could do now. He hit the ground hard, with Thompson on top.
The stars returned as his skull hit the pavement with a clank. Blood flowed from his forehead and down his temples, but at least it wasn’t going into his eyes.
Thompson swung at Colton’s unprotected head, hitting him multiple times in the cheek, jaw, and nose. It would all be over soon if Colton didn’t do something drastic.
He tried to buck the sheriff off, but the man had him wrapped up tight.
“You’re a…” Colton spat blood and pushed harder. “You’re a fucking disgrace.”
Thompson brought his elbow down on the bridge of Colton’s nose with a crack. Several cries of excitement rang out from the crowd.
In that moment, everything came crashing over Colton. The violence, the fear, the atrocities of the past month. He summoned every bit of strength he had left and brought his skull up to hit Thompson in the center of his face, flattening his nose and breaking the cartilage.
Thompson rolled off, gripping his gushing nose, while Colton crawled away until he could push himself up. Blood flowed from his own nostrils, covering the snow with carmine. He pushed himself up, fell to his stomach, and tried again.
“Sheriff!” someone shouted.
Colton rolled to his back, gasping for air. He watched through blurred vision as Drew, the prison guard, came bounding down the stairs of the station and out onto the ground, his hand holding his cap on his head.
Thompson was already on his feet. “What the hell is it, Drew?” he grumbled.
“The Chinese, Sheriff. The Chinese are landing!”
The crowd went silent.
“It’s not just a rumor, Sheriff,” Drew said. “There are thousands of soldiers arriving across the country.”
Thompson kept his hand on his nose, blood flowing from between his fingers. He strode past Colton, not bothering to look at him.
“We’ll finish this later, Marcus,” he said.
***
Raven zoomed in with his rifle’s scope on a man walking down the highway wearing a parka and a hood. It was difficult to see his features with the hood shadowing much of his face, but what Raven could see was bruised and bloody. He roved the sights to bound hands and then pulled the scope away.
It had to be Colton, and Sheriff Thompson sure had done a number on the Chief of Police. A dozen of Thompson’s deputies followed him down the road. They were followed by a pickup truck with a figure standing in the bed gripping a mounted machine gun. Metal sheets provided armor around the gunner.
Raven bit down on the toothpick in his mouth when he recognized it as the same pickup Thompson had used to attack the town several days earlier. The same gun Jason Cole had used to gun down officers and innocent civilians.
It was a slap in the face, but Raven wasn’t going to take the bait. He moved his scope back to the team of horses pulling a trailer along Highway 34. Jason Cole was there, surrounded by the Estes Park militia, walking slowly with guns at his back.
It took every ounce of his willpower to not center the crosshairs on Cole’s head and pull the trigger. But if Raven did that, he might as well shoot Colton himself. The only way the chief came home was if they played this by Thompson’s rules. The plan was set in motion, and there was nothing he could do to stop it now. All he could do was hope both parties remained calm and civil. A single shot could spark a slaughter.
Raven settled behind the rocky outcropping with his MK11 semi-automatic sniper rifle. It was the same type of rifle he had used in the Marines. This one had killed a dozen Sons of Liberty soldiers back at the Castle. If things did go wrong, he would be ready to cover his friends below.
The caravan continued toward the drop point, where Lindsey and the members of the militia would hand over Jason Cole and the food in exchange for Chief Colton’s life and the truce that would prevent a war.
For now.
At least, that’s what Thompson and his men thought. Little did they know Raven was going to kill them all. Just not at this moment. John Kirkus and his men were watching too, ready to join the fight if needed.
Raven brought the scope up to his eye and zoomed in on the road again. Taking into consideration the chilly wind, distance, and lighting, he made some mental calculations and then adjusted his aim.
The caravan slowly crossed the crosshairs. Five militia soldiers up front, led by Dale Jackson, all of them armed with semi-automatic rifles and a secondary weapon. Then came the horses, pulling the trailer with crates of food and medical supplies. Behind that were five more militia soldiers surrounding Jason Cole. Raven focused on the man’s bruised face, taking satisfaction in the fact that he’d given the man the bruises and cuts.
“Soon, you son of a bitch,” Raven whispered. He had to force himself to look away. The temptation to end the murderous bastard’s life was too strong.
The road barrier was just ahead, and several Estes Park civilians were positioned there. Raven cursed when he saw that one of them was Sarah, the young girl who had asked him to teach her how to twirl a knife.
He had told Lindsey to pull the women off the barrier today. But given how pushy Sarah could be, maybe this wasn’t Lindsey’s fault. He had a feeling the kid went wherever she wanted.
Raven continued chewing on his toothpick. He would have preferred a cigarette to calm his nerves, but didn’t want to give up his position. With Creek in the hospi
tal, he was on his own up here. Just him, his rifle, and a whole hell of a lot of problems. The slow burn of the coming winter, and the threats closing in, had him more anxious than ever. General Fenix was still out there, and Nile Redford too. Justice for Nathan was still on his radar, but his focus right now was on Estes Park and Colton.
Raven flicked the safety off the rifle and spat the toothpick into the dirt.
He looked for Lindsey on the road, and found her walking alongside the horses. She patted her favorite mare, Willow, on the head, trying to calm the horse. Even the beasts could sense the tension as they approached the roadblock.
The men there moved the barriers to let the horses and trailer through. They stopped ten feet from the bridge across Big Thompson River, and Lindsey unlatched the horses, leaving the trailer on the road.
Thompson’s men stopped on the other side of the bridge. Raven centered his sights on the men, scanning each face to look for the sheriff, but as Raven suspected, he wasn’t here.
There goes Plan B.
He knew it had been unlikely, but if the sheriff had shown up, Raven had intended to blow his head off and end this right here. Some of their people would die, but it was better than a lot of their people dying from disease and starvation over the winter.
It was the one plan Lindsey had agreed to without hesitation.
So it was now back to Plan A. Bait the sheriff, but don’t take his bait.
Three of Thompson’s men led Colton out onto the bridge. Raven zoomed in. The man’s face looked like Rocky Balboa after his fight with Apollo Creed. It could be the chief under all those bruises, but between the injuries and the hood of the parka, Raven couldn’t be a hundred percent sure.
Lindsey and Dale Jackson brought Jason Cole over next. They pushed him toward the bridge. The murderer jogged over to Thompson’s men while their truck backed up to the trailer. Several of the soldiers used chains to hook it up while the man in the back angled the machine gun at the barrier.
Their duty done, Lindsey and Dale were herding Sarah away from the concrete blocks and stranded vehicles. With Sarah safely out of the way, Lindsey shouted something Raven couldn’t make out to the man in the back of the pickup truck. He watched them exchanging words, straining to listen. All he could hear was Lindsey saying, “Chief Colton”.
Trackers Omnibus [Books 1-4] Page 81