by Mary Saums
I still held my attacker’s handgun. I clicked the magazine, checked that it was full, and pulled back the slide to see the edge of a bullet in the chamber, ready to fire.
‘Thank you for being so well prepared,” I said to my unconscious friend, as I headed toward the forest in the direction of the scream.
I followed the same path Cal and I had taken that first day I’d visited. I made my way toward the stream we’d crossed. A moan of pain came from that direction. My body jumped with terror. It was then I saw smears of blood in the grass and, farther ahead at the water’s edge, two forms lying on the ground. They were much too still.
I sprinted across the last of the meadow with horror clutching at my heart. Cal lay near where the spring house spanned the stream. I ran through the thick grass and fell to my knees at his side. I grabbed my stomach on seeing the red stain that covered his shirt and the wound that gaped open in his upper chest. I closed my eyes to pull myself together.
It was a gunshot wound at close range, my guess from a .22 pistol, and not fired by a professional for the shooter had not made certain Cal was dead. He was alive, but he wouldn’t be for long unless I could get him immediately to a hospital, and even that thought held no hope whatsoever.
The other prone form broke my heart as well but I couldn’t afford to attend to him just then. Homer lay a few feet away. Blood covered the side of his face. He’d been hit hard, I imagined with the butt of the gun that shot Cal. I gently moved my hand under Cal’s neck, could feel a faint pulse there. It was weak and erratic. His eyelids fluttered as I cradled his head.
“Cal, can you hear me? It’s Jane. I’m here.” I lay his head gently in the crook of my arm in what I hoped was a more comfortable position, and also pulled his left arm out of the water to his side. His lips moved but his words were too weak to understand. “Don’t talk now. You’re going to be fine.”
I knew it wasn’t the truth. Cal did as well, for he summoned his strength and bored his dark eyes into mine. He knew he was not long for this world. His mouth moved as he tried to speak. “Hank,” he said.
Had I heard him correctly? I leaned closer and watched his lips move.
“Hank,” he repeated with urgency. “Snake …”
His throat rasped. His eyes opened fully, focused on mine for another few seconds. They spoke volumes, all of good-byes, before fluttering and finally closing for the last time. He breathed out, his spirit released into the forest he loved so much.
Another scream cut through the air. With care, I lowered Cal’s head to the grass, brushed my tears away, and gathered my courage as I ran toward the east.
I slowed my pace as I neared the camp area Phoebe and I had discovered. Rather than go straight to it, I remembered the rock ridge that overlooked the clearing and went there for a look. I turned in that direction and was pleased to find a faint trail leading up. Conscious of every step as I drew closer, trying not to make noise, I emerged at the top and lay flat in the trail’s head.
A few feet away, another trail led down into the great ceremonial hall where, far down on the right, I could barely see the Maiden. I was nearer the other end of the hall, close to the two great trees I remembered from Cal’s map of the canyon, their height stretching for what seemed like miles toward the clouds, their great crowns intermingled. Below and in front of me was the clearing where the survivalists made camp. The log cabin was to the right. I could see no one save the stuffed mannequin target Phoebe and I saw previously, its vacant painted-on eyes staring like those of a dead man in a much too convincing way.
Beyond him was the much-used round archery target. Its red bull’s-eye was in tatters with gaping holes where straw showed through. I shuddered. Whoever practiced here shot well, whether with guns or bows. A bowhunter would be a formidable enemy, one accustomed to stealth. I’d been a good shot myself years ago but only in tournaments with nonmoving targets. A hunter would not only be able to shoot moving targets, but would most certainly own a compound bow. Powerful and lethal, this type could kill in an instant and with hardly a sound.
A dreary caste to the air enhanced the feeling of foreboding in my heart as I looked across the empty clearing. I could see the front porch and one side of the cabin where someone moved inside across the window.
I listened intently. The soft sounds of footsteps across a creaking floor and then a man’s voice reached my ears just before a loud slapping sound and a woman’s cry pierced the quiet.
I descended quickly the way I came and made a circuit of the back half of the clearing, slowing as the cabin came into sight. Loud male voices and another scream quickened my pace. I stepped off the thin trail and veered to the right where the forest was thicker, moving quietly from tree to tree, listening, getting control of my breath. I closed my eyes, inhaled and exhaled deeply and silently, and prayed.
From behind a great hackberry tree, I heard the cabin’s floor creaking as heavy shoes walked inside. I moved quickly behind the trees at the back of the cabin where pine needles softened my footsteps and from there, moved to the other side unchallenged. No outside sentries. A long low pine branch partially obscured the window there. I put my back against the cabin, hid as best I could behind the branch, and peeped inside the dirty panes.
The situation was much worse than I could have imagined. Two of the chairs had been brought to the center of the cabin’s single room. In them sat Shelley Barnette and Phoebe with their hands bound behind the chairs. Phoebe’s mouth was gagged with a white cloth. A man was tying a similar one around Shelley’s face. From where I stood, I could see a large red bruise swelling on Phoebe’s cheek. Shelley was crying.
I moved slightly as the back of a man moved into view. He crossed and turned as he spoke to the girls. He had a buzz cut and a determined set of jaw. As he turned sideways, I saw a long pale scar on his neck.
This was the man I’d seen on my first day in town in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot talking to Jack Blaylock, Phoebe’s gun instructor. Another new worry came to mind, the paper I’d seen on Detective Waters’ desk about the ex-military man with a scar. He had a criminal record. And now, he had Phoebe and Shelley as well.
Inside the cabin, a young man with a moustache and beard leaned against a wall. His rifle leaned beside him. Obviously he was unconcerned that his captives would escape. Even so, he was not completely relaxed. It was as if he wished to appear at ease, but his luminous blue eyes looked furtively about. They checked the room as if waiting, calm but alert.
After checking as much of the room as I could, I satisfied myself there were only the two. My opponents were young, well-built men, probably well trained, with access to at least three semiautomatic rifles, which I’d seen inside.
The leader spoke harshly to Phoebe. With slow steps he paced around the chairs. He went to the opposite window to look out. Waiting. Both men waiting. For what, I wondered, or whom? They didn’t need more help to handle Shelley and Phoebe. They could be waiting for their friend, the one I knocked out at Cal’s house. I didn’t think so. He didn’t strike me as a decision maker. The leader was here at the cabin yet he waited.
They waited for orders. There must be a higher-ranking member of this band, one expected to arrive soon. Jack Blaylock? According to Phoebe, he was an expert marksman and huntsman. I had to act quickly. Waiting was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
I made my plan. I let the tug of anger I’d kept in check sweep through my body like a cleansing fire. One friend was dead. Two more were in great peril. And at my feet, littering the forest floor, were more bullet casings, the metal remnants of vanity, arrogance, destruction. It was a desecration. They would do my friends harm and spoil this sacred place without the least remorse. I gritted my teeth and channeled my anger into a thin stream of thought. No. Not on my watch.
I scooped up the casings lying at my feet and waited for a completely quiet moment. When the leader stopped talking inside, I threw a few at the nearest standing target in front of the cabin. The metal clinked on th
e target’s stand and I withdrew, putting my back against the wall around the corner of the porch.
A deeper quiet followed. I knew I would soon have company. I waited, tensed and ready, as the door opened and footsteps tapped quietly down the length of the porch. I saw the nose of the rifle first, edging out from the corner. It moved slowly forward and stopped, then edged left in the direction of the target. The man’s head began to turn for a quick glance in my direction. I gripped my pistol tighter and, before he could see me, brought the gun down with a thud at the top of his neck.
It was a good hit. He crumpled without a sound. I grabbed his shoulders as he fell, guiding his weight as best I could toward the cabin wall so he couldn’t be seen from the front door or window.
I took his rifle, an AR-15 with an expensive sight, and quickly slipped the shoulder strap over my head. I put the handgun in the back of my waistband. Quickly I checked the rifle’s magazine and chamber. Full and ready to go.
I imagined the leader listening at the door, looking out each window. The cabin walls would most likely have muffled the sounds I’d made. Still, the woods were too quiet. I had to assume he heard the dragging of the man’s boots, the clicks as I released and replaced the AR-15’s cartridge, as well as the scrape of the bolt, though I slid it carefully. He would come and come soon. I went quickly to cover behind a wide tree trunk about ten yards away from the wall.
Since the cabin had no back door, the leader had no option in coming out. A few unlikely scenarios flitted through my mind as I put myself in his shoes. Was there perhaps a way to the roof? Would he exit through a window? No, he must come through the door. The smallest creak from the cabin’s front told me my opponent was on his way.
I couldn’t hear him. My only warning of his location came when a bird suddenly leapt from a niche in the porch eaves. Its movement caused an almost noiseless reaction from the leader, still out of my view but very close. I could feel him there. I pictured him swinging his gun to the bird in one swift slice, feeling rather than hearing the small rush of wind as his barrel cut through the air.
The leader moved like a shadow, coming slowly into view. He didn’t make the same mistake as his predecessor but pied the corner, coming wide around it rather than close to the wall. He snapped his weapon around the corner. With a quick but thorough look about, he took in the sight of the unconscious man and the surrounding area.
His gun was larger than the one I carried. I recognized it instantly. The Colonel was quite fond of Heckler and Koch, a German manufacturer who made the HK-G3 this man carried. An expensive toy with which to play soldier.
This time, a quick knock on the head wasn’t going to work. He was too tall, first of all, and to hit him I would have to come out of cover. I would have to take several steps toward him, knowing the possibility of his hearing my approach was great.
He would have the advantage of time. He was surely quicker than me. He was stronger, younger, and male. I had only one advantage. I knew where he was.
I could not allow him to fire. He was surely in better practice than I was, so one shot could be the end of me. This close to the cabin, there was a possibility that stray bullets could kill Shelley and Phoebe. No shootout. Nor could I allow this to become a contest of strength. His biceps bulged out from the arms of his T-shirt and his chest rippled with muscles under the fabric. If he saw me, I’d have no alternative but to shoot and shoot first, and that shot must disable him, if it came to that.
When he made a sweep away from me, I took long, quiet strides from my position behind the tree around the back of the cabin to its other side. From there, a ridge of several large boulders stood quite close to the cabin. My intent was to reach them, but no sooner had I peeked around the corner of the cabin than the leader, suddenly opposite me at the other end of the porch, swung his rifle and put me in its sights. He had backtracked. Too clever, this one. My blood chilled.
I jerked my head back from view. He hadn’t fired. The look on his face, changing from severe concentration to utter disbelief, told me he hesitated because of my gray hair, and perhaps my height, and had more than likely ascertained in that split second I was merely a harmless little old lady.
Funny, but I keep forgetting that. I didn’t think he could have seen my weapon, only my head. Yet I had noticed something extremely useful about his own gun.
“Oh, dear!” I cried out in a shaky voice and began to sob as loudly as I could. “Oh, my heavens. Please, p-p-please, don’t shoot!” Elsa Lancaster would have been proud. I snuggled closer to the cabin wall, took my stance, and readied my gun.
“Come out,” he said gruffly, barely disguising his amusement. “Come out with your hands up.”
Oh, no, my dear young man. You shall come to me.
I didn’t answer him but remained hidden and continued with befuddled whimpering, all the while gauging his steps as they came nearer, counting the rhythm, seeing the moves in my mind.
His boots clopped on the wooden porch slats as he came toward me. I watched the space where his rifle should appear and when it did, I smashed his trigger hand with the hard edge of my rifle butt, smacking his finger away from the trigger, and immediately slammed the rifle again in a quick upward jut to his chin. After another hard strike of the butt’s edge to his jaw and nose for good measure, I wrapped my foot around his ankle to ensure his backward fall.
As he fell, I brought my rifle down behind the G-3 he still held loosely and swept it out of his hands to the ground, giving it a kick that sent it off the porch. He’d not taken the time to put the strap over his head, but let it dangle loose to his side. When I’d noticed it earlier, I knew I had a chance to disarm him.
He hit the porch flat on his back. He growled like a wild animal. I could see him struggling to remain conscious, trying to position himself to spring up. I couldn’t allow that. When his eyes opened, I had my rifle aimed at his chest.
Several options played out in my head. Even if I had anything with which to tie him, it would be too dangerous to try it with no back up. If I left him there while I untied Shelley and Phoebe, he might then become an unseen threat in the woods. Killing him while I had the chance crossed my mind but was, of course, not an option. Not yet.
“Put your hands on your head,” I said. He still lay on his back, his face contorted as if he were in great pain. Something I might do if in his position to gain more time. “Now.”
He smirked. He shook his head, willing himself to concentrate. Blood ran from his nose. His smile showed gaps between pearly white teeth as he fully saw me for the first time. “Is that an order?” he said.
I smiled as well, showing all my teeth and softening my eyes in a kind, grandmotherly way. With a quick jerk, I snapped the rifle sight to and fired one shot. It grazed his left earlobe.
His hand moved up in reflex to the small wound, barely a scratch. He stared at the red droplets of blood on his fingertips in disbelief.
“Is that an order, what, private?” I said, imitating the Colonel’s familiar bark.
He didn’t answer immediately. I do believe the young man had a problem with women in positions of authority. I edged the gun’s barrel slowly, slightly to my left toward his other ear.
He swallowed. He gritted his teeth and spoke tightly through them. “Is that an order, ma’am!” he said with great spite.
“Indeed, it is. Don’t speak again.” I slowly moved the sight of my gun to the center of his forehead. I waited a few moments to let him think about that. “Move your hands to the top of your head. Lace your fingers together. Tightly, please,” I said in a calm voice. “Slowly get to your knees.”
He did as he was told. I walked around him until my gun pointed at his back. I didn’t take a whit of concentration off him for a moment. I checked the back of his belt and his boots. There. I could see the knife he had tucked inside the right one. Possible scenarios went through my head making me come to a very difficult conclusion.
He would try something. Soon, most likely, an
d he would win somehow—by force, by disarming me, by knifing or shooting me. I didn’t care for any of those possibilities. I could not wait for him to make that move. “Now, listen carefully,” I said. “I want you to …”
With a quick flip of the rifle, I smashed it down at the base of his skull. Fair and sportsmanlike behavior? No. The only way to ensure the safety of my friends and myself short of committing murder? Yes.
When I was sure he was out cold, I patted him down and found nothing other than the knife. I took it. Keeping my rifle on him, I backed off the porch, retrieved the G-3 and put its strap over my head, then ran inside to Phoebe and removed her gag.
“Jane! That was you out there!”
“Are you all right?” I asked, while using the knife to cut her bonds. I pulled the gag down from Shelley’s mouth and cut her free.
Phoebe chattered, apparently trying to relate how they came to be here, but her sentences were disjointed and made no sense. Shelley cried and also spoke in a halting way between sobs. Phoebe managed to say there was still a third man who went to Cal’s house.
“I saw him. He won’t be bothering us. No more talking now. Listen.” I put a hand on each girl’s shoulder and gave it a little shake as I gripped. “We must get to safety straightaway. We must put as much distance as possible between us and this place. Hurry.”
I helped each to their feet, then took a look around the room to be sure we left no weapons behind. Phoebe moved to the hearth and picked up the third rifle I’d seen through the window, an odd-looking one in a strange color I’d never seen before. Her initiative surprised and pleased me. I would congratulate her later for thinking of taking one of the enemy’s guns in spite of the fact she didn’t know how to shoot it.
At the door, I checked to be sure my man was still out cold, then listened but only for a second. We had to get away before the other member of their party arrived.