They used the trolling motor to guide the boat to the shoreline. O’Leary jumped out of the boat into water that came halfway up his calves and pulled the vessel onto a grassy stretch of shore. Anne handed Jimmy a shotgun and checked the action of her pistol.
“There’s a trail over there,” she said.
“Well, I ain’t a woodsman, but it’s long been my belief that trails usually lead somewhere.”
Anne jumped to the ground and started following the path.
When they entered the trees, leaving the blazing sun behind, the temperature dropped twenty degrees. Huge maples, oaks, and pines enclosed them like a cocoon; ferns and wildflowers leaned toward the trail in their perpetual struggle to reach the few shafts of sunlight that penetrated the canopy.
When O’Leary put a cigarette in his mouth, Anne shook her head and admonished him. “Don’t . . . they might smell it.”
His face reddened, but he realized the wisdom of her words and bit back his embarrassment. Anne smiled at him. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you now that I’m starting to like you.”
“Well, shit,” O’Leary said, “that alone makes a little nicotine fit worth it.”
They followed the trail for a quarter mile. It hadn’t seen much use and ferns and saplings had started to regain their hold on the tread-worn path. Wind rustled through the trees and jay-like birds, gray and white rather than blue and white, chattered and thrashed loudly in the trees. “What type of bird is that?”
“I believe it’s a Canadian or Gray Jay. Watch this.” She reached up with her fingers touching as if she held a morsel of food and one of the birds jumped from its perch and flew to her hand. It flew close enough to her to determine there was nothing to eat and launched itself into the air.
“I’ll be a son of a bitch,” O’Leary said. “I never saw a wild bird do that before.”
“The locals call it a Gorby bird. My father and grandfather were avid sportsmen and hunted the Maine woods on many occasions. Dad told me about them. He said they’re camp robbers. You build a fire and in no time Gorby birds are around. He believed that as long as there are Gorbies in the area, no one should ever starve in the woods.”
They turned away from the bird and continued up the trail at a cautious pace. Sunlight filtered through the trees and large flies buzzed around their heads, no doubt attracted by their salty perspiration. One landed on O’Leary’s neck and he slapped at it. “Goddamned things take a big bite.”
Suddenly Anne stopped. “There’s a clearing ahead.”
O’Leary peered up the trail. Before he could speak, a shot rang out.
Estes remained in her lair. It had been quiet for hours, but she stayed vigilant. Her mouth was dry and her tongue seemed to stick to the roof of her mouth. She reached for her canteen and saw movement on the trail. I knew, she thought, Houston wouldn’t be stupid enough to come alone.
Major Francis Estes, USMCR, pulled the stock of her rifle into her shoulder, sighted on her target and, for the first time in her life, fired at a human target.
Houston heard the shot and believed it came from the north. He thought about Anne and his heart stopped. He didn’t want to break cover, but when two more shots followed, he threw caution to the wind and slid out of his hide.
Although exposing himself was foolish and the smart thing to do was to remain in place, Houston turned toward the sound. The boom of a shotgun, followed by several pistol shots, rolled through the woods—a firefight was in progress.
He reached the bottom of the incline and found Winter standing beside a large fir tree, looking north. “Think we ought to check that out?”
“I don’t know; it might expose us.”
“On the other hand,” Winter replied, “they may have got him.”
“I doubt that. This shooter hasn’t screwed up very often. It’s more likely it’s his accomplices and Jimmy and Anne.”
“Either way, I think we need to find out . . . if for no other reason than to see what we’re dealing with.”
Houston thought about his options for a few seconds. “Common sense tells me we should stay put.”
“What if one of our people is down?”
Houston thought of Susie and Anne.
“Okay. But, we maintain field discipline and we don’t rush. It would be like this bastard to stake out any bodies hoping we’ll get curious.”
O’Leary was twenty feet behind Anne when she crumpled to the ground. He dove into a stand of bush as a bullet snapped over his head.
“Anne?”
“Yeah?”
He didn’t like the raspy and strained tone of her voice. “Where you hit?”
“My left shoulder. I’m bleeding bad.”
“Are you exposed?”
“No, the hole is small.”
Jimmy’s brow arched as he pondered her reply for several seconds and then he smiled. It took a special type of person to joke after being shot.
“I meant are you behind cover?”
Anne grunted in pain. “I’m good . . . there’s an old log here and I’m pressed against it.”
“Stay there. I’ll get you out of here somehow.”
Another shot ripped through the tree branches above his head. He peered in the direction of the gunfire and thought he saw movement.
“I think I see him,” Jimmy said. “Are you able to get his attention?”
A bloody hand holding a pistol appeared above the log. Anne fired off two shots.
O’Leary dashed to his left, expecting a bullet at any second. He slid behind a downed tree and leaned against it, gasping for breath. “Fucking cigarettes.”
He heard another shot, followed by the flat bark of Anne’s pistol. The shooter had moved and was now abreast of his position. Jimmy slowly turned and crouched into a shooting stance.
A figure in camouflage clothes slipped around a tree, obviously trying to flank Anne. He stood up and raised the shotgun to his shoulder. “Drop it.”
The shooter spun toward his voice. Jimmy saw it was a woman and froze for a split second—long enough for her to bring her rifle into play. The shotgun roared and bucked in his hands.
The twelve-gauge slug ripped through her chest, spraying the leaves behind her with blood. She stared at him in disbelief for a moment and then braced her feet to keep from falling. An expanding blood stain spread across the front of her blouse, but she still struggled to lift the rifle. O’Leary pumped the forward grip, ejected the spent cartridge and racked in a fresh one. He fired again. Another crimson hole appeared in her chest just below the first and she toppled backward.
O’Leary approached the woman cautiously and squatted beside her. Her eyes moved from side to side and there was a shocked look on her face. He picked up her rifle and threw it to the side. “I’ll bet it never dawned on you that you could get shot too.”
Estes stared at him, licking her lips. After a few moments, her eyes dulled and she let out a long slow breath. She relaxed and stared at a sky she could no longer see.
Stepping over the body, Jimmy darted between trees and through brush to Anne’s side. A quick look was all it took to know that she was in serious trouble. There was a six-inch bloodstain on her shirt and she was unconscious, her face pallid. She was in shock. He ripped her shirt open and inspected the entry wound. It was about an inch above her breast and slightly smaller than a dime. Reaching under her shoulders to lift her he felt the warm stickiness of her blood.
Anne’s eyes snapped open.
“I got to get you someplace where we can stop the bleeding, kid.”
Anne gave him a weak smile. Blood splatters had peppered her face and she whispered. “I know, Jimmy.” When she spoke, her chest rattled.
Fuck, O’Leary thought, I think she’s been lung-shot.
Ignoring her cries, he lifted her from the ground and walked as fast as possible toward the clearing, praying for the strength not to drop her. When Jimmy staggered into the small meadow, he spied an old fishing or hunting shack.
Mindless of the fact that there may be other shooters in the area, he struggled to carry his load onto the porch and kicked the door open.
Inside the shack were two rudimentary cots. Susie was tied to one. “Uncle Jimmy!”
He ignored her and placed Anne on the other. He placed a pillow under Anne’s head, then went to Susie. He took a folding knife from its sheath on his belt and cut her bonds.
“You okay, baby?”
“Yes, just scared.” She looked at Anne’s pale face and saw the blood on her shirt. “Oh my God, she’s been shot!”
“Get a grip, kid. I’m going to need your help. We got to work fast if she’s gonna have any kind of a chance.”
They leaned over Anne and O’Leary saw that she still had her pistol gripped tight in her hand. He pried her fingers from the gun and set it on the floor.
They cut Anne’s shirt and bra off. “She ever finds out I did this, she’ll shoot me,” O’Leary said.
“Under the circumstances,” Susie commented, “I think she’ll understand. What can I do?”
“I’m going to need some hot water and the cleanest cloth you can find. There’s a boat at the end of the trail, about a quarter mile. Do you think you can run there and get me the first-aid kit?”
Susie looked frightened and glanced through the door. As quickly as it appeared, the terrified look disappeared and a look of determination took its place. “I can do it.”
“That’s my girl. It’s in the console between the front seats.” He picked up Anne’s pistol and offered it to Susie. “I shot the woman, but there could be others.”
Susie pulled away, repelled by the weapon.
“There’s only one more that I’ve seen,” she said. “A creepy guy.”
O’Leary put the gun in her hand and wrapped her fingers around its handle. “Take this and don’t be a baby. Do you know how to use it? It’s loaded and ready to fire, all you have to do is point it and pull the trigger.”
Susie recoiled from his stern tone. Reluctantly she took Anne’s pistol, hesitated for a moment and then cradled it under her arm. She held her hand up and saw Anne’s blood smeared on it. She felt panic building, but O’Leary shouted, “Go! Do as I say, Susie.” She blinked her eyes several times and then ran out the door.
After she had run from the cabin, O’Leary turned his full attention to Anne and tried to stem the bleeding. Mike is gonna be pissed, he thought.
The shooter heard the shots. Houston must be at the cabin, he thought. I hope Frankie hasn’t spoiled my fun.
He slid out of his perch and slowly, methodically started toward the shack.
When they reached the clearing, Winter stayed in the trees and covered Houston as he approached the cabin. Houston was ten feet from the door when Susie stepped out and froze. “Daddy?”
Houston realized she couldn’t recognize him in the Ghillie suit and slid the hood back. “Yeah, babe, it’s me. You okay?”
“Dad, Anne’s hurt.” She looked around and he saw the pale look of shock on her face. “Uncle Jimmy is with her . . . he sent me to get some stuff from his boat.”
“Then go get it, hon. Gordon, go with her. I’ll take care of things here.”
Winter stepped out of the brush and Susie started, raising the pistol.
Her father grabbed her hand and forced the gun down. “He’s with us. Now go get the stuff your Uncle Jimmy asked for.”
Houston rushed forward. When he stepped into the cabin, he saw Jimmy bent over Anne, trying to wrap bandages around her.
When Houston stomped into the shack, O’Leary spun, pulled a pistol from his belt and pointed it. “Jesus H. Christ, Mike. I almost drilled you.”
“How is she?”
“It ain’t good.”
Houston covered the distance between him and Anne in two strides. He knelt beside the cot and inspected her wounds. “Thank God they used military ammo.”
“Yeah, if they’d shot her with a hollow-point instead of a jacketed bullet . . . ” O’Leary left the rest of the statement hanging in the air.
They were silent for several tense seconds, anxiously awaiting Winter and Susie’s return. “What about the shooter—you get him?”
“Not unless he’s had a sex change. It was a woman—some militant bitch. She’s out in the woods.”
Houston looked out the door.
“Don’t worry; her shooting days are over. Where’s Gordon?”
“He went to the boat with Susie.” Houston noticed that Anne’s breathing was shallow and her appearance made his stomach sink.
“She’s still alive,” Jimmy said. “But we got to get her out of here. She needs better care than we can give her.”
It seemed as if time stood still and hours passed before they heard heavy steps outside and Winter and Susie burst through the door carrying a first-aid kit and some white cloth.
O’Leary opened the first-aid kit and dumped its contents on the cot. He sorted through the plastic packages until he found what he sought. He grabbed two packages marked Dressing, individual, camouflaged and used his teeth to rip the vacuum-sealed plastic wrappers off, then pulled the dressings out and handed them to Houston. Jimmy grabbed another package, with a label that identified it as a bandage, opened it and spread it out. He twirled the bandage until it created a strap and waited.
Houston raised Anne to a sitting position and pressed a dressing against the entrance wound. “A little help over here.”
Susie rushed forward, took the second dressing and pressed it against the exit wound. While Houston supported Anne, his daughter held the dressings and O’Leary wrapped the bandage around her, tying it securely. Houston lowered her back onto the mattress.
“You guys have to take her and Susie out.”
“We’re over a hundred miles from the nearest hospital,” Winter said. “I won’t mention that we’re hours from the boat launch. I got a CB radio in the boat, but they’re only good for a couple of miles. If we get her to the old man’s store we can call someone to send for an ambulance.”
“Well, one thing is for certain,” Houston said, “we got to stop ratchet-jawing and get to it.”
“What we got that can be used as a stretcher?” Jimmy asked.
“We’ll each take a corner of this cot; it will have to do.”
They struggled to carry the improvised stretcher down the narrow path. On several occasions one or another of them staggered and almost lost their grip. Each time Anne cried out in pain. It seemed as if it took hours, rather than minutes, to reach the shore. They discarded the bed frame and placed the mattress with Anne on it into the boat. Susie wrapped Anne with the old blanket that covered the mattress. Once Winter, O’Leary and Susie were aboard, Houston pushed the boat into the water. Winter used an oar to pole them out to where the water was deep enough to lower the outboard motor and started it. Houston stepped back onto the shore.
“Ain’t you coming?” Jimmy asked.
“I’d like nothing better, but there’s business to be done. I’m not leaving here until this asshole is yesterday’s news.” He waved and turned back to the trail.
33
“ . . . my radio call sign had been ‘Gabriel’ because the archangel and I have a lot in common. Legend says Gabriel’s trumpet will sound the last judgment. I do the same sort of thing with my rifle . . . ”
—Gunnery Sergeant Jack Coughlin, USMC
Houston watched Winter shift the motor from reverse to drive and then spin the boat around in the water. He saw its bow point upward and heard its hull slap the surface as it raced away. Once the boat was out of sight, he walked to the clearing for a closer look at the cabin. On the way, curiosity got the better of him and he crept into the woods, looking for the sniper’s partner.
He followed the trail until he found blood sign, which he presumed to be Anne’s, and then stepped into the woods. The sounds of buzzing flies and something rustling in the brush led him to the body. He found her lying in a small copse. Two huge crows picked at the corpse a
nd flew off when he approached. Their loud cawing filled the afternoon stillness. He crouched beside the cadaver and recognized Estes. She was not as squared away and pretty as when they had first met. Even though it had been less than an hour since she’d died, scavengers had already been at the body, eating away portions of her face. The foragers he scared off had already eaten her eyes and the bloody sockets seemed to look through him. No one, he thought, deserves this. He stared at Estes’s body and wondered how many more marines in her outfit were involved in this escapade. He was still crouching over her when a taunting voice called, “You’ve become lax, Mikey! I could have nailed you already.”
Houston crouched lower and spun toward the voice. He raised his rifle and peered through the trees, hoping to locate where the shout came from. “If that’s so, why didn’t you?”
“That would have been too easy. Here’s the rules. You and me hunt each other until one of us is dead.”
“You’re fucking nuts . . . ”
“Maybe I am, but when this is over there will be no doubt as to who’s the best.”
“Who are you?”
“A friend from your past . . . your worst fucking nightmare. Too bad about your friend getting shot, but it seems to have evened things—we both lost spotters today. I guess that’s the breaks, huh?”
“This is only just beginning, asshole.”
“Ain’t that the truth? Sorry we had to snatch your kid, but it was the only way I could get you up here.”
“Well, you know how that old saying goes.”
“There’s a lot of old sayings, dipshit. Which one are you talking about?”
“The one that says be careful what you ask for because you just might get it.”
The sniper’s laugh rolled across the forest. “Yeah, that’s a good one.” “Why don’t we just cut to the chase? We’ll meet by the shack and end this right now?”
“Who do you think I am, fucking Wyatt Earp? No way, José, we’ll play it out just like we were trained. Well, I gotta run, Mike—see you around the campus.”
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