by John Grit
“I’ve seen those things before.”
“Not mine.”
“I don’t allow myself to think that way anymore. Not since Susan died.”
“You’re not that old.”
“Too old to be looking at you that way. I’ve got guns older than you.”
“Whatever.” She turned to face him, buttoning her shirt. “Why don’t you rest while I pull security? Unless you think I’m too disabled.”
He did not say anything, just sat against a tree, and reloaded his revolver. Then he put his pack between two bushy scrub oaks and lay down, using the pack for a pillow. “I’m running low on rifle ammo.”
Deni stopped scanning the woods and looked over at him. “How much?”
“Five rounds.”
She stiffened. “How good are you with that revolver?”
“In broad daylight, if he sits still long enough, two hundred yards.”
“Damn, that’s hard to believe. I thought you were joking when you said that before.” She kept her eyes on the woods. “Why don’t you take my 1911? I have three eight-round mags. It’s got to be faster than the .44 in close quarters.”
“It is.” He pulled his boonie hat down over his eyes. “But you keep it. For now, anyway.”
“Why wait?”
Nate smashed a mosquito on his face. “I should have taken that AK that one of them I killed was carrying, but I didn’t want to carry the extra weight. Had to move fast when I rolled out of the truck. Thought I’d come back for it later.”
“Why don’t you take the .45? I’ve got about thirty-seven rounds left for the AR.”
“No,” Nate said.
“You know…” She sighed. “I’ve noticed that sometimes you’re obstinate.”
“I guess.”
“You’re afraid I’ll need it.”
“Yep. Shoot me.” He turned his back to her and lay on his side.
“No, thanks. There are enough people trying to do that already. I’ve also noticed it’s not healthy—you tend to shoot back.”
He snored.
She looked closer, not sure if he was pretending to be asleep or really snoring. Smiling, she muttered under her breath, “Smartass.”
~~~~
There was no time to wake Nate. Deni did not even know herself there was anyone near until he saw her at the same time she saw him. She had heard something in the brush earlier, but had decided it was a small animal.
They stared at each other’s white faces for an eternity—which, in reality, lasted all of a tenth of a second. She was faster, but his shot took her hat off and some of her hair. She panicked and dropped to the ground, holding the top of her head with her left hand.
Nate bolted upright, shouldered his rifle, and looked over the sights while searching the moonlit woods. It was just a sliver of moon, but enough he could see Deni on the ground holding her head.
He crawled to her. “Are you hurt?” He kept his voice low.
“No,” she said, catching her breath. “Scared the hell out of me, though.”
“Where is he?”
“I got him. Over there.” She pointed in the general direction.
“Get your pack on and crawl to the end of this log, and get under the shade of that magnolia. The moon’s out. Light is death. Stay in shade.” Nate put his pack on and followed her.
They squatted on their knees under the magnolia, back to back, watching.
Thirty minutes passed.
Nate whispered, “There’s another one out there.”
She said nothing, just kept searching the moonlight-bathed woods, trying to penetrate the shadows. After five minutes, she said, “I didn’t hear or see anything.”
“He’s there. To my left, about fifty yards out, coming in slow.”
Ten minutes passed, and Deni still had heard nothing. Then she did.
Nate saw movement. He held his fire, waiting. There was no way to know what it was, but something tall enough to be human was coming closer. When the gray ghost of motion came into moonlight and its cool dappling fell on a man’s face, Nate spotted him and took a quick shot.
Deni dropped and moved fifteen feet to the other side of the magnolia, but still in shade.
Nate dropped to the ground and crawled to her. Good. Reposition. If anyone’s out there, he saw my muzzle flash and located us.
They couldn’t hear anything but the man’s screaming, and Nate couldn’t see where he fell in heavy brush.
Nerves strung taut, Nate whispered in Deni’s ear. “Keep watch on your side of things. I’m going over to him.”
She squeezed his arm, her breath rapid on his face.
“Don’t shoot on my side,” he whispered.
She squeezed his arm again.
Making his way to the man, while staying in the shadows and being as quiet as possible, took time.
Too weak to scream now, the man moaned. Nate moved close enough he could hear a sucking sound and knew the man was shot through a lung. He would not be able to talk and, therefore, was no use to Nate as a source of information. He had only a few moments before death. Nate stopped and searched the woods for more danger.
Gunshots from behind him prompted Nate to drop from his knees to his belly. He tried to see if Deni was okay, but saw nothing from his position. He knew it was not her carbine by the sound.
Another shot rang out, and then Deni fired three rapid shots.
Nate saw her carbine's muzzle flash, but not the other gun’s, despite his searching the dark woods to locate the shooter. He flinched and jerked his head around when someone shot over him at Deni. From his stomach, he shot until his rifle clicked on an empty chamber. He released the rifle, letting it fall, and pulled his revolver. Fast-crawling, he moved to another shadow and lay still, listening, searching for danger, his eyes straining to probe the dark. No target presented itself. All he could do was wait.
Concern for Deni made Nate’s heart race, but he did not dare call out or go to her with the other man out there in the dark. And he didn’t know how many more waited for him or Deni to make a fatal mistake.
Night sounds returned while Nate lay on the ground, waiting. Crickets started in, and fireflies flashed in brush and trees, some flying in a midair dance.
Movement near where the wounded man lay caught Nate’s eye. He tried to aim, but the revolver’s sights were useless in the dark. He had to get closer. Safer to wait for him to come to me.
Five minutes of silence, and nothing. Nate strained his eyes, searching the dark woods.
Someone brushed against a palmetto frond, warning Nate that Deni was in danger, but he could do nothing until he killed the man he had seen earlier.
Nate heard another, making it two, coming in for Deni. Stay alert, girl. They’re coming for you.
Out of the dark came barely discernable movement. Nate watched until he could make out the upper form of a man sneaking in for the kill, coming closer from an angle. He must not know exactly where I am. He raised his .44, but could not see the sights to aim. All he could do was wait until the man got so close, he could point shoot by looking down the barrel without using the sights.
A string of shots that Nate recognized as coming from Deni’s carbine told him she had seen the men. They must have been close for her to see them in the dark. She continued to fire—so much so that Nate worried she might have panicked. Maybe there’s more than two.
The one Nate had been trying to keep track of in the dark rushed to the shooting. Nate waited until he was so close he could not miss, and then shot him twice.
For cover, Nate jumped into the brush. He also needed to relocate as fast as possible, just in case someone had seen his muzzle flash. He landed on a stump, hammering the breath from his lungs. While catching his breath, someone ran by him only twenty yards away. He did not have time to shoot.
Nate heard a struggle going on. He got up and ran.
The sound of a fist hitting flesh and Deni gasping gave Nate direction in the dark.
; Then a man yelled, “Son of a bitch!”
Just before Deni was knocked down, she had swung at him in the dark, but her aim was off and the light carbine glanced off his head, only stunning him. She grabbed for her pistol.
Hot blood sprayed her face.
“Don’t shoot. I got him,” Nate warned.
“Reloading,” Deni said, falling back on her training. She felt around on the ground until she found her carbine. In four seconds, she had a fresh magazine in.
The dead man lay beside her, his throat cut and both lungs punctured by Nate’s knife.
“Are you hurt?” Nate whispered.
“No. But I think we should get out of here.”
Where the hell did I leave my rifle? Nate tried to get his bearings. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Nate felt around until he found the man whose throat he'd cut and searched for a handgun, finding a pistol he thought might be a Browning 9mm, but was not sure because he had not touched one in years. Why couldn’t it have been a Colt 1911? He searched pockets and found one extra magazine. The pistol he stuck under his belt on the left side for a cross-draw, and the magazine in his left front pants pocket. Feeling along the ground, he grabbed a carbine of some kind that he could not recognize by feel in the dark. “Stay close on my six.”
“Right,” Deni said. “There are more out there. We need to get out of here.”
It took some time for Nate to find his rifle, but he was not going to leave it. He had plenty more ammunition and magazines for it at home. In the heat of the fight, he had dumped it because it was empty. He'd known it was a mistake when he did it, but he had to move fast. While feeling around on the ground, they both kept their ears on high alert, knowing more killers were lurking.
Finally, Nate’s left hand grasped the barrel. He slung the M14 on his left shoulder. “We have to take our time, and we’re not going to get far before daylight. We’ll be going about a step a minute, so be patient and stay glued to me. I don’t want to lose you.”
Chapter 9
It began to rain—not enough to ease the mosquito curse Nate and Deni were forced to endure, but just enough to render their ears useless in the woods. They could not hear anyone trying to sneak up on them. Nate knew this worked both ways and began to walk a little faster. But he had to rely more on his eyes to detect danger from father away now that leaves on the ground were soggy. Deni stayed close behind.
The dawning sun was not yet blocked by clouds coming in from the west and rays streamed in at a low angle, filtering through towering pines and wide oaks.
“Exactly where are we going?” Deni asked in a whisper. “We seem to be heading back to the river now.”
“We are,” Nate said. “I hope we have swung around them and they’ve gone back to the bridge. We should come to the start of the river valley soon.”
“What then? How long can we do this and survive? We were lucky back there.” Deni continuously scanned the wall of green around them.
Nate stopped and turned to her. “I think you should go back to the bunker and warn the others. I was hoping the two of us could hold them here long enough for whatever gang they’re running from to catch them at the bridge, but now I’m thinking it may not be possible. They really want to cross here for some reason, and it looks like the group they’re running from is not so interested in catching up. Maybe they stopped chasing them. Whatever. The fact is, it looks like they’re going to get the bridge repaired.” He looked at her, his face showing determination. “I’m going to kill as many of them as I can and hold them at the bridge as long as possible. You go back.”
Deni’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not what I was saying. I do not intend to leave you here alone. I was just thinking we have to come up with something better than what we’ve been doing. Some kind of force multiplier through speed and violence of action.”
Nate smiled. “You’re taking sound military principles and turning it into gobbledygook. We don’t have any force multipliers, and we’ve used about as much violence of action as the two of us are capable of.”
He saw the shiner on her face for the first time. The smile vanished.
She saw it in his eyes. “It can’t look that bad.”
Nate shook his head, sighed, and looked away. “How much ammo do you have left for the AR?”
“Less than a mag. I haven’t had time to count.”
He pointed. “Let’s rest on that rock and you check. We need to assess our problem and come up with a plan for tonight. We’re both too tired to do any fighting this morning. And we’ve got to eat.”
Deni sat down and removed the magazine from her carbine. “Can’t we burn the damn thing with Molotov cocktails or something? They have gas for their trucks. You snuck in among them that time and we could do it again.”
“I drove in with one of their trucks. It won’t be so easy to do that again.”
“They do seem to be more organized than before.” Deni stripped rounds from her magazine, counting. She looked at Nate. “Fourteen rounds.”
Nate lifted the carbine he took off the dead man in the dark and showed it to her. “This is no better than my revolver. A cheap 9mm with a ten-round mag and crappy sights.” He took the magazine out and counted the rounds. It was full. Then he pulled the bolt back enough to see if there was a round in the chamber. “Cocked and locked,” he said, “but chambered for a round that’s notorious for being too weak for the job without using several rounds per man.”
Deni reloaded her carbine, talking as she pushed rounds into the magazine. “If those rounds were hollow points, it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Just full metal jacket,” Nate said.
“Figures. Well, what are we going to do?”
“Eat and get some shuteye.” Nate yawned. “I guess you should stand first watch.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know. We need more time to think on it.” He took his pack off and reached in for some food.
~~~~
Nate heard them coming. One of them walked through the mud of a slough Deni and he had just gone around. It did not take him long to realize they were military trained. They came in a wedge formation, spaced perfectly to prevent more than one from being mowed down with the same gun. They were quiet in the woods, but not so much as he could not hear them coming.
Deni heard, too. She found cover and waited.
Nate’s eyes desperately searched the swamp around them. They were in a bad place to execute a hasty ambush. There was not enough concealment, though tree trunks, windfalls, and rotted-out cypress stumps offered cover. What they needed was enough concealment they could retreat without being seen. The swamp floor was thinly covered with brush because the canopy of treetops did not allow enough sunlight to get through.
Deni had found a stump solid enough to stop bullets. The problem was a lack of concealment for retreat once the men located them—and they would, the instant they fired a shot. Once the fight started, it would be to the finish—or, at least, until Deni and he managed to kill enough they could retreat without being shot in the back.
Nate rushed to her and pointed to a hollow cypress log barely large enough for her to fit into. “Crawl in as far as you can.” He kept his voice low.
Deni blanched. “No way! If they find me, I’ll be helpless.”
“They won’t find you if they’re looking for me elsewhere. I’ll lead them away.”
She shook her head. “No. We can fight them.”
Nate grabbed her pack strap and yanked her to him, her face inches from his. “They’re not a mob of yahoos, they’re military. And this is not the place for an ambush. Now get in there, so we’ll have half a chance to get away from them.”
Her eyes widened. “Why would soldiers be out here? Why would they be hunting us?”
“Who knows?” Nate practically dragged her to the log. “Hurry.”
Deni took her pack off and shoved it in front of her as she crawled in, disappearing in
to darkness.
Taking off on a run, Nate headed upslope, hoping to make it out of the river bottomland and into heavy brush, where he might have a chance of shaking them off his trail.
One of the men heard Nate’s headlong crashing through the woods. He caught a glimpse of him, a blur between trees, and fired with an automatic weapon.
Nate feinted to his right, but then turned left and kept running. Bark flew off a cypress as he ran past, with wood fragments blinding him. Now desperate and running recklessly, he could not stop in time to prevent his fall into a muddy creek, landing on his stomach with a splash. He pushed up with both hands, coughing. He pulled the carbine out and hoped its barrel had not been plugged with mud.
The squad size group of men maneuvered toward him, still in formation. They rushed, but were cautious.
Nate crawled out of the mud and peered over a root, looking for his pursuers. A man in his early twenties saw him and veered to his left, taking cover behind a tree.
Shit! I’m in trouble now. Nate could not run without being shot in the back, and he could not shoot, unless the man came out from behind that tree. In seconds, more men would be surrounding him.
Doing the only thing he could, he jumped up and rushed the man, firing the carbine. When he got within ten feet, he stopped firing and veered to his right, the carbine shouldered and ready.
The man heard him and leaned out to see and shoot.
Nate shot first, putting two bullets in his face. He dropped the carbine, snatched up the dead man’s M4, and sprayed another man across his chest just as he ran around a wide cypress trunk. Another man rushed toward him, raising his carbine to shoot. Nate fired a burst into him, noticing for the first time they wore body armor and helmets. He had been too busy for his mind to register such details. He took careful aim and shot the last two again, before they could recover from the bullets’ blows—in the face this time. Then Nate grabbed two magazines out of the nearest dead man’s load-bearing vest and took off on the run.
Bullets ripped into trees. He kept as much wood between him and his pursuers as possible until the shooting faded. He was able to leave the soldiers behind in ten minutes.