Sable watched Ramsey pull into a logging road and the Bronco took flight. “Now we know for certain this asshole doesn’t know how to drive.”
“We’re following them in there?”
“We’ve got to.”
“But the car won’t make it.”
“So we go on foot.”
“Shit, we didn’t bring any survival equipment,” Masters said, “and I don’t even have hiking boots.”
“And here I thought you were tougher.” Sable pulled the car to the side of the road and turned off the ignition. “All troopers go through a survival course.”
“Yeah, but I like to be better prepared.” Masters stepped from the car, slipped on a light windbreaker and shivered. “Damn it’s cold.”
“Feels great, doesn’t it.”
Masters responded with an unintelligible grumble.
* * * *
Trees crowded in from each side of the road, masking the sun and making the cool, morning air crisper. Deep ruts spoiled the narrow road, so Bill and Lee walked in the center. Fall had arrived in a burst of glory, leaves turning to gold, orange, and brown. In the tops of the trees, golden leaves danced in the sun and on the air. Occasionally, light peeked through the treetops, warming a spot here and there on the road. Lee and Bill labored under the weight of their packs as they walked up the steep slope and their breath formed a light, vaporous fog. It felt harder for Bill to breathe as the forest crowded in around him. Even the fresh scent of fir trees was overpowering. He felt the danger was in back, in front, and above them. He looked worriedly at Lee, wondering what he had gotten her into. He tried using his ESP to reveal the future and dangers ahead, but it wouldn’t come to him. Yet, he could feel the overwhelming, stifling presence and stench of death.
“They’re ready for us. We need to get off the road and go cross country,” Bill said.
Lee frowned and adjusted her pack. “How could they find us so quickly.”
“The plane we heard earlier. In fact, I wouldn’t put it past them to rent a chopper. It can land anywhere.”
In the distance, Bill heard the laboring of a vehicle. How many miles away were they? Even with a Blazer or Bronco, their pursuers could also do no more than four or five miles an hour. It might give them only an hour to an hour and a half lead, and it was quickly diminishing. Bill began to trot and motioned for Lee to follow.
As they jogged, Bill pondered their options. They could backtrack through the forest to the main highway, but they would be out in the open and vulnerable there. Death waited at every turn. If they went by the river, they would be in the open, too.
It seemed the only option was to make it to Faro and either buy or steal another car. He had made the assumption they could easily vanish in the wilderness, but Bill hadn’t counted on the soldiers. The forest was their environment, their training ground.
Bill found an opening into the forest. As he looked back, he saw they weren’t leaving footprints and breathed a sigh of relief. The farther they went down the path, the more overgrown it became. They slowed, pushing the undergrowth aside so as not to disturb the branches where dew could rub off on their clothes and boots. Suddenly the brush wall opened into a wide trail. From there, the path consisted of hard packed ground scattered with patches of brush and grass.
“Careful, we can’t leave track.” Bill puffed as he tried to avoid the waist-high grass.
“Lead the way,” Lee said.
* * * *
The Bronco swerved violently from side to side, guided by the deep grooves in the road. The surface controlled the weary passengers, slamming them against one another and the unyielding sides of the truck. As it neared the top of the mountain, a man in combat gear stepped into the center of the road with a rifle aimed at them. Ramsey slammed on the brakes, throwing Dean forward into the back of the front seat.
The soldier, whom Dean recognized as Captain Hadly, walked to the Bronco and leaned against the door. “No one came our way.”
“What the hell?” Ramsey rolled down the window and poked his head out. “How did we miss them?”
Dean smiled and bit his tongue to keep from laughing. “It looks as if they outfoxed you—again.”
Ramsey scowled and grated his teeth. “Where are the rest of the men?”
Hadly motioned for them to come out of the trees. “The ambush you requested.”
“Send three men with the Bronco to Kincaid’s car and then have them backtrack.”
“Yes, sir.” Hadly nodded.
Ramsey stepped from the truck. “Take the chopper back up and do a recon. We’ll head down the mountain and find where Kincaid left the road.”
“ROGER.” He turned and walked away.
“I’m tired of this cat and mouse game.” Ramsey yelled after Hadly, “If you see them, shoot to kill.”
“No, don’t forget the youth formula. It’s important.” Dean joined the group. He didn’t look forward to a march, especially across the wilderness. He couldn’t even remember how long it had been since he’d last slept. He watched the lieutenant walk away, a bounce in his step.
“The hell with the formula. I’m tired of the chase.” Ramsey smiled. “We have an entire Indian village to use as guinea pigs when we return.”
“And, hopefully, we won’t,” Dean muttered.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing! I said nothing.” Dean watched the corporal strap the radio onto his back. The soldier and Ramsey appeared not to be suffering any ill effects from the chase.
“Good! Keep it that way.” Ramsey turned on his heels to face the corporal. “Look for footprints or any break in the forest. My bet is Kincaid will take the easy way out, some path or trail.”
Chapter 48
Sable had taken the right side of the road and Masters the left. So far, they had traveled a mile without incident. Ahead, Sable heard the murmur of conversation. He raised his finger to his lips and motioned for Masters to join him. Each drew his gun and cautiously moved into the trees avoiding twigs, branches, and dry leaves. As Sable and Masters neared the men, the conversation became clearer.
“Sarge, this is another wild-goose chase.” Sable recognized the high-pitched quality of a youthful voice.
“You don’t have to say it again,” a gruff voice said. “Ever since we got involved with that asshole Dean, this unit’s been falling apart. Look at the fiasco in Kanashig.”
“Quit your bitching.” The edge in the new voice was cold, sharp, and deadly. “No matter what Ramsey asks us to do, we do without reservation or question. Got it?”
“But we can’t—”
Sable heard a loud thud, then moved behind a tree next to a clearing. He saw a large, hulking man standing over a crumpled form. The man had to be Snake. His arms hung past his knees, much like an ape’s.
“Snake, you didn’t have to do it. He’s a kid for Christ’s sake.”
“He’s got to learn sometime.”
Masters looked questioningly at Sable as he assessed the situation. The men were thirty feet away and grouped together. They could attack or bypass them. But then he’d have the soldiers at his back when they took on Ramsey and Dean. He had to neutralize the men, but then he might be too late to save Bill and Lee. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t afford to have the soldiers at his back. He raised his gun to the ready and nodded. Masters did likewise.
“Raise your hands.” Sable stepped from the forest and leveled his gun at Snake’s heart.
“And who are you?” Snake’s hand dropped to his gun, but stopped.
“Your worst nightmare!” Sable gestured with the .44. “Don’t touch the gun or you’re dead.”
“This is a misunderstanding.”
“Cut the crap.” Sable cocked the pistol. “I know why you’re here and what Dean and Ramsey are up to.”
“You’re the asshole. You don’t have jurisdiction.”
“This is my jurisdiction.” Sable gestured with his gun.
“Let me kill them the nex
t time they open their mouths.” Masters moved closer.
“Unfortunately, we can’t do it,” Sable said.
“Why not?”
“Keep your right hand up, then slowly with your left hand ease out your gun and toss it. If you flinch, you’re dead.” Sable caught Snake glancing at Sarge. It was a signal. He increased the pressure on his gun’s trigger.
Gingerly, Snake withdrew a pistol from his holster. It was a Cobra Python. The gun filled Snake’s hand. Sable moved to the side and fired. Snake staggered backward but kept the Cobra. The man wore body armor so Sable shot him between the eyes. Snake’s head exploded in a halo of blood and skull fragments.
“Don’t shoot.” Sarge’s hands went over his head. “I give up.”
“Drop the gun and kick it away,” Sable said. “Slowly.”
While Masters and Sable drew a bead, Sarge guardedly reached for his gun, drew it out, and deliberately placed the weapon on the ground. As he did, Sarge’s hand went to his boot and Sable saw the glint from a knife.
Masters staggered back. “I’ve been hit.”
The soldier grabbed at the gun. Sable pulled the trigger and the side of Sarge’s head disappeared.
“You okay?” Sable kept his gun trained on the remaining soldier who lay unconscious on the ground.
“I’m afraid I can’t go with you. The bastard stuck me in the leg.” Masters drew the knife out. “Shit, shit, shit. This damn thing hurts.”
“Can you take care of the kid?”
“Put cuffs on him and I’ll do the rest.”
After Sable finished, he broke into a run. His worst fear was Dean and Ramsey had already gotten his friends.
* * * *
As Bill and Lee slowed from their jog, they came on the remnants of a girder bridge. It loomed ominously over a gorge. Only rusty supports remained, with an occasional cross beam or planks tenaciously holding the sides upright.
“What now?” Lee puffed as she looked into the abyss.
“We cross.”
“But—”
“There’s no turning back,” Bill said, trying to sound confident. The girders and bracing looked sound enough and there were a few good handholds. Their pursuers had to be but minutes behind.
“You’re joking! We could fall.”
Bill looked across the bridge, gauging how long it would take. “Let’s set the climbing harnesses.”
“But where are the handholds?”
“They’re there. You have to look.”
Lee looked doubtful.
“As I move along the beam, I’ll tie short sections of line every ten feet or so around the braces for caribiners to hook onto. You have to police up the carabineers as you pass.”
“Sounds simple—” Lee pointed down. “But one mistake and it’s a long drop.”
“It’s either the bridge or Dean.” Bill tried to act casual as he gave Lee a quick overview.
After strapping on the climbing harnesses, Bill edged out on the beam, keeping his eyes forward. Strangely, now on the beam, the other side of the bridge looked farther away. A lump formed in his throat, his mouth dried, and his palms sweated. He fumbled and tied the line to the first brace. Then he hooked in the caribiner to the line. The pack shifted, trying to pull him off the beam. Bill planted his feet solidly on the beam and took a tightrope walker’s pose. Dirt, rock, and rust clattered from the upper reaches of the structure onto his head. He spit out the flecks. Precariously balancing, he walked to the next support. He tied and attached another caribiner, then turned and smiled nervously. “See how easy it is?”
“No.”
“You can start now.”
“Okay, but only because there’s no other way.” Lee inched onto the beam. She unhooked the caribiner, placed it in her jacket pocket, slipped, and reached out desperately for the line tied to the brace. One foot dangled in midair. She gasped for breath and used her free hand to pull herself up.
“You okay?” Bill blocked himself for belay.
“No! I almost fainted,” Lee said hoarsely.
“Well, be a little more careful.”
“Careful! What do you think I was doing?”
Bill reached for his .9mm and checked it for the smoothness of draw. Sweat streamed down his forehead, settling in his eyes. He ran his forearm across his face with his free arm. Grit and rust from his sleeve caused his eyes to water. Wind gusts rocked the rusty, pocked-marked beam as he edged ahead.
* * * *
The chopper hovered for a moment over Ramsey, then moved over the forest to the east. After a few minutes, Hadly turned south with speed and precision. He laughed for the first time since the encounter at the village as he followed a deep ravine. Kincaid was caught against the ravine. In the distance, the framework of an old bridge loomed. His smile widened as he tapped his copilot’s shoulder and pointed at Kincaid and the girl. “We have them. In a couple of minutes, they’ll be history.”
The copilot nodded, unbuckled his seat belt, and moved to the back of the cabin. There, he pulled an M60 machine gun from a rack and laid it on a passenger seat. He attached a safety line, mounted the gun in an already prepared sling, braced himself, and pulled the door open.
Hadly keyed his mike. “Death Angel WUN, THIS IS TOO, target’s in sight. Give the word.”
“TOO, THIS IS WUN. Keep them pinned down until we get there. I want to be in on the kill,” Ramsey said.
“WILCO. Easy. They’re hanging from an old bridge with a thousand feet of air below them.”
“Pop red smoke.”
“Angel WUN, this is TOO, ROGER.”
“Angel WUN, OUT.”
Hadly keyed the intercom and laughed. “The colonel didn’t say we couldn’t draw a little blood.” He set the chopper at a high angle in preparation for strafing. If they killed Kincaid and McNeal, Ramsey’d understand. Hadly popped the smoke and dropped it next to the bridge. The bright red smoke spread out over the terrain.
* * * *
The helicopter flew over the bridge, returned, and hovered. The blade beat was deafening and the wind from rotor wash jostled him, almost ripping Bill from his precarious perch. The girders swayed with increasing amplitude. Ahead, he saw a small knoll six feet away. Ten feet behind him, Lee hugged a support beam.
“Get behind the supports,” Bill shouted. He locked one arm around the beam and drew his pistol. The chopper moved parallel to him. He saw the pilot and gunner leering.
The machine gun thundered a deadly chant. Bullets plunked and clanked off the ancient metal, spraying fragments of dirt and rust in all directions.
“God, we’re going to die,” Lee yelled.
“Not if I can help it.” Bill’s eyes smarted and he squinted through his tears. The gunner unleashed another volley of bullets. After Bill blinked away the tears, he aimed and fired three shots. The bullets tore at the gunner’s flack jacket and threw him backward. The gunner shifted position and fired another burst. Two bullets cut through Bill’s exposed leg, another burned across his cheek and his grasp loosened. He wobbled and tipped, but caught hold of the strut.
“I love you,” Lee screamed. Blood blossomed from her shoulder.
“I love you too.” Bill aimed, but stopped. Through the rents in the jacket, he saw the gunner’s body armor. So it’s the reason for the gunner’s smile. Raising his aim to his face, Bill fired in rapid succession. A startled look crossed the gunner’s face and in his dying throes, his hand clenched the trigger. The machine gun swirled inside the craft, spraying bullets. The dead gunner fell from the copter and bounced at the end of his safety line. The engine coughed and erupted in flames. Bill couldn’t tell if the panic-stricken pilot was wounded or not. As the helicopter spun out of control, its tail smashed into the bridge and the craft bounced off it. Bill held on and watched. The chopper continued its death throes. The rotor blade cut a beam and shattered. Sparks flew, the bridge shook and both Bill and Lee fell. Then, the flaming, thin-tailed bird plummeted from sight. Bill bounced at the end of his ro
pe. He looked up at his lifeline as he spun clockwise, and then counterclockwise on the rope.
“Are you all right?” His eyes lost their focus.
The bridge groaned and Bill heard rivets pop as it began tearing from the weight and abuse dished out by the helicopter. Metal screeched and creaked as it bent. Then it snapped and roared as it ripped.
“This is the end.”
“Hold on. We’ll make it.” The opposite side of the bridge tilted against their side of the superstructure and bounced, headed in the other direction, then straight down. Their side of the bridge swayed violently and then stilled.
Chapter 49
“I found their trail,” a corporal yelled.
Dean walked up to its edge and couldn’t see a trace of where Kincaid and the woman had passed. The ground was too hard. “How can you be sure?” Dean asked as he looked over the bushes.
“Easy. Rocks have been dislodged from their resting place. Also, the dew is missing from the bushes where our quarry entered.”
“Could be a moose or a caribou.”
“A moose would have left some type of hoof print. They can weigh as much as one thousand four hundred pounds. Notice the stride in the bent grass.” The corporal stopped as Ramsey approached.
“Can we drive the Bronco down the trail?” Ramsey asked, ignoring Dean’s presence.
“No, sir. It’s overgrown—too many small trees.”
Distant machine gun fire broke the silence. Dean listened to the bursts and smiled inwardly. Kincaid and his woman must be dead. Though he’d wanted to see them die, he was tired of the chase. Ramsey and his men were too good. There would be no escape. A new sound rent the wilderness quiet. Thundering clangs and the screeching of metal bending, snapping, and breaking echoed in the distance.
“What the hell?” Ramsey pulled out his hand-held radio. “TOO, this is WUN, Status OVER.”
Dean heard the crackle of the radio.
“TWO, this is WUN. Answer me, dammit!”
A wash of static answered.
From the shocked looked on Ramsey’s face, Dean guessed Kincaid must have downed the chopper. How in the hell had he accomplished it?
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