by Darrell Bain
"Are there any more people in that SUV, Ray?"
"Yeah, Dad, three or four at least. I caught a glimpse of that many."At that moment they heard the sound of voices outside speaking in a foreign language. "Shit," Zimmerman said. "They'll be here in a few seconds, Ray. I can't use my other hand. Undo my key ring, quick and give it to me. I'm gonna run to the back room and lock myself in." The very back room of the house was slightly offset and solidly built for use as a tornado shelter and storage room. It was also where the gun cabinet was kept.
"But--"
"No time to argue, not if you want to save your girlfriend. I can stand them off a long time, at least until you can get to their place and phone for some help. Do as I say now, quickly." While Ray was following his father's orders the old man continued speaking. "I can hold out here for a long time. You go out the back way and whistle for Thunder. When he comes, you cut across country toward Samantha's place so they can't follow. You'll cross the county road but don't stop unless a vehicle is near. You'll see a dust trail if one is. Otherwise keep on and don't stop for anything. It'll be close for you to get away but I'll fire a couple of shots to attract their attention. Now go!"
On impulse, Ray grabbed his father in a bear hug and kissed him on the cheek. His father returned the hug briefly. It was the most affection they had shown for each other since Ray's mother had been killed. "Now go, son. Good luck."
Ray was at the back door when he heard two quick shots then running steps as his father headed for the back room. He whistled loudly as he exited the house. Thunder appeared seconds later. He vaulted into the saddle while the horse was still moving and leaning low, urged Thunder to the fastest speed he had ever tried. Even so, it wasn't quite enough.
One of the men who had been in the rear of the vehicle had climbed out bearing a rifle. Hearing the thudding gallop of a horse in motion, he ran to the rear of the house. He saw the boy, bent low over the saddle and kicking at the horse's ribs, making an all-out effort to escape. He raised the rifle and took careful aim, not at Ray but at the horse, a much larger target. Without a place to rest his rifle and with the horse in furious motion, his shot missed Thunder but hit Ray in the upper thigh. It plowed through muscle and bone, almost knocking him off the horse. It broke his femur, the large upper bone of the thigh, but miraculously passed on through without hitting a major artery or vein. Nevertheless, it was a serious wound and began bleeding profusely from numerous smaller blood vessels, especially from the exit wound. There was nothing to do at the moment but keep going.
He told Thunder to weave back and forth. The movements caused the next two shots to miss completely and then he was in a wooded copse of pinion and juniper trees, concealing him from sight. He knew he had made good his escape. Now he had to concentrate on staying in the saddle until he was far enough away to take a chance on stopping and trying to cut away his jeans. After that he could fashion a bandage of some sort that would put pressure on his wound. Taking a swift look at the blood already soaking the jeans on his left leg, he knew that if he didn't take time to treat himself soon he would bleed to death before reaching Samantha's house or the county road where, hopefully, a vehicle would stop for him. He felt woozy and loosed his canteen. He drank until it was nearly empty. It made him feel somewhat better but then the pain began. It was awful, the worst he had ever felt but there was nothing to do about it but grit his teeth and keep going. It was so bad that presently he began crying from the debilitating pain as well as worry about his father. The old man had spoken confidently but Ray doubted he could hold out until he could get help.
It came to him then. His father might have been able to reach a horse, too, and possibly have gotten away but there was nothing certain about it. Instead he had deliberately sacrificed himself in order to give his son a better chance of living. The tears flowed faster as he thought about it but it made him more determined than before. Somehow he would last. He couldn't let that sacrifice go for nothing. He kicked at Thunder's ribs again with his good leg, urging him on.
As soon as he thought it was safe he had Thunder slow down, then stop. He looked down at the wound in his thigh. The leg of his jeans was completely soaked with blood and it was beginning to fill his boot. With his pocket knife he cut away the denim to expose the wound. The movement made him painfully aware that the big bone of his thigh was broken but there was nothing to do about it now. He took off his shirt and undershirt and along with his handkerchief, fashioned a pressure bandage and tied it with his shirt sleeves. It was an extremely painful procedure but when he had finished he could see that the bleeding had almost stopped. He kicked Thunder into motion with his good leg again.
He quickly became aware of the grating of the ends of the broken bone as his horse moved, just as he had when fashioning the bandage. It made the throbbing agony even worse, but he bit his lip and kept on. Before reaching the county road he began feeling woozy again. He stopped and looked down. Blood was flowing in a current from beneath the bandages and wetting the side of the horse before dripping to the ground. He had no way to realize that the sharp ends of the broken bone moving back and forth had finally cut into his femoral artery. He only knew that the blood flow was copious and that he would soon die if it wasn't stopped. He pulled off his belt and wrapped it around his thigh above the wound and pulled it as tight as he could. He buckled it in place and as soon as he was satisfied that the bleeding was slowed, he started Thunder moving again.
He was feeling very weak and increasingly light-headed and nauseated by the time the county road came into view. He knew he could go no further. He ordered Thunder to lie down in the middle of the road and to stay there until a vehicle came. He leaned back against the middle of his horse and closed his eyes. If it weren't for the continuing agony of his pain-wracked leg he would have gone to sleep, he thought. Or passed out, for whatever difference that might make.
Chapter Thirty Three
"Oh, Crap! Now what?" Jennie exclaimed, clearly exasperated. She trod on the brake and began slowing. She and Gene were on the county road leading to a crossroad where they would make a turn to get to the Douglas home.
"I don't know, but I can see a patrol car and another vehicle. And look! That is one agitated horse right in the middle of whatever's happening."
He could see the horse as plainly as she could. As she brought their vehicle to a stop it reared up and flailed at a patrolman attempting to come near it for a purpose he couldn't make out. Then he looked closer. "Jennie! That's Thunder, Ray Zimmerman's horse! I wonder if that car hit him."
"Let's go see."
"I'll bet Thunder is trying to keep everyone away from Ray, if that's who it is and if he's been hurt," he said as they exited their car and ran toward the scene.
"Stop right there!" a second patrolman ordered. "Get back in your car and go around."
"Officer I know that horse. Was a boy riding him? A Young man, rather, dark haired?"
"Yes. If you know that horse, could you get it to back off so we won't have to shoot it to get to the kid? He looks to be in bad shape."
"We can sure try. Come on, Jennie. You met him once, too." They ran forward.
Thunder neighed loudly, warning them away.
"Thunder! Thunder, let us help Ray! Let us help, Thunder! Ray is hurt!"
The mention of his and his master's name eased the horse's fears. He reached down and nudged Ray's body with his muzzle while Gene knelt beside the boy. He was so white and unmoving that for a moment he feared he was dead. "Ray? Ray, can you hear me?"
"Uhhh." His eyes blinked open just as the sound of a siren in the distance became apparent.
"Ray? What happened?"
"S..shot. Men... beards... Dad... Sammie? Sammie. H..Help... warn..." His words were no more than a mumble, then his eyes closed again.
The patrolman had knelt beside Gene. He said, "If that ambulance doesn't hurry there won't be any need for it. Do you have any idea what happened? That's a gunshot wound or I'll turn in my badge.
He said something about a guy named Sammy. And it sounded like he was trying to warn us about his Dad."
"I don't know, officer, but he did say something about his Dad. I think you'd better send someone to find out about him." The less said about Samantha the better, he thought. There were already deputies patrolling around the Douglas home so they should be safe, he told himself.
"What's his last name?"
"Zimmerman. His father owns a horse ranch in Zamora County."
"I know where it is. I'll send someone." He raised his head and called to his partner. "Brad! Call for a car to check the Zimmerman place over in Zamora County. Tell them to use caution."
The sirens were louder. Gene knew they would be on the scene very soon but in the meantime Ray had also said something about Sammie. He and Jennie needed to get moving. "Officer, we need to go. I'll give you my card and you can call if you need us to make a statement."
"That'll work."
Gene produced his professional card that didn't give a hint about Samantha. "What hospital will he be going to?"
"The County if he makes it. He's in bad shape."
"I can see that. Call me and I can contact Jennie if you need her statement, too."
"Okay. Thanks for the help."
"I just wish we could do more."
A few minutes later they were on their way again.
"What do you think happened?" Gene asked. Jennie was still at the wheel. "Any ideas?"
"Your guess is as good as mine, but I heard him trying to tell us to warn Sammie. I think that's what he was saying."
"Me, too. I'll try to call."
"Good luck." They were in an area where reception was never good.
He got a "service unavailable" message when he dialed and again a few minutes later. "No service."
"Figures. I'll drive as fast as I can on these damned roads."
***
"Let's go while we still have a chance," Chane Wister said. He pointed to a police scanner the three rogue NSA agents kept on all the time. They had moved back to their old motel two days ago in preparation. A safe house had been set up and stocked in Phoenix, apparatus they thought might be needed was ready. Two scientists, a neurologist and a veterinarian were waiting to receive the girl and her parents, if they were cooperative. The neurologist insisted he needed them for a genealogical study but their own boss, James Quinlon, had been adamant. His orders were to take the girl without hurting her, and the boy, if they could manage it. Anything else was secondary and any breakage was acceptable, if necessary. They had been waiting on an opportune time for the operation. Wister, in charge of the three-person detail, thought he might have waited too long.
"What did you hear?"
"Some boy died from a gunshot wound. He was found with his horse on County road 213. You know where that is. The cops are on their way to his home now. Sure as hell they'll find mention of the girl there somewhere. They'll be coming this way next. In fact, he might have lived long enough to tell them anyway."
"But who was it? Do you know?"
"Not for certain but if I had to guess, I'd say one of the Jihadist groups operating from a branch in Mexico. I had no idea they were so close to moving, damn it. We're just plain lucky they went for the boy first, instead of the girl. That gives us a shot at grabbing her before the shit hits the fan."
"How do you know they didn't get the girl first? What if they already have her?"
"They don't or we'd be hearing about it by now." He produced an evil smirk. "Even if they do, we'll take her away from them." Again he pointed to the scanner. At that moment it burst into sound. "Call for backup by car number forty-four at Zimmerman Ranch. Zamora County. Request is for all available help. Gun battle in progress."
Wister grinned. "Sounds like some troopers ran into a buzz saw. That's good. We no longer have to worry about that bunch, wherever they came from. The State Patrol will block off any access roads while they're sending backup."
"What about the deputies at the Douglas place?"
"They may have left to answer the backup call. It's not like they have many to spare in this area. It's got a population lower than the Sahara Desert."
"But what if they are still there?"
"Listen, Kristof, just shut the fuck up and move. The day we can't handle a pair of local yokels is the day we'd better hand in our cards. Come on, let's roll. I'll detail how we'll go about it on the way."
***
Samantha was in her room at the back of the house, sorting out what she intended to carry with her. As usual, Shufus and Fussy were with her but Caw-Caw was out foraging for insects. It was a game for her since Samantha fed him all he wanted. The superlative diet had let him grow into a huge crow, larger than any she remembered seeing anywhere.
Elaine was in the master bedroom, also sorting and packing, moving as quickly as she could. Gene had finally gotten through to them and she knew they would be leaving very shortly. She had yet to mention Ray's death, which Gene and Jennie had also heard over the scanner. In the first place, she couldn't be certain it was Ray who had died. The name was still being withheld. Second, she wouldn't break the news to Samantha until they were gone from this place anyway.
It was Ronald who saw the long panel van drive up. It had lettering on the side proclaiming it belonged to the Bridgewater Pipeline Surveying Service. He had never heard of the company, but of course that didn't mean anything. Nevertheless, he observed the two men and the woman carefully as they exited the van. They were dressed in work clothes but with no label of their company on their shirt fronts. That was just a shade suspicious but the fact that every one of them, including the woman, was wearing their shirts untucked was very suspicious. And what a day not to be carrying your gun, he thought as they approached and came up the steps onto the porch. Damned fool!
There was nothing he could do yet but he made an immediate resolution not to let them into the house. "Good day," he said as they approached. "What can I do for you?"
"Mr. Douglas?"
"Who wants to know?"
Wister, as the senior operative answered. "Sir, we're with the Bridgewater Pipeline Survey company. We're in the area talking to owners about rights of way for a prospective pipeline passing through this area. May we come in and speak with you for a few minutes?"
"Sorry, we're too busy right now. Come back another day."
"I'm sorry, but that won't be possible."
"I'm sorry, too, because you're not coming in. Now get off my property."
"Boris," Wister said quietly.
The next instant Ronald was looking at a heavy automatic handgun pointing at his middle.
"We're coming inside. Turn around and don't talk or move except to walk quietly to see your wife and daughter." Wister smiled genially but it was a piranha's smile, with the sharp teeth showing.
With no regard for his life at all, Ronald turned and instantly shouted as loud as he could through the open front door, "Elaine, Sammie! Run! Run!"
"Bastard!" Boris Kristov screamed. He brought the barrel of the automatic down on Ronald's head with vicious force, staggering him. When he didn't immediately fall, he hit him again, even harder. Ronald struck the floor face first, already unconscious.
Elaine heard her husband's shout but she didn't run. Or rather she did, but it was toward her suitcase where she had stowed the handgun Gene had loaned her. She had just grabbed it and turned when Kristov ran into the room. They fired almost simultaneously. Kristov's shot was hurried. It hit Elaine in the upper arm, the one holding her gun, rather than her chest. Her own aim was better. Kristov fell, a bullet through his chest that punctured his heart. He would be dead within a minute or two but he was made of tough material. He managed one more shot from the prone position. It very nearly missed but managed to plow a furrow across her forehead just above her right eyebrow. She fell, momentarily stunned. Boris gasped once and died.
Samantha had heard her father's shout. Shufus began growling and Fussy hissed and spat in respons
e to the growl and her scream when she heard the shots from the front of the house. "Shufus, Fussy, come!" She ran out the back door and slammed it behind her. She charged around the corner of the house, just in time to run squarely into Kailey Ledbetter, who was racing toward the back to prevent anyone trying to escape after Ronald's warning. The woman was heavier. Her weight knocked Samantha sprawling, while she staggered but kept herself upright and held onto her gun.
"Gotcha!" she said, a bit prematurely. Then she pointed her gun at Shufus, who was still growling.
Samantha had never thought so fast in her life. Rather than subject the two larger animals to gunfire which they couldn't avoid, she ordered them to stay, then called as loudly as she could while still on her back with arms and legs akimbo. "Caw-Caw! Caw-Caw! Help! Help!"
Her ploy worked. Kailey looked from side to side and then glanced behind her for an instant but could see no one. She never thought to look up. The next instant a huge crow flew into her face. It was so large that the impact hurt, but not enough to keep her from focusing on her mission. That changed almost instantly as it began pecking her with its sharp beak.
"Eyes, Caw-Caw! Get her eyes!" Samantha cried to the crow.
Caw-Caw was clinging to the shoulder of Kailey's blouse and pecking furiously at her cheek. Hearing Samantha's shout about eyes, she moved slightly. A beak that could have snapped walnuts stabbed at her left eye and closed on it with savage force. Blood and ocular fluids burst from Kailey's ruptured eyeball. Caw-Caw moved her neck and head while clinging to the woman's blouse. She wrenched the remains of the orb from its socket. The woman screamed shrilly, a horrible high screech of unbearable pain. She reached up and clutched at the crow. Despite its size, Caw-Caw was as fragile as any other bird. Her hand clenched as tightly as a weightlifter's grip on a bar. Caw-Caw's bones snapped and her internal organs ruptured from the unrelenting embrace of her closed hand, made even tighter by her pain and fear. She flung the mangled body of the crow away from her. One eye was blind and her other eye was watering furiously with sympathetic tears.