by Paul Kirk
Connor moved from his cover, never losing a clear shot of Marty’s position. Amanda acted oblivious of the actions behind her, but Connor knew she was mostly aware of Marty’s position. Her trips into the house were made specifically to determine the whereabouts of her potential assailant. Standing several feet from the window allowed Amanda to peek outside without revealing her position. She had tracked Marty’s progress like this for the last half hour. Glancing further back, she caught a brief glimpse of Connor.
He took cover behind a pine approximately thirty feet from the grill and ten feet behind and to the left of Marty. When he settled into position, he aligned the crosshairs of his M4 on Marty’s left temple. He thought Marty might make a good third man, but he wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate him if he showed any aggression to Amanda.
Connor realized that maneuvering into position had not alerted Marty to his presence. But in Marty’s defense, Amanda's attraction was enough to make any man lose his focus—Connor had acted without full caution when he had first met her. He decided to give Marty a little slack for his transgression, knowing the impact Amanda had on a man. The crosshairs of the M-4 however, never left Marty’s left temple.
CHAPTER 2.7-The Skittish Colt
The cat stew was nearly ready. Amanda entered the house to find a bowl and discovered she was nervous. She knew that Mac had her back, but she didn’t quite know what to expect from Marty. She made a short search for bowls in the kitchen and found several in a cabinet. She chose a few of them, grabbed a handful of spoons from a drawer, and took it all outside to better assess their condition. She set it all on the picnic table near the grill and turned her attention to the stew.
“What’re you cooking?" asked Marty, his voice deep and calm.
She spun quickly, her knife somehow in the hand that an instant ago had held the wooden spoon. Fifteen feet from her, he stood. His arms were held casually at his sides and a hunting knife was tucked into the leather sheath hanging from his belt.
Damn, he was good, she thought. She had known where he was a minute ago, but was surprised that he had slipped so close to her without her hearing him. He looked strong and handsome. His smile was disarming and he held his rifle relaxed in his right hand, his left hand now raised in supplication.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said softly. The easy smile never left his face.
“Well, you did!”
“Sorry. Would you put the knife away, please?”
“No, I won’t. What do you want?”
“I hope to hell a beautiful woman like you isn’t traveling alone,” said Marty.
“No, I’m not. See? A buncha bowls. Do the math. Who’re you?”
Amanda edged toward the house, as if seeking shelter. Marty delicately cut off an easy retreat.
“Name’s Marty McCullough. I was just passing through when I came across a beautiful woman cooking something on a grill. The grill works, huh? I’ll be damned.”
“What do you want, Marty McCullough?”
“Nothing, I guess. Unless you’d like to share some of that. Smells wonderful. I've smelled it for almost an hour.”
“Ahh...”
“I can give you some fresh venison to add if you want.”
“Me and my guys are doing okay all by ourselves, thank you.”
Marty glanced toward the house and then at Amanda. The bowls next to the grill concerned him for a second. At the same time, he was sure no one was in the house. He’d always valued his intuitive sense of whether someone was in a house. Any house. It was an uncanny skill but he was sure no one was there. He just knew is all. It had saved his life on several combat missions after the “all clear” signals of a breach. But he decided to explore his options.
“Well, let's ask your guys about that.”
“Some are sleeping and some are huntin' right now.”
“Yeah? Let's wake up those that are sleeping.”
“They’d probably shoot you, if you do that.”
Marty edged toward the house and peeked quickly in the back patio door. He turned to face her.
“What’s your name?”
Amanda refused to answer. Her hands were shaking and Marty noticed. He spoke softly, as if to a skittish colt.
“Look, lovely lady, I asked you your name is all. I’m not here to hurt you. I promise. I swear. However I will admit, seeing such a beautiful woman as you has put me a bit off my game.”
Amanda stared at the handsome stranger and felt herself calming somewhat. She noticed he kept himself clean-shaven and put him at about twenty-seven to thirty years old. He was well muscled in the legs and shoulders, but not in an overpowering way.
“My name’s Amanda Abbington.”
Marty turned from examining the house.
“Well, Amanda Abbington, that’s a pretty name. It fits you.”
“Thanks.”
“Would you mind putting that knife away?”
“Yeah, I’d mind.”
“Suit yourself.” Marty leaned toward the patio doors and yelled into the house. “Hey! Guys! Wake the hell up, you have a visitor!” He faced Amanda again and she felt the impact of his amazing smile. It was an easy smile, emphasized by deep dimples. They stared at each other for a moment and then Marty yelled the same greeting again, receiving no response. “Okay, Amanda. I’m thinking your guys aren't in there or never were, or they're sound asleep. What do you think?”
“If I scream, I'd wake 'em up.”
“Well, go on and do so. I’d like to sit down for some lunch. That is, if I’m invited.”
Marty took a few steps toward Amanda. She instantly prepared for his assault, assuming the combat knife stance Connor had taught to her.
“Whoa, hold on there Amanda. Hmm...how ‘bout that...you might know something about a knife fight.”
“Stay back, mister!”
“Hey listen! I can see you’re skittish and I’m pretty sure there’s no one in there, so I thought I’d just try to place you more at ease.”
“Stay back!
CHAPTER 2.8-A Judgment Call
Connor tensed his finger on the M-4 trigger as Marty approached Amanda. Her knife was drawn and Connor realized she was nervous. She had a reason to be—Marty was quite capable of taking her knife from her without breaking a sweat. Marty adjusted smoothly to her movements with a level of expertise well above Amanda’s capabilities. Connor waited for Amanda’s signal, running her fingers through her hair, but she had yet to make this movement. Concerned, he began to second-guess his decision to place her in such a precarious position. He considered pulling the trigger and ending Marty, with or without Amanda’s signal.
CHAPTER 2.9-The Decksweeper
“Hold on, Amanda,” said Marty. His initial combat-trained response to her fighting stance needed to change. He took a conciliatory attitude—he rested his rifle next to the bench, near Amanda. Slowly, he removed the knife from his thigh sheath with two fingers and tossed it near the rifle. He backed away and sat down at the opposite end of the bench. He was beyond the range of disarming Amanda and he felt quite naked without his rifle despite the Colt Defender he had hidden in the small of his back. He removed his ball cap and wiped his hand through his long blond hair. Smiling, he folded his hands together, and waited for her next move.
“I’m disarmed, Amanda. It’s your move.”
She relaxed visibly, her shoulders releasing tension and her jaw unclenching. She found it easy to imagine Marty as a blue-eyed surfer boy, simply waiting for the next wave.
“What do you want, Marty?”
“Having lunch with a beautiful woman would make my week—no, it would make my whole month. You know, I have beans and corn in my backpack—it could be the perfect addition to that wonderful stew you’re cooking. It’s stashed over there by that tree.”
“Are you for real?” asked Amanda.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re not just going to try to rape me?”
“No.”
/> “You know, lull me into a false sense of security so you can get your hands on me?”
“No.”
“Why not? Many have tried.”
“It’d be too easy, Amanda. Besides, I’m not like that. I’ve always liked my women to ask me. Somehow, it always made it better.”
“Is that right?”
“It’s the way I like it.”
“Yeah, I bet you like it when women fall all over you, is that it?”
Marty’s only response was to smile, but the smile held memories of past lovers. Amanda responded with a slight grin of her own. Damn, his smile was infectious. She rubbed her left hand on her thigh with exaggerated slowness and stood across the table, facing him. After a few moments, she sat down and Marty stared intensely.
“Damn, you’re a beautiful woman.”
“Thanks, but I’m accounted for.”
“So you say. By who? One of your imaginary group?”
“No.”
“Who then?”
“Him,” she answered, pointing at Connor who had edged up with the decksweeper now in his hands. The point blank range left little room for discussion.
CHAPTER 2.10-A Refined Search
Major O’Malley and his men approached the Superhawk with all the stealth and expertise their training had provided. As they neared the two hundred yard perimeter of the bird, they drastically decreased their pace. The major noticed no men guarding the perimeter, but he knew they were there. He flashed his light in a pre-arranged sequence and within seconds, received the expected response, a light flashing in a different pre-arranged sequence. Further flashes near the helicopter requested the “duress code” in the event the major had been compromised. With the exchange of signals, Major O’Malley's men slid closer to his position.
“Make sure your weapons are neutral,” he reminded his men. The major knew that these moments were delicate—he had personally witnessed live fire between friendlies prior to the Sickness and one man had died. The men all around him were trained at elite levels—he was surrounded by killing machines, conditioned to locate any signs of aggression against their primary protectee, Colonel Hannah Starkes and her new charges, Nicole and CJ. Though he always felt some level of anxiety when returning, he barely suppressed the pride he felt at each man’s professionalism.
Captain Eubanks met Major O’Malley near the designated tree line. “Welcome back, sir.”
“Thank you, captain. I commend you and your men on your deployment of the perimeter guard. Keep up the good work.” The major walked with the captain and the men toward the helicopter and the tent set up nearby.
"Yes, sir. Thank you. You have any luck, major?"
“Yeah, got some word.”
“For real?”
“Yep. Connor Mac’s probably not too far from here. Where’s the colonel?”
“In the small block building at the edge of the airstrip.”
"Thanks."
CHAPTER 2.11-Beans and Corn
“Hello, Marty,” said Connor. Marty began to stand. “No! Stay right there and keep your hands flat on the table.”
Marty grinned to hide embarrassment. “Understood. Caught me flat-footed, didn’t you?” He locked eyes with Connor, ashamed at walking into the trap, but inexplicably relieved that he had overtaken his quarry.
“Appears that way, sniper,” answered Connor, never once lowering his weapon.
“Damn, I was sure Amanda was alone!”
“You were wrong.”
“But that explains the tracks and small feet,” said Marty.
“What?” asked Amanda, confused.
“He’s referencing the difficulty he’s had tracking us. Your small feet confused him—he didn’t expect a female.”
Amanda gathered Marty’s weapons and set them down near Connor, never once blocking Connor’s line of sight.
“Excellent, Connor Mac. Truly excellent. I guess I can think of worse ways to die than trying to have lunch with such a beautiful woman. Are you gonna shoot me now?”
“Depends,” answered Connor, his voice ice cold.
“On what?”
“On what she says and why you’re following us.” Connor was impressed with Marty’s calm, given his present circumstances. “Remove the secondary weapon from your pants. Use your left hand very slowly. If the barrel points anywhere but down, your head is gone. Understood?”
“Understood.” Marty slipped his left hand to his lower back, retrieved the Colt with a finger and thumb, and carefully placed it on the table.
Amanda was embarrassed by her inability to detect Marty’s secondary weapon—she hadn’t considered that he concealed one. She knew she would hear about this lapse in caution at some point.
“Push it as far to the left as you can. Now.”
Marty slid the gun across the table, leaning slightly for extra distance. “Well, I—“
“Shut the fuck up, Marty. She speaks first.” The tone of Connor’s voice left little room for discussion.
Amanda was in tune with the tension of the situation and did her best to diffuse it. “Mac, he was cool. A little crazy, but cool.” She brazenly sat down on the bench across from Marty, partially in the line of fire. If Connor were to pull the trigger, a few shotgun pellets might strike her.
“For real?” asked Connor. His cold desire to kill abated.
“Yeah, Mac. All things considered, he was pretty cool. He’s something of a braggart.”
“I am not!” said Marty, offended.
Connor shifted for a better shooting angle and studied Marty above his shotgun sights. Marty was trying his best to appear calm, but the slump to his shoulders and inability to look into Connor's eyes made it clear Marty expected the worst. Amanda abruptly stood, surprising both men, and entered the house. She returned quickly with her rifle, carrying it with easy familiarity. She walked to the grill and leaned the rifle against it, stirring the stew.
Marty twisted his body for a better view. “Keep your fucking hands where I can see ‘em, Marty,” said Connor.
“Sure. Understood.”
“You know, Mac,” said Amanda, “Marty says he has some corn and beans to go with the stew.”
“Is that a fact?” asked Connor, speaking directly to Marty.
“Yes, sir.”
“What made you decide to call me ‘sir’?”
“Well, it’s obvious I’ve been outclassed—twice, it seems,” answered Marty. “But, in fairness, the first time wasn’t entirely my fault. I guess that’s why I decided to come find you.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come to settle the score, is that it?” asked Connor. A sharp edge returned to his voice and he tightened his grip on the shotgun.
“No, sir!” answered Marty, shocked at the implication.
“Why, then?”
“I dunno. I guess...to...” He had an expression that Connor guessed wasn’t often on his face. It was a look of bashfulness. Marty shyly glanced at Amanda and Connor, obviously hesitant to continue.
“And?” prompted Connor.
“And to see...maybe...to see if you needed—”
“Let’s go grab your corn and beans,” interrupted Connor.
“What?”
“If you’re bullshitting about the corn and beans, you’re bullshitting me now,” said Connor.
Marty smiled, grateful of Connor’s interruption. He realized that Connor was providing a direct way to show his usefulness. With his confidence returning, he felt as if they had reached some small unspoken understanding.
“I have beans and corn. The cans aren’t dented. There’s no reason to think they’re inedible.”
“Let’s go, then. If you’re right, there’s no reason not to invite you to lunch.” Connor lowered his shotgun, a sign of good faith. He glanced at Amanda and she nodded her consent.
“Secure your weapons, soldier,” said Connor.
“Thank you, sir.”
Marty gathered has ri
fle and handgun. As they moved away from Amanda, Connor sidled up to Marty and whispered, “If you ever set your weapons down for fine pussy again, I'll fucking kill you myself.”
“Yes, sir,” said Marty, reddening slightly.
They walked toward the tree where Marty had stashed his pack. He crouched down and removed two cans, holding them up for inspection. “I think they’re still good. Del Monte. There’s some fresh venison in here, too—it might taste pretty good in that stew. Want to know what else is here?”
Connor was relieved to see that Marty had been telling the truth. He had made a genuine offer to share a meal with Amanda. His actions, so far, suggested a man of true character. “That’s your pack, Marty. What you keep in there's your business.”
“Heard something like that before from you. I was hoping you’d say that.” Marty hoisted the heavy pack onto his shoulders. Connor was impressed with the Coyote backpack, an excellent choice for space, comfort, camouflage, and durability. Before their short return trip to the farmhouse they faced one another.
“What are you searching for, Marty?” asked Connor. The question was quiet and open-ended. Now was the time to pursue the man’s true reasons for his approach.
Marty gazed toward the farmhouse, taking a few seconds before answering. He straightened, sighed. “I guess I want to join up, Connor Mac. Go where you’re going. I don’t really care where that is.”
CHAPTER 2.12-Awake to Good News
“He was here? In this area?”
“Yes, colonel.”
“How long ago. And how'd you confirm his identity?”
The major admired the colonel’s ability to wake immediately. Unlike others, she didn’t wake in stages, but all at once. One moment she was asleep and the next she was awake, fully aware of her surroundings as if she had been awake for hours. Watching her now, she’d taken less than three seconds to exit her sleeping bag, dressed only in a white tank top and briefs that did little to hide her fine figure. Quickly, she dressed while the major turned away to view the men in the distance. He answered her inquiry, ignoring the flash image racing through his brain of his superior officer’s buxom body, tight buttocks and curvy hips.