Revenge Story

by Julia Broussard

  “Just follow this road up until it dead ends. There’s a small clearing with some old-growth tree cover. When you reach it, turn this rig around so it faces back the way we came. Just in case we have to make a quick exit.”

  Ray put the truck into gear and headed up the dirt path. “You think it’s a good idea to park us where there’s only one way in and the same way out?”

  “It’s fine. If we try to park this thing on any of the mapped roads or logging company spurs, especially without some cover from an air search, they’ll find us pretty quick. This is our safest bet.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Karen. “Otherwise we’ll be like rats in a trap.”

  “Doesn’t matter. We’re not driving anymore anyway. From here on out we go on foot until he can hijack another vehicle somehow. Should be plenty of folks camping up in these mountains over Labor Day.”

  “On foot?” Karen said in surprise. “When? Tonight?”

  “No. In the morning. I’ll explain all that later. Let’s get up this hill and park this thing. I’m starving.”

  The dirt road was rough and narrow, bouncing them around the cab of the truck and into each other. At the top of a steep rise, they finally reached a clearing about thirty feet across surrounded by tall trees. The heavy forest canopy resembled a church cathedral.

  “This is it,” said Ben. “Good cover here. You can’t even see the stars. That means anyone doing an air search won’t be able to see us, either. Park right up against the edge of the trees, Ray.”

  Ray turned the pickup truck around and shut down the engine and headlights. He laid his head on the steering wheel in exhaustion. “What a fucking day,” he said. “I’m beat.”

  Ben pulled out his pistol and checked it. He took the MP-5 from Karen’s hands and slung it over his shoulder. “You two get some sleep. I’ll go back down the trail and keep watch for a few hours.” He grabbed a flashlight from the glove box and climbed out of the truck. “I’ll be back in a while,” he said, slamming the door behind him.

  Ray lifted his head from the steering wheel and watched as Ben switched on the flashlight and headed back down the way they had come. He shook his head. “I used to know that man like he was my own brother. I don’t know who he is anymore,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Karen said.

  “I don’t know if we can trust him. I think the second he doesn’t need us anymore he’ll kill us just like he killed those cops.”

  “Come on, Ray. You served with him in Iraq. You saved his life. How can you say that about him?”

  “Because I think he would do anything to get away. And he isn’t going to want anyone to know where he’s going.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” Karen said.

  “Why?”

  “They’re going to catch all of us sooner or later. Or kill us. You know that, right?”

  Ray laid his head back against the seat. “Yeah. Probably. I’m not even sure I could pull the trigger on a cop, if it comes down to that. Ben’s done all the killing so far, but at some point that decision’s going to be forced on me, too. Do I pull the trigger on some cop, or do I just drop the gun and give up? I don’t know if I can do it, honey.”

  Karen was silent for a moment. Suddenly, she grabbed Ray by the shoulder and shook him. “This isn’t your fault!” she shouted at him. “You want to go to the gas chamber? Or me? What the hell is wrong with you, Ray? That goddamn state patrolman was the one who fucked up our lives and made this happen!”

  “What do you want from me? Maybe we should turn ourselves in now, while there’s a chance.” He waved an arm in dismissal. “I haven’t killed anyone yet. Only Ben’s done that. I never signed up with him to kill cops.”

  “It’s too late for all that,” said Karen. “Goddamnit, Ray! At the least, they’ll put us in jail for the rest of our lives! Is that what you want? You want to see me in prison?”

  “No.”

  “Fine. Then we play this string out right to the end. No matter what happens.” She touched her stomach. “Think about what that cop did to us in Oregon. And I’ve gotten a real attitude about that, Ray. If killing another cop gets us away from all this trouble, then I’m ready to do it.” She held out her hand. “I want a gun.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. And don’t think I won’t use it on anyone who tries to stop us.” She wiggled her fingers. “You still have that little Beretta he gave you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Give it to me.”

  Ray leaned forward and pulled the small automatic from his back pocket. He placed it gently in her hand.

  Karen dropped the gun into her purse. “Let’s get some sleep then.”

  Ben sat under the cover of a large pine near the main Forest Service road, listening. Someone was coming up the road from the direction of the highway. He pulled back the bolt on the MP-5 and cocked a round into the chamber. It was the perfect weapon for night work, especially with the suppressor in place. It could empty its thirty-round magazine in about three seconds with hardly a sound. Nothing like the booming racket banged out by an old BAR, which anyone could hear from miles away.

  He got to his feet and crept closer to the road. Yes, he thought, definitely someone coming up the road. It sounded like a pickup truck. Picking a spot behind some brush, he waited.

  He spotted the headlights a few seconds later. The light green color shining in the moonlight told him it was a Forest Service truck. Ben flipped off the safety on the gun and waited. He wasn’t worried. He knew the chances were small anyone would spot the little trail they took to the top of the hill. They’d probably just pass on by and keep going.

  An idea popped into his mind. A Forest Service truck. Perfect cover. He dropped to his belly in a ditch beside the road and hid himself behind a small bush. As the truck passed, he aimed the MP-5 at the back tire and popped off a few quick rounds, pop-pop-pop. With its attached sound suppressor, he barely heard the shots over the noise of the truck as it roared up the dirt road.

  The truck kept going.

  Ben watched and waited. About a hundred feet on, he saw the truck pull over and stop. Got it, he thought. He hoped it wouldn’t be obvious to the ranger that his tire had been shot out, rather than just going flat on its own.

  Someone got out of the truck and walked to the rear to look at the tire. The man was in uniform and carried a pistol at his side. Ben immediately identified him as either a game enforcement ranger. The U.S. Forest Service rangers often pulled double duty these days. Besides checking out hunters and their kills, they also had to deal with druggies manufacturing meth out in the woods, kids taking stolen cars off-road for joyrides, marijuana growers, or people shooting off guns illegally. Ben smiled as he saw the ranger pulling out the spare tire and a jack from the bed of the truck. He didn’t hear the shots.

  Ben crept closer, using the ditch for cover. No hurry, he thought. Might as well let him finish changing the tire first.

  Chapter 9

  Dozens of cameras on tripods, as well as scores of reporters waited for Special Agent Ryan McKenzie. He took a deep breath as he walked into a temporary media room set up at the Eureka police station.

  The reporters erupted into shouted questions one after another.

  McKenzie held up a hand for quiet. “Please. I have a short statement and then I will take questions.”

  The reporters settled down and waited for the statement.

  “This is what we know,” said McKenzie. He began to read from a printed release he had prepared earlier. “Three people, whom we have identified as Benjamin Cummings, Ray Morris, and his wife Karen Morris, are being sought in connection with the murders of five police officers and a bank robbery in Eureka, California. Two officers from the Eureka Police Department were killed during the robbery. The perpetrators escaped with more than seven hundred thousand dollars in cash and are believed to be headed north. Mr. Cummings and Mr. Morris are U.S. Army veterans who served in the same unit in Iraq. Both of t
hese men were decorated for heroism during their tours in Iraq, and have no previous criminal record. However, all three are now considered domestic terrorists by the F.B.I. More than two hundred agents from the Bureau are involved in the search, as well as every police department in the country. We’re warning the public not to approach these people if you see them. They are heavily armed with automatic weapons and explosives, and are considered extremely dangerous.”

  Reporters shouted out questions. McKenzie pointed to one in the front row. “Yes?”

  “There are reports these men are armed with rockets stolen from the military. Any truth to that?”

  “Yes,” said McKenzie. “We have evidence showing that Mr. Cummings was involved in the robbery of military weapons from an armory near Eureka last year. Some of these weapons were recovered at his ranch, but several LAWS rockets and two M-183 satchel charges were not found. He fired at least one of those rockets on the two officers who were killed in the attack on Elk River Road. He is also in possession of a Stinger missile and several automatic weapons.”

  The questions kept coming, and McKenzie tried his best to keep up with them. No use on holding back now, he thought.

  “Do you have any idea what motivated these men to do this?” said another reporter.

  “We’re not sure,” said McKenzie. “A few days ago, Mr. and Mrs. Morris were pulled over for a traffic stop in Oregon. There was a confrontation between Mr. Morris and an Oregon State Patrol officer. They fought and Morris handcuffed this officer to his own patrol car and fled. We know they stopped at a hospital nearby to have injuries treated sustained by Mrs. Morris, and then they left the area before police arrived. We believe they contacted Mr. Cummings soon afterward and that Ben agreed to provide them a place to hide out. However, we recently linked Mr. Cummings to a series of bank robberies in Northern California occurring over the last eighteen months. We believe that Mr. Cummings then convinced the Morris couple to assist him in the robbery of the First National in Eureka. We don’t have all the details yet.”

  “Any idea where they are going?”

  “Our last known contact with them happened on an exit ramp from Highway 101 to California Highway 299 east,” said McKenzie. “They may be trying to reach Interstate 5. Our best guess is that they are attempting to flee to Canada by going north. All airports, train stations, bus stations, and the Border Patrol have been alerted. We have roadblocks set up on all possible routes in that area, and the U.S. Forest Service is in cooperation with us doing emphasis patrols on the Forest Service roads in the tri-county area.”

  “When do you expect to capture these people?”

  McKenzie’s face hardened into a mask of grey stone. “Soon. I can promise you that.”

  Ben stifled a chuckle. He had worked his way up the ditch a foot at a time until he was less than ten feet from the Forest Service ranger changing the tire on the truck. He watched in amusement as the ranger finished tightening the last lug nut on the wheel. Ben could tell he hadn’t been with the Forest Service very long. He looked barely more than twenty-one and was tall and thin. The ranger heaved the flat tire into the bed of the truck and dropped the lug wrench and jack on top of it with a clatter.

  Ben stood up and snapped back the bolt on the MP-5. “Move and you’re a dead man!” he shouted.

  The young ranger startled so badly he spun around and fell into the side of the truck. “Don’t shoot!” he said, raising his hands.

  Ben walked up quickly and shoved the barrel of the gun into the man’s gut. “Get your hands up!”

  The ranger threw his hands into the air. Ben slammed the butt of his submachine gun across the ranger’s jaw just hard enough to stun him a bit.

  The ranger groaned and fell to the ground, holding his face in both hands. “Shit!”

  Ben reached down, snatched the ranger’s pistol from its holster, and tucked it into his own belt. He felt around the man’s legs for a backup weapon and discovered a .38 snub nose in an ankle holster. He pulled it free and stuffed it into his back pocket. “Get up. Turn around and lean against the truck.”

  The ranger did as he was told.

  Ben saw the man’s knees were shaking. Must have scared the holy shit out of him, he thought. “I don’t really want to kill you,” he said, “but I will if you give me any trouble. You got that?”

  “I got it.”

  “You know who I am?”

  “You’re one of those people everyone’s looking for.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Wanted poster. And your picture’s been all over the TV news.”

  “That’s right. So you know you wouldn’t be the first cop I’ve killed this week. Don’t try anything funny or I’ll blow you into the next world.” Ben pulled out the handcuffs from the ranger’s belt. “Hands behind your back.” Ben snapped the handcuffs on deftly, using only one hand. He slung the MP-5 over one shoulder and then pulled the .38 from his pocket. He opened the driver’s door on the truck. “Get in. Slide over and stay put.”

  The ranger made his way into the truck with some effort. He scooted over in the seat and laid his head against the passenger window. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

  Ben got in and slammed the door. He started the truck. “Not necessarily,” he said. “I only believe in killing people when I have to. In your case, if you do as you’re told, I won’t have to.”

  “I have a wife,” said the ranger. “She’s expecting.”

  “Congratulations. Behave yourself then and you won’t make your kid an orphan before he’s even born. Does your wife love you?”

  “Wha...what?”

  “Your wife,” said Ben. “Does she love you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lucky you. Mine ran off with the vet. Fucking bitch.” Ben put the truck into gear and turned the wheel hard over. “What’s your name, kid?”

  “My name?”

  “Yeah, stupid. You got a name, right?”

  “Connolly. Gary Connolly.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Ben.” Cummings drove back down the road until he reached the turnoff leading up to the campsite. He crashed the truck through the brush and branches they had laid out earlier for camouflage. The rear tires on the truck spun hard as he forced it up the steep hill. A minute later, he reached the clearing and stopped. He honked the horn. “Ray!”

  Morris was already waiting outside with an M-16 in his hands. “What the fuck is this?” he shouted.

  “We have a guest,” Ben yelled back at him. He shut off the engine and got out of the truck. Walking around to the passenger side, he threw open the door and pulled the ranger from the truck. He pushed him forward until he was standing in front of Morris.

  “Who the hell is he?” said Ray.

  “Tell him, kid.” Ben poked the ranger in the back. “Don’t be shy.”

  “Gary Connolly. I’m with the Forest Service.”

  “No shit,” said Ray. “The uniform’s kind of a giveaway. What are you doing out here in the middle of the night? I thought you guys did patrols mostly in daylight.”

  “Uh...”

  “Ray?” said Karen, sticking her head out the back of the camper. “What’s going on out there?”

  “It’s okay, honey. Ben just kidnapped a forest ranger, that’s all.”

  “You know I’m really tired, Ray. I’d like to get some rest. You’re not going to kill him, are you?”

  “No,” Ray answered.

  “Well keep it down then! I’m exhausted.” She shut the door on the camper.

  Ray shook his head. “What happened down there, Ben? Why did you grab this guy and his truck?”

  “We’re ditching our truck and taking this Forest Service rig,” said Ben, waving a hand in dismissal. “In a few hours when daylight comes, there will be hundreds of people out looking for us, plus an air search. You know that, right?”

  “Sure.”

  The young ranger sat down on the ground and hung his head. He said nothing.

  “Wel
l,” said Ben, “they’re probably onto our Chevy truck by now. Remember when I told you earlier I had a plan to get us out of here?”

  “Yeah. You said we were walking out.”

  “Just a minute,” said Ben. He slung the MP-5 over his shoulder and pulled Connolly to his feet, marching him back to the Forest Service truck. He helped him inside and then rolled up the passenger window. “I’m parking you in here for a minute,” he said, shutting the door firmly. “Don’t get cute.” Going back over to Ray, he said in a low voice, “We don’t need the ranger, but we do need his truck. It’s almost as good for cover as a damn cop car. I also know where there’s an old airstrip about two hours from here.”

  “You have someone to fly us out?” said Ray, cocking his head in puzzlement.

  “No. We’re going to steal a plane from the airstrip and take it north.”

  “Is that even possible? And who the hell’s going to fly the thing?”

  “Me. I have a private pilot license.”

  Ray laughed. “You think we can just waltz onto that airfield and fly off in somebody’s private plane? How the hell can we even start one without a key?”

  “It’s not that kind of airstrip. It’s just a dirt strip with a windsock. They call it Kneeland Airport. Unattended. Sometimes the locals use it. Or ranchers up there. I figure since it’s Labor Day weekend, there’s a good chance someone will stop by. We’ll take them after they land.”

  “You’ve got it all planned out, don’t you? As soon as we take off in their plane, they’ll call the police. We’ll be lucky if they don’t send up fighters to shoot our asses down. And they probably will.”

  “Look, Ray. All we need is a few hours head start. We can tie them up before we take off. We’ll be in Washington State before they even figure it out. I know a place up there we can ditch the plane without being spotted. We have to make it to Seattle somehow and meet up with my contact. He’s the only guy who can provide us with legitimate passports to get out of the country. You got a better idea?”

  “I guess not. How are we going to get past the roadblocks between here and this airstrip?”