He stopped at the edge of the path where the dirt met the surface of the rocky ledge. Below, the clear water rushed over the rocks. It was a three-hundred foot drop.
“Move it, Spears,” Don said. He followed Lindsey onto the rock platform, her red hair whipping in the wind like a wildfire.
“Please, don’t do this,” she pleaded.
It was the first time Raven had ever heard Lindsey beg. The tone of her voice broke his heart, and then it pissed him off.
“Cut their restraints,” Don said.
Hines walked forward and sliced through the rope binding Lindsey’s hands, and then the rope binding Raven’s. He considered making a move, but Don had the shotgun barrel aimed at his back.
“Keep walking,” Don said, flicking the barrel. Hines sheathed his knife, and pulled his pistol out. He pointed the gun at the back of Lindsey’s head.
“Sorry, but it has to be this way,” Hines said.
Side by side, Raven and Lindsey walked out onto the ledge. She was shaking, and a tear streaked down her cheek.
“I’m sorry,” Raven whispered. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess.”
A click sounded as Hines pulled the hammer back on his pistol.
“Any last words?” Don asked.
The forest seemed to freeze in that moment. Raven’s eyes flitted to the churning water below. The stones, which had been smoothed by thousands of years of water rushing over them, seemed to sparkle in the moonlight. In a few seconds his bones would crack on those polished rocks as he bled out into the gushing water.
His mind jumped to his family. Sandra, Allie, and Creek were out there, waiting for him to come home. Raven had made them promises. If he didn’t return, they would suffer. A storm was coming. That’s what Jason Cole had said. Bad people were headed toward Estes Park, and Raven couldn’t leave his family alone. He had to do something, and he had to do it soon.
“Nothing? Then go ahead and jump,” Don said.
Hines remained silent. So did Lindsey. She held her head up high and glanced over at Raven. There was nothing either of them could do now. He should have made his move earlier, but he had been waiting for Creek.
Where the hell are you, boy?
Raven leaned over the edge and looked down. There were several dirt ledges fifty feet down. Maybe, if he jumped, he could land on one of those...
No, that’s crazy.
The mind did crazy things when faced with death. This wasn’t the first time Raven had been in a situation where he thought he was going to die, but this time he didn’t see any way out of it.
“Jump,” Don said. “If you jump, it’ll look like an accident. Raven Spears will die a hero. Otherwise…well, I’m sure everyone would believe that you murdered dear Detective Plymouth after she turned down your advances, and that I was forced to shoot you in self-defense when you resisted arrest. Which story do you think your family will like better?”
An eerie, deep-throated howl answered him. Raven turned just as Don and Hines did. There was a flash of snow-colored fur amidst the dark trees. Then Creek was there, his powerful jaws latched onto Don’s arm. The patrol sergeant shook him off and aimed a kick at the dog’s side.
“Run!” Raven yelled at Lindsey.
Neither of them wasted any time. She vaulted onto the dirt path and took off running. The boom of the shotgun broke the silence of the night, and the crack of the .45 followed. A yelp sounded.
Creek was hurt.
Raven roared, ducking as Hines turned to fire at him. Two bullets streaked by Raven’s head. Hines then turned the gun on Lindsey, who barreled into him. She didn’t weigh much, but she was moving fast and low. She threw Hines off-balance, and they both went down.
Creek limped away from Don, who was holding his arm. The shotgun had fallen several feet away. Raven ran toward the gun, but just as he was about to kick it away, Don threw a right hook that hit Raven square in the nose. Pain lanced up his sinuses. He staggered backward several steps. Warm blood flowed from his nose. He held up his hands to fend off the continuing barrage of punches from Don. One of them hit Raven’s wounded ear.
He glimpsed Hines and Lindsey wrestling on the ground about ten feet away. Hines screamed out in pain as she hit his injured shoulder. Lindsey dug her thumb into the wound.
Don landed another hit to Raven’s head. His brain rattled inside his skull. He’d always thought of himself as a tough bastard, but his body had taken major punishment over the past month. The officer ran at him again, plowing his shoulder into Raven’s chest. He fell onto a boulder, cracking the back of his head on the moss-covered stone.
Creek yelped again in the distance.
The sound of his dog’s pain snapped Raven into focus. He had to save Creek and Lindsey. He fought his way upright and head-butted Don in the face. The blow shattered the officer’s nose with a satisfying crunch.
Don rolled off him and Raven pushed himself up, placing one hand on his pounding head. He looked over at Lindsey and Hines. She was on the bottom of the pile now, and Hines had his hands around her throat. Creek was slumped in front of a tree, but Raven saw his head move, which told him his dog was still alive, at least. It hurt his heart, but there wasn’t anything he could do for his best friend until he took down Don and Hines.
Raven kicked Don in the gut while the patrol sergeant was still down and then reached down to grab the blade on his duty belt. Don grabbed Raven’s wrist before he could pull the knife, and then kicked Raven’s leg out from under him. He fell to the dirt and Don scrambled away.
A guttural choking sounded, and Raven looked to his right as he pushed himself up. Lindsey had stripped Hines of his knife and plunged it into the bottom of his chin. She held the grip steady, a look of fury on her face, until Hines stopped kicking.
The sound of a shotgun shell being pumped sent a chill through Raven. Don had found his gun.
“I’ve been waiting for this, Spears,” Don said, his voice thick. Blood sluiced down his face. He aimed the barrel at Raven’s heart and used his shoulder to wipe the blood away from his lips.
A flash of motion came from the side as Don pulled the trigger, knocking the gun to the side. Lindsey shouted a wordless cry like a bird of prey as she smashed into Don, sending them both stumbling toward the ledge. They grappled for a moment before teetering over the edge. Raven flailed for Lindsey’s leg, but it was too late. She vanished over the side with Don.
“No!” Raven yelled.
He scrambled over and looked down. At first he didn’t see anything besides the rocks below. But as he leaned farther out, he saw a face looking up at him.
“Help!” Don yelled. He was holding onto the roots of a tree growing out of the side of the slope. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’ll let you go, just help me up!”
Lindsey was hanging onto a limb a few feet away. She kicked Don in the side, once, twice, then a third time.
“You little bitch,” Don growled.
Raven reached down for her hand. “Grab it!” he shouted.
Lindsey reached up, but Don latched onto her. “If I go, she goes with me!”
Raven drew back. Just to his left, the shotgun lay in the dirt where Don had dropped it. He made sure Don couldn’t see what he was doing, and when he had the gun in his hands, Raven brought it up to his shoulder and aimed it at the patrol sergeant’s face.
“No, please, don’t!” Don shouted.
Raven pulled the trigger without hesitation. The blast caught Don in his already broken nose, erasing his features in a spray of blood, bone, and gore.
His body fell away from the cliff, plummeting into the valley below. Raven checked the shotgun chamber for another shell, and when he found it was empty, lowered the gun down to Lindsey. She grabbed the stock, and he pulled her to safety.
For a moment, he held her against his chest. They were both breathing hard, and the scent of her hair filled his nostrils as he inhaled.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I think so. Thank you, Sam
. Thanks for saving my ass.”
Lindsey’s shoulders twitched and he let her go and turned to look for Creek. The dog looked up as Raven called out, one of his eyes a bloody mess and his coat spotted with blood. The sight took Raven’s breath away. He hardly managed to choke out, “Creek.”
Raven crouched down to check his best friend’s wounds. The shotgun blast had sprayed the dog with multiple tiny projectiles. One had hit his eye, and several others were embedded in his shoulder. If Raven could get him back to town, they might be able to save him.
“You’re going to be okay, buddy,” Raven said. The dog whined as Raven picked him up gently.
Lindsey joined him, her eyes wide when she saw how badly Creek was hurt. Raven looked over at Officer Hines’s still body and decided to leave him for the wild animals.
“I’ll gather their guns and ammo,” she said.
“No, we’ll come back for it later, we have to get Creek help.”
She nodded and followed Raven back to the path.
“I never saw this coming,” she said, still panting. “Hines wasn’t a bad man; he was just a dumb one.”
Raven didn’t reply. He moved down the trail as quickly as he could without jostling Creek too much. The dog whimpered in his arms and tried to lick Raven’s hand.
“Just hang on,” Raven whispered.
After they’d been walking for a few minutes, a dozen flashlights emerged from the woods, carving up the darkness with high-powered beams. Raven and Lindsey froze. They waited to see who these newcomers were in silence. As they approached, Raven saw they were all armed, and most of them were on horseback.
A large man with a white mustache and an expensive white cowboy hat to match moved into view. He sat astride a massive black horse that rivaled Obsidian in size.
“That’s John Kirkus,” Lindsey said.
She stepped out from behind a tree and said, “Hold your fire.”
Several guns pointed in her direction, and then Raven’s, as he stepped out, still holding Creek.
“Detective Plymouth, is that you?” Kirkus asked.
“Hi, John,” she said.
“We heard gunfire,” he said. “You want to explain what the hell is going on out here?”
Lindsey nodded. “Yeah, but we need to get Raven’s dog to a doctor first.”
Kirkus’s eyes flitted to Raven and then to Creek. Something in his stern expression softened when he saw the dog.
“Follow me,” he said.
Colton sat in a cramped holding cell in the Larimer County Jail, cursing his luck. He never should have come here. That’s what desperation did to a man; it pushed him to make poor decisions.
At least he was still alive. For now.
“Hey. Hey you, over there,” whispered a voice.
Colton made his way over to the bars of his cell. Across the hallway was a man in a larger cell, what some cops referred to as the “drunk tank.” A single candle burned from a wall mount, providing enough light for Colton to make out the swollen face of a guy looking through the bars at him.
“I heard you’re a cop,” the guy said. “That right? Did you come to help us?”
When Colton didn’t reply, the man raised his voice and continued, “Hey man, don’t ignore me. You gotta…” His voice trailed off and fell silent at the sound of footfalls at the opposite end of the hallway.
“Shut your trap or I’ll stomp it shut,” said a guard Colton couldn’t see.
Colton sat down on the cot in his cell. He’d always wondered what it was like to be on the other side of bars. It was worse than he’d imagined. With no idea what the hell was going on, there was nothing to do but wait until someone came to talk to him. Had Don set him up, or was this some sort of mistake? Colton’s gut said it had been treachery.
The door at the other end of the hallway opened and then clicked shut as the guard left. The man with the bruised face wasted no time in resuming his one-sided conversation.
“Hey man, talk to me. I’m a friend.”
Colton stood again and walked over to the bars. The man across the hall wore a flannel shirt, jeans, and a tattered Colorado Rockies baseball hat. Someone had given him a good beating. Several of his teeth were missing.
“Who are you?” Colton asked.
“I’m Clint Bailey. Own a small chicken farm a few miles outside town. They took it from me when I wouldn’t give them all my birds. They killed one of my workers, too, and they…they...” Clint reached up and put his hand over his eyes, a sob wracking in his chest. “They raped my wife and...”
Colton put a finger to his lips. “Quiet. I’m sorry about your wife, but—”
The door at the other end of the hallway opened again. Footfalls clicked on the floor and Clint scooted away from the bars. Colton took a step backward and waited.
Three men walked into view, their faces illuminated by the candlelight. Two of them stopped and held sentry, but the third man dressed in a sheriff’s uniform made his way over to Colton’s cell. He was young, maybe thirty-five, with a five o’clock shadow hugging a square jawline. Colton noticed that his ears were deformed, bulging from the fluid that caused cauliflower ear, which told Colton this was the cage-fighting sheriff himself, Mike Thompson.
“Chief Colton, sorry to keep you waiting,” the man said with surprising politeness. He pulled out a ring of keys and opened the jail cell. “I’ve been out and just got back.”
Colton stepped away from the barred door, watching Thompson warily.
“My men operate on the policy of better safe than sorry,” he said. “If I had been here, I would never have thrown you in a cell.”
Thompson offered his hand. “I’m Mike Thompson. I haven’t been the sheriff long, so you might know me better as Spartan. That’s the name I used in the cage.”
Colton shook the man’s hand. Thompson certainly had the grip of a Spartan warrior.
“So what brings you to Fort Collins?” Thompson asked.
“Sergeant Aragon with the Estes Park police said he spoke with you over the radio. I’m here to talk about forming an alliance. We’ve been hit by raiders, and I don’t have enough men to defend our borders. I was hoping we could help each other.”
Thompson scratched at the back of his ear, turning slightly. “Sergeant Don Aragon? Doesn’t ring a bell. You sure he said he talked to me?”
Colton nodded. “That’s right.”
A shrug from Thompson. “I can’t say I remember any such conversation.”
“Must have been a misunderstanding, then.”
Clint looked up at Colton across the hallway and slowly shook his head, tears still flowing down his face. He seemed to be trying to warn Colton. Thompson seemed nice, but something didn’t add up. Actually, nothing added up. Still, Colton had only one hand to play, and it was the same hand he came here with.
“But either way, I’m here to talk to you. I’ve heard you’re having problems with raiders on this side of the Rockies. A single attack killed seven of my people. We captured one of the men, a guy named Cole, and from what he told us, things are getting even worse out here. I’m here to discuss an alliance between Fort Collins and Estes Park.”
Thompson watched Colton in the flickering candlelight, sizing him up like he would an opponent before getting into the octagon. Colton used to do the same thing before a boxing match, and what he saw in Thompson’s eyes scared him.
“I’m also planning to visit the FEMA camp and try to work something out with the National Guard stationed there,” Colton continued when Thompson didn’t respond. “Estes Park has resources Fort Collins might need, and I’m willing to offer supplies, food, water, and weapons.”
“Chief, I think you misunderstand the situation,” Thompson said at last.
“Oh?” Colton said, lifting a brow. Although he kept his tone light, he was tensing up as if his body expected a fight at any moment.
“We have things well under control here, but I’m afraid you’ll be a bit disappointed by the FEMA
camp,” Thompson said. “Follow me—I’ll let you see for yourself.”
Albert slipped the radio into his backpack after reporting in to Flint, and leaned down next to his sister. She lay on the couch, eyelids cracked open halfway. He tipped her head up and helped her take another sip of water from his bottle.
“Jackie, can you hear me?” he asked.
Wayne, his sister’s boyfriend—or the man that claimed to be her boyfriend—paced near the doorway behind them.
“You gonna get us the hell out of here or what?” he kept asking.
Albert was about ready to answer the question with a right hook, but he was honestly scared doing so would snap Wayne’s neck. Both he and Jacqueline had wasted away during their bender, no doubt more interested in drugs than food. He focused back on his sister, trying to ignore her crazy lover.
“Jackie, please wake up. It’s Albert.”
She finally opened her eyes fully, and for the first time since he arrived at her apartment she looked at him—really looked at him.
“Al?” she whispered. Her lips cracked into a smile, revealing several broken, yellowed teeth.
Albert gripped her hand in his own. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here to rescue you.”
She pulled out of his grip and her lips straightened into a line. Her features went back to the stone-cold look he remembered from their childhood.
“Rescue me from what? Why are you really here, Al?”
Albert had a hundred things he wanted to say to her, but they didn’t have time to rehash the past.
“Because I love you, and because I’m sorry,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah, we all love Jackie. Now give me some of that water,” Wayne said.
Albert glanced over his shoulder, firing an icy glare that made the man stop pacing.
“Yo, my brother, I just want a drink,” Wayne said.
“How long you been holed up here with my sister? You the one who’s been giving her those needles to stick in her arm?” Albert rose to his feet. He towered over Wayne.
Trackers 3: The Storm (A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Thriller) Page 21