Night Road

by Brendan DuBois

  Next to him Michael frantically said, “Fuck, somebody just took a shot.”

  Francois was going to say something as Michael raised his AK-47.

  It was the distant sound of an engine that finally made Zach move. Luke and Nat had been idly standing by the rear of the Chevy Suburban, whispering to each other, when Zach heard the sound of an aircraft engine, up there in the night sky, approaching them. Earlier he had seen dim red lights as the Crowley brothers had come back with the truck slowly following them. Lots of thoughts were crowding around in his mind. A hot and dark river in Sierra Leone. A plaintive voice—Sir, can you help? Can you? Collateral damage. There was always collateral damage. The sight of Karen, sitting on the couch, a gun to her head. The sights and sounds of Turner, after all these years. The young and attractive Tanya Gibbs, able to make him come here and do what she wanted him to do. Thinking of getting his Federal bennies and then leaving here and going back to … what? A concrete slab with burnt timbers upon it, fifty acres of empty land, and no neighbors?

  His brief phone calls to the older man. Can’t you do something? Can’t you help?

  Zach made up his mind. To hell with it.

  He walked up the road as Cameron approached him. “What’s up?” the older Crowley asked.

  “Need to see Duncan.”

  “Give him a minute,” Cameron said, holding out an arm to block him. “He’s busy with the driver.”

  “The driver? What’s he doing with the driver?”

  Cameron said, “He’s sending him either to heaven or hell, depending on how God’s feeling tonight. The little shit is a domestic terrorist, through and through, with lots of blood on his hands. Duncan made a deal with the guy setting up the shipment, as a side favor.”

  A muffled thump, a sudden flare of light by the truck cab.

  “Who the hell asked for the favor? What guy?”

  Cameron said, “The driver’s cousin. Guess the driver was an embarrassment to the family name, killed one guy too many. Go on, now, looks like Duncan’s got a free minute.”

  Zach shook his head, walked a few more yards to Duncan. He said in a loud whisper, “Duncan, you’ve got a problem.”

  “Hold on,” Duncan said, walking toward him, blocking the view of what had just happened. The truck engine idled. Duncan came up, flashlight with red lens in his hand. “What problem? We’ve got to get moving here in a minute or two.”

  Zach took a deep breath. “Go. Leave the truck behind. Get the hell out of here.”

  “What the heck are you saying, Zach?”

  “I’m saying the Feds know,” he said quickly. “They’re on their way now. Leave. Get your guys together and get the hell out of here. Go fade in the woods, start running, I’m sure they’ve got all the roads blocked. I’ll stick behind and take the heat, keep them occupied as much as I can. But for Christ’s sake, haul ass!”

  Duncan’s voice was edged with amazement. “How the hell do you know this?”

  He grabbed Duncan’s shoulder, like he was trying to force a stubborn child to listen to his words. “Damn it, because I fucking told them, I betrayed you! Now get your ass in gear and leave!”

  Duncan broke free from his hand, just as automatic weapon fire erupted behind them.

  Tanya heard the stuttering fire of weapons just as a voice from the radio screamed in her left ear, “Sierra to TOC! Shots fired! Shots fired! We’ve got shots fired from a secondary element, arriving behind the truck!”

  Somebody tackled her to the ground and her helmet flew off. Her mouth tasted of dirt and a strap from the Kevlar vest was digging into her ribs. She tried to get up but a firm hand pushed her head down.

  A voice in her right ear, the one without the radio earbud. “Ma’am, I’ve driven you, I’ve waited for you, I’ve worked at your pleasure, but this once, you’re going to do what I fucking say. Keep your goddamn head down! We don’t know who’s shooting at what!”

  “Let me go,” she said. “I’ve got to get up there!”

  “The fuck you do,” Henry Wolfe said. “We’re staying here until the shooting is over.”

  She fought against his grip on her neck, lost the fight, and then the radio traffic crackled in her left ear, one message right after another.

  “Two, maybe three shooters behind the truck.”

  “Heavy automatic fire.”

  “Other shooters in front of the truck have opened fire.”

  “Permission to engage.”

  “Permission to engage.”

  “Permission to engage.”

  Carl Kenyon’s voice, cutting through the chatter. “TOC to team members. Engage what? Sweet Jesus, what a goat fuck.”

  A second passed. Carl said, “Sierra, this is TOC.”

  “Sierra, go.”

  “Disable that truck. Repeat. Disable that truck.”

  “Rounds down range.”

  When the gunfire roared out from behind them, Duncan shoved Zach in his chest, pushing him back, tumbling him into a drainage ditch. Duncan dove in right after him, knee deep in mud. He unslung his H&K, noted the muzzle flashes up the road, heard the incoming rounds zip over head, thunking and thopping as they struck tree trunks, whistling as they went through thinner branches. Zach was next to him, breathing hard.

  Duncan flipped the safety off on his weapon. “The Feds, they believe in shooting first, asking questions later?”

  “Not in my line of work,” Zach said, his weapon in hand as well. “Look, just retreat, get the hell out of here, I—”

  Duncan raised up his weapon. “Yeah, you betrayed me. I knew you probably weren’t straight, that first night at the pub, when you got in a fight with the pool players.”

  Awe in his voice, Zach said, “How the hell did you know?”

  Another burst of gunfire, more sounds of rounds flying overhead and impacting. Duncan laughed. “Zach, I kept an eye on you that first night. Thought you looked familiar. I saw you order two pitchers of beer, get drunk, and get in a fight. But when you sat down later and talked to me, you were as sober as the proverbial judge. So you faked getting drunk. So you had something to accomplish. So congrats, mission accomplished.”

  There was real sorrow in Zach’s voice. “Duncan, look, you can still get out of here and—”

  “Stage is set, players have arrived, and it’s time to do what has to be done,” Duncan said. “All you can do is to run out or help me.”

  Duncan brought the stock of the H&K up to his shoulder, fired off two- and three-round bursts, aiming to where the muzzle flashes were bursting, up there on the road. He felt good at hearing a yelp.

  Felt even better, seeing and hearing Zach open fire as well.

  Francois was on one knee, firing off a few rounds, shifting, and then firing again. Around him Michael and Phil and Johnny were firing, but Jesus Christ on a crutch, where was their fucking fire discipline? They were going full auto, sending round after round at the truck, aiming high, and he screamed, “Fuck it, aim, you idiots, fucking aim!”

  He fell to the ground, yelled as something heavy slammed into his back. Gunfire started opening up from the area by the truck, and a heavier, flatter weapon started firing one round after another.

  His head hurt.

  Tanya raised her head, just a bit, to see what she could see, which wasn’t much. Brief flares of gunfire illuminating the truck and the road up a ways, where another group of people were firing automatic weapons. To the left was a hard report as the State Police sniper called Sullivan started shooting, the nearby sound very loud. This is what combat must be like, she thought quickly, loud noises, confusion, hugging the ground, brief violent bits of gunfire lighting up the dark scenery. She squirmed, but Henry kept his grip fierce on the back of her neck. She thought about chewing him out when this whole mess was over, but when a bullet went whistling over her head, she almost pissed herself i
n fear.

  All right, maybe a recommendation for promotion instead of a dressing down. That made much more sense.

  The voice on the radio. “TOC, Woods.”

  “Go, TOC.”

  “Let’s light up the joint. Send up a couple of parachute flares.”

  Up ahead, one of the silhouetted State Police troopers knelt down, and there was hollow chunk, and another chunk, and a burst of light as one and then a second parachute flare erupted into bright light.

  Zach whirled as a man jumped into the drainage ditch next to them. It was Nat, the driver, breathing hard. “Duncan, I’m damn sorry to tell you this, but I can’t drive that truck.”

  “What happened, Nat?” Duncan said, not moving his head, firing off a shot here and there.

  “This happened,” he said mournfully, raising up his right hand. Zach took in a breath. It was a bloody mess. “I got hit, Duncan, I’m really sorry, but I can’t drive. Luke got hit, too. Round bounced off a piece of metal and hit his leg. He’s bleeding pretty bad.”

  “Damn it,” Duncan said, and Nat added, “But Cameron, he said he’d handle it.”

  Duncan whirled around. “Cameron is coming up here?”

  “That’s right,” Nat said. “He told me to tell you that he was going to make it finally right by you. Said he was gonna drive that fucker out of here. Said he wasn’t going to let this sweet deal get away.”

  Zach looked over at the dirt road, saw a figure dodging and racing up the opposite side, and Duncan screamed, “Cameron, get down! Get down! It’s not worth it!”

  “Sorry, bro!” his brother yelled back. “For once I’m not listening to you!”

  The night sky lit up like noontime, more gunfire, and the running figure of his brother tumbled and fell.

  Francois rolled over on his back, AK-47 torn out of his hands, heard Michael call out, “Hold your fire, hold your fire, hold your fire!”

  As Michael knelt down next to him, he coughed, cleared his throat. “You … you fucker … what the hell are you doing?”

  Michael said, “What I should have done a long time ago. You’ve lost your smarts man, chasing this truck like it was that fucking white whale. That’s bad business, all around. Shit, we lost four guys in this stupid quest. But man … . you also made me cut my hair. You said I looked like a faggot. You think I was going to take that?”

  Francois opened his mouth to say something, anything, but he couldn’t say a word as the muzzle of Michael’s AK-47 was shoved past his teeth and tongue. He choked and didn’t hear anything more after that.

  Duncan cried out, tried to run across the road, but hands grabbed him, dragged him back to the ditch. Zach was on top of him as the gunfire dribbled out and he tried to squirm free, and he shouted, “I’ve got to get to him, I’ve got to get to Cameron!”

  “Not running across in the open like that!” Zach shouted back.

  Duncan fought free and as he got up in the flickering light from the parachute flares overhead, there was splash of water as a heavy-set man jumped into the drainage ditch, an AK-47 pointed right at him, wearing combat gear, night-vision goggles around his neck, making him look like an alien warrior.

  Duncan closed his eyes, opened them.

  The man said quickly, “Know where Duncan Crowley is?”

  “That’s me,” he said. The gunfire from up the road had halted.

  The guy said, “I’m from the Iron Steeds.”

  “Figured so,” Duncan said. “You Francois Ouellette?”

  “Nope, Francois is over on the ground over there,” the man said. “I’m the new president. Got one thing to say to you.”

  “Do it then,” Cameron said. “Get it over with.”

  “Here’s the thing. You up for a truce?”

  “What?

  “A truce. We bail out of here now, you can keep whatever the fuck’s in that truck, and that’s it.”

  Duncan said, “Sounds good to me.”

  “Then we’re the fuck out of here. Good luck with whoever’s over there shooting at you, man.”

  He turned and sloshed out of the ditch.

  Zach looked behind them, knowing that Homeland Security and whoever else was out there was coming in hard. Then there was the sudden roaring noise of a helicopter engine, right overhead, followed by an intense beam of light that blinded him. He put a hand over his face, and it seemed the voice of God boomed down.

  “Cease firing, cease firing, cease firing. This area is under control of Federal authorities. All personnel, including law enforcement, cease firing, cease firing, cease firing. Weapons are to be holstered or dropped to the ground immediately.”

  Zach dropped his H&K to the ground as a dark green Black Hawk helicopter roared in close, the backwash tossing up gravel and small branches. The wide beam of light panned across the ground, illuminating the truck, Nat sitting next to him wrapping a handkerchief around his hand, and what looked to be SWAT members down the road. Up the road, a Jeep Cherokee roared off, leaving behind a cloud of dust as the Iron Steeds members retreated north to Canada.

  The light moved again, revealing the Suburban, coming back to the truck and the far side of the road, where a weeping Duncan rocked back and forth, holding the head of an unmoving Cameron in his lap.

  thirty-five

  Tanya shakily got up, her driver Henry Wolfe next to her, a helicopter roaring overhead, its bright searchlight revealing everything in front her. Carl Kenyon was nearby as well, his CAR-15 slung on his back, his helmet off. The helicopter blew over again, the same message booming down from its loudspeakers, and then it shifted to the right.

  Damn, damn, damn, she thought. Her boss Gordie was no doubt in that Black Hawk, having somehow found out the location and time of this smuggling op.

  Well, there was still a chance to make it all work out.

  “Carl!” she called out, then walked over to him. “I need that health physicist from the state up here, to examine the trailer.”

  The State Police major tossed his helmet to the ground. “You heard the man, whoever the hell he is. We’re to stand down.”

  “No, we’re to put weapons away. Nothing was said about staying put. I still have control of this operation, until I’ve been relieved.”

  Carl pointed to the whirling blades and flashing navigation lights of the Black Hawk helicopter as it descended to the stretch of pastureland to the right. “Looks like you’re about to be relieved.”

  Tanya said, “Maybe so, but I want that HP guy up here right now, to examine the trailer.”

  Carl looked like he wished he hadn’t received the earlier order about holstering weapons. Tanya was sure he was quite tempted to put a bullet through her forehead and blame friendly fire. Instead, he raised up his radio, murmured some words, and the HP guy emerged from the woods, escorted by another State Police trooper.

  She pointed to the trailer, wondering how many minutes she had left to do what’s right. “I want a scan of that trailer, pronto.”

  The HP guy shrugged. “That’s what I’m here for.”

  He walked over, carrying a wide shoulder bag, and she fell in with him as State Police troopers advanced on the Suburban and quickly handcuffed one of the gunman. Up by the truck, two of the gunmen were on the right, one holding the other, and two more on the left were facedown, also handcuffed. It looked like the larger guy on the ground on the left was Zach Morrow. If so, as much as she wanted to talk to him, he could wait.

  A dead man was on the ground by the driver’s side, with a good chunk of his head missing. She looked away, but oddly enough, the HP guy walked on like everything here was a drill, made for his amusement. He gingerly stepped around the dead body and went to the rear of the trailer. Portable spotlights were being set up, and she saw smoke rising up from the shot-up radiator of the truck, noting the front tires were flat. Good shooting, at least, from the
sniper.

  Kwasnick, the health physicist, squatted on the ground, unzipped his bag. “Excuse me, could I have some light over here?”

  Carl aimed a flashlight down at the bag. Tanya stood still. Her legs were frozen. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. It was all here. Right here in front of her. In the next minute or so, Emily’s death would be avenged. All of her work, all of the gambles, all of her lies and violating procedures—it was all now coming to a head in the very next few seconds.

  Failure. She did not allow herself to think of failure.

  The health physicist worked on some dials and switches and then took up a probelike device, with a curled cord running from its base. He brought the probe up to the side of the truck and pressed a switch.

  A red light started flashing.

  A recorded voice came from his bag:

  Gamma alert.

  Gamma alert.

  Gamma alert.

  “Wow,” Kwasnick said. “Whatever’s in the truck, it’s going right off the scale.”

  She clenched her fists. Tasted sweet victory. Emily, she thought. My dear Emily.

  When it became apparent what he was doing, Duncan was allowed to keep holding his brother’s shattered head in his lap. A state trooper stood away at respectful distance, CAR-15 pointed at him, as Duncan stroked his dead brother’s forehead. From the way Cameron had tumbled, Duncan was sure he had been hit bad, probably fatally, but he had hoped he could get over here at the last moment, so Cameron wouldn’t die alone.

  But he had been too late. A round from either the bikers or the State Police had torn away his throat and he had instantly bled out. In the nearby lights, Cameron’s face was the color of dull paper, and Duncan murmured to his brother as his body cooled against him.

  “Oh, Cam,” he said softly. “You didn’t have to prove a damn thing to me. You brave guy. Running up to the truck, all those bullets flying by. So damn brave. But you had nothing to prove to me. I never blamed you for the accident, for me not going to school, not getting into the majors … . It just happened. You and me … we stuck together. And you watched my back, and had my back, year after year … oh, Cam … . I’m so fucking sorry. Betrayals … I’m the one that betrayed you, Cam … oh, I’m so sorry …”