by Sean Black
Gretchen bit down on her lower lip. “Anyway, why don’t you go check the outbuildings first. The barn. I’ll check here.”
“If you want to get some sleep, I can check this place for you.”
“This is my home, Mr Cross. I don’t want a stranger going through all my things.”
Ty guessed that was fair. “I’ll go look outside.”
“You do that.”
Ty walked back down the corridor. Man, the sooner he could finish up and get out of this place the better.
55
Lock’s hand fell to his gun as he parked the Ford Explorer in back of the motel. About twenty feet away, a figure was crouched down behind a dumpster. He had spotted the person as he was backing into the space.
Parking with the front of the vehicle pointing out was just one of many habits that had become engrained from years of working in close protection security. Situational awareness was another.
Lock got out of the vehicle, making sure to leave the headlights on. He did his best to appear casual. If the person behind the dumpster intended to cause him harm, it was better that they believed they had the element of surprise. For now at least.
He slammed the door shut, and let out a loud sigh. Just a guy returning to his motel room after a long, frustrating day.
The dumpster was behind him, tucked into a corner of the parking lot. Unless the person was peeking round the side they’d be relying on what they heard to establish Lock’s position.
Rather than walking away, in the opposite direction of the dumpster, and towards his room, Lock lowered himself as quietly as he could to the ground, and crawled underneath the Explorer.
He scooted round so that he was partially on his side, and facing the dumpster. Now all he had to do was wait.
While he waited, he drew his SIG from its holster, and punched it out in front of him with his right hand, ready to pick off anyone who showed hostile intent. He had seen one person behind the dumpster. That didn’t mean there weren’t others.
With his left hand he pressed the button on the key fob that locked the vehicle’s doors and activated the alarm and immobilizer. The car chirped. Lock counted slowly down from ten.
At eight, someone peeked their head around the side of the dumpster. Lock watched as they peeked out again, taking longer this time.
They were looking for him. But not seeing him.
The Explorer’s interior lights dimmed. The headlights stayed on.
The person, a man, walked out from behind the dumpster. He was, by Lock’s estimate, white, a little over six feet, and in his mid to late forties.
He started towards Lock’s vehicle. Lock noticed that he was carrying. As he walked the man’s jacket slid back to reveal a holster.
The man walked another few feet and Lock lost sight of all but his legs. He kept coming towards the vehicle. Lock stilled his breathing, and waited.
The guy kept coming. Ten feet from the vehicle, just when Lock figured he’d be able to reach out, grab the guy’s ankle and take him to the ground that way, the man changed direction. He turned at a forty-five degree angle, headed for the side of the motel building, and the route Lock would have likely taken to get to his room.
Now Lock really had to hope that this was a lone operator. If he broke cover now, with someone else in the parking lot, it wouldn’t be good.
He could wait. See if the guy returned after realizing Lock wasn’t in his room. Take him out then. But there was no guarantee the guy would circle back this way.
Lock listened for any other sound of movement. Met by silence, he belly crawled out on the other side of the vehicle. He got to his feet, and crouching down, jogged towards the rear wall.
Hugging the wall, weapon still drawn, he made it to the corner. He listened. Again, nothing save the distant rumble of traffic along the road that ran along the front of the motel.
Punching the SIG out in front of him, he spun out from the corner, and came face to face with the barrel of a gun pointed straight at him. Lock had already begun to squeeze the trigger when he realized who he was facing.
Lock eased up on the trigger, and lowered his SIG. The man facing him did the same. Both of them simultaneously exhaled.
“You never heard of calling someone first?” Lock asked Donald Price.
Don looked sheepish. “Sorry. I didn’t want anyone to see me waiting for you. Then you’d disappeared and I thought someone might have gotten to you.”
Lock didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Things were bad enough without being taken out in a motel parking lot by his own client.
“Who? I think you’re the only person here apart from me.”
Don shook his head. “There was someone else here when I arrived. Big guy with a beard. He had a gun too.”
56
Ty was two hundred yards from the barn when he heard the first screams coming from inside. High pitched. Hysterical.
Ty sprinted for the barn. He covered the ground with long strides. The screaming kept up. Louder. More shrill. Screams that spoke of fear and a rising panic.
It took a moment for his mind to process what he was hearing. There wasn’t one person screaming There were two. Ruth and Mary.
Strangely, the realization sparked a sense of relief. In order to scream, you had to be able to breathe. That meant, whatever was going on inside the barn, both girls were still alive.
Ty kept up his sprint. Arms and legs pistoning, he stumbled only once, reminded for a second, just how treacherous the ground beneath his feet could be.
A second later, his heart sank as he remembered that he hadn’t picked up a key before he came down here. He cursed his own stupidity, but kept running. Before he turned back, if he did, he wanted to figure out what was going on in the barn.
Maybe it was something trivial. A rat. A big one. That could easily send two teenage girls who weren’t in the best mental shape into a fit of hysterics.
But something about the sounds they were making told him that it wasn’t that. It was something altogether more serious.
He made it to the barn. He called out to the two girls inside. “Ruth? Mary? You okay in there?”
The screaming fell away. Good news.
“Who’s that?”
It sounded like Ruth, but he couldn’t be sure.
“It’s Mr Cross. Listen, I don’t have a key, but I’m going to get in anyway,” he said, jogging to the front of the barn and looking for something he could use to pry the door open with.
He wouldn’t be able to break the lock, but the barn was old, the wood weather-beaten and worn. It wouldn’t take all that much for a man with his strength to splinter it.
A full moon hanging high over head made the search a little easier. But he couldn’t find anything. No spades, or strip of metal. Nothing he could use. He would have to rely on brute strength.
“Step back from door, okay?”
“Okay. But hurry,” Ruth called out.
“Why? What’s the problem?”
“It’s Mary. She cut herself. It’s bad, and I can’t get it to stop bleeding.”
Ty picked his spot and kicked out hard at the door. There was the satisfying sound of wood splintering as he made contact, but the door held. He took a couple of breaths and went again. Then a third time, a fourth and a fifth.
The sixth kick was the charm. The wood began to crack. A gap opened up that he could get his fingers inside. He wrenched at the door, levering it open even wider.
It still wasn’t enough though. He just couldn’t get enough purchase. Splinters dug deep into his fingers and the palms of his hands.
He stepped back and let out one more almighty kick. The door gave way. He shoulder charged it, forcing his way through and inside.
He was met by the sight of blood. A small kitchen knife, the kind you might use to peel an apple, lay discarded in the middle of the floor. Mary lay on her side on top of a dirty mattress. Her t-shirt was spattered with blood. So was the top of her jeans. Several fresh wounds ran across
Mary’s left wrist.
Ruth was kneeling beside her. Her clothes were also soaked in Mary’s blood. She flinched as Ty approached.
Right now Ty needed two pieces of information. Where she’d cut herself and how long ago.
He knelt down next to the two girls. “Hey, listen, it’s going to be okay. You’re not in trouble. Not at all. I’m here to help you so you don’t need to be scared of me. Ruth? You understand me?”
“Yes.”
“Mary?”
Mary pushed herself up into a sitting position. She pushed off with her feet so that she was backed tighter into the corner. She was making a high-pitched keening noise. The look in her eyes was primal, like a wild animal who’d been cornered.
“Mary?” he asked again.
She responded by pulling her knees up into her chest, making herself even smaller. She was beyond scared. Ty looked back at Ruth.
“Ruth, I’m going to need your help. What happened here? Did she cut herself or did someone else do it?”
He was fairly certain that it was the former rather than the latter. But this place was nutty enough that he couldn’t rule out any possibility.
“She did it herself,” Ruth told him.
“Okay, now, where did she cut herself, and when did she do it?”
“It’s her arm.” Ruth started to hyper-ventilate.
Ty did his best to keep his tone soothing. “Okay, that’s good to know. Now when did it happen?”
“I don’t know. I was having a nap. The noise woke me up.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Just now. Maybe a minute or two.”
That wasn’t the worst answer. If she’d been bleeding like this for a couple of hours she would really have been in trouble. “Okay, Ruth, we need to slow the bleeding. I think Mary trusts you, so I’m going to need you to help me with this.”
“Okay,” said Ruth.
She still seemed freaked out, but at least she was listening to what he was saying and responding. The hysterics had stopped.
“So what we’re going to do is, I’m going to make some fabric strips and you’re going to use the strips I give you to press down where Mary’s cut.”
He crossed over to the middle of the barn, picked up the bloodied knife and slashed some strips from the bottom of his shirt.
He walked back with a couple of strips, and showed Ruth what he wanted her to do with them.
“Keep as much pressure on as you can, okay? The blood will start to soak through. That’s fine. You keep the cloth where it is, and add another strip on top. Don’t remove the strips to see if the bleeding has stopped. Just keep the pressure on.”
He watched as Ruth took the cloth strips from him and took Mary’s arm. She was a fast learner, doing precisely what he’d asked her to do.
“That’s good. You’re a natural. Now, you keep doing that, and I’m going to go get some help.”
Both girls looked panicked. “No!” Mary screamed. “No! They’ll punish me.”
Ty took a breath. There was no way he was leaving here without these two girls. He was going to accompany them both to hospital, whether Gretchen or anyone else agreed or not. And they weren’t coming back.
“No one is going punish you. You have my word on that. But I need to get Mary here to hospital, and I want you to get checked over too. So I’m going to need to make a call, and the only phone I can use is up at the ranch.”
“Okay,” said Ruth.
“Sit tight and keep the pressure on her wrist. I’ll be as fast as I can.”
Ty got up, pushed his way through the broken barn door, and out into the night. All he could think about was getting to the ranch house, making the call, and then grabbing whatever vehicle was to hand, loading Mary and Ruth into it, and getting them the hell out of there.
He was so wrapped up in what he had to do, he didn’t even register the person waiting for him to emerge. By the time he saw them, and turned, they had already pulled the trigger.
57
Gretchen was sitting on the porch of the ranch house when she heard the shots ring out. They sounded like they were coming from the barn. She started down the steps, stopped and turned back round. If someone out there was shooting a gun, what the hell could she do about it? Especially unarmed and in her robe and slippers.
She pushed through the front door of the ranch house. She made a beeline for her office. She pushed open the door, and walked quickly to the corner.
She opened a wooden cabinet to reveal a safe. She knelt down and begin to spin the lock. The numbers came easily. Six digits. Her father’s birthday.
As the safe clicked open, she thought she heard another gun shot, but she couldn’t be sure. She looked inside.
It was gone.
The gun she had confiscated was gone.
Immediately, she knew who had taken it, and why.
Without closing the safe, she turned and ran as fast as she could back out of the room. One of her slippers came off as she made it to the front porch. She didn’t stop to get it. There was no time.
She cursed her big mouth. Why had she told Chris that Cross was a spy? Why hadn’t she just kept what she knew to herself?
This was a disaster. There would be no coming back from this. Not after what had happened to others.
Everything was ruined. Everything she had worked for. That her father had worked for. Blown away.
58
The bullet clipped the very top of Ty’s shoulder. The glancing force of the round spun him round. He let out a grunt, momentarily caught off guard. He dove for the ground as the gun fired again. The second shot was wide and low. It buried into the ground behind him.
Ty got back to his feet. Another muzzle flash burst through the darkness to his left. This time, he didn’t wait around. He took off running, moving in an irregular zig-zag to make himself a harder target.
The more distance he could place between himself and the shooter, the better his chances. He threw up his right hand across his chest, and reached up to his left shoulder. His fingertips grew warm and sticky with blood.
Headlights snapped on behind him, lighting him up. He threw himself to the ground as another shot rang out. A vehicle engine roared to life. Tires spun against the hard, desert baked ground. The vehicle, a pick up truck, reversed at speed, and stopped. It stayed put, the rumble of the engine a low, threatening growl.
Ty lay there for a moment. He reached up with his other hand to where he’d been hit. The blood was oozing rather than pulsing. That was the good news. It meant the bullet had hit the top of his shoulder without puncturing an artery. Finally, he struggled back to his feet. He pushed himself forward, powered by sheer adrenaline, and the certain knowledge that if he didn’t keep moving he was likely to wind up a dead man.
It was maybe five hundred yards from where he was now to the dormitories. A hundred yards further to the ranch house and the only line of communication to the outside world.
Then there was Ruth and Mary sitting in the barn. With no idea of who the shooter was, or what their motive was, he had to think about their safety as well as his own. Mary was already bleeding, and she had that sprained ankle. Ty already knew well enough that Ruth wouldn’t leave her. She was way too loyal to do that and leave Mary to her fate. They would be sitting ducks.
Ty twisted his head round to look at where the first round had caught his shoulder. It was still bleeding, but it seemed to have slowed. The pain was bad, but manageable. He’d experienced worse.
Glancing back up towards the pick up truck from the hollow in the ground he’d found, Lock couldn’t make out the driver. The glare from the headlights was too strong.
He heard the truck door open and slam shut again. The engine was still running. He saw a figure walk away from the pick up. He stopped.
The figure stood parallel to the truck, about ten yards to the side of the driver’s door. The narrowness of the hips, and the broadness of the shoulders told him it was a man. But his closenes
s to the glare of the lights made it difficult to make out any more details. Apart from one. His right hand dangled casually by his side. In his hand was a handgun. Ty couldn’t be sure, but something told him it was his gun.
Even with the throbbing pain in his shoulder, Ty couldn’t help but smile at the irony of having been shot with his own weapon. If he didn’t die from being shot again, he might just expire from sheer embarrassment.
Suddenly, the man standing next to the pick up, spun round. He was looking back at the barn. Someone was coming out, pushing their way through the shattered barn door.
Ty did some fast calculations. From where he was to the shooter was maybe a hundred yards. There was no way he could make a frontal assault without getting caught with another round. Even allowing for the fact that the shooter was a pretty crappy shot, he’d be able to get off at least four more rounds. Each of them would be from less distance than the previous one. He was almost bound to get lucky with one of them.
At the same time, Ty couldn’t risk the shooter heading for Ruth. She, after all, was Ty’s Principal. In bodyguarding terms that was the person whose life he had been charged with protecting. If that meant catching bullet for her, well that was part of the job description. But maybe, he could have his cake and eat it too.
He swept his hands across the ground in front of him. He found a small rock, dug it out of the dirt, scrambled to his feet, and launched it towards the pick up truck. It fell short, but it had the desired effect.
The shooter spun back round. Ty took off running. Circling forward in a big sweep, out flanking the shooter on his right hand side, pulling his attention away from the barn, and Ruth.
The shooter’s hand came out, and he fired another shot. A puff of dust burst from the ground about two feet in front of Ty.
A better shot from that distance. Bad news for Ty. Maybe the guy was finding his range. Or perhaps his off-target shots had been down to nerves rather than ability. As Ty knew from personal experience, there was a world of difference between hitting a paper target on the range and taking out a real live, flesh and blood human being.