Option to Kill nm-3

by Andrew Peterson

  Eyes wild, she struggled like a panicked cat, trying to twist free. When she attempted to bite his arm, he dropped his gun and locked her in a nelson.

  “I’m here to rescue you!”

  She stopped struggling and held still.

  “That’s right, you’re safe now. Calm down.” This poor girl had been hysterical with fear, understandable given what she’d just endured. “I need you to get dressed as quickly as you can. Do you understand me?”

  She nodded tightly.

  He released her from the nelson but kept a firm grip on her arm. He didn’t want her bolting from the room.

  “Do you speak English?” he asked, still in Spanish.

  “No.”

  Nathan pointed at the dead men. “They’ll never hurt you again.” He knew that telling her this would be an important step in her recovery. With the girl in tow, he hurried around the bed to assess the third man’s condition and check him for ID. Red-faced and coughing blood, the thug was fully dressed in nice clothes, probably the ringleader. Questioning him was pointless this guy couldn’t speak even if he wanted to. And he didn’t look like one of Voda’s men. Although Hispanic like the coyotes, he was clean-cut.

  Nathan was about to pat the guy down, when Lauren’s voice screamed through his earpiece.

  “Nathan!”

  He looked toward the open door but didn’t see anything. “Get dressed,” he told the girl. “Quickly.”

  Nathan peered around the doorjamb. From the direction of the motel’s office, two men ran toward the room, wielding compact Kalashnikovs.

  Across the street, the Taurus’s engine roared as it shot out from between the trailers.

  Shit! They had Lauren!

  He directed the SIG’s laser onto the lead gunman and fired.

  The man spun and tumbled to the asphalt.

  A deafening roar ripped across the parking lot as the other gunman opened fire.

  In a starlike pattern, white fire spit from the AK’s flash suppressor.

  Again Nathan dived for cover, this time behind the brick wall that supported the shattered window. He felt the masonry vibrate as dozens of slugs slammed into the other side. To his right, the bedsheets jumped as bullets tore through the open door.

  The girl!

  She was okay. She’d been directly behind him in a bent-over position, putting on her underwear, during the AK’s barrage. The brick wall had shielded her.

  He had to disable the Taurus before it got away.

  From carpet level, he peered around the corner and placed the SIG’s laser on the Taurus’s right front tire. He was about to shoot, but to his surprise, it didn’t speed away.

  It hopped the curb and barreled straight toward him.

  The remaining gunman turned.

  Nathan watched in awe as the Taurus plowed the guy down like a bowling pin.

  The AK clattered away as the man cartwheeled over the hood and crashed into the windshield. Nathan’s mind registered a wiper blade breaking free at the same instant he understood what was happening.

  Lauren was driving!

  Its antilocks engaging, the Taurus thumped to a stop forty feet from the room.

  Nathan turned back to the girl. “Grab the rest of your clothes. We’re leaving!” He gripped her by the arm above her abraded wrist and hurried out the door.

  The man Lauren had rammed was attempting to crawl toward his weapon. Nathan lined up on his hip and sent a bullet.

  The man yelled something foul and covered the wound.

  Keeping a tight grasp on the girl, Nathan ran for the Taurus.

  In the dim light of the parking lot, he watched Lauren climb across the center console and open the passenger door. Since Lauren and the girl were small enough to share the seat, he pushed the girl inside and slammed the door closed. In a fluid motion, he hopped across the Taurus’s hood and got behind the wheel.

  Nathan tucked the SIG under his leg and smoked the tires, executing a perfect half-donut. Three seconds later, he made a screeching turn out of the motel’s parking lot and stomped the gas.

  “Lauren, see if you can get the seat belt around both of you, then search her clothes. You’re looking for a tracking bug. Anything electronic, okay?”

  “Okay!”

  “Lauren, slow your breathing again.”

  Nathan noticed it right away: a front-end shimmy.

  The steering got spongy, and the Taurus lurched to the left.

  Lauren must’ve blown a tire jumping the curb. It was immediately obvious this vehicle didn’t have run-flats. Its front-end slant was too severe.

  In his rearview mirror, he saw a set of headlights bounce out of the motel’s parking lot. The headlights straightened as the vehicle accelerated in pursuit.

  With a wrecked tire, he’d never outrun this new threat.

  He pulled a fresh magazine from his pocket. “Lauren, reload the SIG.” He had only six shots left in the gun.

  “I don’t know how!”

  He silently cursed himself for not having shown her earlier how to do it. Scanning both sides of the road, he looked for a place to pull over. He needed a tactical location and saw an opportunity. Ahead on the right, a small truck park held several dozen semis.

  Without hitting the brake, he rammed the chain-link gate. It came completely free from its hinges and slammed into the side of a semi’s trailer. Using the same truck to shield them from view, he brought the Taurus to a stop. A dust cloud swirled as he climbed out. He left the door open and reloaded the SIG. From the direction of the motel, he heard the roar of the pursuing vehicle’s engine.

  “Stay in the car,” he said in Spanish. “Lauren, don’t let her get out.”

  “She’s freaked! What do I do?”

  “Hit the door-lock button. Help her get dressed. And search her clothes!”

  Nathan ran to the cab of the semi and steadied his SIG on the approaching vehicle. It appeared to be a Hummer H2. He looked for a light bar or post-mounted spot indicating a law enforcement vehicle. Seeing neither, he painted the laser on the windshield and walked five shots low across its width. The glass went opaque.

  The H2 veered into the truck park’s fence, taking out several posts before coming to a stop. Nathan sent two more bullets into its front tires and waited several seconds. Detecting no movement, he ran back to the Taurus and put a bullet in its other front tire. With both tires deflated, the Taurus would be easier to control, but he knew they wouldn’t get far before driving on the rims.

  He climbed back in, reloaded the SIG with his last full magazine, and hit the gas.

  The girl had her pants on.

  “Her stomach’s bleeding,” said Lauren. “What are those metal things?”

  “Surgical staples. We’ll check her in a few minutes, but we need to clear the area first.”

  Nathan rammed a closed gate on the opposite side of the truck park. It flew open and banged against its stop. He turned east on a street intersecting the main road.

  “Lauren, zoom the nav out and locate the road that goes north, to the left.” He remembered seeing it on the Google Earth map. “It should be about a mile straight ahead.”

  Nathan had to drive at a painfully slow pace to preserve the rubber for as long as possible. Once the rims were exposed, they’d make a terrible racket and create a fireworks display. Crawling along this road became a double-edged sword, but it couldn’t be helped. Driving slowly wouldn’t draw much attention, but it also wouldn’t put much distance between them and the motel. He didn’t hear any sirens but knew that wouldn’t last long. The burst of AK fire had been nothing short of deafening. U.S. Border Patrol agents were all over the place.

  The girl leaned toward Lauren and began crying again.

  “What did they do to her? Did they ”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you kill them?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Good. They deserved it.”

  “Lauren, there’s nothing good about killing.”

&
nbsp; “How can you say that after what they did?”

  “Get it out of your head.”

  She went silent.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  “It’s okay. I know you’re not mad at me. She can’t stop crying.”

  “Help her get her shirt on.”

  Maintaining twenty miles an hour, Nathan looked at the nav and saw the road they needed. He resisted the urge to stomp gas and slowed his breathing.

  He wanted to ask the girl some questions but knew she was in no condition for that. He decided to risk an icebreaker. As softly as he could, he asked for her name.

  She didn’t answer and leaned closer to Lauren.

  “Is your last name Hernandez?”

  He heard a barely audible “sí.”

  “What’s your first name?”

  “Abrille.” She pronounced it Ah-breel.

  “That’s a beautiful name. You’re safe now, Abrille. No one’s going to hurt you anymore. I’m Nathan, that’s Lauren.”

  He no longer believed there’d been a stakeout at the motel, which meant he’d just saved this girl from a protracted death humanity at its worst. Nathan had seen his share of violence and torture during his time with the Marines and CIA. He’d been on both sides of the equation and knew what Abrille was feeling all too well. Lauren’s presence had a calming effect on the girl. She stopped crying, but she was still trembling.

  “Lauren, grab a water from the duffel and give it to her. It’s okay to take your seat belt off.”

  Abrille downed the entire bottle. He wondered how long she’d gone without food or drink.

  “Más?” Nathan asked.

  “Sí, por favor.”

  Lauren caught the meaning and grabbed another.

  According to the nav, they were now about halfway to the turn. Fortunately, a hill on the south side of the road screened them from being seen from the motel. Nathan knew arriving law enforcement would start there and have their hands full with a violent and bloody crime scene. The man Lauren had plowed may or may not be able to escape in time. The first man he’d shot in the parking lot wasn’t going anywhere and would probably die. Nathan hadn’t taken a wounding shot, he’d nailed the center of the man’s chest. He doubted coyotes wore body armor, like Voda’s men. Including the men from motel and the H2 driver, the world now had five fewer dirtbags.

  Thinking back to this evening’s earlier action, he hadn’t killed anyone, but not from a lack of effort. His initial shots at the Ulric crash site would’ve been fatal had it not been for the body armor the gunmen had worn. The same could be said about the gunman from the grocery store. Ironically, the only man he hadn’t tried to kill tonight had been Voda. But at that moment in time, killing Voda hadn’t been warranted. Right after the Ulric Street crash, he hadn’t known anything about the man. He could’ve been Lauren’s disgruntled father. Had Nathan known who Voda really was, he would’ve shot him in the head, not the thigh. Hindsight was always like that.

  In a soft voice in Spanish, Abrille said, “Thank you for rescuing me.”

  The words sliced into his soul, and he struggled to maintain control. Now wasn’t the time to show anything other than steadfast confidence. His passengers needed to know their rescuer was in command and mentally stable. It also didn’t hurt to tell himself the same thing.

  He couldn’t say for sure, but Abrille’s Spanish didn’t sound local, which meant her Bolivian passport was likely authentic.

  “My stomach hurts,” she said.

  “What happened to you?” Nathan asked.

  “A doctor operated on me.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Three days.”

  He shook his head at what this child must’ve endured. It was bad enough being brutalized, but after abdominal surgery? Killing those assholes had been more than justified. In fact, they’d died too well.

  “Lauren, was there anything in her pockets?”

  “Just a passport like we saw in my stepdad’s office.”

  “Does she feel hot, like she’s got a fever? Check her forehead.”

  “It feels really warm.”

  Likely an infection. This made things more urgent. Abrille didn’t appear to be in dire trouble yet, but that could change quickly. She needed antibiotics and possibly more surgery. If the doctor botched the job, she could become septic if she wasn’t already. He knew what to do, but they needed a vehicle.

  The turn was just ahead. “Lauren, give Abrille some air. Roll your window down.”

  They all heard it, the whine of a siren, probably a fire engine they were usually first to respond but it would have to stage away until law enforcement secured the scene. The shot-up H2 was a good quarter of a mile from the motel. With a little luck, it wouldn’t be discovered for several more minutes, especially if no one witnessed Nathan’s pistol skills.

  “Lauren, do you know any songs? I want you to sing to Abrille.”

  “Sing? You mean like a song?”

  “Just pick anything, but sing softly.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “Please, just do it.”

  Lauren began the “Itsy Bitsy Spider” song.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Abrille huddle closer to Lauren, almost hugging her.

  “I think she likes it.”

  “Keep going.”

  Lauren’s soft singing created a stark dichotomy. Here they were, fleeing a scene of unspeakable human depravity and violence to the soft melody of a children’s nursery rhyme. Nathan thought back to what the man sitting at the table had said: Voda said it was okay! He had experienced a moment of pure clairvoyance and knew exactly what the creep meant. If Voda’s gonna kill her, why should he care if we do her first? The sickos were simply taking advantage of an opportunity. Including the driver of the H2, there’d been at least six of them. Even as he shook his head in disgust, Nathan found his logical side asking a question: Why six men? It didn’t take that many thugs to guard one twelve-year-old girl. Nathan could envision two men, but six?

  He fought the Taurus onto the northbound road and looked over his shoulder. The hill still offered them cover from the motel. He’d need to start looking for an opportunity soon. From the sound of the tires, he didn’t have much time left. He slowed to fifteen miles an hour. The terrain remained flat, but up ahead, it looked to begin a gradual ascent.

  Lauren finished a second rendition of the song.

  “Good job,” he said.

  “I can’t believe what they did to her.”

  “Try not to think about it. The important thing is, she’s safe now.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to procure alternate transportation.”

  “You’re going to steal a car.”

  “Yeah, that’s the general idea.”

  “Can’t you just ask to borrow someone’s car?”

  He glanced at the dashboard clock. Knocking on a complete stranger’s door at 0220 and asking to ‘borrow’ his or her car had a snowball’s chance. Worse than that, the odds of finding a car with the keys in it were even more remote, and even if he did manage to find one, starting its engine would probably alert its owner, and if its owner had a gun, things could turn ugly. He wasn’t willing to engage anyone in a firefight over a vehicle. But his circumstances were bordering on desperate. He had to think about Abrille. How long did she have?

  “I can help you,” Lauren said.

  “How’s that?”

  “We can ask together, you know, like a father and daughter. We can say we ran over something and got flat tires, but we have to take Abrille to a hospital ’cause she’s like really sick.”

  Nathan went over the pros and cons and decided it was worth the risk. The biggest con involved law enforcement. At this moment, their location wasn’t known, but that would change if more violence ensued over a vehicle. “Okay, we’ll try it your way. First.”

  He spotted a small house on the left side. All its
windows were dark, and several cars were parked in the yard, a few of them not looking roadworthy. Maybe no one would be home and they’d find keys inside the house.

  Nathan turned on his headlights, but they were broken from ramming the gates in the truck park. He crawled down the gravel driveway and asked Lauren to steer while he pulled off his sweatshirt and ballistic vest. Along with his radio, he tossed them into the backseat.

  Whoever lived here took care of the place. The mowed lawn and modest landscaping were absent of any weeds. He expected to be challenged by one or more dogs, but surprisingly, none was present. Near the front door, he stopped at an angle so the home’s owner could see the passenger side. Nathan left the engine running and opened his door. Before climbing out, he tucked the SIG into the small of his back. Was he really doing this? It would be just their luck to encounter a paranoid nutcase.

  “Lauren, get out and leave the door open. I’ll do the talking.”

  A porch light snapped on, and the front door opened. Wearing a faded black T-shirt and blue jeans, a medium-built man in his fifties stood in the open door. With a pump-action shotgun in his right hand, he looked all business. Nathan focused on a tattoo imprinted on the man’s shoulder.

  “Who are you and what do you want?”

  Nathan stopped midstep. “We have an emergency and need help.”

  “What kind of emergency?”

  Nathan pointed to the tires.”

  “Call Triple A.”

  “I have a very sick girl in the car. She needs a doctor.”

  “Call 911.”

  “You’re Airborne Ranger. Eighty-second.”

  “Knowing my tat don’t mean shit.”

  “Can’t deny it.”

  The man motioned with the gun. “What’s wrong with the girl?”

  “Coyotes.”

  Nathan waited while the man processed the info.

  “What unit were you with?”

  “First Recon, Delta Company.”

  The man leveled his shotgun and stepped down from the porch. “What does semper fidelis mean?”

  “Always faithful.”

  “Are those sirens because of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me the truth, and I’ll help you. What’s your situation?”