by Bradley West
* * * * *
Arkar had already slowed down at the base of the hill once Yonten yelled that he’d spotted the distinctive blue of the Horizon. Then the white pickup had veered off the road and bucked down the slope before stopping in a cloud of dust. Sal had done that. “Heads down!” Arkar shouted at the women in the back and floored the Voyager. Yonten leaned out the window with his father’s M-4 and looked for targets.
At the summit, Norris and Katerina tried to make sense out of chaos. Burns hadn’t returned, Muller was down the hill and a red minivan was charging up the road. The plan was to clack off the IEDs only when there were many Maggio people within range.
“Sit down on the edge of the hole and watch the road,” Norris said. “I’ll shoot out the tires in front of a bomb. If there are a bunch of armed men, I’ll shout and you set one off. Don’t detonate until I say so.” Norris grabbed the M-4 leaning against a director’s chair and flopped down on his elbows. Though no marksman, he could put rounds through the windshield at one hundred fifty meters.
In the RV, Carla’s hours of rocking and straining plus the long, bumpy ride paid off as the captain’s chair eventually stripped the nuts off the bolts and fell sideways to the floor. Schway and the two Garcia siblings had been sheltering in a corner, traumatized by Katerina’s cigarette atrocities. They knew that Carla’s toppling the chair would induce a violent response: It was now or never. Schway scrambled to Carla and pulled at her gag. “Scissors. Cut my bands.”
Juanito was already on the job as he headed to the countertop and returned with a scalpel. Schway sawed the bindings with the slender implement as if his life depended on it. Lupita was so scared she’d wet herself but stood in the open doorway and watched their captors straining to see down the hill, attentions concentrated elsewhere.
* * * * *
Damnit, where was Norris? Burns had finished his unproductive six-hour observation stint and was tired and hungry. Food preparation was a major chore. Absent a working jaw and half his teeth, he’d spend the rest of his life eating pureed mush unless he underwent reconstructive surgery. That was a longshot, and he had more pressing Maggio family business first, but at least Katerina had come good with two dozen more Dark Cure doses. Once they could demonstrate efficacy, the world would kneel at their feet.
If Burns wanted to eat by seven, he’d have to leave now and drive back to camp to mince and chop. He got into his recently stolen Altima and drove slowly, expecting to see Norris headed in the other direction in the XLT.
“That took him long enough,” Johnny said. “I thought he’d be out in the woods all night.” He started up the Telluride.
“Give him a quarter-mile lead,” Jaime said. “This could be our big chance and we can’t afford to lose him. If he makes us, we’ll run him down and I’ll beat the RV’s location out of him.”
* * * * *
“You stupid motherfucker,” Muller said. “You’re bleeding out curled up in a ball and I don’t have a scratch. I’ll take the face off one of those kids because of what you’ve done. If you listen hard, you’ll hear the screams.”
“I can’t feel my legs,” Sal said.
Muller laughed in appreciation and saved the bullet. “Adios.” He leaned into the door and used his body weight to lever it open. Climbing out of the angled cab and jumping the short distance to the ground filled him with pain. Maybe he wasn’t as well off as he’d thought. Looking up the hill, he had more than one hundred meters to reach the top.
Meanwhile, the Voyager continued its slow climb. Norris watched the van pass through the first kill zone, saying nothing. Another thirty meters and he’d open fire in the middle of the second IED’s blast radius. He’d been surprised yesterday when Muller had shown him the remote detonation devices, ball bearings and plastic explosive he’d found hidden in the white whale. “Katerina, put down the first clacker and pick up the second.”
Norris saw the Voyager’s two front seat occupants and didn’t recognize either of them. He drew a bead on the driver, even though the passenger held a tactical rifle. Once the driver went down, there was nowhere to hide for a hundred yards in any direction. As Muller had described the plan, they wouldn’t kill the first group up the hill—just pin them down and let someone get away to organize a rescue mission. Then the real fireworks would begin. It was showtime and Norris’ sweaty finger pressed the trigger slowly and surely.
Katerina heard steps and turned to look over her shoulder as Carla launched herself onto the much smaller woman. Katerina raised her hands to defend herself from those outstretched claws, one of them with a scalpel in it, and triggered the IED. The explosion coincided with Norris’ first shots, which struck the windshield but missed just over diminutive Arkar’s head. A cloud of dust enveloped the van as Carla stabbed Katerina in the neck.
The small IED’s payload of three hundred high velocity ball bearings ripped through the Voyager with the driver’s area absorbing the brunt. The blast struck Arkar in the chest, arms and face with .22 caliber steel balls and left him slumped against his seatbelt. Behind him, two ball bearings hit Mona’s left ribcage while Stephanie and Tyson were untouched. Up front, Yonten’s left arm had absorbed two bearings, the bottom one breaking his humerus above the elbow. Stephanie and Mona screamed, though the blast had deafened them.
Yonten knew that once the dust cleared, whoever had shot into the Voyager would kill anyone still visible. He dropped the M-4 out the window, unbuckled his father’s seatbelt and exited the cab. He shouted for Stephanie and Mona to get behind the van and ran around the back to the driver’s side. Yanking the door open, he used his good right arm to support his unconscious father and dragged him around to the van’s rear. Stephanie and Tyson were already there. Yonten went back to the Voyager and found Mona unmoved and bleeding from her left side. He dragged her out and propped her up against the minivan’s rear bumper. His father was still breathing, but blood masked his face and upper body. The pain in Yonten’s left arm was excruciating. He crawled out behind the wrecked Voyager to retrieve the M-4.
Carla’s stab into Katerina’s neck missed vital blood ways and nerves. Katerina’s punch to Carla’s burned face tripled the pain level and redoubled the fury of the redhead’s attack. The next scalpel thrust was on target but the slender blade was too short to do more than nick the pericardial sac surrounding the heart. Carla tried to slash across Katerina’s throat, but the butt of Norris’ M-4 to her head vetoed that idea.
“How bad are you?” Norris asked Katerina, even as he diverted his attention back down the hill and to the IED’s aftermath. The dust settled enough that he could see movement on the left side. He shot half a magazine that way and saw the form on the ground retreat.
* * * * *
Burns was surprised not to meet Norris on the drive back and then alarmed when he heard a boom from the direction of their hideout. He rolled his window down and listened without result for another thirty seconds. The Altima reached the junction for the final turnoff up the decommissioned logging road. The distinctive sound of an M-4 on full auto reached his ears. He felt no fear, just anticipation that he’d get another chance at avenging himself against the family that had ruined his life.
Johnny and Jaime heard the same noises as Burns, the Telluride slowing as Johnny approached the spur road that still had dust hanging in the air. “I think we follow him until we can confirm Carla and the kids are up there. I’ll hop out and keep watch while you hightail it to camp, round up our people and get your asses back here.”
“I’ll take all the spare mags, but you hang onto your rifle,” Jaime said. “We don’t know who else is on the road and you’ll need to keep my tail clean.”
“Roger that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
A Hill to Die On
Tuesday, July 21, 2020: near Ruby Ridge, Idaho, mid-to-late afternoon
The horse doctor’s shot had done nothing to quell the infection. By the time Muller reached the hilltop, he was winded and his abdomen
burned like hellfire. He’d been warned not to expect a miracle when the vet ventured that Cipro typically knocked out sepsis, leaving MRSA as the probable cause of his rampant infection.
The scene before him was a mess. Norris was in the foxhole behind the log and low earthworks, occasionally throwing shots downrange to keep the minivan survivors pinned down. Katerina sat with a cloth held to her neck as her tee shirt blossomed crimson over her left breast. Carla Maggio lay unconscious in an awkward contortion of limbs, a bloody scalp gash testifying to the force of Norris’ blow. Periodically, Katerina worked up the energy to kick her bête noire’s ribcage. A shirtless Muller walked past his supporting cast and poked his head inside the RV. “Where are the children?” he asked, his voice a half-octave higher than normal.
“Fuck if I know,” Katerina said. “We’ve been busy, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Norris said nothing but squeezed off two rounds in nonverbal agreement. A bullet cracked past Muller’s head and he dropped to the ground, sending daggers into his guts. “What the fuck was that?”
“The first IED down the hill wounded most everyone in the red van, but one of them has an M-4,” Norris said. “That was the first time they’ve shot back.”
“Christ almighty,” Muller grumbled. “Where are the children?”
“That bitch stabbed me in the throat and heart. It’s a miracle I’m alive,” Katerina whined. “What, you want me to find them?”
“If you want to get out alive, you need to bring those monkeys back unharmed. Norris and I are busy.”
Katerina struggled to her feet and climbed the stairs into the RV.
Yonten propped the M-4’s stubby barrel on Steph’s left trapezoid, jammed the butt into his right shoulder and looked for another target. Stephanie sat in the lotus position, closed her eyes and breathed deeply while she stayed perfectly still. Tyson lay in a stupor by her side; not even the IED’s blast had livened him up. The wadded tissues she’d jammed into her ears hadn’t helped—with the first shot, she’d lost all hearing in her left ear. Far in the distance, Yonten saw a head and then shoulders. He showed he was his father’s son with the care he put into the execution of the single shot.
The bullet’s supersonic signature snap coincided with Katerina’s forward collapse into the RV followed an instant later by the report. Her legs poked out horizontally and didn’t move. Norris and Muller looked at one another in disbelief, lowered their profiles and with new respect turned to search for their adversary down the hill.
“You said you were tired of waiting,” Muller said.
“Let’s blow that wreck off the road and get the hell off this hill,” Norris said.
“Keep an eye out. I’ll fetch the launcher and the golden eggs.”
* * * * *
From a hundred meters off, Burns could see a red wreck blocking the road. That explained why Norris hadn’t come. If he kept driving, whoever was in front would hear him. Armed with only a .38 revolver, he’d be overmatched. While the Altima was still in the chest-high scrub, he forced it off the road and parked it, leaving the keys in the visor.
Johnny followed Burns undetected and saw the Altima veer off on the left. Their quarry advanced on foot, though the 3Mers couldn’t see what was up ahead. “Pull over and let’s follow until we know the sitrep,” Jaime said. “From the sound of it, I’d say the Hunters are lighting them up. Let’s see if we can join the party.”
“Why don’t you clear the road and I’ll loop around cross country?” Johnny proposed. “Fire three in row if one of us needs help.”
Mona’s chest wound filled her lung’s lower lobe with blood and caused her to spit pink froth, but she couldn’t sit by and watch Arkar bleed to death. Yonten used his father’s massive sheath knife to cut Stephanie’s donated blouse into strips, and Mona used the makeshift bandages as she worked her way down Arkar from top-to-bottom. The facial shot had exited out the back of his neck, missing the spine and the major bleeders. The upper arm wounds were a matched set that had missed bones by some miracle. The two chest wounds lacked exit holes and were cause for concern, but he didn’t have any frothy pink bubbles on his lips or chest. “Once we’re back at our camp, I think I can save him if we have a sterile place to operate.”
Yonten was looking for targets with Steph as his bench rest when two near-simultaneous shots narrowly missed them. They retreated behind the van and winced as Muller shot repeatedly through the windshield, hoping the armor-piercing 5.56mm green tips would meet huddled flesh in the rear. They lay flat and the odd shot that penetrated passed overhead.
Norris used binoculars to look down the hill. “Fucking Burns got tired of waiting. Here he comes, trying to hide behind every bush.”
Muller fondled the M340 grenade launcher and ignored the Englishman’s improvisational stalking technique. Neither man saw Jaime far to the rear or Johnny so far down the hill that he was but a dot in the distance.
* * * * *
When Carla launched herself at Katerina, Schway led the two niños out of the RV in a mad dash toward the back of the hill, stopping when the flat ground ended in piles of giant, almost vertical rocks. They stayed low and crept to the side, angled back toward their abductors, but below their sightlines. There wasn’t much to hide behind, but there wasn’t much to their skinny frames, either. “Shush!” Schway whispered. “Take off your clothes if they aren’t brown or black. Just leave your shoes on.”
“Where are we going?” Juanito asked. He stripped off his dirty white tee shirt and left on his olive khaki shorts.
“Down this hill to look in that white pickup. Maybe Uncle Arkar or Yonten is in there, or someone else who can help us.” Schway had watched his late father Maung train with Uncle Arkar and crabbed sideways just like the grownups. Juanito imitated him and little Lupita followed her bigger brother, her naked brown skin offering camouflage save for her filthy pink sneakers. Less than three minutes later, they reached the wrecked XLT where Schway took his crew around to the other side to peek into the cab.
From the hilltop, Muller spotted his quarry and dropped the grenade launcher next to Norris. “The kids are down at the pickup! I’m going to get them. Shoot anyone coming up the hill and keep the survivors pinned down.” Muller moved as fast as he could, more at a trot than a run with his intestines shooting stabbing pains that would have immobilized a lesser man.
Around the backside, Schway opened the passenger door to find Uncle Sal on the floor in a pool of blood. He called out and received a moan for his efforts.
Juanito looked in and was shocked. He felt sick to his stomach and reversed course around the front of the pickup. He saw Muller headed their way, pistol in hand. “Schway! It’s the bad man with the hurt belly. Hurry!”
* * * * *
Jaime made it far enough up the road to see that a mine or IED had blown the shit out the Voyager. There were people sheltering behind it and one active shooter. That would probably be Arkar, though he couldn’t tell without magnification. Far in the distance, he spotted a strip of blue Winnebago on the hilltop behind earthworks. It seemed Muller’s group was making their last stand. He considered his options—get in the Telluride and drive back with the SAW in forty minutes, or continue up the road.
He registered Johnny on the periphery, almost back to his savage Marine self after beating Covid-20 thanks to a timely shot. He thought about Carla and those kids and his overwhelming urge to save them. The enemy had the high ground, explosives and unknown manpower. The smart move was to bring enough men back to surround them. Once the 3Mers assembled, they’d hold an overwhelming advantage. He remembered a lesson from the Deltas in Syria: If you ever find yourself in a fair fight, you didn’t plan the mission properly. He turned and sprinted for the Telluride, left arm pinned to his side in a concession to a serious bullet wound. He was out of breath after twenty meters, but soldiered on.
Burns stepped out of the bush thirty feet from the wounded civilians huddled behind the blown-up minivan. He aimed his .38
Special at the brown teenager with an M-4 in his right hand and a blood-soaked left side. “Drop it!” Burns commanded. Yonten complied. “Move over there.”
Upper body clad only in a bra, Stephanie emerged from her trance and moved toward where she’d left Tyson bundled on the ground behind the right rear tire. Alarmingly, the infant hadn’t made a sound. Burns watched her crawl for her newborn and judged her harmless. “Where’s Sal?” he asked the assembled group. The older soldier, the kid’s father, looked to be dead. The middle-aged Spanish lady had bloody bubbles on her mouth—Muller and Norris had done a number.
“Muller took him up the hill,” Stephanie replied, cradling her baby.
Burns held the M-4 in his left hand and continued to aim his pistol. He knew that Muller had left this pitiful remnant alive on purpose. The best move would be to leave the wounded and take another hostage. “You and your baby come with me,” Burns said. “Get up.”
“Fraser, why are you doing this? Last week we worked together against Muller and his killers. Why are you helping them now?”
“Because I risked my life to drive you and your baby onto the ferry and was shot in the face for my troubles, and your family left me for dead. It’s a miracle I’m still alive, and I’m not in a forgiving mood. Move it.”
“Those same people shot me and injured my baby. We’re both victims. We gave you our last Covid vaccine. Doesn’t that count for something?”