The cashier looked at her long and hard. Vandy thought she had been recognized.
“Are you new to town?” the woman asked.
“Yes, just visiting,” Vandy replied.
“Here alone?” she asked.
Vandy nodded.
“You know the storm’s supposed to hit in the next few hours,” she said. “You got everything you need? You may be pinned in for three or four days.”
“I think I have everything,” Vandy said.
“That’s good,” she replied. “Well, good luck. I wouldn’t dally too much if I were you. We’re closing shop early today to get home soon. I’d advise you to do the same.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m heading home myself, now.”
Vandy left the Mercantile, pushing her shopping cart up to the Jeep. She loaded the bags in the back, and pulled out of the lot. She noticed that the burnt orange truck was already gone.
What she didn’t notice, was that a maroon and chrome Peterbilt semi-truck pulled away at the same time, and began to follow her. It was just the truck cab, no trailer. It had started to snow. Large heavy flakes were falling.
Vandy was a mile and a half out of town before she noticed the headlights in her rearview mirror approaching quickly. The two-lane highway had no other traffic in either direction for as far as the eye could see. The semi pulled to within eight feet of her and then seemed to match her speed.
The truck seemed to be following her too closely, Vandy thought. Why didn’t he just go around? She sped up from 30 to 40 mph. The truck sped up as well, neither gaining nor losing ground.
Beginning to worry, she rolled her window down and stuck out her left-hand, motioning for the vehicle to pass her. There was no indication that the driver saw her. The semi continued its pace, dangerously close to the rear of her Jeep. Vandy saw a sharp curve ahead. She put her foot on the gas believing her Jeep could take corners faster than a semi, especially in the snow.
At first the strategy worked. The Jeep seemed to pull away from the enormous big rig following her. On the straightaway, however, the semi caught up and once again, pulled to a dangerously close distance and began to match her speed, neither falling back not gaining further.
Don’t panic, she thought. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
What the hell are they doing, she wondered? There was little doubt now that the truck was actually following her. Every instinct she had told her the driver had bad intentions. The question was—why?
It needed to be a question for later, she decided. For now, she needed to focus on her situation. Don’t panic, she thought again—just solve the problem.
She saw a dirt road that intersected the main highway a hundred yards ahead of her to the right. She considered taking that road. Surely a semi-truck wouldn’t follow a Jeep on a dirt road. On the other hand, what if it did? And even if it didn’t, she had no idea where the road would take her. If it dead-ended, she was really screwed.
As she approached the road, she decided to risk it. She pressed the gas to the floor to put as much space between her and the semi before she needed to slow down to make the turn. She was hoping the semi would speed up.
She knew little about semis but she knew something of physics. She knew that a rig that heavy would need more time to slow down to make a turn of this nature without toppling over. It might be possible, she thought, to wait until the last minute, allow the semi to catch up and take the turn quickly, forcing the semi to just pass by. With any luck, even if the driver wanted to follow her, it would take some time for him to stop and back up and make the turn. By that time, she could be well out of sight.
Of course, a lot could go wrong, too.
The snow continued to fall and was now beginning to accumulate on the roads rapidly. That could be a good thing, she thought, if a big rig tried to slow suddenly on a slippery road.
She could see the semi was speeding up in an attempt to catch her. The Jeep was rapidly approaching the dirt road. Vandy eased off the gas. The Jeep slowed and the semi rapidly gained ground.
He’s going to ram me, she thought. With semi barreling in, Vandy hit the gas again, slowing just enough to make the sharp right turn. The Jeep tilted on two wheels making the sudden turn. Vandy screamed in horror but the Jeep did not topple. It came down on all four tires. She gunned it down the dirt road.
In her rear-view mirror, she saw the semi screeching to a halt but sliding badly on the ice, passing the road. She was correct. The big rig was unable to stop before it reached the turn. It was not able to follow her.
The dirt road was heavily potted and covered in snow and ice. This was another good thing, she thought. The rig would likely not navigate a heavily potted road well at all. Maybe they would just move on. The Jeep bounced mightily on the road but continued forward. She saw no sign ahead that the road was ending—another relief. She was now more than 50 yards away from the rig and it showed no signs it intended to follow.
“Take that you bastard!” she hooted aloud.
But her elation was short lived. She saw a man in a camo hat hop out of the passenger side of the semi holding a high-powered rifle. He dropped to one knee and took aim at her.
“Holy shit!” she screamed aloud. She slammed her foot on the gas and the Jeep accelerated to a dangerous speed on the bumpy dirt road. The Jeep was bouncing like crazy. It was all Vandy could do to maintain control of the vehicle. She checked her side mirror and saw the shooter just as a puff of smoke emitted from his gun. He had fired at her.
The bullet hit her rear left wheel and the tire exploded, causing the Jeep to swerve out of control. Vandy tried to recover but the momentum of the Jeep with a blown tire caused it to spin off the road. The Jeep upended and rolled four times before slamming hard into a tree. Vandy shrieked; her head slammed into the roof of the cab; the airbag deployed but it instantly deflated; the windshield exploded, showering her in glass; the dashboard disintegrated; her body jerked back and forth. She felt a large jagged piece of the windshield lodged in her upper thigh. She instinctively pulled it out, howling in pain as she did so. The vehicle was now resting upside down. The roll bar had done its job, however. She was not crushed, though the rolling of the Jeep and crashing into the tree had taken as heavy toll on her body.
Vandy cried out in pain. She struggled to remain conscious. She held her thigh. The deep laceration was bleeding profusely. She felt blood streaming down her face from a cut high on her forehead. Her neck was cut and blood was trickling down her chest. She had cuts on her stomach and chest. She was already a bloody mess. Her lower back was searing bolts of pain up her spine. She was upside down being suspended by the seat belt.
The pain was excruciating. She wanted nothing more than to just sit there and cry, but she knew she had to move. Her life depended on it. The men from the semi would be coming for her. Who were they? What did they want? What did she do to them?
She managed to unbuckle her seat belt and her body fell, sending a fresh wave of stabbing pain through her body. She managed to open the door and crawl out.
She did a quick inspection of the injuries to her body. The laceration that appeared to her to be the deepest and most dangerous was on her thigh. The other cuts seemed more superficial.
She pulled her shopping bag from the Jeep and retrieved one of the thermal t-shirts, ripping one of the long sleeves off. She used the sleeve as a tourniquet for her leg, tying it tightly off above the area of the laceration.
As she did so, she saw four men walking toward her on foot, including the shooter with the camo hat. They had decided to not bring the semi down the dirt road. All four men were tall, thickly built and menacing looking from a distance. In addition to the man carrying a rifle, the others appeared to be carrying handguns.
She began to panic. She was going to die if she didn’t do something. She was crying and hyperventilating, but she knew her life may well depend on what she did in the next few minutes.
Keep it together, Vandy, she thought. Kee
p it together. She took several deep breaths.
She estimated the men were about fifty yards out and trudging slowly through the thickening snow. She knew she had to move. She stood but cried out in pain. She was unable to put pressure on the leg that was lacerated. She tried to walk anyway, but her movement was slow and painful as she was all but hopping on one leg.
She looked back. The sky was blanketed with a heavy layer of dark gray ominous clouds. Snow continued to fall freely, limiting visibility. She did note that none of the men coming for her were aiming their gun. If they wanted her dead, she was certainly an open target at the moment. Why weren’t they shooting? Did they have something else in mind? They knew she was hurt and her mobility restricted. They seemed content to catch up to her on foot.
They would catch up to her soon, too. She knew she couldn’t let it happen. They had shot at her once, so she knew they intended to harm her. Did these men have some personal issue or were they hired by someone? Would she ever know who they were or why they were after her?
She caught a flash of another vehicle approaching rapidly from the road. It was a truck; a burnt orange truck. It was navigating the snow well and was only thirty yards behind the men who chased her. Was this the same truck she’d seen a few times since she arrived? Was the driver an associate of the men who followed her? If not, who was he?
One of the four men from the semi noticed the approaching truck and alerted the other three. They all turned to face the orange vehicle. It was then she realized the driver of the orange truck was not part of team of men following her. Their reaction to the orange truck was one of surprise and panic.
The snowfall was pounding now.
The man in the camo hat pulled his rifle off his shoulder and dropped to one knee. The other two men who held guns followed suit. The truck stopped perhaps ten yards away from where the men stood. She saw the driver side door open. The driver emerging was a big man wearing a cowboy hat, but that’s all she could make out. She heard the first crack of gunfire. Camo hat guy had taken a shot. Other gunfire began to pop and whistle through the air.
Vandy hobbled to the Jeep and took cover behind it. She looked back at the scene that was unfolding before her. She saw flashes coming from the orange truck. The driver was returning fire.
Vandy saw one of the men standing next to camo hat guy grab his shoulder and fall to the ground. The cowboy had winged him. The only man who did not have a gun went to assist him. She saw the cowboy had rolled down his window and used his open door as a shield. He was firing at the four men through the window. Although it was one against four, the cowboy had cover and the four other men were in the open.
The two remaining shooters from the semi began to alternate fire, causing the driver of the orange truck to duck back into his vehicle.
She heard the unarmed man scream something inaudible about getting back to the truck. He had the wounded man on his feet, his arm wrapped around his neck. They began to move back toward the semi with the two remaining shooters alternating fire toward the orange truck. Cover fire, she thought.
More shots rang out. The cowboy continued to return fire. One of the other gunmen howled and grabbed his leg. The cowboy had had found his mark again.
The pain in her lower back dulled but her thigh was throbbing and the pain was unbearable. She was getting light-headed. Without medical attention, she would be in serious trouble. She would pass out soon.
The cowboy seemed content to hunker down and allow the four men from the semi-truck to make their way back to their vehicle. He made no attempts to pursue them.
She saw that the orange truck had taken multiple rounds to its metal body. Whoever this cowboy was, he had saved her life. But who was he? It was a small town; she had seen the truck at least twice in her short time in West Glacier, and now he was here. That could not be coincidence. He had been following her too.
The shooting had stopped and the four men reached the semi. There was no sign of movement from the driver of the orange truck.
The semi pulled away. For a moment, Vandy worried the semi might decide to pull onto the dirt road and ram the orange truck, but that didn’t happen. The semi drove away.
She was beginning to lose consciousness from the pain and blood loss. She saw blood pooled on the snow-covered ground—-her blood. There was a lot of it and sight and smell of it made her nauseous.
The orange truck’s engine fired to life and she saw it rolling toward her. It stopped about seven feet away from her.
She finally saw the cowboy as he stepped out, but the gray skies and heavy snowfall made it difficult to make out any of his features.
He walked quickly toward her. His tan cowboy hat cast a shadow on his face, making him unrecognizable. He wore a heavy camel colored coat, jeans and leather boots. He was tall, at least 6-foot-4 with broad shoulders and a thick frame.
He reached her and stopped, standing over her. Vandy looked up at the man who had saved her through fading vision as she slipped into unconsciousness.
He stooped down over her and she saw his face for the first time.
“Oh, my god,” she said, before passing out.
Chapter 9
Vandy heard the crackling of fire. She also heard the wind outside howling. The wind was so hard it was shaking the roof of the cabin. Through the nearby window she saw snow pounding down in large flakes, pushed nearly sideways by the strong winds. Yet, she felt warmth on her face from the stone fireplace. Her body felt toasty with a heavy blanket wrapped around her. She blinked several times before closing her eyes again.
As her head began to clear, the pain began to rear its ugly head. The area of her thigh where the laceration had occurred was throbbing. The bump on her head was giving her the worst headache of her life. Her lower back was stiff and painful.
She opened her eyes again. Beside her she saw an IV bag hanging on a hook attached the wall behind the bed. She saw a clear tube. It contained clear liquid. It led to her right arm. She was receiving fluids.
Where was she?
She was laying on a full-sized bed in the small cabin. The cabin was essentially one large room, decorated sparsely but neat and orderly. She noted a nook for a kitchen and a separate bathroom. She raised her head and saw a small table with two chairs near a window. In the center of the room she saw a couch and a coffee table made from a lacquered tree truck. On the coffee table was a large piece of electronic equipment. A phone of some sort, perhaps. The floors were wooden and well maintained with a large oval throw rug covering the main traffic area.
The kitchen was small but clean, she noted. There were prints of wildlife paintings framed and placed tastefully around the cabin. In the corner near the bed, was a desk with what appeared to be a ham radio. It sat next to a laptop computer.
She saw a figure in a cowboy hat pass by the window outside moving toward the front door. The wind was kicking up so much he was having to hold his hat on his head with his hand. The owner of the cabin? The driver of the burnt orange truck? The man who saved her?
He opened the door and walked through, appearing as a shadowy figure in the doorway. He was a big man. He walked toward her; the light from the fire illuminated him.
“Holy shit!” she cried out involuntarily when she saw his face. He froze momentarily when she called out. The left side of the man’s face had been badly scarred from burns. His left eye was intact and unaffected, as was his left eyebrow. His lips had not been damaged. But his left cheek, extending back to his ear was badly scarred, as was the left side of his forehead. She remembered now that she had seen his face right before she passed out. She was instantly embarrassed that she reacted to a disfigurement in such a tasteless manner.
Even though she knew this man had saved her, she was still very wary. Why hadn’t he taken her to the hospital? Why was she here? What did he intend to do with her.
She recovered quickly, “I’m so sorry,” she said apologetically. “It’s just that you—you startled me. You’re the cowboy
in the orange truck, aren’t you? You’re the one who helped me.”
“That would be me,” he said. “I’m sorry that I startled you.”
“Startled me? I damn near pissed myself,” she admitted. “You shouldn’t sneak up on a girl like that.”
“How should I walk through the door next time?” he asked.
“How long have I been out?” she asked, ignoring the remark.
“About three and a half hours, give or take,” he said.
“Three and a half hours?” she repeated.
“Give or take,” he said again. “You were almost unconscious when I found you. You passed out right away. How much do you remember?”
“Some, not much. I feel like I’ve been gang raped by a pack of rabid Grizzly Bears. What happened to me?”
“It’s sloth,” he said. “Or if you prefer, sleuth.”
“What?”
“It’s not a pack of bears, it’s a sloth of bears,” he said.
“Well thank you, Mr. Rogers,” she replied. “How about telling me where I am and why I’m here.”
He casually strolled toward the bed. Vandy instinctively drew back, again embarrassed as she did so. Her head was pounding.
“I’ll give you the short version,” he said. “Then I’ll be happy to answer any questions I can. My name is Sam Steele. You’re in my cabin. I was asked to watch over you. Just before noon, I saw four men following you in a maroon Peterbilt semi-truck. They ran you off the road, shot at you and tried to kill you. Your Jeep rolled and ran into a tree.”
“I remember… some… of that,” she said, still trying to fight off the confusion.
Brotherhood Protectors_STEELE RANGER Page 5