by Julie Rowe
“Half the county hunts on a regular basis and we have several veterans who are good with a rifle, though I don’t know of any who were snipers specifically.”
“The Sheriff is trying to find the spot where he took the shot.”
“Don’t know how much good that’s going to do.”
“Agreed. We need to draw the bastard out.”
“And make her disappear.”
Abby crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not giving up my practice.”
“That’s not what I’m suggesting, sweetheart,” her dad said. “What I mean is disappear for a few days. Force whoever is shooting at you to break cover.”
“Make him come to you,” Smitty added. “It could work. Especially if we lay a trap for him.”
She sighed. She was about to say something both men were likely to react badly to but it still had to be said. “It was only one shot. Maybe it was a stray?”
Her dad and Smitty looked at her like she’d lost her mind.
“One shot is one shot too many,” Smitty said.
“A stray?” Her father sounded appalled.
“We have to assume there will be another shot,” Smitty suggested.
That captured her attention. “Why?”
“Because if there is, chances are much better that the second shot will be successful. I’m not willing to risk your life on that.” He turned to her father. “Do you have a vacation or hunting cabin somewhere hard to get to?”
“We’ve got a cabin on a great fishing lake a few miles into the bush north of our place. It’s on our land, so no one but family goes there.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“You should take her there today.”
“Today?” she blurted out. “But it’ll be dark in a few hours.”
“You can pack fast. I’ve seen you,” Smitty said without an ounce of sympathy.
“I’m not in the military anymore.”
“I think you just got conscripted,” her father said. He glanced at Smitty. “I’ll go home and prepare some supplies, food, etc. Do you have a weapon?”
“I assume you mean something other than a handgun.”
At her father’s nod, Smitty grinned. “I brought my baby with me.”
Abby sighed. “I always knew you liked your rifle more than me.”
“Well, she’s only got me to take of her.”
“She is an inanimate object.”
“Enough banter you two, get busy,” her dad ordered.
Smitty’s grin got wider. “Yes, sir.”
“He didn’t mean that.” Abby rolled her eyes. “You’re such a guy.”
“Thanks for noticing.”
“Get out of my office you two, if I’m going to disappear for a few days I have some calls to make.” She waggled her fingers at them.
“Walk me to my truck,” her father said to Smitty.
“I need him in one piece, dad.”
“Don’t worry, honey, I won’t hurt him. Much.”
The two men left. She shook her head as she picked up the phone. If she didn’t know better, she’d think her father liked Smitty.
She called the Sheriff and let him know what they planned. His reaction was ridiculously happy and he asked to have Smitty call him before they left. She also got a hold of the other doctor in Bandit Creek, who complained about having to cover for her again, until she pointed out that it was better than having her in surgery or the morgue. The last person she called was her receptionist, letting her know that the other doctor was covering for her.
She shut her computer down, locked her door and went searching for Smitty.
He was nosing through some of the medical supplies she kept in the clinic. “You finished?” he asked when he saw her.
“Yeah, let’s go.” She led the way to the backdoor, opened it and stepped out.
And nearly stepped on JD snoring on the doorstep.
He startled awake and glared at her in a drunken, disoriented way.
“JD, what are you doing here? Again.”
“Sleep’in. Again.”
“I can think of a dozen more comfortable places than this to crash.”
“Yeah, well, none of those places is close enough to guard the door.”
Guard? She glanced at Smitty, who narrowed his eyes and squatted down next to JD.
“Guarding the door from what?”
“The ghost.”
Smitty tilted his head to one side. “This ghost have a name?”
“It’s what they called him back in Nam. Bastard could shoot an apple out of your hand from more than 2000 yards away.”
“I didn’t know you fought in Vietnam,” Abby said.
“I fought in a lot of wars in a lot of places.” JD gave Abby a toothy grin.
Smitty rolled his eyes. “Ghost was a sniper?”
“He was more than that. Used to go on long patrols alone. Live off the land, killing any VC he found.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Compared to him the VC were a bunch of Girl Scouts.”
“You were scared of him?” Abby asked, fascinated and horrified the same time.
“I’m drunk, not stupid. Of course I was scared of him.”
“And now?”
“I’m still not stupid.”
“So why are you guarding the doc’s door?”
“It’s not her time to die yet.”
“How do you know that?”
“The other ghosts told me.”
“Other ghosts?”
“Yeah, the ones you tried to save in the bloody rock pile. The ones from the chopper.”
Abby felt the blood drain from her face. “What?”
“It’s not your time to die, but Ghost wants what you found.”
“I don’t understand. What did I find?”
“The door. To the mine. That’s where you got the dynamite you’ve been throwing into the lake. Old dynamite.” JD rolled over, got to his knees then rose to wobble on his feet. “You’re lucky the ghosts haunting the old mine like it when you throw dynamite into the lake. You remind the living that they exist. That they still have secrets.”
“I didn’t find the door to the mine.”
“Where do you think that dynamite you’ve been tossing came from?”
“Not the mine. Nowhere near the mine.”
“You sure there missy?”
“Absolutely. I’ve been lighting the dynamite and tossing it into the lake to detonate it safely.”
“That ain’t the only reason, is it?”
“JD, you talk like a fortune cookie. Could you get to the point?”
He leaned toward her and grinned, showing off his yellow and black teeth. “It feels good to destroy somethin’, don’t it? Maybe a little too good, eh?”
“That’s it,” Smitty said, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to tell this ghost friend of yours that Abby didn’t find any mine entrance, that her dynamite has nothing to do with any mine. Then you’re going to make yourself scarce. Disappear. You’re not going to bother Abby with any more ghost stories. Got that?”
“I got it, boy.” JD winked at Smitty.
Smitty released the drunk with a groan of disgust and pushed him several steps away.
JD stumbled a few steps, then stopped and gave Smitty an evil grin. “Better be careful, boy or you’ll end up a ghost yourself.” JD nodded at Abby. “She’s the only thing keeping you from it.” He laughed and weaved away down the alley.
Abby glanced at Smitty. “What did he mean by that?”
“I’ve got no God darn clue.”
Chapter Eight
Tossing some clothing into a duffel bag didn’t take her long, even though she brought along her FUBAR first aid kit. No point in leaving civilization unprepared. Especially if some ghost with murder on his mind was after her.
For a gold mine that had been covered up by a mountain then drowned by a lake, it sure was causing a lot of t
rouble. Maybe there was gold still in it, maybe there wasn’t. Either way, no one living was going to get to put their hands on it.
She came out of her bedroom and down the stairs. Smitty was on his cell phone again telling someone that they were going to disappear until this nut job was caught.
“Who are you talking to?”
Smitty pulled the phone away from his ear. “Sheriff. He doesn’t know anyone who served in Nam and did any long range patrols.”
“Well, either JD made it up or someone’s hiding something.”
“Or maybe JD is nuts.”
“That too.”
“Okay,” Smitty said into the phone. “I’ll keep in touch. Let me know if ballistics can help figure what kind of rifle our ghost is using.” He ended the call. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah. We’d better get going if we’re going to get there before dark.”
“Is there a road?”
“It’s more of a goat track. How are the shocks on your Jeep?”
“Brand new. It looks like a rust bucket, but I take good care of my equipment.”
“You sound like you’re back in the Marines again.”
“Heh, I’m your personal army of one.”
“I’m a doctor. Doctors don’t have armies.”
“What do you call those medical groups that go to disaster areas or refugee camps to do war on disease and injury if not an army of doctors?”
“Those are volunteer groups who go with nothing more than a humanitarian mission to keep people alive, not kill them.”
“I volunteered and my humanitarian mission is to keep you alive. I hope I won’t have to kill anyone to do it, but I’m prepared to do what’s necessary. Doesn’t sound much different to me.”
She stopped to stare at him. “I wish it seemed so black and white to me.”
“You think too much,” he said grabbing his duffel bag. “Come on, let’s go.”
He preceded her out the front door and threw his gear into the back of his Jeep. She stepped outside, closed and locked the door then took a step toward the vehicle when the door jam behind her head exploded in a hail of splinters.
Heart pounding like a car piston at its top gear, she ducked behind the Jeep.
Smitty was yelling and it took her a moment for his words to register. “...are you all right? Abby answer me!”
“Yes. Yes, I’m okay. What do we do?”
“We get the hell out of town before that crazy bastard kills something other than doors. Can you crawl in through the back?”
“Yes.” And proved it by sliding her bag and her body into the Jeep from the rear hatch, keeping the bag in front of her to hide her from view.
Smitty jumped into the driver’s seat, turned the key in the ignition and gunned the motor, shooting them out of her driveway and down the street. “Keep your head down and call the Sheriff.”
Good idea. She dug her cellphone out of her pocket and punched in the number. A woman answered.
“Cecilia, I need the Sheriff.”
“He’s not in the office, Abby.”
“Well, what’s his cellphone number?”
“I can’t give that out, dear. You know that.”
“I just got shot at again. I really need to talk to him.”
“Oh no. All right, how about if I call him with your number and he calls you?”
“Whatever will work.” She gave Cecilia her number and hung up.
Twenty seconds of tires screeching, sharp stomach churning turns and certainty she’d have a whole new set of bruises from rolling around with two duffel bags in the back of Smitty’s Jeep later, her cell phone rang.
“Sheriff?”
“What the hell is going on, Abby?” he yelled.
“Someone decided to put another hole in my door. Though I believe they were aiming for my head again.”
“Geez Louise. Where are you now?”
“Flying about thirty miles an hour over the speed limit on our way to my folk’s place.”
“That Marine or Special Forces guy, whatever he is, driving?”
“Well, I’m sure as hell not. I’m hiding under our duffel bags in the back of the Jeep.”
“Good, stay there. I’ll go over to your grandmother’s house and see if the bullet matches the one from the first scene.”
“Don’t forget to lock the door when you’re done.”
“Call me before you leave your parent’s place, or have that Navy SEAL of yours call me.”
“He’s not a SEAL, but yeah, we’ll call.”
“Did he call me Navy?” Smitty sounded either incredulous or insulted, she couldn’t tell which.
“He called you a lot of things, including a moron for driving so fast.”
“Nah, you’re the one calling me a moron.”
He took a corner so fast both duffel bags rolled over her, shoving her against the front seats.
“Slow down before you kill us!”
“I will as soon as we get a few miles from town.”
“How great a range do you think the sniper has?”
“Don’t know. That’s the problem.”
What could she say to that?
She fell silent and watched the world go by much too fast for a minute or two. Then he slowed down a little.
“Can I crawl into a seat now?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
She dug her way out from under their bags and slithered into the front passenger seat. “Do you know where you’re going?”
“Mostly. Your dad gave me directions. Feel free to tell me I’ve taken a wrong turn.”
She didn’t respond to the obvious opening to needle him. “Is it me or could that shot have killed me?”
“Huh?”
“I was a pretty stationary target, unlike yesterday when that lucky penny saved me. The sniper could have killed me just now. It begs the question.”
“Yes it does.”
“Do you think JD passed on my message?”
“If the sniper believed it, he wouldn’t have taken a second shot at you, he’d have killed you with it.” Smitty’s brows hung low over his eyes. “You’re right. Something has changed.”
“Could it have been a warning?”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Damn it, why doesn’t this person communicate like normal people? He could ask me, write me a note, something other than destroying every door in my vicinity?”
“You’re trying to apply rational thought to an irrational situation. It won’t work.”
“I hate this. I absolutely hate this. What is it with men and violence? Don’t they know that most problems can only be solved with communication not guns?”
“Hey, my gun is pretty good at getting my point across most of the time.”
“You suck.”
That made him laugh. “You don’t like it when you’re wrong, do you?”
“Does anyone? And I’m not wrong. A simple conversation would solve this stupidity.”
“If you can believe the town’s drunk mascot.”
“JD is a lot of things, but a mascot isn’t one of them.”
“Sounds like he’s a veteran, seen some action in Nam. A lot of those guys ended up on the streets, though most in big cities.”
“What did you think of his warning?”
“About the sniper?”
“No, about you becoming another ghost?”
“I think he’s crazy.”
“Take the next right. We’ll be on gravel from now on.”
Smitty nodded and took the turn, but didn’t offer any more insight into JD’s ramblings.
“I think I could turn into a ghost with very little trouble at all.” Abby mumbled.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She didn’t mean to sound so defeated, but that’s exactly how she felt.
“Why?”
“I’m haunted.”
“Hey, we’re all haunted. Every single soul on Earth is haunted by som
ething, some decision, action or lie we wish we could take back. You need to give yourself a break. Maybe even a little forgiveness.”
“There some things for which there is no forgiveness.”
“Not even if it means someone will kill you or someone else?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have one.
“To protect the innocent I would kill, I have killed. The only reason I don’t hate myself for it is because I killed to protect someone else who couldn’t protect themselves.”
“I did protect myself. I did kill other people.”
“They murdered a wounded man and would have murdered anyone else they found alive, including you, if you hadn’t shot those insurgents. And after you were done, you dropped the weapon like it burned your hands.”
“I wish it had.”
“I’m glad it saved your life.”
“Part of me wants to let the sniper kill me,” she whispered.
“That part needs to wise up. You’re a doctor and a lot of people depend on you, depend on you being there for them for a long time to come. You can’t afford to commit suicide by sniper.” He all but chewed and spit out the words. “Besides, it would piss me off.”
“God forbid inconveniencing you.”
“I’ve put in too much time and effort keeping you safe for you to throw it all away because you feel guilty or whatever.”
“Ya know, sometimes I want to punch you in the mouth.”
“Give it your best shot, doc.”
“I’ve got brothers you know, you shouldn’t feel so confident about letting me punch you.”
He slid her a glance that could have set her clothes on fire. “How ‘bout a wrestling match?”
She snorted. “Naked I’m sure.”
“Well, if you insist.” He leaned forward a bit. “Is this it?”
“Yep, the end of the road and the family farm.”
“Big place,” he said looking at all the buildings, barns and vehicles. “What do your parents farm?”
“A little bit of everything, but dad considers himself a rancher. He grows his own feed grain, hay and makes his own silage.”
“Silage?”