We parked our SUVs behind the cabin, too. Then everyone grabbed their winter gear to put it on inside the building.
The cabin door was locked with a deadbolt, but the wood around the doorframe had rotted in several places. Randy put his shoulder to the door and gave it a good shove, but the door remained closed.
Our biggest guy was Dave Bixby, one of Manny’s cops. He’d played as a defensive lineman for CU. Go Buffs!
He charged the door and hit it with his shoulder. With a crash, the wood around the deadbolt shattered, and the door burst open. Now we had a place out of the weather where we could suit up and plan next steps.
I already had some of my cold weather gear on, but I put on my black snow pants. The full get-up made me look like an ebony Michelin man, but survival counted a lot more than style. Boomer got his own version, a down parka over his vest and a set of booties. Finally, I strapped my night vision goggles to the top of my helmet. I’d need them inside the mine.
As soon as I got dressed, I checked the walls for the mine map DJ had mentioned, but someone must have removed it. We were going to have to work out our attack without it.
“What now?” Randy asked.
I told them what DJ had explained to me, then said, “The vein of silver ore was probably discovered up much higher on the hill,” I said. “They’d call that the One Hundred Level. The vein drops vertically deep within the mountain. The easiest way to reach it at various levels is to drill horizontal tunnels called adits from the mountainside to the vein. DJ told me that only one of those adits remained open until about five years ago. That open adit is on the Four Hundred Level. It’s a hundred vertical feet above where we are now.”
“Where’s that on the mountain?” Manny asked.
“Not sure,” I said. “Based on where the roads zigzag up the mountainside, I think that adit is probably a quarter-mile northeast of us up in the clouds. DJ sealed that portal with a steel door. Breaking in there would be a helluva lot easier than digging out the tons of dirt and rock blocking the other openings.”
Linda asked, “Is there any way to be sure before we go wandering all over hell’s half acre?”
I pointed at Boomer who was sniffing the cabin’s corners looking for food. “Without a map, he’s our best bet. We’ll have to break into the assholes’ vehicles to find something with their scent on it.”
I looked at the others to give them all a chance to speak up, particularly Manny. He’d been chief of police for a long time. Had to be used to giving orders instead of taking them.
“This is your operation,” he said. “Me and my guys will go wherever you say.”
“Then, let’s head out.”
Only then, did I remember a loose end. “Except, one thing. There’s a good chance more of these monsters are on the way. We need to leave a couple of our team down here to greet them. Volunteers?”
In the past, Randy had told me he had trouble with claustrophobia. I looked at him, but he didn’t speak. Maybe he was embarrassed at the weakness, which was ridiculous. I had too many flaws to count.
To make it easier for him, I said, “If you don’t mind, Randy, could you head up our reception committee? Maybe Manny could designate one of his guys to help.”
Our chief deputy nodded. “Whatever you need.”
Manny said, “Dave, you stay with Randy.”
“Sure, boss, no problem.”
I checked my phone. It was 5:18 p.m. Melody and her merry band of assholes was going to start cutting on Sandy soon, if they hadn’t started already. That set my tongue to tingling. “Let’s head up the godforsaken mountain.”
“Can Boomer track those guys in this shit?” Manny asked.
These were worse conditions than he’d ever tried before. “Let’s find out. We’ll need something to break their vehicles’ windows.”
An old, rusty rock hammer lay on an old wooden table under a window. “This should get the job done.” I put my glove back on, grabbed the tool, and wrapped Boomer’s leash around my other hand to maintain a good grip. When he was on the trail, he tended to get overeager. I definitely didn’t want him running off into this dark snowstorm alone.
-o-o-o-
After grabbing several pieces of the scumbags’ clothing and holding the items under Boomer’s nose, I said, “Find them!”
He let out a low woof to let me know he was damned sure going to try. After circling around for a moment, he headed north. That was consistent with where I thought the Four Hundred Level adit should be. So far, so good.
The bitter cold wind clawed at us as we trudged across the relatively flat ground between us and the hillside. Within a few minutes, my face became numb. I used my free gloved hand to cover my mouth, chin, and part of my nose. The night vision goggles protected my eyes.
Every so often, one of us stumbled over something buried in the snow, but we picked each other up and kept going. Boomer headed for one of the steep double-track routes zigzagging up the cliff face. He strained at his leash. Maybe he realized that the sooner he found the bastards, the sooner we could all get out of this horrible blizzard.
We kept stumbling over hidden objects as we trudged up a steep double track. Manny walked next to me, shining a flashlight ahead, but he kept part of his glove over most of the lens to minimize the brightness of the beam. We didn’t want to telegraph our presence any more than we had to. Even so, I expected gunshots to ring out at any second.
But none did.
After what seemed like forever, the five of us approached a portal. It was easy to make out in the blinding snow, a black void superimposed on the snowy mountainside. I prayed that this was the adit we were looking for. We moved cautiously in case someone was waiting for us at the opening. The entrance to our own little version of hell.
No bullets rained down on us. Boomer led us straight into the portal. We huddled just inside to get out of the vicious wind. That, by itself, made a world of difference.
This tunnel entrance was about six feet wide and eight high. Farther inside, we encountered the steel door DJ had mentioned. I wasn’t surprised to see that someone had broken in. We were on the right trail.
Manny shined his light inside and peered in.
“Nothing except dark gray walls on all sides, and the blackness of the tunnel itself,” he said.
We stayed outside the door because sound carries incredibly well in tunnels. I didn’t want to lose any element of surprise we might have on our side.
“My best guess,” I said, “is they’ll throw their little shindig in a work room or break room fairly close to here, but maybe they’ll just hold their ceremony in the adit itself. Because I have the dog and the goggles, I probably should sneak in first and reconnoiter. If we all go together, we’ll make too much noise.”
“First rule of probing enemy defenses,” Trace said, “never go alone.”
As a battle-tested former Marine, he would know. “Fine, just you and me, then. You can carry me out if I get shot.”
He grinned. “I’d like to, Hank, but I don’t think I can.”
Smartass. “And I’d like to punch your lights out, but that’ll have to wait.”
He snickered.
“Don’t go too far,” Manny said, “and don’t take them on alone.”
“We won’t,” I said. “Girl Scout’s honor. Just a quick check to see where they are. Should be back in a few minutes.”
I checked my phone. It was a quarter to six. It’d taken us longer than I’d expected to get here from the cabin. I didn’t want to delay any more for fear that they’d start hurting Sandy. “Let’s go, Trace.”
I took off my right glove and pulled my service pistol out of the pocket in my parka. Then I said to Boomer, “Find them, buddy.”
To Trace, I said, “Probably best to walk side-by-side. I’ll warn you if I see any obstacles for either of us.”
“Works for me. Take it slow.”
Chapter 20
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nbsp; We stepped inside and crept into the darkness. Within a minute, the goggles stopped working. They needed at least a little light to function. I whispered to my partner, “Both of my hands are full. Can you give us a little light?”
Trace whispered back, “I’ll use my cellphone with the display turned almost off.” He did that and pointed the screen forward.
“I can barely see it, even this close,” he whispered.
But it provided plenty of light for me to see the ground in front of us for a dozen feet or more.
No signs of life ahead. The temperature was much warmer than outside, probably in the thirties, but I kept my parka zipped because it was black, unlike the armor beneath. The darker we stayed, the better.
The adit kept running level as it progressed deeper into the mountain. I noticed the distinct odor of gasoline exhaust. Someone had been using equipment inside the mine for some reason. I couldn’t figure out why.
Soon, I lost track of time and location. We snuck down the passageway.
Then, Boomer gave me a low chuff, a warning that a stranger was nearby. I couldn’t see a thing up ahead.
Out of the darkness, a man’s voice called out from a distance, “Password?”
We’d been made. Trace put his phone back in his pocket. We crouched. I kept a tight grip on my pistol. My best guess was the man was at least twenty yards away in what looked like total darkness. Maybe he had night vision, too.
“Last chance!” he yelled. “I’ll bet you’re cops!”
Until now, we hadn’t formally identified ourselves. “Police! I’m Henrietta Morgan, Pitkin County Sheriff’s Office. Also, Glenwood Springs Police. Your party’s over! Surrender and identify yourself.”
I held my breath, not sure whether his answer would be in the form of bullets or words.
BOOM!
A thunderous explosion occurred right behind us. The force of the concussion knocked me onto Boomer. The mutt yelped. Chunks of broken rock pummeled my back. Only my body armor kept me alive as rocks whizzed by us. Trace didn’t seem to move.
My ears rang from the explosion. Dust filled the air. I could hardly breathe. The bastards had booby-trapped the tunnel behind us. The guy in front must’ve used some wireless detonator. But he probably thought we were back farther. There, the cave in would’ve buried us alive.
Rifle fire erupted from in front of us, a half-dozen rounds. I shifted to the front and laid on top of the dog to protect him. Pulled one glove off and clamped his muzzle shut with that hand. But he didn’t try to bark. Just trembled. One of my feet bumped Trace. He didn’t move.
More rifle fire at us. Two bullets hit me in the back but glanced off. My vest had protected me, but it still felt like I’d been hit with a baseball bat swung by one of the Rockies’ strongest hitters. I clenched my jaws to keep from crying out.
Boomer and I laid still, pretending to be dead. Boomer tried to squirm at the ready, but I held him down. My right hand still held my pistol.
Total silence and darkness.
Thank God, Boomer laid still, but his trembling got worse. He was about to freak out. Trace still hadn’t moved. Dear God, please let him survive this.
We were outgunned. Pistols were no match for a rifle at a distance. Our only chance was to draw him closer. And he’d have to turn on a light eventually to check us.
The sections of my back where each bullet had hit burned like hell. And getting knocked to the ground had aggravated my broken ribs. I tried to push away the pain, but with little success.
Slowly, I shifted around so I could aim my gun at where the shooter should be. My upper torso still protected the dog’s head and shoulders.
Time passed. Asshole’s move.
Finally, he yelled, “You better not be tricking me. I’ll mutilate the shit out of you.”
More time passed.
A dim light showed from one side of the tunnel about thirty yards away. A woman’s voice asked, “Are they dead?”
I recognized it, Melody Wilcox. She was going to suffer for this in the worst possible way…assuming I survived the next several minutes.
After a pause, the man said, “Looks like. I’ll make sure.”
A tiny speck of light aimed at us. As long as he held that light, I didn’t think he could shoot his rifle. Now, we’d fight pistol to pistol. Two against one, assuming Trace was okay. When I shifted around, I couldn’t touch him anymore.
As the bastard inched toward us, I could hear his feet shuffling against the adit’s floor.
Closer, steadily closer. The pinprick of light shifted back and forth between me and Trace. He had to be wearing night vision goggles, too. That also explained how he’d seen us earlier.
When the tiny beam shifted once more to my partner, I fired three shots at the barely visible shooter, aiming at center mass.
He groaned, and the light vanished. Some metal objects clattered to the floor.
More silence. Now, I had to take the risk of turning a light on. If the shooter was faking his injury, he could get me the same way.
No choice. I put my pistol in my pocket and took out my phone. Turned down the screen as far as I could and pointed it at Trace.
He hadn’t moved for a reason. A rock from the explosion had slammed into his helmet, crushing one side. Trace’s neck was bent at an impossible angle. Jesus, he’s been so smart and careful. I can’t believe this.
He had to be dead, but I made sure. Felt for a heartbeat at his carotid artery. Nothing. No more chances to surrender for these monsters.
Although my throat burned, no time to mourn. I pointed the phone at the shooter. His body lay crumpled on the adit’s floor, motionless, about fifteen feet away. I dashed toward him, pulling Boomer along.
A man’s voice yelled out of the darkness, “Darrell, you okay?”
A large man was outlined in the dull glow from the left wall of the adit about twenty yards away. I couldn’t shoot because my hands were full. First things first, I checked the shooter’s face. He was Hinckley, the baldheaded man Grace had told me about who had horns tattooed on his scalp. Checked his pulse. Game over, asshole.
I picked up his rifle, an AR-15. It appeared undamaged, including the night vision scope. That was how he’d spotted Trace and me.
I shifted my phone to my left hand, which was already holding the dog’s leash. I prayed I wouldn’t drop the phone on the rocky floor. That would fuck us even worse than we already were. I scanned the area, looking for Hinckley’s light. But it had shattered into a dozen pieces.
A tall person emerged into the light along the adit and fired a pistol at us. The bullet whizzed over my head and splattered into the dirt and rocks behind me.
I set down the rifle and fired back with my .45 caliber Glock. The tall person vanished.
Seconds later, three dark forms dashed from the glowing area ahead and disappeared farther into the adit. One dark form was much shorter, maybe their supposed hellhound. Someone shot at me again, but that bullet didn’t come anywhere close. I fired at the flash. No apparent result.
-o-o-o-
Boomer and I rushed to the glowing section of wall. As I suspected, it was a side room. Light spilled out of an open doorway.
When we reached it, I paused for a second to catch my breath. Sticking my head in now would provide any thugs still inside with an excellent target. I raised up my night vision goggles because the room seemed well-lit. But without the goggles, it was obvious that the room was almost dark.
No choice but to look. I crouched and peeked into the room then pulled my head back right away. During the quick glimpse, I saw a square room with the same dark gray walls as the adit. A large rectangular table sat in the center. A naked woman was strapped to the table. Nobody else visible.
I pulled on the dog’s leash and dashed into the room. A few wooden tables and chairs had been pushed against one wall. Most of my attention focused on the larger table in the center. A half-dozen black candles
had been placed around the woman’s body. They cast flickering shadows on her skin. Leather straps held her down, and a gag filled her mouth. A dozen red welts covered her skin, including on her left cheek. The torture had already begun.
She turned her head to face me. Sandy Pollock. Thank God, she was still alive, and her heart remained where it belonged.
“I’m Hank Morgan, deputy sheriff, Sandy. I’ll get you untied in just a second.”
First, though, I needed to check to make sure Melody hadn’t left a bomb behind.
I quickly checked the jumbled tables and chairs and found nothing alarming. I did find a high-speed hammer-drill and a small generator in the corner. That’s what they’d used to drill the ceiling of the adit then filled it with explosives.
When I glanced under the table, I found a backpack leaning against one leg. Another jolt of fear shot through me.
Because it could be an anything, I unzipped the pack gingerly. No explosion. Blew out a sigh of relief.
The backpack contained surgical equipment, including what looked like a meat saw. They were going to mutilate Sandy as part of the ceremony. My stomach did a triple flip. Good thing I hadn’t eaten in hours.
Once I was sure we weren’t going to get blown up, I focused on taking care of their intended sacrifice. It took a moment for me to dig out my pocketknife in my jeans under so many layers of clothes. I cut Sandy loose and removed her gag.
Her first words were, “I need insulin. I’m hypoglycemic. It could kill me.”
But Linda and all the medicine we needed was stuck on the wrong side of that fucking cave in. “We’ll get you out of here as quickly as possible. A deputy with the medicine you need is outside, but that explosion blocked the tunnel my dog and I came through. Can you hold up for a while?”
She groaned. “I’m feeling the early symptoms, shakiness and tingling around my mouth. Some of that might be because they hit me with those bars,” she pointed at two long, iron rods lying on the table. “It really hurt, but they said it was nothing compared to what they were going to do. They were going to cut my heart out!”
“Sandy, I’m so sorry. Boomer and I will do our best to help out. Did they say anything else I should know?”
Sacrifice Page 17