by Ty Patterson
No need for her to see more dead shooters.
‘Tulip!’ he shouted again.
‘I am here.’ She came from behind him, her teeth biting her lip when she saw the state of his leg.
But she said nothing.
She helped him gather the AKs and then stopped when he exclaimed: ‘That isn’t an AK 47. Things happened so fast, I didn’t pay attention. It’s an M24 SWS, Sniper Weapon System.’
He tested the rifle’s heft, fingered its stock and peered through its scope.
‘Good condition, too.’
‘One of the men was a sniper?’ She slung the other AK 47 around her shoulder and shrugged when he stared at her. ‘What? You said we can’t have too many weapons.’
She bent and pocketed the spare magazines on the ground.
Her steely façade disappeared when they heard shouts from the ridge.
She came closer to him instinctively.
‘Are those…?’
He crept forward and hid behind one of the bushes, the girl behind him.
He raised the M24 to his eye and took in view of the slope.
‘Yeah. Three of them.’
‘I didn’t know Namir had a sniper.’
‘He didn’t. Tavez has joined him.’
He felt her shiver as he lay down and brought the rifle to his shoulder.
It felt comfortable, the stock warm against his cheek, as if he had used the weapon for a long time.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Discouraging them.’
Chapter Forty-Five
Zeb’s first shot sent one of the terrorists tumbling down the slope. He lay still when he reached the bottom.
The second shot spun another man around, but he managed to scramble across the ridge to safety.
‘I thought you would be a great shot,’ the girl said. ‘You seem to be good at everything else.’
The third terrorist wasn’t hanging around. He had dived behind the slope when the first man went down.
‘It’s my leg, ma’am. If I was uninjured …’
She snorted, ‘And what’s with the ma’am? Sara. That’s my name.’
‘It’s the way I am, ma’am.’
He heard her sigh, but she didn’t respond.
They lay still for several moments, watching, but no heads appeared over the slope.
‘Let’s go.’
He examined her as she gave him a hand and helped him up.
There was dirt on her clothes. The rubber tube was sticking out of a pocket. The knife was jammed in her belt.
Her face was wan, her eyes tired, and her lips had developed an unconscious tremble.
‘What about them?’ She pointed to the ridge.
‘They now know we have the sniper rifle. That will make them think.’
‘What will they do?’
‘They will circle around,’ he said, pointing to the ridge line. ‘Will try to surround us. Try to stop us before we get to the Middle Fork Salmon River.’
‘Why? They can stop us after we cross, can’t they?’
‘Yeah. But with that M24, it would be easier for us to pick them off as they crossed. If we hung around.’
She turned without a word and started running. In the direction of the river.
They didn’t slacken their pace, even though his leg felt like his thigh bones were grinding together.
At eight pm, he called a halt.
‘We can’t run blindly in the dark,’ he told her.
She leaned against a tree and slid down it as if she were boneless, huffing loudly.
He made a small fire from sticks, using Koeman’s matchsticks.
He broke open cans from his pack and sharpened a twig for her to use as a fork.
‘Why did you make the fire if you aren’t going to heat anything?’
‘A fire makes us feel better, ma’am. Always has. From the times we lived in caves.’
‘Can’t they see it?’
‘No, ma’am,’ he said, chewing some beef jerky slowly. ‘That’s why I picked this spot. Trees around us. Fire less than a foot high. Branches to break the smoke streams.’
‘They can smell the fire.’
‘If they are close, yeah.’ He emptied his can and thought of warning her about what he would do next.
Light danced on her face and turned it soft. As if she was smiling.
She has seen worse.
He got to his feet and stripped off his combat trousers.
He unsheathed his knife and heated it in the flame.
He poured water into her empty can and placed it over the fire.
‘Yes, ma’am. I’ve got to do it.’ He read the question in her eyes.
And dug the hot blade into his thigh.
Chapter Forty-Six
Zeb bit down hard on the collar of his jacket, but despite that, a deep groan escaped him.
He shook his head to dislodge the sweat from his eyes and opened the wound in his thigh.
‘Please look away, ma’am,’ he gasped.
She came closer instead and put a hand on his shoulder.
His wound was dark in the light, blood pouring down his thigh, falling to the ground.
He bit his tongue when the knife reached the bullet, molten lava flowing through him.
More probing and digging until he finally got the knife tip underneath it.
The misshapen round finally fell into the empty can with a clink. He lay back, panting for a moment, and then heaved himself upright.
He washed his wound with water, cut more strips from his T-shirt and bound the thigh tight.
There was no way to stop the bleeding completely. The wound wasn’t like the furrow on his shoulder.
His thigh would keep leaking blood till he could get to a medic.
He washed his hands, wiped his face, and drank greedily from the canteen.
The crackle of flames was the only sound in the forest until Sara Ashland reached for the can and shook it.
The bullet rolled from side to side until she stilled the container.
‘Will you die?’
Her eyes looked haunted, shining with unshed tears.
He held back from answering, fingering the crude bandage around his thigh, already damp from seeping blood.
He tore another strip and tightened it around his leg.
He could hear himself breathing. Loud and harsh.
He would die. He was sure of that. All Namir and Tavez had to do was attack them in full strength.
They would kick his body and dance on it.
He stood and tested his leg. It would hold. It would carry him for as long as there was breath in him.
He brushed grains of soil from his fingers. Felt a cool wind drift and dry the sweat on his face.
Earth. Wind. Fire. Water.
Many cultures believe all creation came from those elements. On dying, the human body dissolves into them.
He crouched in front of her, ignoring the stab of pain that shot through him.
He made a vow to himself. He wouldn’t die just yet.
‘You will live. You will be safe with your granddad. I promise.’
She didn’t say anything. She sat silently, looking at him. As if feeling his words, weighing them, letting them settle inside her.
At last she nodded. Her palm reached out and gripped his forearm once. Tightly.
‘I feel safe with you.’
He kept watch as she slept and the wilderness slumbered, too.
Her soft breathing reached him.
Her face relaxed and became that of the teenager.
I feel safe with you.
He rose, blood pulsing inside him, taking oxygen from alveoli, feeding it to the darkness inside him, bringing it to life.
He looked deep into the distance, in the direction of their pursuers, and as a wolf howled somewhere, in that split second, with the moon casting its dim glow, Zeb Carter knew what he had to do.
He became the most dangerous predator to prowl the wilderness.
&
nbsp; Chapter Forty-Seven
He woke her at three am on Thursday.
The fire had died out and darkness had enveloped their camp.
She stretched and yawned and stiffened when reality and her surroundings hit her.
‘Are they here?’ she asked nervously.
‘No. But I would like to get to the river by dawn.’
She got up swiftly without complaint. Shook the dirt off her clothes.
Shouldered her AK 47 and helped him fasten the HKs and the M24 around his back.
‘Can you see? To make our way?’
‘There’s enough light,’ he said, pointing to the top. ‘Your eyes will get used to it.’
She swirled water in her mouth, swallowed it, and started walking in the direction he indicated.
‘Ma’am.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I am not with the FBI.’
She stopped and turned sideways at him.
‘I am a Special Forces operative. With a secretive unit.’
‘Like one of those Delta guys?’
‘Something like that. But I am not in the Army.’
Her brow wrinkled. ‘Why are you telling me this? Now?’
‘I have worked with the toughest men and women. We go through brutal training.’
‘So?’
‘None of them would have borne themselves like you have.’
‘My world has ended. I am hanging by a thread,’ she said and began to walk faster.
‘Yes, ma’am. But those operators. They would have gone to pieces—’
‘I am close to it.’
‘You haven’t complained. You haven’t given up. You haven’t argued.
‘You need to know—’ He was suddenly lost for words. ‘It’s my honor to help you. To take you back safe.’ He clamped his jaws shut before he embarrassed himself further.
‘Zeb?’ she seemed to sniffle.
‘Yes, ma’am?’
‘I don’t care who you are. FBI. Special Forces. Those names don’t mean anything to me.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘I am glad you are on my side.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Has anyone told you, you talk too much?’
‘No, ma’am.’
‘Well, why don’t you shut up and run faster?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
They picked up speed and reached the river at six am.
It was a section where the Middle Fork Salmon River narrowed and was thirty feet wide.
‘You can swim, ma’am? I never asked you that.’
‘Like a fish. Why are we hiding?’
They were still amongst the trees, which gave way abruptly to a steep descent, at the bottom of which was the river.
The slope on their side was rocky, and on the other full of gravel and small boulders.
River’s calmer here. No strong currents.
Just beyond their vision, to their right, were whitewater rapids.
There would be no rafts or canoeists that early in the morning.
Which is why I wanted to arrive early. If Namir or Tavez are here, it would have put them at risk.
He looked at the slope with narrowed eyes.
Ten minutes to get to the river.
Twenty minutes to cross it.
Another ten minutes to climb the bank and get into cover.
In all, forty minutes in the open.
No signs of pursuit.
His radar didn’t ping.
‘Let’s go.’
She took off at a run.
‘Slow down,’ he urged her, when she slipped on a rock.
Can’t risk broken limbs.
She heeded, and climbed down carefully.
He waited till she was at the bottom, and then started.
Gritted his teeth as his injured thigh protested.
He carefully picked the rocks where he would place his feet, and was so intent on his descent that he didn’t hear the approach.
It was her scream that warned him.
He whirled around.
And went down as a body slammed into him.
The hostile’s hand rose.
A knife plunged toward him.
Chapter Forty-Eight
‘He killed Enrico,’ the gunman snarled as he paced the Mexican cartel’s camp.
Six of the gang were sprawled on the ground, while three others served sentry duty.
Joachim Tavez whittled on a stick with a sharp blade, half-listening to the enraged Julio.
Julio had a right to be furious. Enrico was his younger brother.
The two had been with Tavez ever since the cartel was formed.
Now, Enrico was dead and the older sibling wanted revenge.
Revenge for a gang member’s killing didn’t figure high on Tavez’s list of priorities. What mattered was that no affront went unpunished.
The stranger had killed Hector, Enrico, and Gomes.
Gomes. That made the cartel boss burn. That man had been the best shooter in Mexico. Rival cartels had attempted to hire him. When that failed, they had tried to kill him.
Gomes had shot up their killers and, after that, there had been no more trouble.
Not only were three of his men dead, there was the fact that the stranger and the girl knew of the farm.
Both had to die.
But Tavez couldn’t help marveling how the stranger had taken out his men. Even a wounded leg hadn’t stopped him.
‘Are we going to do something?’ Julio challenged.
Tavez looked up and subdued his man with a cold stare.
‘We are.’ A shooter brought him coffee in a plastic cup and waited for him to finish it.
The drug lord tossed it back to him carelessly and focused on Julio.
‘We are doing what we agreed.’
His glare reduced the dissenter to sullen silence.
Leopard. That was the name the bearded stranger gave.
Tavez knew that wasn’t his real name. He also knew the man and his shooters were from the Middle East. That was obvious from their accents.
Only one kind of person came from the Middle East loaded with weapons and hunting people: a terrorist.
Tavez didn’t care. Leopard and his paths had converged, and for the moment, they had common goals.
Leopard had lost one of his own shooters on the slope. The American had successfully taken an incredible shot from nearly a thousand yards away.
Tavez and Leopard had held back for several hours after the killing on the slope. No one had much appetite to go up against this stranger, with his deadly prowess.
So when night fell, Leopard had proposed a new plan: He and his nine men would take a separate route.
They would go to Erilyn, or close to it.
Cut the stranger and the girl from the front.
Tavez would come from the rear.
And the two runners would be trapped.
Chapter Forty-Nine
The cartel killers had taken up the hunt in the night, cautiously, for the stranger had proven to be a deadly fighter.
Tavez knew the man and the girl were heading to the river. He knew the rough direction they were heading.
He also knew the man couldn’t run at full speed. Gomes had put a bullet in his left leg.
How far can they go in the dark?
Hence, he had called a halt after an hour.
And that’s when Enrico’s brother had started ranting.
* * *
Julio rose when snores filled the forest. Tavez was slumped against a tree. The other shooters were scattered on the ground. All asleep.
He knew where the guards were.
Tavez had confiscated his guns, suspecting he might break from the group, go seeking vengeance on his own.
He was right, Julio thought bitterly.
But I need to avenge Enrico. And Joachim doesn’t seem bothered. Otherwise he wouldn’t sleep.
Julio did have a knife. He thought of stealing a gun from one of the sleepi
ng men. Or knocking one of the sentries out cold and taking his weapon.
But the risk was too great.
He ghosted out of the camp and picked up his pace when he thought he was out of earshot.
He ran when he could and slowed to a trot when the terrain and the darkness made it difficult to go faster.
He stopped occasionally to listen, but heard nothing.
When the forest thickened, he drew out his knife and imagined sinking it into the stranger.
Maybe he would have his way with the girl.
He was no longer beholden to Joachim. Not now.
He was on his own.
He knew Tavez would kill him, slowly, if he returned to the cartel.
That didn’t scare him, either.
Revenge alone fueled him and drew him onwards in the night.
He stopped just twice. Once to drink water from a rainwater pool. And then to lean against a tree and sleep for fifteen minutes. While standing up.
Because if he sat down, he would sleep too long. And the stranger would get away.
He checked his direction several times.
West.
In the direction of the river.
Tavez had briefed them on where its waters were the calmest in that area.
The stranger would head there.
He had no choice.
And so would Julio. Because where the two escapees went, Julio would go.
* * *
He came upon them in the most unexpected way.
He was running almost blindly, exhaustion gripping him.
The new day had dawned, and a dim light was filling the forest.
Not much, but there was more visibility.
He nearly lost his balance when the trees gave way abruptly to a steep downward slope filled with rocks.
He recovered from his near fall.
And heard voices.
He blinked stupidly, his brain not yet processing what his eyes saw.
There was the river. Smooth and serene.
And there was the girl, right at the river’s bank, the stranger behind her, still descending.
Julio was flooded with rage.
As if by magic, his knife appeared in his hand.
He slithered and stumbled his way down, dislodging several rocks.