Soldier's Heart Part Four: Brotherhood Protectors World

by Ilsa J. Bick

  Screaming, Hank thrust out his spray canister and depressed the button.

  And nothing happened. No spray hissed out. Not even a dribble.

  Nononono! He had a moment’s grace and understood at once. The canister was frozen, useless. He didn’t even try a second time.

  Gun. His holster was right there. Shoot in the mouth, shoot in the eyes, shoot it, shoot it, shoot it! Dropping the useless canister, he twisted—

  But not fast enough.

  The bear closed its jaws on what was closest—Hank’s right forearm.

  There was a sharp crack, the sound of a turkey’s wishbone at Thanksgiving, as the bone broke. A jump of bright blood flashed almost black in his headlamp and then the bear, with Hank’s arm still clamped between its jaws, reared back. Wailing in pain and terror, Hank went with it, his back scraping over snow, sending fresh bolts of fiery agony coursing through his body as the chunk of wood impaled in his flank caught on something beneath the snow.

  And then, something somewhere else cracked.

  Hank heard it, though distantly, as his mind teetered because, really, passing out now would be a blessing.

  Roaring, the bear let Hank go. There came another crack and this time, Hank registered what it was.

  Rifle.

  Someone was here? Shaking away cobwebs, Hank blinked, tried to bring the tableau into focus. There was the bear, larger than life, but facing away so Hank could see the splash of red high on its right haunch where the bullet had cored through its hide. And beyond...he shifted his gaze past, following the beam of his headlamp as far as it would go...beyond...

  The man—he thought it was a man—had a rifle socked to his shoulder. There was another crack and a spurt of yellow muzzle flash, but the shot was off because the bear was moving, charging, coming on fast, eating up distance. The man didn’t break, didn’t run, and as the bear leapt from less than twenty feet away, he fired again.

  Both were at the limits of Hank’s headlamp. But there was no mistaking the sudden burst of pink sponge and red blood and brown fur once anchored to a scalp as the bullet tore through the bear’s brain and chunked out skull. The animal was probably dead in an instant, but its momentum carried it forward before it came crashing down only a few feet from where the man stood.

  He didn’t realize he’d sagged back into the snow until the man had dropped down on his knees and given his left shoulder a shake. “Hey, hey, you still with—” There was a quick intake of breath. “Oh Jesus, Jesus Christ, that leg’s bleeding pretty bad and...is that wood in your back?” Without waiting for an answer, the man was rolling Hank onto his right side. The movement put pressure on Hank’s broken arm and he screamed. Couldn’t help it. “Sorry,” the man said, and then there was a sound of Velcro being pulled. “I got some supplies here. I got to stop the bleeding in your leg first and then we’ll take care of your arm. Your back, I...Jesus...I don’t know…”

  “Ruh,” Hank said.

  “What?” The man was already pulling open a packet of QuikClot. “What did you say?”

  There was either something wrong with the man’s face, as if he’d been on the losing end of a bad bar fight, or Hank was losing it. He knew the latter was true and both possible. His mind spun like a car caught in a drunken skid on black ice and heading for the edge of a bridge with no guardrails. Pretty soon, he’d fly right off and into the dark. But he had to tell this man; this man had to know.

  “Ruh-radio,” Hank managed. “Buh-buh-belt.”

  “Belt, already on it.” Whipping off a belt, the man threaded the leather under Hank’s right leg and then cinched it down tight. “I’ll use it to get this bleeding stopped. Got a real pumper here. Think that bear tagged an artery. Let me just do this then the QuikClot, and then I want to look at your back—”

  “No.” Latching a hand onto the man’s arm. “Shooter. Headed for Chaney. S-S-Sarah,” Hank managed, and now he could feel his mind going and with it, the last of his strength.

  “Chaney Peak? Someone shot at you and they’re headed there?”

  Yes, yes, yes, yes! “Help her,” he ground out as a shade began to draw down over his vision. Too cold, too hurt, too late, too late, too much blood, and he was so tired. “Help S-Sarah. Hurry.”

  And then, a dark wind swept his mind and he was gone.

  Chapter 9

  Hurry, hurry, hurry. Sarah scraped a gaze over her watch—01:25:57...01:25:56... Crap. How had it gotten so late so soon?

  She thought about bagging the idea then, though, no, a pillow would really sell it. A hat, too, if she could find one. Scuttling once more across what was now a well-worn path in the snow, she ducked past her plastic lean-to and nearly tripped over a jumble of wood from her once-neat pile. She’d been in a hurry, yanking out the best and driest splits. She would have to fix that, she supposed. Anyone coming in the back way—and she had to assume they would—would notice the mess and might wonder.

  As she blew into the bedroom, Mark lifted his head and gave her a bleary, accusatory look. Pinned in her headlamp’s blue-white beam, his face was a sickly gray, his eyes as puffy and red as a barfly’s. Fatigue and the drugs she’d given him—and he’d been crying, too. A thick sludge layer of glistening snot caked the right half of the gag she’d wound round his head. His breathing was off, too, labored and too fast.

  Hell. She felt a prick of mingled guilt and alarm. The poor guy not only needed to piss, he was probably panicking because he couldn’t pull in enough air. This was her fault. In the last half hour or so as she’d trundled back and forth from the storeroom to the tower and back again, she’d caught a lot of agitated bumping and thumping. Mark had been so frantic all his flailing had been enough to move the bed. No mean feat; the thing wasn’t solid oak or anything, but he’d managed to yank the bed a good four feet from the wall so it now rested at a shallow angle.

  “Okay, okay.” Patting a pocket, she realized she’d left her knife and the roll of duct tape in the tower. Damn. She had been in a hurry. She couldn’t afford to just leave things too helter-skelter. She would take an inventory just as soon as she was done. Scissors, she thought, would be better anyway. But when she tried the door to the front room, though, it wouldn’t open. Puzzled, she jiggled the knob, but all that provoked was a short yap from Daisy and the sound of dogs’ nails on wood. That was right; she’d thrown a padlock, which would only be unlocked from the other side. Thank God, she’d remembered her keys. Dashing back to the tower was more time she didn’t have.

  Damn. “Be right back, I promise,” she said, blasting out through the door to the storage area. As she quickly circled around to the porch, she threw an anxious glance at the sky. The clouds had swept past and the cobalt sky still glistered with hard points of starlight, but she could also detect just the faintest smear of lapis along the eastern horizon. Still plenty of time before dawn and even then, she’d have some cover because of the mountains. But she really did need to get set up and in position. Where were the bad guys now? She’d checked often, seen nothing, but thought she would know for sure soon enough. If her calculations were correct, they ought to be about two miles away at the least, two and a half at the most. That last half mile, they had a long uphill plod across unbroken trail to reach the peak. The slope was both steep and rocky. She sometimes took the rock scramble up just for the sake of pushing herself. Those rocks would be icy, caked with snow.

  A faint orange blush shone in the window to her left. The blanket she’d hung to screen Tien was undisturbed. Through the right-hand window, she had a view of the door to the bedroom, a few storage crates pushed up against the far wall, a corner of her kitchen table, and a chair. The dogs were still gazing up with expectant looks at the bedroom door, but as soon as they heard her footsteps on the porch, they wheeled about.

  “Hey, guys.” She crowded past, the dogs backpedaling, Soldier dancing out of the way while Daisy squirted past and made for the open front door. At the screen, she whined and pogoed up and down on stiff legs. “Honestl
y, you have the bladder capacity of a pea,” she said, opening the door. Soldier, interested, hesitated only a moment before bolting after the smaller dog. Daisy made a beeline for her pee tree, with Soldier close behind.

  Once they were done, she ought to feed them. The ketamine would take some time and Daisy needed to be out and soon so Sarah could be in position.

  A dull thump from the bedroom yanked her back to the here and now. “Coming.” Throwing back the flap of Mark’s medic’s bag, she withdrew a pair of blunt-end surgical scissors from a nylon slot. Tucking the scissors in a hip pocket, she found the right key, socked that into the padlock, and opened the door.

  The slight ammonia tang hit her as soon as she entered. Oh hell. She swept her headlamp from Mark’s ruddy features and streaming eyes to a dark patch at the V of his crotch. She didn’t think he’d emptied his bladder, but still.

  “I’m sorry.” She held up the scissors. “I’m going to cut away the tape around your mouth, okay? Just don’t...you know, don’t be dumb.”

  He wasn’t. He sat, rigid, staring at a far wall as she labored over the duct tape. This had been stupid, an impulsive bit of maliciousness for which she was now paying. The scissors’ blades were plenty sharp, but they were meant for a different kind of cutting, and the glue on the duct tape was stubborn, the tape itself stringy and tough where it wasn’t also sodden with snot. That slowed her down, the scissors bogging and not truly cutting but only crimping, her hand cringing away from any contact with the slick ooze, the fingers lifting the way a spider’s might as it picks its way over a sticky web. Should’ve worn gloves. Crap, she hoped Mark didn’t have something she didn’t want to catch.

  “Thank you,” he said as she tugged and peeled away the last tough strip but then reared back when she moved to finish ripping away the tails still sticking to the nape of his neck. “No, it’s in my hair and if you’d just...just leave it.” His mouth was raw, the lips smeary with blood from where the tape had ripped skin. He sucked in a mouthful of air, held it, exhaled with a long sigh before pulling in another heaving breath. “That was...” His ash-gray eyes, still swimming with tears, flicked to hers and then away. “I thought I was going to suffocate.” When she didn’t respond, his mouth quivered. “Please.” Ducking his head, he smeared snot onto a shoulder. “You let the dogs out to pee. Please, I don’t…” Fresh tears welled. “Do you want me to beg?”

  No, she didn’t. Not even Mark should have to stew in his own shit, metaphorically or otherwise, and he was already on the way there. It wouldn’t really cost her anything to be kind.

  Rising, she hurried into the front room. A quick peek through the window showed the dogs romping around in the area she’d cleared the night before for a chopper. Daisy was running in circles then breaking off to make a mad dash to nip at Soldier’s haunches before darting away again. A lot of pent-up energy, but then again, the night had been anything but routine. Just as soon as she was done, she’d bring them in.

  Once back in the room, she said, “Okay, listen.” Setting the scissors on a crate she used for a nightstand, she worked her hands into gloves then showed Mark an empty water bottle. “You can pee in this.”

  Mark only nodded. Nose wrinkling against the smell, the damp, and the task, she worked his fly then dug around, found what she was looking for. Did what needed doing. She couldn’t even look away; there were limits to how bad she felt, after all. For his part, Mark was stone-faced, silent.

  Only when he was done—when she’d tucked him back—did he speak. “What were you doing?” Without waiting for a reply, he said, “I heard you banging around, and then I saw you going back and forth to the tower. You looked like you were carrying stuff. What’s going on?”

  Of course, he’d know. Sound carried up here and he must’ve seen her headlamp bobbing back and forth. Well, she didn’t owe him an explanation and there was still so much to do—the tower, the dogs, Tien. She had no more time to waste. Capping the bottle of piss, she turned, started to leave then looked back at the bed. Right, she’d forgotten.

  “Why do you need that?” he asked as she swept up her pillow. “What are you doing?”

  She said nothing. Thirty seconds later, she was dumping the contents of the bottle about fifty feet from the cabin when she thought, Oh crap. What if the bad guys spotted that? Well, so what if they did? Guys took leaks outside all the time. Yeah, but they did it behind trees, not in the middle of a path or out in the open unless they were sure they were alone...actually, she really didn’t know. Besides, she had dogs and who was to say they didn’t do it?

  “Leave it,” she said as the dogs moved in for a sniff of the steaming mess. Soldier obeyed at once; the command was one he knew. Daisy, on the other hand... “Oh no you don’t.” Sweeping up the dog, she tucked the wriggling Daisy under an arm and hurried back while Soldier trotted obediently by her side.

  Mark was as she’d left him. He didn’t ask questions this time and she didn’t bother with anything but a quick glance. Skirting his outstretched legs, she flung open the back door. Cold air pillowed in. Normally, she’d have pulled the door shut, but this would take only a second. Snatching a can for Daisy, she scooped out a bowl of dry Hill’s Science Diet for Soldier and then bustled back into the front room.

  Time, time, time.

  Crowding the Sandford book to one side, she set out food bowls. At the sound of the can opener, the dogs crowded in, mouths open, tongues lolling, tails doing a furious semaphore. Still so much to do. After dumping the can’s contents into Daisy’s bowl, she pulled open her vet’s bag and eyeballed the amount of ketamine powder she had left. Should be plenty. Stirring powder into Daisy’s food, she gave the mess a good stir. That should knock Daisy out for about four hours, maybe five.

  “Here you go, guys.” She set the bowls on the floor. “Come and get it.”

  00:59:35…00:59:34…

  Pillow in hand, she banged out again as the dogs wolfed their food. At the fire tower steps, she paused and craned a look at the house. The bedroom windows were blank black sockets, though not for long. Once the sun peeked over the mountains, they would fire with a bright dazzle for about an hour. Should be all the time she needed. She hoped. Staring at the windows, she remembered what Mark said, how he’d seen her going back and forth to the tower. Because of my headlamp. She hadn’t thought about that. Mark wasn’t a problem, but light, like sound, went a long way here when there was nothing to compete.

  Reaching a hand, she snapped off her light. Waited for her eyes to adjust. The world congealed into grainy amorphous gray blobs and sketchy blacks and slate blues against the dull eggshell gloss of snow. After her eyes adjusted, she mounted the tower’s steps, wanting to go faster but holding back. If she fell and hurt herself, she might not be done, but life would almost certainly not get better and might be much shorter.

  At the trap, she paused for only the briefest second, but the undercarriage was still in deep shadow, and all she made out were the bristle of the icicles’ sharp teeth. Once in the cab, she debated about where to place the pillow. The north-facing side was best. That’s where the bad guys either already were or would be soon. Unspooling duct tape, she secured the pillow to the concrete pedestal then shook out a blanket. Draping that over the pillow, she stepped back to gauge the effect. Meh. She didn’t like it. At distance and in the predawn murk, it might only sort of pass. She counted on the sun’s help. The same glare that would obscure her bedroom windows and wink off those facing east on either side of the woodstove would help. But this thing...she eyed the pillow, the blanket. Felt that pop of inspiration. Snatching off her watch cap, she positioned that atop the pillow. Not bad, but... Unzipping her parka’s hood, she draped that atop the cap then tamped the edges down with duct tape.

  There. She took a step back. That should be good. But still not quite perfect. They’d be at a distance, but if she did what she planned, they would expect to see something they just wouldn’t. Did she have anything she could use? Something that would
pass?

  That little light bulb moment, again. Yeah, she thought, hurrying for the catwalk. That will work. She was about to step through when she remembered and looked north. There wasn’t a lot to see. Other than the snow’s faint glimmer upon the plateau below and spreading beyond, the view was mantled in darkness as if the plateau were a stage and whatever lay beyond its edge hid behind a thick, velvety black curtain. She knew what lay beyond the lip. To the west and southwest, beyond the outhouse, storage shed, and woodpile, the slope fell away gradually and was thickly forested with tall lodgepole and thicker, stouter Douglas fir. Directly north, the bluff was very steep, nearly a vertical rock scramble to the top. To get a decent look at the tower, the bad guys would have to be quite a bit back of the rocks they would have to climb to reach it. Once they were just at the edge, though, the stairs would be easy to eyeball, as would the tower’s skeletal structure. A person on the steps near the top would stand out like a proverbial sore thumb. So she really could risk coming up only once more.

  Unless you’re already there. She didn’t think so, but she couldn’t help but scan the darkness until her eyes burned. There was nothing. Either their lights were out, or they weren’t there yet. Or they really do have night vision.

  A question for which she had no answer. She pushed the worry to one side. Angst over what she could control.

  Like, what to do about Mark.

  00:57:29…

  Her ears pricked to the dogs’ impatient scuffling at the door as soon as she stepped onto the porch. One more potty break; they were like clockwork that way.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” she said as they streamed past. Their bowls were empty. Shoot, she should’ve hung around to make sure Soldier hadn’t gotten into Daisy’s food. He didn’t, as a general rule, but there was always a first time.

  Stepping briskly, she peered round the jamb into the bedroom. Mark was where she’d left him, though his head sagged and he was hauling in breaths in loud, snuffling snores. The sound made her yawn. The day and night were catching up to her, too, and the real excitement had yet to start.