“It’s gettin’ fuckin’ late. Her daddy’s got guns, he could be out there right now, lookin’ for ’er. I don’t wanna get shot, man.”
“Don’t think he cares about her anymore.”
“Think she’s just a drop-off? Like those two we found in Saxonburg?”
“
Sara
was a drop-off?”
“Where the fuck
you
been?”
“Prob’ly on one of our food runs. Simon’s got me goin’ out all the time now. Ever since he found us at the Center in Pittsburgh, he’s got me lookin’ for food.”
“That’s only ‘cause you were stealin’ food at the fuckin’ Center, moron. Simon figures that’s what you do. Fuck, you do it good, too, dude!”
“
You
stole food, too, asswipe!”
“Can’t believe Sara was a drop-off. Damn ...”
“You don’t remember comin’ back and there she was? Where d’ya think she came from? The fuckin’ sky?”
“Thought maybe Simon found her somewheres. She’s cute, man.”
“She’s a fuckin’ scatterbrain. Why d’ya think he ties her down every time he wants to fuck ’er?”
A giggle. “Always thought Simon liked gettin’ his rocks off that way.”
“You’re an idiot. She freaks whenever she thinks someone’s gonna touch ’er.”
“All chicks are scatterbrains nowadays.”
“So is most everyone else. I see ’em all the time when we drive into town. Like a fuckin’ zombie movie. Can’t even tell when they’re dead anymore. You gotta swat ’em in the head, wait and see if they do anything.”
A chuckle. “Bring your lunch!”
“Simon said they’re droppin’ off dopers like they used to dump dogs. Can’t blame ’em none. Look at Mush Mouth. Fucker’s brain’s Swiss cheese. Simon would dump ’im in a heartbeat if Mush Mouth wasn’t his brother.”
“Don’t matter none. I like Sara even if she is a scatterbrain.”
“The other one? Rita? She only lasted a day or two.”
“Sweet chick, but loony as a shithouse rat. Screamed like a banshee whenever ya touched ’er.”
“Did Simon really have to take ’er out to the dump and shoot ’er?”
“Said she was losin’ her bodily functions.”
“She just didn’t wanna fuck no more. Simon won’t feed a chick that won’t fuck, says it ain’t practical. Says everything’s gotta have a purpose.”
“We got to go back. Simon might decide to let us have a crack at this new one.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Cal.”
“Dude, Cal bullshits a
lot
. Simon didn’t even wanna bring ’im with us when he was done stealin’ food and meds at the Juvie Center. Cal gave ’im all sorts of shit. Simon was in a hurry, didn’t wanna listen to his shit. So be brought ’im out here with the rest of us.”
“So what?” A giggle. “What if Cal’s right this time? I’m in!”
“Me, too. I mean,
wow
, man ...”
“Don’t get your hopes up. Simon’s been pissed all fuckin’ day about Doc and James.”
“Doc was one weird asshole, collectin’ those damn scalps. Fuckin’ things smell
bad
.”
“Fucker sure knew how to find drugs out here. Know how Simon gets when he can’t get buzzed.”
“C’mon, dudes. Gettin’ chilly out here. Don’t see nobody. We can start lookin’ for that psycho again in the mornin’.”
The flashlight clicked off and the comforting darkness returned. The rustling resumed and rapidly grew fainter.
I crawled out of my hiding space. Using the stump of the tree for cover, I peered around it and watched the four black figures disappearing into the darkness of the woods.
I waited about two minutes. Then, keeping low and still gripping the Ruger, I stayed behind the cover of the trees lining the path while following them into the awaiting fortress.
***
Once I’d reached the woods, I increased my pace. Then, using the trees and thick brush for cover, I stayed as close as possible to the foursome. Using my penlight was out of the question, so I had to be extra careful to watch my footing. I couldn’t lose sight of them, and I couldn’t risk injuring myself.
It took us about twenty minutes to reach the other end of the woods. Beyond it, a beat-up four-door pickup sat in the middle of the road, facing the top of the hill. The bed was stacked high with furniture and rolls of fencing, partially covered with sections of torn tarp hanging down and fastened to the side of the truck with bungee cords. The lights were off, but the engine was running, and I could see a shadow sitting behind the wheel.
I crawled out amongst the bushes and lay on the cold ground beside a thick, segmented deadfall, about forty yards down from the truck. Two of the boys were walking around the vehicle, their flashlight beams jumping around wildly. The other two stood about ten feet down from the open tailgate, their backs to the road as they urinated into the ditch. If they hadn’t been standing there, I could have snuck over, climbed the bed and hid beneath the tarp.
One of the other two boys stepped onto the shoulder, turned his back and set about doing what the other two were doing. The fourth boy remained in the middle of the road, scanning the area with his flashlight beam. It swept over in my direction, stopping about ten feet short of my position. I flattened myself to the ground and buried my face in my arms. The bright silver halo stayed focused on the woods for about twenty seconds before shifting and moving in the opposite direction.
“Hurry up!” The driver stuck his head out the window and gestured. “Don’t like it out here!”
“Hold your wad,” one of them said. “We’re tendin’ to business!”
“Can’t ... fool me,” the driver said. “You’re ... takin’ a leak!”
“And you thought he was stupid,” one of them said, chuckling.
“Silly me,” his partner replied. “Mush Mouth’s a private dick.”
“You’re half right.”
The boy in front of the truck zipped up and rejoined his partner. Their flashlight beams lit up the woods about a hundred feet to my left. They were talking too softly for me to hear what they were saying.
I hadn’t a prayer of following them on foot. Once they got in the truck, they’d be gone in thirty seconds and I’d have to guess where they went. It would take me close to half an hour, perhaps an hour, to get back to the farm, dig up the keys, unlock the garage door, get in the truck, drive back here and start looking again. In that time, they’d be able to cover at least twenty miles. Judging by what I’d heard earlier, they didn’t live far, but that didn’t make this any easier. There were dirt roads, turnoffs and isolated houses everywhere in this area. It would take me several days and nights to check out every road and structure within a five- or ten-mile radius. I couldn’t risk Fields being held captive by this dangerous brood for that long. I had to think of something fast.
My only chance was to somehow delay them from driving away and divert their attention. I had to find some way to sneak over to the truck, jump onto the bed and hitch a ride to their hideout. This meant sabotaging the truck, but only temporarily. My option in this case was to shoot out their front tire once they started moving. Like all guns, the Ruger was loud enough to be heard at quite a distance. The loud engine noise of the truck would absorb some of the explosion, but not as much as I’d need. The opened windows wouldn’t help me at all. My only hope was that they’d think the blast was actually a blowout.
As they set about changing the tire, I could circle around, sneak up to the truck, climb in back and hide amongst the clutter during their drive back to their place. While they pulled off the main road, I could roll out of the bed and hide in the grass or bushes. Later on, when I was sure everyone was asleep, I could set about looking for Fields. As long as this crew didn’t keep dogs, I’d be reasonably safe.
I didn’t have much time. I had to ditch the backpack. It was bulky, and would slow me down. I still had the Ruger, the .38, the .22, and a sharp hunting knife. With the speed loaders and forty loose rounds of .22 mini mags in my ammo belt, I was carrying more than seventy rounds. I’d feel much better with extra mags in my pockets, but there wasn’t time to rummage through the backpack. I had to work with what I had.
On the off-chance that I’d be able to return, I decided to hide the backpack so I could retrieve it later on. I squirmed out of it, placed it on the ground beside me and pushed large sections of broken bark on top of it. I gathered up some dead leaves and dropped them on it as well. I found a fairly straight stick and jammed it into the ground vertically beside the deadfall. This done, I lay down in the ditch, rested the barrel of the Ruger on my left forearm, and waited.
“C’mon, dammit!” the driver yelled. “You guys ... ain’t ya done yet?”
“Naw, we like standin’ out here with our schlongs hangin’ out! The cool night air’s givin’ me a hard-on!”
“Shut your pie-hole, you dumb shit!”
“Get in the fuckin’ truck,
all
of ya!”
The boys zipped up, approached the truck, opened the back doors and got in. The other two killed their flashlights and went back to the cab.
Moments later, the high-pitched grinding of gears signaled the departure of the truck. It eased forward. Seconds later, its headlights lit up the hill straight ahead.
Using my off-center vision to gauge my target, I inched the barrel of the Ruger toward my left. I knew I had I had only a few seconds to shoot before the truck gained speed. To make the situation worse, the truck had no sidelights, and the darkness made it nearly impossible to actually see my target. As I’d done many times while patrolling the Border, I was going to have to guess where the target actually was. The rifle round had a range of about a mile, but its rainbow pattern left too much to chance. There could be a discrepancy of six or eight inches between where I’d aimed and where the bullet landed. All hell would break loose if I hit the body of the truck above the tire. But I couldn’t wait. I was going to have to risk the shot.
The truck began gaining speed as it lumbered up the hill.
Just as I was about to pull the trigger, a loud
crack
! reverberated in the area, and the truck jerked to a screeching stop.
I lay in the dirt, struggling to determine what I’d just heard. Was it a gunshot? Or had one of the tires blown out at that precise moment?
Things like that just didn’t happen—not when or how you wanted them to, anyway. It was way too convenient. Too easy.
To make sure I wasn’t hallucinating, I sniffed the barrel of the Ruger. It hadn’t been fired. Of course it hadn’t. I certainly would have noticed firing it, wouldn’t I?
Maybe, maybe not. The Ruger didn’t have a hair trigger, but was certainly easy enough to fire without applying excessive pressure. Any sort of cough or twinge would have been more than enough to cause me to squeeze off a round.
But since I
hadn’t
coughed or even tensed up during that moment, this wasn’t the issue. My nerves were on edge and my head had been teetering on thought overload for the last hour and a half. I was concentrating on the shot, the trajectory of the bullet, the distance, the darkness. I was worried about missing the tire and hitting the truck. I was wondering how I could sneak over to the truck after I’d flattened the tire ... and how I could climb in back, undetected ... and what I’d do once the truck started moving again ... and when we’d arrived at our destination ... and looking for Fields ... and finding her, bringing her back without getting us killed.
Too many things were rushing through my mind. I could have easily pressed the trigger without even noticing.
I had to stop trying to figure out what I did or didn’t do and face what happened. Something that sounded very much like a gunshot had come from somewhere very close, and I was the one with the loaded gun in my hand when it happened. However, the barrel didn’t reek of cordite, suggesting that I hadn’t fired the weapon.
So ... what
did
happen?
And why had the truck stopped so suddenly?
In the midst of my confusion, the truck doors flew open and the five males jumped out, all chattering away hysterically as they flicked on their flashlights. The darkness exploded with harsh beams of white light leaping and jerking in every direction. Three of them crossed the road, moving carefully toward me. I heard the clicking of automatics.
Instinct told me to get up, dash back into the woods and hide. But I couldn’t move. The odds were stacked against me. Although the boys were nearly a hundred yards from me, they’d see me in their flashlight beams as soon as I got up from the ground. There were three of them, they were armed, and the brilliant globes of white light coming toward me would immediately disorient me. As they drew closer, my only option was to close my eyes, guess their position, and empty the magazine.
Logically, I couldn’t do that. Dead, they couldn’t lead me to Fields, and once Simon found out five of his men hadn’t returned, he’d send out more of his gang to investigate. The area would be swarming with armed psychos in no time. I’d be forced to go into hiding, perhaps for days.
I had no idea how many of these young killers I could be facing. Simon had apparently raided a Juvenile Center for drugs and food and then decided to bring a batch of kids back with him to do his errands. For all I knew, he might have a platoon living with him. If so, he could send out truckloads all day long. It wouldn’t be long before they found me and killed me. Even if I was able to avoid them, it would seriously delay my hunt for Fields.