The Trouble With Murder (32 page)

For a moment, the SUV seemed
suspended in the air, two tires still touching the ground, everything else
frozen in time and space. Then, as if someone hit the
play
button, everything was moving again. The SUV pitched up
and over, landing on the passenger side and sliding down the embankment, away
from the road. I felt the momentum continue to pull the Tahoe over, but the
initial jolt flung me around and I hit my head. The unconsciousness I’d been
forestalling closed in around me, and, in a blink, everything went black.

When I came back around for the second time that day,
freezing wind and water were blowing onto my face. I was suspended in the seat
by my seatbelt, lying on my left side against the door. I blinked, trying to
clear away the last of the cobwebs. Raising a hand to block my eyes from the
rain, I glanced through what was left of the splintered windshield. The SUV was
lying on the driver’s side.

I heard the crackle of the CB radio
and vaguely recognized Rita’s voice as it issued a message to Ellmann. From
beyond the SUV somewhere, I heard other voices. Then the squish of boots in the
mud.

They were coming for me. And there
was no question about their intention. I had to move.

I released the seatbelt and
crumpled against the door, gasping at the pain that burst throughout my
shoulder. I struggled to get up, distantly aware of the glass cutting into the
skin of my hands and through my jeans. What wasn’t soaked with blood was
quickly soaked with rain, my clothes becoming heavy, cumbersome. As I worked
myself out from under the steering wheel, I looked around for the gun. I could
tell my brain still wasn’t firing on all cylinders, but I was slightly
rejuvenated, the adrenaline of the crash fueling me.

I still (by some miracle) had one
gun tucked into the waistband of my jeans, at the small of my back, but it held
only fifteen shots. My odds would be better if I had twice that many. I spotted
the second gun lying against the back window behind the driver’s seat. Once upright,
I reached back and picked it up.

Bracing myself on the seat, I
kicked at the damaged windshield. It broke free in a crumpled sheet with
minimal effort. I kicked it away, then eased myself through the opening, gun at
the ready.

Now that I was out of the SUV, I
could see it had spun slightly in its trip off the road. The nose was pointing
away from the road, just enough to shield me from view of those I knew were stomping
down the hill after me. I hurried behind the vehicle and contemplated my
ability to run the distance between it and the trees. It was probably only
thirty feet, but I’m not a runner on my best day. Today was not my best day. It
was a silly risk.

I also knew standing behind the
Tahoe waiting for five pursuers to close in on me was stupid. I really didn’t
want to kill anyone else, but I wasn’t about to roll over and die; I just don’t
have it in me. I stumbled to the back of the SUV and leaned around it, gun
raised. I saw the five of them, still dressed in black, all without masks now,
marching toward me in a wide line. Horrified, I realized I recognized a second
and third face among the crowd. I fired at the guy on the end. He stumbled and
fell back, and the others scrambled to decide what to do.

Two of them raised their guns and
squeezed off several shots, which struck the roof of the Tahoe. Another began
running, sprinting toward the opposite end of the vehicle. I hurried to the
other end and came around the front bumper in time to surprise him at ten feet.
I squeezed off two shots, both of which struck him center mass.

Stepping around the SUV a bit
further, I fired on the pursuers from the new position, hitting one. The two
remaining redirected their fire, and I fell back. Over the ringing in my ears,
the pounding of my pulse, and the rain, I swore I heard something very much
like an engine.

“That’s the rest of our team,” Tina
Shuemaker called.

Not good.

I was already outnumbered. Any more
joiners to the party would put a serious cramp in my style, and this whole
thing would end very badly for me. Of course, there was a chance it would end
badly regardless.

Now I was certain I heard the sound
of an engine. The engine was running high, and I thought it was approaching
quickly. I tried to determine where it was coming from but wasn’t certain. My
best guess was the direction I’d been heading before the crash. I leaned around
the bumper, enough to see the road but not to draw fire from Shuemaker or her companion.
Soon I saw the bounce of headlights. Then I saw the flickering glow of blue and
red lights.

This wasn’t her backup; this was
mine.

My hope was quickly overshadowed by
panic as I saw the Dodge Durango race over the side of the road and down the embankment,
heading into the clearing and straight toward me. Shuemaker and her friend had
realized the same; this wasn’t the rest of their people. The two began firing
on the Durango. I heard the bullets hit the body and the glass. The passenger
side window was open, and someone was returning fire.

I leaned around the bumper and took
aim, firing the last of my first fifteen shots. My opponents were in the worst
possible position, and they were now painfully aware of it. They were totally
exposed with nowhere to run. The SUV flew forward, toward me, and the gun in my
hand clicked empty. As I moved around the bumper, I noticed the first guy I’d
hit was no longer on the ground.

I tossed the empty gun aside and grabbed
the second from underneath my sweatshirt as I turned toward the other end of
the Tahoe. I raised the gun in time to see the missing guy stumble around the
SUV, gun in his hand, slumping forward and slightly to one side, bleeding from
the abdomen. I saw him flinch and knew he was about to fire. In the same
instant, the Durango slid into the overturned Tahoe. The Tahoe jumped with the impact,
slamming into the guy just as he pulled the trigger. The shot went wide, and he
flew backward. Hurrying away from the Durango as it continued to slide, I aimed
at the guy as he landed in the mud several feet away. He struggled to raise his
arm to take another shot, but the only sound was the report of my gun. He
slumped back, his body limp.

The hurried movements had zapped my
strength. I collapsed to my knees in the mud behind the Durango as the driver’s-side
door flew open and a large man I’d never seen before spilled out. He was on his
feet, hurrying around the back of the SUV then kneeling in the mud, firing at
the others.

I leaned forward, bracing myself
with my gun-hand on the ground. I knew I needed to get up, to at least aim the
gun at the back of the Tahoe should one of them come around it, but I could
barely hold myself upright. A second man shot out of the Durango. This one I
recognized. I must have looked as bad as I felt, because I’d never seen Ellmann
look so white, not once in the whole week and a half we’d known one another.

“Got another SUV approaching,”
reported the cop, whom I assumed was Koepke.

“Copy that,” Ellmann acknowledged.

Ellmann hustled over to me and easily
lifted me up, helping (mostly carrying) me over to the Durango. He lifted his
gun and kept it trained on the exposed end of the Tahoe. I saw his jaw flex
several times as he looked me over.

Keeping his eye on the exposed
side, he went back to the open door of the Durango. Reaching a long arm inside
and peering through the open window, he grabbed up the mic. After identifying
himself to Rita, he relayed critical details of our situation and requested
immediate medical response.

“Copy that,” she replied. “Contacting
Flight For Life now. Zoe, hang in there.”

I would have thought it impossible
for a helicopter to fly in such a downpour, but I guess they aren’t as affected
by the rain as I’d thought. Lucky for me. Who knows how long it would have
taken an ambulance to arrive all the way out here.

On the other side of the SUV, I
heard another vehicle slosh down the muddy embankment and stop, followed by the
sounds of car doors and voices.

“Looks like five or six more guys,”
Koepke reported.

“Backup en route,” Ellmann
answered. “ETA: three minutes.”

“That’s a long time.”

Koepke said aloud exactly what I’d
been thinking. Three minutes was a lifetime.

“Zoe, how many shots do you have
left?”

I looked at Ellmann and tried to
focus. It was difficult. Next, I tried to think. That was even harder.

“Fourteen.”

“You sure?”

“No.”

“It’s shoot-to-kill here, Zoe,” he
said.

“Way ahead of you,” I said,
thinking of the three I’d already taken out.

“Hey, you better not die on me. Understand?”

“You and me,” I said, my mouth dry,
“we’re on the same page there, too.”

He reached into the SUV again and
withdrew a water bottle, which he handed to me. I accepted it and worked the
lid off while he moved away toward the end of the Tahoe. Tossing the lid aside,
I lifted the bottle to my lips and took a long drink. I felt the water rush down
my esophagus and into my empty stomach. When half of it was gone, I pulled the
bottle away and exhaled with a big sigh.

“Hey, Zoe?”

It was Koepke calling me.

“Yeah?”

I didn’t have the energy to get up
and move just then.

“There’re eight of these guys now.
Are any of them a good shot?”

I’d recognized one guy who
definitely knew his way around a gun: Officer Pratt.

I reported this to Koepke. I
shrugged as I lifted the water bottle, one thought swirling toward the
forefront of my mind. “But I’m a better shot.”

“We’re gonna need all the help we
can get here,” Koepke said. “Any way you can get a sight?”

I was tired. I just wanted to lie
down and sleep for a week. I didn’t want to fight anymore. And I didn’t want to
kill any more people.

I sighed. “What are they doing
right now?”

I took another long swig of water while
he answered.

“I can’t see them. I’d guess
they’re making a plan for attack. It’s what I’d be doing.”

I finished the water and tossed the
bottle aside. I actually felt a little better. With the water in it, my stomach
was much less upset, and the nausea faded to manageable. I hoped I didn’t hork
up everything I just drank.

“And
our
plan of attack?” I
asked.

“It has to be defensive,” Koepke
answered. “Offense is too risky.”

“So we just wait for them to come
to us?”

“Basically.”

“I need your spot.”

I struggled to my knees. Leaning
against the SUV with my left arm, I shuffled toward the back of it, the mud
pulling at my jeans. I couldn’t help but notice the dark red smear I left
against the white paint, not completely washed away by the heavy rain.

“Here they come,” Koepke said as I
started around the back of the car.

Koepke and Ellmann both fired. The
bad guys returned fire. I realized Koepke couldn’t move now.

Moving away from the SUV, I
struggled forward, very unbalanced on my own. Coming up beside Koepke, I was
panting, sweating. I paused to catch my breath.

The bullets peppered both SUVs and
pounded into the ground near our knees. I wasn’t going to get any stronger. If
I was going to make a play, it needed to be now.

I raised the gun and leaned around
Koepke. I saw the eight of them had come around a Ford Explorer and formed a
line, moving forward, side by side. They all had their ski masks back on, and
the differences in mass and height were the only things distinguishable now.
They were difficult to see through the heavy rain. The headlights did little to
illuminate the scene. What gave them away was the muzzle flare of their guns.

I aimed for the one on the far
right and fired. The bullet struck, and he went down. My arm was shaking from
fatigue as I lined up the next shot. I noticed Koepke hesitate for half a
second.

It was equal measures luck and
skill. Maybe what Ellmann said about me having an overabundance of both had
merit. Plus, I’d had
a lot
of practice, starting at a young age. I
didn’t stop to explain any of this to Koepke, however.

I pulled the trigger again, and one
on Ellmann’s end staggered back and fell. I saw him practically bounce off the
ground, back onto his feet. I swung my gun left and fired. This time when he
fell, he didn’t get up.

Koepke fired off the last of his
magazine, hitting one in the shoulder, then dropped back to reload. I aimed at
another and fired, the bullet flying harmlessly past the person and landing in
the mud beyond. My arm was dropping; I was too weak to hold it up. What I
needed was another shot of adrenaline.

As if in answer, the remaining
shooters focused on me. A spray of bullets whizzed past my head, one so close
it grazed my temple. I dropped back, and the shots struck the ground just
behind me, mud spraying up with each. Now my heart was hammering, and I felt
another dose of adrenaline dump into my bloodstream. The open wound on my
temple burned from exposure and the heat of the bullet. That bullet had been
too close.

From the other side of the SUV, I
heard a grunt of pain. Ellmann had been hit. I heard one of the bad guys say,
“There! Go!”

I shot up onto my knees again and
leaned around the SUV, aiming the gun. I went left, picking off the one running
forward to finish off Ellmann. I squeezed the trigger, and the figure fell
forward, splashing into the mud. The bullets were already flying my way again.
Once Koepke had reloaded his gun, he leaned out and resumed the fight, his fire
helping to ward off some of what was being directed at us—at
me.

“Ellmann!” I called.

I didn’t know how injured Ellmann
was, or if he could defend himself any longer. I lined up my next shot, trying
my best to ignore the ones fired at me, and pulled the trigger. The figure went
down. Another shot made it permanent.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw
one of the remaining three fall. The figure dropped to his or her knees, gun
still raised. Koepke fired again. The figure fell back, the gun spashing into
the mud.

“Ellmann!”

Panic closed in around me until I
finally heard a reply from the other end of the car.

“I’m fine!”

Relief washed through me just as a
white-hot pain exploded in my right thigh, the fire rushing over my leg and
pelvis. My shot went wide, hitting an arm. I fired again, this time my aim
true.