Authors: John Turney
“Are they gone?” whispered Mel.
Zach shook his head.
“What’s going on?” she whispered, her hand resting on Zach’s bicep.
“Quiet,” he replied. Sporadic gunfire echoed, but he couldn’t tell where it came from. Then Heilo’s voice came over the headset. His blood chilled when she described the C-4 set to go off. He closed the door without making a sound.
“Eye,” he said, “this is Crawler Two.”
“Zach!” Gabby’s voice, a joyful shriek in his earpiece. “Where are you?” Her reception came over broken and static-filled.
“A storage area on the bottom floor. Where is everybody?”
“Crawler Two, this is Agent Clark. You’re breaking up. Can you repeat that?” Zach did so. “Crawler One, Three, and Four are on the second floor. We have copters coming in. Are you ready for extraction?”
“Roger. Note, I have the Visser twins, and one is hurt in a bad
way. Needs immediate medical attention. Plus I’ve got me a dozen Mexican kids between the ages of eleven and fourteen. They’re scared and hungry. And abused.”
“Roger that. Stay put until …” The rest of her words came through garbled.
He frowned. “The reception is bad. I have to move to where I can hear.”
The headset crackled in response, and then went dead.
Cold fury coursed through Rye as he watched the callous way Demonio Amo dumped Dee and Sunflower into the helicopter furthest from the house. For a moment, he considered taking him down with an arrow, but estimated the distance to be around 400 yards. With the backdraft from the helicopters’ rotors, he doubted his accuracy with the bow.
Demonio jumped into the copter, and shooting him became a moot point. Rye would not risk firing gun or bow if it meant he might hit Dee. Struggling to come up with Plan B rattled around in his mind, but the plan failed to materialize.
His eyes narrowed into slits of ice. The primal urge to kill those who endangered his family pervaded him.
“Heilo,” he barked, “can you read what’s written on those boxes? Your 15/20 vision is better’n mine.” He pointed to where a group of men bustled around the last stack of wooden crates.
She stepped up next to him and followed the direction he pointed. “It’s hard to read … can’t tell with all the bad hombres in the way, but
it looks like … RPG. That’s enough to do a world of hurt.”
“Clark,” Rye said into the mic. “How far out is the cavalry?”
Below them, the helicopters’ rotors spun with incrementally increasing speed.
“About two minutes,” came her reply. “The new storm to the west is causing turbulence. Slowing them down.”
The top rotors on several helicopters whined as they approached take off speed. List’s men began to climb into the birds.
Rye jerked his head to the beat of a string of curses. “Clark, I’ll get back to you.” He motioned with his arms. “Everyone over here. On my count, I want everyone to shoot at those boxes.” He pointed at the remaining few. “And be ready for the explosion. Don’t worry about List’s men. They’re not targets, but if they’re in the way …” He paused. “It sucks to be them.”
The rotors of several of the helicopters reached traveling speed.
“Three.”
List waddled to the last bird and climbed in.
“Two.”
Demonio tapped the pilot on his helmet. The rotor to the last helicopter began to pick up speed.
“One.”
They opened fire. Several of List’s men fell under the torrent of bullets. Others fled to the copters to escape the maelstrom. Two stood petrified, gripping a crate, watching lead chew it into splinters.
Gaping holes had appeared in the boxes. Rye aimed an explosive arrow at a crate and pulled back on the bowstring. The string creaked ominously.
“Ya’ll might want to step back. Pronto.” He loosed the arrow and
ducked behind the outside wall.
Moments later, a fireball erupted. The percussive wave from the blast pounded the house, knocking Rye over in a heap on the floor. A scream ripped from his throat, hands covering his twisted knee.
Check on Dee. She’s got to be okay.
He rolled over rubble to reach the window. Searing flames engulfed the closest helicopter. That bird exploded, sending it crashing into the bird beside it. Both crashed into yet a third. Debris rained down on the inferno.
Below, smoky fires raged in the wreckage of crumpled helicopters. The air stank of oily smoke and charred flesh. Winds caused by those fires tore at his clothes and hair. His hearing returned to the screams of wounded. Bodies lay scattered about.
The last helicopter—the one with Dee—struggled to make its getaway. Black smoke streamed from its underbelly. Through the heat waves emitted by the flames, Rye spotted Dee leaning out of the opened side of the helicopter. She stared at him in wide-eyed panic. Someone in the copter grabbed her and pulled her back in. He clenched his fists, watching the copter disappear over the ridge.
<><><><><><><><><><>
Manny hid in the SUV. But he had to pee … bad. When that man dressed in wolf skins had kidnapped his mother, twilight allowed him to witness it. Now, it was dark.
He waited. Time dragged on. With growing curiosity, he risked peering out the car window. He didn’t see anybody, but the dark made that difficult. Manny sank back onto the back seat.
Now what?
From the direction of the big house, an explosion shook the ground, rattling the car windows. He watched the sky turn orange.
That does it. I’m looking for Mom.
Manny scrambled into the driver’s seat and moved the seat forward until his toes touched the gas pedal. Strapping on the seat belt, he reviewed the driving lessons his father gave him last summer.
Keys dangled from the steering column. He fired up the engine and slipped the transmission into drive. He pushed down on the gas pedal with his toes, and the vehicle inched forward followed by a dinging noise. Staring at a red light flashing on the dashboard, he pondered for a few seconds the meaning of that light. He was doing something wrong.
Come on, come on, it’s got to mean something.
Then he remembered. The parking brake. He found it and released it. Giving the SUV gas, he inched towards List’s driveway.
<><><><><><><><><><>
DePute dared a peek over the waterfall’s fake rocks. The gunmen had boogied out the pool area and headed for the copters. He watched the frenzied scene outside. Helicopters started to lift off the ground. Men scrambled to load the last of the munitions. Two men hefted a crate labeled RPG. That could only mean …
Gunfire coming from some floor above them shredded the side of the RPG crate.
Batts raised his head. “What’s happenin’?”
“Get down!” DePute screamed.
A massive explosion sent a ball of fire into the glass wall.
<><><><><><><><><><>
Gritting his teeth, Rye spun away from the ruined window.
List has Dee. He’s evacuating his personnel, and this building’s primed to detonate.
“Heilo,” he yelled, “help Sheriff Oakmann.” He pointed to the dead deputy. “Whitewolf, can you handle Tex’s body? We need to locate DePute and Reese. I want everyone out of this building ASAP. No one gets left behind.”
“Nephew,” said Chee, clamping him on the shoulder. “Get your wife. And Sunflower. We’ll take care of this.” He pointed with his chin toward the stairs. “Go.”
Rye grabbed the bow and quiver of arrows he’d dropped in the explosions. He limp-ran to the stairs and hobbled down cursing at his knee but grateful the brace offered some support.
No one moved in the pool area. Wherever he stepped, his boots crunched on shards of glass. Debris floated in the pool’s water, along with bodies of List’s men.
Just like Iraq
. He heard a moan and saw a hand push through a pile of wreckage. In the dancing light coming from the burning ruins outside, the hand resembled a desperate escape from hell.
Rye nocked an arrow and aimed at the emerging person. A body followed the hand, and Rye raised his bow and sighted along the arrow, prepared to unloose the bolt.
“WPD!” Rye yelled. “Put your hands in the air!” The next second would be critical. He took a deep breath and held it.
“Chief?” replied the figure, scraps of drywall falling off him. “It’s DePute. I got Batts with me. Though it feels like I got pounded by a monster wave, I’m not hurt more’n a few scratches.”
“DePute? You have to evacuate immediately,” Rye ordered. He watched Batts rise from the ruins. “Batts. You need assistance?”
“Naw,” said DePute, “we’re good.”
Rye said, “Our people’ll be coming down these stairs in a few. Hook up with them and get out.”
Now, where’s Zach?
Rye skirted the fiery wrecks of helicopters, bypassed the torn and burnt bodies, while ignoring the pleas of the wounded. Pressing his lips together, he gazed at the ridge where the helicopter with Dee had disappeared. He’d heard no crash, so he assumed they were okay.
If List so much as harms one hair …
He started toward the ridge. If only he had the means to travel faster. They already had too much of a head start. How was he going to catch up? He snapped his fingers.
Oakmann’s horses.
Using the stable as a compass, he headed in that direction.
Not more than a dozen steps later, his knee buckled. On all fours—his injured leg straight out—Rye studied the fence. He’d never make it. Not with his bum knee. He had to come up with another idea pronto, or Dee was in for a world of hurt.
A car horn blasted. Rye glanced over his shoulder to see a car’s headlights breeching the same ridge List’s helicopter had disappeared over. An SUV followed after the lights and skittered an erratic path across the canyon floor towards him. Tires whined against the mud seeking to suck the vehicle into stopping. The car’s lights played across him, blinding Rye. He pulled a gun out of his waistband.
“Stop the car,” Rye commanded, gun pointed at a spot above the headlights.
The vehicle careened to a stop, then slid a few feet in the sodden ground. The driver leaned out the window.
“Dad!” the driver yelled.
Manny?
Slamming his gun back into its holster, Rye limped over to the SUV.
“The wolf man’s got Mom.” The words poured in a torrent from Manny’s mouth. Wetness welled in his boy’s eyes.
“Scoot over, partner.” Rye eased into the driver’s seat. “We’re going after Mom.”
Thick, black smoke gushed into the helicopter. Struggling to breathe, Dee cupped her hands over her nose and mouth. Tears blinded her eyes and flooded her cheeks. Despite these discomforts, at least it choked off List’s rampaging curses.
Her thoughts went to Manny and Rye. The desire to clutch her son and hold him close overwhelmed her heart. The thought she might never see him again brought fresh tears. And Rye. He was trying so hard to gain her approval. To win her heart again. He wasn’t perfect, but no one was. Least of all her. He remembered important dates like birthdays better’n most husbands. Manny still adored him.
And I keep shoving him away.
Dee began to pray out loud, though she couldn’t hear her own voice.
The helicopter’s engine sputtered, and it kicked like a bronco with a bear on its tail. They swiveled back and forth in half circles. Her stomach turned gushy, and she thought she was going to vomit.
A semi-conscious Sunflower sat next to her on the metal bench.
The woman coughed, so Dee, fearing the other would suffer smoke inhalation, cupped a hand over Sunflower’s nose. Unable to brace herself, the helicopter’s rocking repeatedly flung Dee into the metal wall with bruising agony.
“Sir,” yelled the pilot to List, “I can’t control this thing.”
“You’re a pilot. Fly this piece of—” List shouted, his face an ugly sneer.
“No, sir,” the pilot interrupted calmly. “The oil light’s on. I’m losing fuel quickly. I’ll need to put this bird down in less than a minute, or we’ll crash.”
Transfixed, Dee gaped at the transformation on List’s face. One second he snarled like a madman, and now he smiled like a kid at Christmas. Like he resolved something in his mind.
“How far will she go?” List yelled back.
“Maybe a mile or two.”
List peered out the open side. Leaning back toward the pilot he pointed and said, “Go about 1000 yards that way and set her down.”
“Yes, sir,” said the pilot.
“Just park this baby by those rocks,” he yelled at the pilot.
List turned to Dee. “Ready to go for an ATV ride?”
When the helicopter touched down, List pulled out a large black handgun from the back of his waistband and pointed it at the back of the pilot’s head.
“Look out,” yelled Dee.
List pulled the trigger.
<><><><><><><><><><>
Rye stopped the SUV after crashing into and running over the barb-wire fence, leaving a gaping hole in the fence line. He flicked on the high beams and scrutinized the scrub trees beyond the fence. Bugs twirled inside the beams, and several pairs of eyes stared at him before the small animals scurried away. Oakmann had hobbled their horses somewhere in this area. Hopefully, the animals hadn’t wandered.