Black_Tide (15 page)

She stepped up and grabbed his rifle. He tried to tug it away so she slapped him, hard enough to knock his head sideways, and wrest the gun from his grip. He stumbled and grabbed his cheek, tears brimming. "You are a liability. Jed will take your weapon and you will stay in the truck." She turned to Jed. "You will keep the keys so that he doesn't panic and drive away. Get atop those logs and cover us."

She ignored Joe's hurt look as he clambered into the truck, but muttered gratitude in Japanese when he didn't slam the door. "Let's go."

She picked her way straight toward the tower, around boulders and scrubby pine, grinding her teeth through every electric jolt of pain from her leg. The slippery ground took too much concentration and put too much pressure on her thigh. Finster moved through the snow with effortless silence, in slow, methodical steps.

He held up a fist, then cupped his hand to his ear.

The wind carried the jarring, indistinct sound of American 70s rock, reinforcing Sakura's first impression: however well equipped, however fanatical, these men were not professional soldiers. She nodded to show that she'd heard, then indicated via hand-signal to leapfrog forward under mutual cover.

They crested the rise on knees and elbows. The tower sat on a concrete slab capped with snow, a small maintenance shed at its base, door ajar. In front of it two men sat in a massive pickup with an elevated suspension. Smoke drifted up from cracked windows, tinging the crisp winter air with tobacco and marijuana.

Sakura held up a fist, waited, and watched, her Friend or Foe identifier trying to resolve hostile shapes. A few minutes later, light glinted on the hill behind the truck, and the HUD outlined a shape in double red triangles. She zoomed in, noted the scope lens that had caught her eye as the software highlighted the front of the rifle pointing toward the road. As she looked away, the target remained lit up in double triangles.

She pointed to her eyes and then to the target.

"I see him," Finster said through military hand signals. "Stay here and wait for my signal."

He disappeared behind her.

*   *   *

The M-ATV churned through the mud and slush at thirty miles an hour, the turbodiesel engine slowing not one whisker as they transitioned from hard pack to muddy field and back. Cory clutched his harness with both hands, rifle stowed in the netting behind his seat. They followed the ATV tracks—at least five of them—through the fields, past Aaron Walker's tree farm, toward the Wilcox brothers' tiny hunting shack.

"Do you think he's okay?" Cory asked.

Matt didn't reply. The suicide bomb trap in the bait shop gave him no confidence whatsoever that these people would behave in a rational manner, and his throat closed every time he thought of his wife and son.

"Matt?"

Matt snarled. "We'll find out when we get there."

They approached the shack from the southwest, taking advantage of the tree line to minimize their exposure. The enormous vehicle did not allow for stealth, only concealment.

Three shapes sprawled in the snow, camo coats hiding their identities.

A grating, keening screech erupted from Cory's throat, louder and louder as they drew up next to the bodies. Cory fumbled for the door handle without even undoing his harness. Matt grabbed his shoulder and put the M-ATV in park. Cory turned to him with wide eyes, breathing too hard, his sweaty face drained of color, slapping ineffectually at Matt's hands to get him to let go.

Matt took a steadying breath. "You can't just run out there. This could be a trap."

Cory fumbled with the harness, fat and panic turning his hands clumsy.

Matt's fingers clenched, digging into Cory's shoulder. "I need you to acknowledge that you heard me."

After another moment's fumbling, Cory stopped, breathed in, and gasped out a response. "I hear you. Okay. I hear you. What do we do?"

Matt spelled it out the best he could.

"We don't know who's out there. They set a trap for me in town, they could have done it again. What I need you to do is stay inside until I give you the all-clear. Got it?"

He interpreted Cory's wide-eyed stare as a lack of comprehension.

"Do you understand me?"

Cory shuddered, squeezed his eyes shut. "Yeah. I got it. Stay here."

"Okay. And pick up your weapon. Get ready to return fire if someone starts shooting. But don't shoot anyone else unless they're shooting at us. Can you do that?"

His head jiggled up and down.

"Do it." Matt popped his harness, hefted the AA-12, and opened the door. The whispers remained silent. He hesitated; he'd grown accustomed to their return far too fast, but found it hard not to trust them.

He stepped down into the snow, next to Chris Wilcox's body. Cory's brother stared with dead eyes into the sky, his mouth open in silent shock. Matt knelt and put his fingers to Chris's neck, feeling for a pulse he knew he wouldn't find.

Judging by her hair, the gray, curly-haired body next to him had to be Sandy Miller, arms spread wide, face a ruined mess of meat and bone.

Ted chuffed. Despite the danger, Matt's heart skipped an elated beat as his clumsy, bumbling hound dog sat up from his place of rest behind the hood of Kevin Bartell's parka.

"Ted, settle."

The dog lay down with a whine and a plaintive look at Kevin.

Bartell lay dusted in snow, head to the side, face just visible around the faux-fur lining, no signs of trauma visible. Matt scanned the trees for any sign of movement, then moved next to the body and nudged Kevin with his boot. Kevin groaned, but didn't open his eyes, even when Ted licked his nose.

"Ted, truck." Matt stepped back to the M-ATV, dog at his heels. Ted hopped in as Matt opened the side door and pulled the first aid kit off the wall.

Cory stared at Matt with bloodshot, haggard eyes. "He's gone, isn't he?"

Matt gave the tiniest of nods. "I'm sorry. Kevin's alive. I need you to drive to town and get the ambulance crew. Load them up in here and get back as fast as you can. Can you do that for me?"

Eyes wet, Cory nodded.

"Say it."

Cory looked out at Kevin, then back to Matt, his face a mask of grim resolve. "I can do that."

"Good. Kevin's life depends on it. And take care of my dog. Go."

Matt stepped out and got to work while Cory pulled away.

He put his hand on Kevin's neck, warm despite the near-freezing temperatures and covered in dog hair. "Kevin, buddy. Can you hear me?"

Kevin's lips twitched, but no sound came out.

"I can't see where you're hurt. Can you tell me?"

He leaned in close and could just make out the answer. "Chest."

"Can you breathe okay?"

A tiny nod. "Hurts, though. Your Ted. He kept me warm."

"Hush. Don't talk unless you have to." He prodded gently, and Kevin didn't react much. "Ted's a good boy. Does that hurt?"

"No more than usual."

"All right. I'm going to roll you over. Try not to scream."

He dug his boots in as best he could, put his hands on Kevin's shoulder and thigh, and heaved. The giant rolled over with a whimpering sigh.

Matt unzipped Kevin's coat to reveal a flannel shirt beneath, a square object in the breast pocket. Buttons flew as he ripped open the shirt, then tore off the white undershirt to reveal a massive black bruise covering Kevin's entire chest, and not a drop of blood.

Matt pulled the object from Kevin's breast pocket, a polished chrome case he had to wrench open. Inside, a tiny bible lay obliterated, the bullet flattened against the back of the container.

"You lucky son of a bitch," Matt said. He gently prodded Kevin's chest with his fingertips, and tears came to the big man's eyes. Kevin hissed and bit his lip, drawing blood, as Matt assessed the damage. His ribs shifted far too much. A quick check of Kevin's extremities gave him a better assessment. "You want the good news or the bad news?"

"Good." The word came out as a gasp.

"You're a fat bastard and you're well dressed, so between the coat and the dog hypothermia doesn't seem to be an issue. The parka and the gloves protected you from frostbite on your extremities, and I think we can blame Ted that you might have just a touch on your left ear, but that's it." He held up the bible and box. "The Good Book saved you, deflected the bullet and absorbed a lot of the impact. You're going to be fine."

"Bad?"

"Your sternum's shattered. You're likely going to need surgery and won't be up and about for a good while. You need to stay nice and still until the ambulance gets here. Now for the great news."

Kevin lifted his eyebrows. "There's great news?"

Matt grinned and held up a syringe. "This is morphine."

*   *   *

Light flashed three times. Sakura zoomed in to see Finster lying where the sniper had been. He drew a line across his throat, then positioned himself to draw down on the truck.

Sakura bolted down the slope, feet plunging into the scree under the snow in a series of tiny avalanches. She hit the road at a full sprint and whirled around as she skidded to the front of the truck. Her thigh burned, and red wetness spread across her jeans.

The men inside freaked, the driver diving out of sight, the passenger clutching for a pistol on the dash. She pulled the trigger twice, sending two three-round bursts through the windshield into his center of mass. He twitched and jerked, but Sakura yelled her next command before his dead body had a chance to settle.

"Hands up! Now!" She punctuated the command with a burst into the radiator.

The driver's hands shot up to the roof of the cab.

"Keep them there. I will not warning shoot." She limped up to the side, sneering around clenched teeth. "Now with your right hand you will open the door and step out. Your hands will be in sight at all times."

He got out, a scruffy man in his twenties, eyes wide, cheek spattered with his companion's blood. All color had drained from his face.

"Who are you?" A tickle worked its way down her leg, warm blood trickling down to her ankle and into her sock. She kept the weapon trained on the driver.

He puffed up his chest. "I don't answer to vermin."

An engine revved behind her, and tires skittered across gravel. She stepped back and turned to keep the scruffy man and the approaching vehicle in view, and a shot rang out.

The man twisted and fell to the side, his hand still on the pistol tucked into the back of his jeans.

White-knuckled, Pastor Joe gripped the wheel with both hands, careening to a stop in front of the body. He gaped out the window at her leg. "You've been shot!"

Sakura looked down at the dark stain spreading across her thigh, then back up at the idiot. "And you were instructed to stay back and cover our retreat! Now give me the keys."

"I heard gun—"

She choked up the REC-7 and drew a bead on his face. "Give me the keys. Now."

He yanked the keys from the ignition and held them out. She snatched them from his outstretched hand and lowered the weapon just as Jed Callaway rounded the corner below, slogging up the snowy road with his AR-15 cradled to his chest. She shoved the keys in her pocket and limped into the maintenance shed.

The generator sat idle but intact. A minute's tinkering got it running. Ten seconds later her phone beeped, showing full service, so she stepped out, closed and re-locked the door.

Finster had dragged the other body down from his roost, a ragged red line sliced across his neck. They exchanged nods, then Sakura sat on the snow-covered concrete. She pulled out a knife and sliced through her jeans with one expert move.

Her trip down the slope had shifted the bandage and dislodged the gauze, exposing several stitches that had separated in her exertions. It bled more than it should, but not arterial—with a little care she'd be fine. She re-wrapped the bandage, cinched it tight, and looked up.

They'd laid the bodies out in a line. Callaway held three wallets, Finster arranged their weapons on the hood of Callaway's truck, and Pastor Joe sat behind the wheel, hands on at ten and two, face white.

Finster spat. "Sorry about that. I figured you wanted that one alive, but with your back half-turned and him going for that pea shooter, I figured safe's better than sorry."

"You made the right call." She glared at Joe. "His fault, and Callaway's for letting him get the keys, but not yours."

Jed looked from the weapons to Sakura to the dead men. "What now?"

"I'll report their identities and leave two of you here to guard the tower from further incursion. The pastor will come with me back to town."

Joe opened the door and threw up, the messy splatter darkening the snow.

*   *   *

Jason Rees ploughed St. Martin's utility van through the snow-covered streets and thanked the Lord the snow had finally stopped. His head swam with fatigue and the last vestiges of withdrawal, and most of all with the vision that had stopped him cold in mid-sermon.

Monica slept in a bed of giant brambles, the thorns piercing angry red welts through her skin. She thrashed and they tightened, lifting her into the air, still unconscious. Beneath her Adam sat in a small ring of bare Earth surrounded by feathers of ice, just beginning to melt under a black sun. Just outside the feathers, black wormlike forms writhed and slithered through and over the ground, probing forward and shying back just before contact.

He'd walked out, the ceremony unfinished, and drove south without explanation. He still had none, other than that the love of his life needed him.

Across the state line he turned on the radio, and caught the news of White Spruce. But despite the gnawing anxiety in his gut, he could drive no faster than conditions allowed.

Light drifted in rainbows across the room, a silent lullaby given form. The angel smiled as Monica opened her eyes, stroked her hair and folded her in its wings of ice. She sighed and returned the smile, sinking into the soothing warmth. She knew its face; it looked like her dad, but had her husband's brown eyes—or maybe Adam's—but flecked with brilliant green.