Nothing Short of Dying (19 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

I
woke to the sounds of birds. Gritty yellow sand covered my face and had worked its way into one of my nostrils. A warm rump pressed hard into the small of my back and I reached around to stroke its owner. A little beyond and above Sleeping Beauty were two eyes—small, yellow, and intense—hovering on the cave wall. They bored into mine, prying for a moment, and then they were gone. The light slowly filtered into the cave, and I saw two large rats standing on our packs against the far wall. They caught me staring and took off—one with the last piece of jerky in its fanged mouth.

My mind drifted and soon traveled down one of those twisty tunnels, shifting from the rats to the men my mom had dated, to Paxton, to Jen, to the night of Paxton's death.

THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOT
had given me enough of an adrenaline boost to drag my busted body back to the car in a hurry. Jen and I took off into the night with rubber screaming and drove aimlessly for hours, trying to wrap our heads around what we'd done.

Eventually, after we calmed ourselves and rationalized
Paxton's death, we drove to the river and tossed the gun—Mom's pistol that she should have used earlier—into the middle of the roaring brown waters. We spent the next three days in the desert, sleeping in the car, eating rabbits, and listening to the radio for news. There hadn't been any witnesses, and the police were asking anyone with information to please come forward. We went home, and when the cops eventually showed up to ask questions, we alibied each other out. It cemented our promise to always look out for each other.

ALLIE STIRRED AND PULLED ME
back down into our nest. “Morning,” she said, then kissed me hard.

“That it is,” I said. “We need to get going.”

She pushed me away, stared me down. “We could just stay here,” she said. “You could go and shoot something for breakfast; then we could make a fire, maybe finish what we started last night.” Her eyes brimmed with hope, and I hated like hell to say what I said next.

“We need to move. We need to find Jen. Things undone stay undone and wear on you like a bad-fitting saddle.”

“Just how are we going to do that?” she asked, reluctantly standing and sliding into her pants. “We don't know where she is.”

I threw on my clothes, checked my rifle. “I'm ninety percent sure she's with Alvis, and I'm almost as sure he's left a trail. We'll sneak into the ranch first, and if no one's there, we'll take the Jeep and figure out our next move.”

Allie sighed, started picking up her things.

I watched her for a long moment, and then said softly, “Hey, Allie . . .”

She turned around. “Yeah?”

I couldn't look her in the eye. “I'll understand if you want to call an end to this, take the Jeep to town. I can take one of Zeke's horses. I'll be okay . . . really. Maybe it's better, you know?”

“You trying to get rid of me again?” she said. “You don't want me around?” She walked over to me, lifted my chin. “Look at me, Barr.”

Our eyes met and I pulled her toward me, kissing her forehead. “I just don't want you to get hurt . . . I couldn't live—”

“You can live through
anything
, Barr,” she said. “That's what makes you who you are.” A single tear appeared at the corner of her eye and she wiped at it and sniffed. “How about
this . . .
how about we figure out where Lance is, but we do it quietly? We don't rush in this time without an army to back us. Maybe we get the Feds involved.”

I didn't say anything for a moment, then finally nodded. She was making sense, of course, but I didn't picture things playing out that way.

We readied our packs quickly and were walking in the early morning light as the sun clambered its way over the eastern horizon.

THE MOUNTAINS WERE FULL OF
enthusiasm after the rain. Sunlight glistened off the dew on the grass and through the silver strands of spiderwebs dangling in the trees. Ghostly white steam rose from the rocks where ravens stood croaking.

It didn't take us long to reach the ranch, as we really hadn't gone that far the night before, it just felt like it in our hasty exit. I left the road, Allie following closely behind, and we worked our way through the trees to the hill behind the ranch. From there we watched the buildings closely for any
kind of activity. Seeing none, we walked down slowly, my rifle at the ready, until we reached the main house.

“I'll start the Jeep,” she said. “You do your thing.”

I nodded and she ran off.

I heard the Jeep start as I kicked the house door open, rifle pulled tight against my shoulder. Nothing happened. The place seemed abandoned but hadn't been completely cleaned out. On the table were two empty bottles of vodka and torn white paper packaging from medical gauze. I swept through the house quickly with the rifle, then slowly after I was sure it was empty. I searched Zeke's room, and when I opened his footlocker I realized just how dark a human being he'd actually been.

Inside were pictures of terrified women, chained to beams in the barn. And stacks of DVDs with women's names Sharpied on them. Next to the DVDs were two sets of handcuffs. A minute later I searched Zeke's closet shelf and came across a small revolver stuffed into a sock.

I checked the barn quickly, finding nothing; just the horses we'd ridden staring dumbly back at me. I made a quick sweep through the corrals and outbuildings, then ran back over to the main house.

I ransacked the liquor cabinet, stuffed a pint of whiskey in my coat, and broke the rest of the bottles against the walls and the floor. I hesitated on my way out when I saw a map on a chair by the books. It had the Alvis compound circled. I grabbed it and stuffed it into my coat.

Then I pulled out my lighter, lit a torn piece of gauze wrapping, and dropped it onto the floor as I stepped outside. I felt the sudden rush of hot air on my neck and heard a muffled roar as I walked to the Jeep. As I opened the driver's side door, I looked back briefly and saw flames dancing
behind the windows. “Time to go,” I told Allie. “Let me take the wheel.”

I hadn't driven much past the main gate before I brought the Jeep to a halt.

“What's wrong?” Allie asked.

“I need to watch the place burn.”

We got out and stood as the ranch house quickly became unrecognizable. The flames crept out of the windows, licking at the roof. Even from there we could hear the snapping and popping of the hungry fire. Black smoke rose into the crystal blue sky, drifting lazily toward the high-flying ravens. They croaked and circled, watching us and the fiery remnants of a madman's domain.

Back in the Jeep, heading down the rutted two-track, I thought of how crazy this all was. I'd seen evil on three continents, some of it unspeakable, but it seemed worse in this place I called home. On a different continent,
everything
—good and bad—can seem strange, alien. But you don't expect to come back to places that seem so familiar and discover the greatest evil of all.

I made the mistake of slowing the Jeep to a crawl a couple miles away from the ranch, to check the map and consider whether it might be worth trying to get within viewing distance of the compound. It turned out to be one of the worst mistakes of my life.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

I
'd just reached into my jacket for the map, my hand pushing past the pistol, when the first bullets crashed through the windshield.

As glass shattered around me and Allie screamed, I jammed the brake to the floor. The sound of the automatic fire rattled the air as glass tinkled down into the Jeep. Through the ragged hole in the windshield, I watched two tan SUVs appear and stop nose to nose in front of us. Black-barreled weapons jutted out the windows.

“Down!” I said, throwing the Jeep in reverse. Allie flung herself below the dash as I rocketed the Jeep backward over brush and into the trees, attempting to turn around on the narrow road. Before I could get moving forward again, though, two men on four-wheelers slid to a stop behind us. They were already firing as they jumped off.

Bullets whanged off the side panel, and some tore through the roof. I got my pistol out, held it on the dash with both hands, and cracked off a shot. One of the four-wheeler shooters spun away and fell like a doll onto the road. The other ducked behind his machine.

The men in the SUVs opened fired again. “Move!” I yelled
at Allie. She yelled back, “Give me a gun.” I squeezed off two more shots at the remaining four-wheeler shooter and, without taking the time to see if I hit him, shoved Zeke's pistol into Allie's hand. In what seemed like a single motion, but was actually a series of frantic movements, I grabbed the rifle and pack from the backseat, tossed on the pack, laid the rifle on the hood, flung off the safety, and shot the first man who came into my scope, aiming by instinct alone. I caught him in the chest and he fell where he stood, a chunk of flesh flying off behind him into the trees. Bullets made furrows in the hood as I ducked back down, one coming close enough to graze my cheek.

Lead smacked hard into the engine block as I yelled into Allie's ear, “I'm going to take another shot. When I do, you run past the four-wheelers and head into the trees. See anyone, shoot them.” She nodded, her eyes wild with fear. This was much worse than anything we'd done together so far.

“Ready?” She took the revolver and pulled the hammer back, then nodded. I threw the rifle up and she took off.

I spotted one man next to the two vehicles and fired; the large .375 bullet smacked hard into his thigh, causing it to disintegrate in a red mist. At nearly the same time I caught a glimpse of men moving in the trees and heard shots behind me. I'd jacked my last round into the rifle and started to turn when the Jeep and I were ripped off the ground in a brilliant flash of white. As I was thrown into the air, I tried to recall the last time I'd had a grenade thrown at me.

Then there was only blackness.

A blackness followed by . . . ringing in my ears and something that sounded like Allie screaming. Her terror dragged me back to consciousness. I moved an arm, patted my body—everything seemed to be where it was supposed to be. But
my whole torso pulsed with pain and there were wet spots in strange places.

Got to move.

I sat up, saw my rifle out of reach, and heard movement. From somewhere deep and primal, I summoned enough energy to roll and grab the gun, holding it on my chest as a man walked into view from behind a scrub oak. He raised his assault rifle and I shot him. I was aiming for his chest but couldn't use my scope in that position, and the bullet went high. It collapsed his head, leaving a tattered, spouting wreck on his neck. His body fell forward, almost crashing into me.

I wiped the man's blood off my face and tried to stand up. I was almost entirely drained and didn't know if I could. But the sound of Allie screaming fired my adrenal glands once again and I jerked to my feet. I'd been knocked well away from the now burning Jeep, and the sound of the cry had come from somewhere back up the road. I tried to run toward it, but my legs wouldn't cooperate and I fell hard onto the headless gunman.

I looked down and saw a jagged piece of plastic protruding from my leg. It had lodged square in the middle of my thigh, right above the knee the hyena had gnawed on. Of course it couldn't be the
other
leg. I wiggled my toes to make sure the problem wasn't nerve damage, and was happy to feel them responding. I decided not to remove the piece of plastic in case it had lodged next to a major vein or artery. That's when I spotted the headless gunman's rifle. I slung my .375 on my back, picked up the new weapon, checked the magazine and the slide, then pulled myself up and started limping toward the sounds of gunfire.

I crouched low and used the brush and the trees for cover. All was quiet for a moment; just my heavy breathing and the
scraping sound of my wounded leg dragging in the dry leaves. Then a burst of automatic fire erupted from my left. The tree between me and the gunman started shredding, little chunks of white aspen bark flying like confetti in the air, and I flung myself to the ground.

I held the rifle over my head and fired a short burst at where I thought the firing had come from, then rolled to my right behind the exposed roots of a pine tree. Bullets tore into the ground where I'd been lying a moment before, some burrowing into the loamy earth and others ricocheting off into the distance after hitting buried rocks.

I still couldn't see who was firing at me. And I couldn't hear much at all over my own labored breathing. I waited, my ears and eyes searching for anything out of place, ready for the gunman to make the next move. I was trying to wipe the sweat-soaked dirt off my face when I heard Allie scream in pain. It sounded much closer this time.

I was about to slither toward Allie's voice when the gunman moved and started for it instead. He ran past my position and I raised myself just enough over the roots to pop off three rounds. All three hit him: the first slowing his step, the second spinning him lazily around, and the third tearing through his face as he fell.

I jumped up, checked around me for any other threats, then, when I was pretty sure my position hadn't been spotted, ran and grabbed the extra magazines off the dead man. The adrenaline was still pouring; even so, I could do little more than shuffle my broken body toward the sound of Allie's last scream.

More gunfire came from that direction. A pistol shot, followed by automatic fire. Then a louder, sharper crack from farther away. I willed myself closer, dragging an almost de
stroyed leg behind me, my arms lagging and barely able to carry the rifle. Days like this were the reason I kept finding more gray in my beard.

By the grace of some deity, I made it to a wide valley. At the bottom was a small, rocky, treeless rise. Staccato rattling from automatic rifles surrounded the hill. The rocks on the crest were pockmarked with bullet holes. A pistol cracked on the top of the hill, followed by a volley of return fire.

I settled myself down behind a fallen pine and threw duff over myself. Then I worked my way out of my backpack, threw my newly found rifle on the ground, and unslung the .375. In the backpack was my last box of ammo for it, from which I quickly loaded the magazine, easing back into a familiar routine. I put the .375 to my shoulder and started sweeping the base of the hill with the scope, centering my search on the sounds of the automatic fire.

I quickly settled the crosshairs on a man dressed like all the others in black tactical clothing. His chest heaved, his face a tight grimace. He mouthed a few unsociable words and put his rifle back to his shoulder. Four hundred yards away. Light wind out of the north. I adjusted my scope a few clicks as light snow started to drift down through the trees. I steadied my breathing, watching the white vapor in the quickly cooling air. Then I squeezed the trigger slowly.

The valley filled with a reverberating crack and I watched the man, after a slight delay, flop down dead with an unnaturally large hole in his chest. The carbine fire stopped immediately.

Allie's pistol fired again, and I almost yelled for her but didn't want to give away my position. I was about to start searching for the next man when a large section of the log I was hiding behind disappeared, followed shortly by an echo
ing boom. Someone on the other side of the valley had a high-powered rifle and had either seen me or made a pretty good guess where my shot had come from. I was pinned down until someone else made a move.
Touch
é, assholes
.

Allie bailed me out, taking a potshot with her pistol in the general area of the sniper. He responded immediately, the roar of his rifle followed by another scream from Allie. I moved, tucking both rifles and my pack under my arms and rolling over the log and down the hill. Metal and rocks and bushes jabbed me in all of my soft spots as I tumbled over and over, the world nothing but a dark blur.

I slammed to a stop at the bottom, my already injured shoulder hitting an unmovable aspen tree. Of course it couldn't have been the
other
shoulder. Lucky me. I forced down a cry of pain, gathered up my gear, and made a run for it up the hill. I tried to zig and zag, tried to keep low under the brush, tried to keep quiet, but I didn't really have enough energy to do any of that. Instead I simply wished for luck and barreled in a fairly straight line up the hill.

Lead flew around me like deer flies in the summer, but this time luck didn't abandon me, and I made it to the little jumble of rocks that Allie lay in, both of us swearing heartily by the time I threw myself and the gear in the little nest where she lay. I didn't look over at her, didn't say anything, just manhandled the carbine up and put down some covering fire in every direction, holding the trigger until the slide clicked open, and then I ducked back down.

The gunmen's return fire threw chunks of rock high into the air and filled the entire valley with thunder. I pulled the extra magazines out of my pockets, slammed one into the carbine, and looked over at Allie. She lay moaning and swearing against a rock, curled in the fetal position. Her black hair
was still in a ponytail, but the tail floated in a spreading pool of blood. She clutched her stomach.

“Oh, Allie. I'm sorry,” I said.

“For what? You aren't the one that shot me through my goddamned pancreas.” She tried to laugh through the tears, ended up choking.

“You sure that's where you're hit?”

“No. I'm not sure. I don't even know where my goddamned pancreas is. I caught one in the guts.” She coughed hard, and I saw a slow trickle of blood run out of the corner of her mouth. It mixed with her tears and turned pink, then dripped onto the ground. Her face turned white and started to slacken, life quickly draining. I bit my lip until it bled, then reloaded the .375. I set the loaded carbine next to Allie and asked, “Can you shoot the pistol?”

She smiled faintly. “Ran out. So, no.”

“Okay. I'm going to give you this auto. Aim it in the air and pull the trigger. I need to take out the sniper.”

She nodded slowly, scooted back against the rock, gingerly took the rifle in a limp hand, raised it, and pulled the trigger. The rifle swayed back and forth like a loose fire hose. She dropped it, smoking, into the rocks.

When she fired I was already in place, scanning the presumed area of the sniper. I saw the flash, felt a hearty smack on the rock that Allie leaned on, then heard the shot rumble through the valley. I bared my teeth, gripped the rifle tight enough to pop knuckles, then fired. Red spray shot above the bush where I held my sights. No large-caliber return fire. Just the smattering pops from the remaining men with carbines.

I grunted and sat down next to Allie. With the sniper out, there wasn't much the other guys could do from where they were. They'd work their way up and try to clear the hill, I
knew, but so be it. Let them come. It didn't matter anymore. I turned and got to a knee, then started to lift up Allie's shirt.

“Let me get a look at you,” I said.

“Clyde,” she said, her voice soft and girlish. It was the first time she'd used my first name, and that scared me.

“Just a second.” I peeled up the blood-soaked shirt and examined the entry wound.

“Clyde?”

“You're going to be okay. It doesn't look all that bad,” I said. But it did. There were multiple ragged, oozing holes. Two circular ones, as big around as my little finger, inches away from her belly button. A section of her midriff was missing. Blood rushed hot and warm over my hands as I ran them across her belly, searching for other leaks. I wiped my hands on my pants and looked in my bag for the medical kit. Not much left in there, and nothing for something of this magnitude.

“Clyde?” she asked again, this time in little more than a whisper.

“Yeah?” I took off my coat, then my shirt, which I bunched up and pressed against her wet stomach.

“I . . . ” she started, then said, “I'm cold.”

“It's the snow,” I said. “I'll get you out of this, kid.”

She looked up at me, smiled. “Sure,” she said. “But I'm not a kid, Clyde.” Then she closed her eyes, her head fell forward, and she was gone.