Perilous (23 page)

“Benson, how far away is your station?” I asked.

“It’s in Antigo. A half hour.”

“Shit. There isn’t an outpost or something closer?”

“No.”

Nobody would arrive for twenty-five minutes, at a minimum. We didn’t have enough ammo to hold out for that long. If this guy advanced, we were done.

“Jeff,” I called.

I saw him crouched just inside the doorway. I threw the rifle toward the back door of the cabin. “Get those shells in the drawer and load that back up.”

Jeff reached out and scooped up the rifle then disappeared back into the house.

I inched toward the shotgun at the rear wheel. It would be a completely useless weapon if the guy didn’t get within forty yards. I reached out and grabbed it. As my fingers wrapped around the barrel, the truck’s rear tire exploded from a shot. I fell backward, scrambled to my feet, and brought the shotgun to my shoulder. I heard more shots and glass shattering. Whoever was shooting was putting rounds through the side windows of the cabin.

“Are you okay in there, Jeff?”

There was a pause before he answered. “I’m trying to load this damn thing.”

“How many shells do you have in that box?”

“It looks like about ten.”

“Looks like or is?”

“I got nine here,” Jeff said.

“Benson, how many rounds in your service weapon?”

“Sixteen.”

“In the shotgun?”

“Eight. She’s ready to go,” Benson said.

“Is there anything else in the car?”

“Shotgun shells in the trunk.”

“Can you guys see where the shots are coming from?”

“A property over. In the woods somewhere,” Jeff said.

“You checked the house? My dad isn’t in there?”

“He’s not in here. Maybe he went to the neighbors to call for help. Maybe he went to get the other sheriff.”

“If that sheriff was still down the block, he would have already been here. You checked the bedrooms?”

“I checked, Carl. He’s not in here.”

I crouched back down. “Shit!” I banged my fist against the side of the truck. I knew exactly where my father had gone—into the woods, after the shooter. We had to stop returning fire with the chance that he was out there somewhere.

“Jeff,” I called.

“Yeah?”

“I need you to get some eyes out that window. I’m making a run to get in there with you guys. I want you to try to get a visual on where the shooter is. Do not fire.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t fire—you got that part? Just look for a muzzle flash.”

“Yeah, don’t fire. I got it.”

“Benson, I need you to watch too.”

He groaned “Okay” in response.

“All right. Get ready. I’m coming in three.”

“Ready,” Jeff called.

“One.” I brought my feet under me. “Two.” I got in my stance. “Three.” I kept my head low and ran the length of the truck. The stairs of the patio were just six feet away. The tailgate flew past on my left, and I was out of cover. I tried lunging for the steps but slipped in the snow, and my jump came up short. My knees hit the second stair, and my chest came down on the deck. The shotgun slid from my hand toward the cabin’s back door. I dug my fingers into the snow and frantically got my feet under me. A shot plugged into the wooden stairs by my left leg and threw snow into the air. I clawed my way up the deck and scooped up the shotgun as I fell into the house. I lay covered in snow, next to the wood stove.

“Get down!” I yelled.

Jeff dropped to the floor. Bullets splintered the wood frame of the cabin’s window where he’d been standing.

“Where’s Benson?”

“He was at the kitchen window.”

“Benson?” I called.

“I’m on the floor. No worse than I was.”

I motioned for Jeff to come over to me. He crawled his way over.

“Did you get a look?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I couldn’t tell, Carl.”

“Benson, did you get a look?”

He slid himself into view through the doorway that led into the kitchen. “I saw him.”

“You’re certain?”

He nodded. “The shooter is about thirty yards into the woods, lying on the ground.”

“Woods where?”

“Directly out from the kitchen window.”

I needed some kind of realistic approach. I sat quietly, trying to put something together.

“What are you thinking, Carl?”

“I think my dad is out there somewhere. We can’t return fire anymore.”

“Do you think he went after the guy?”

“I’m damn near positive.”

Jeff was silent. I knew what he was thinking. My father had been gone for too long to not have gotten this guy’s position and done whatever he’d planned to.

“He’s been unaccounted for, for too much time,” I said.

“What’s the plan?” Benson asked.

“I need you guys to create a distraction. I’m going out a window on the far side of the house. I’ll loop around and see what I can do.”

“The other sheriffs should be here soon,” Benson said.

“I’m sure this guy knows that too. He’ll advance or flee. I’m not taking the chance he does either. Plus, if my father is out in the woods injured, I’m not wasting any more time.”

“What do you want us to do?” Jeff asked.

“Take a window at the back of the cabin here. Shoot into the woods to get this guy’s attention. Take a shot and get down, then repeat. Keep your shots above twenty feet from the ground. Benson, take two shots to Jeff’s one. We need to try to conserve whatever ammo we have.”

Benson slid himself out into the cabin’s living room near Jeff and me. I took the shotgun under my arm. “I’ll give you the signal when to take the first shot.” I went to the living-room window facing north and held the butt of the shotgun near the glass. “Go,” I said.

Jeff swung into the window on the other side and fired. As soon as I heard the shot, I put the butt of the gun through the glass and pulled it around to rid the window frame of any loose shards. Then I swung a leg out of the window. Our shooter didn’t return fire.

“Remember, Benson,” I yelled, “two shots to Jeff’s one. Keep the shots up.”

Deputy Benson fired out into the woods. I lowered myself down into the snow and ran north through the woods. Two properties down, I started for the street. As I neared the tree line, I could see to the end of the block. The sheriff I’d spoken with on the way in was gone. I glanced left to right but saw no one moving anywhere. I crouched, ran across the street, and disappeared into the woods. A hundred yards in, I started south. The snow crunched underfoot. The moon, through the cold, cloudless sky, lit my way between the leafless trees. I heard Benson and Jeff taking shots in the distance. Each bullet fired echoed four or five times before disappearing into the night. I never heard the pop of the suppressed rifle returning fire. I continued on.

The four men were grouped in the cabin.

Perfect. All in one spot waiting to die.

Yury pulled his feet under him. He unzipped the left pocket in his ghillie suit, dropped his gloved hand inside, and slipped out the frag grenade. He planned to loop around the front, out of view, and toss it inside as he took cover. With an effective casualty radius of five meters, anyone inside the small building would be dead or severely injured. He could go in afterward, clean up, and be back to his car within five minutes. He would then drive across the frozen lake to the boat ramp on the far side and disappear cleanly.

Yury stood, letting his rifle rest against a tree. He brushed the snow from the front of his suit.

Out of nowhere, Yury took a blow to his spine. The air left his lungs, and his body careened forward. The blow sent him sprawling into the snow. He coughed to try to get his breath. He felt as if he’d just been hit by a truck, and he thrashed in the snow to get his feet under himself. Another blow hit him in the middle of his back, sending him down face-first into the snow. He heard snow crunching and felt a thick arm come under his chin. The arm yanked back against his throat.

Yury pawed at the snow and twigs on the ground before him. His hand caught something solid—a root from a tree sticking out of the snow. He grabbed hold of the root with all the strength he had and used it as leverage to roll over. The man fell from Yury’s back. Yury stood and stumbled a few steps backward. He caught a shadow of the man rushing him. The man’s shoulder met Yury’s midsection and carried him backward into a tree. As his back slammed against the trunk, Yury’s head snapped back and made contact. His vision blurred. He felt the impact of a fist to the side of his jaw, then another from the other side, twice as hard.

Yury’s hands went to his waistline to pull his pistol, but a hand swatted it, sending it flying among the trees and beneath the snow. Yury swung blindly at his attacker and made contact. He pulled his right foot up and kicked it out as hard as he could. He hit the man square in the chest, sending him sprawling backward. A fistfight hadn’t been in the cards. Win or lose, the sheriff’s backup would arrive in time to put an end to Yury’s plans. His decision was quick. His hand dove into his pocket and yanked out the frag grenade. He pulled its pin and tossed it directly at his attacker. He turned, covered as much ground as he could within three seconds, and then dove behind the biggest tree he could spot. The shock of the explosion passed over him. As it did, he felt it in his ears. His head rang, and disorientation set in. Yury held his head in his hands, staring at the sky. The stars blurred. He squinted his eyes tight. Then he cracked one eyelid open and looked up, his vision slowly began to focus. As the pain in his skull subsided, more began burning in his leg. He didn’t have time to address or inspect the wound. He was injured and without a weapon. Yury needed to get back to the car.

Yury pulled himself to his feet and started through the snow toward the lake. He swayed from tree to tree, his leg burning more with each step. The pain intensified as he kept moving forward. The hill down to the lake came into view. He pushed on, and his steps straightened. His car was three properties down, across the frozen ice. Yury tried to get down the hill as fast as he could. The snow was deeper there than the spot he’d ascended. His boot caught in the snow and pulled off of his foot. He wouldn’t take the time to dig for it. Yury leapt, tumbled, and rolled through the snow down to the ice. When he got to his feet at the shoreline, his leg was on fire. Yury lowered his hand to his injured leg. The injury was more severe than he’d previously thought. A six-inch piece of wood about an inch and a half in diameter was protruding from his thigh.

He didn’t remove it, for fear of bleeding out. Instead, he limped across the ice, dragging his injured leg toward his car, up ahead. Yury gritted his teeth. “To hell with this,” he said.

I was past Jim’s cabin by three properties to the south, two farther than where we’d located the shooter. I checked the street from inside the tree line. I didn’t see the shooter. The shots Jeff and Benson were taking had stopped. I still didn’t hear any return fire though I could have missed it over the sound of my boots crunching through the snow. I crossed the street and entered the woods at the shooter’s back. I quieted my approach through the snow, setting each foot down softly, until it broke the top layer of frozen snow, before I took the step. The process was slow but quiet. The light off the back of the cabin could be seen as a glow through the trees up ahead. I needed to stay straight on my path.

My eyes were focused on the patch of woods before me, searching for any kind of movement, when the woods lit up in a ball of fire up ahead. The sound of the blast hit me a second later. The explosion was huge—some kind of bomb or grenade. I ran toward the smoke that hung in the woods, the shotgun at my shoulder and ready to fire. I neared the smoky area, where the smell of explosives hung in the air—I remembered it immediately from the times I’d spent watching our SWAT guys train. I saw a round depression, an eight-foot circle free from snow, lying ahead. Then I saw something else, a body lying in the snow. I approached.

The man moved and made a noise. “Shit.”

I knelt in the snow next to my father, who was half sitting up against a tree. “Dad!”

He groaned. “I’m all right. I just got knocked for a loop.”

“Are you sure?” I looked him over and saw no blood. “What the hell was that?”

“I was kicking the guy’s ass. He got a lucky kick in that sent me reeling back. As I got my footing, the asshole threw a grenade or something at me.” He tried to stand.

“Dad, don’t get up.”

He continued standing. “I said I’m all right. The trees there took the brunt of the damage.” He nodded a few feet away.

I looked over at a small group of trees nearby. Bark was ripped from their trunks.

“I dove behind them and curled up. I tried going after the guy, but I couldn’t see worth a crap.”

“Which way did he go?” I asked.

“Toward the lake.”

I held my father by the shoulder of his jacket to steady him. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I think I’m getting my bearings back.”

“Go back to the cabin and stay inside. The other sheriffs should be here any minute.” I started through the snow toward the lake.

“Are you going after him?” he asked.

“Hell yes, I’m going after him.”

“I’m coming.”

“No. And you don’t have a weapon.”

My father took a few steps and pulled a rifle from the snow, the shooter’s rifle. “He left this behind.”

“Is it loaded?”

He dropped the magazine, checked, and then clicked it back in. “Full magazine.” He worked the charging handle to chamber a round.

I said nothing.

“Carl, you’re either going to spend time trying to stop me, or we can go together.”

I didn’t have time to deal with my father’s stubbornness. “Just come on. Keep your eyes open.”

We followed the shooter’s footprints through the snow to the ridge leading down to the lake. His footprints turned into large imprints in the snow. “He must have fallen,” I said.

My father nodded.

The cranking of a car’s starter broke the silence.

“Shit, Dad, come on.”

We thumped through the snow down to the surface of the frozen lake. I heard the engine crank again and then start. I spotted the car behind a pier just a few properties down. I saw the headlights flick on. We ran over as the car began to back up. We were within twenty feet. I fired the shotgun in the air. The car stopped moving.