The Dummy Line (29 page)

Without totally regaining his vision, Reese ran as fast as he could down the field toward the shooting house. When he was thirty yards away, he stopped to listen and watch for any movement. He walked closer, the rifle held ready at his hip. At the base of the ladder, he clicked on his flashlight to look for blood. He found none, but to make sure, he climbed up the ladder to look inside. He saw where one of his shots had ripped through the house. No blood, just small wood splinters everywhere.

“Dammit,” he said out loud as he climbed down.

Working the action on his Browning rifle, Reese unloaded it. He had three cartridges left. He couldn’t take any more wild shots. He had to concentrate; he had to make each shot count. Searching around with the flashlight, he found the footprints of one obviously very heavy person running off toward the southeast. The killer’s trail was taking Reese closer to Highway 17—that made all this easier for him and Moon Pie. Reese now knew the guy was carrying the kid, and that would slow him down.

Reese reloaded the rifle and dialed down the scope’s magnification to four, giving him greater field of vision in the low light. He started following the tracks, edgy for more action. Like a bloodhound, he stayed right on the trail. When he couldn’t see footprints, he found broken sticks and branches. Reese smiled thinking about his prey running through the woods, scared to death.

Reese sensed that his quarry was just ahead. He needed to kill the guy quickly. Daylight wasn’t far off. He made better time by guessing the direction and only checking for tracks every twenty yards or so. The signs were always easy to find.
This guy’s freakin’ out. He ain’t even tryin’ to hide ‘em
.

The logging road turned hard to the left. Reese could see footsteps in the soft mud for fifteen to twenty yards. He moved to the far side of the road where the ground was harder. He quietly picked up his pace.

After a few hundred yards, Reese slowed down. He had an eerie feeling. The trees had gotten considerably larger. It would be easy to get ambushed. But the tracks continued straight down the road—tracks don’t lie. Obviously they were fresh, so he continued the pursuit.
This stupid sumbitch is runnin’ scared
.

About eighty yards back down the logging road, Jake could barely make out movement. His heart rate doubled.
This is it. They’re taking the bait,
he thought. Now all he had to do was be patient—let them get within fifteen yards, and he’d kill the first one. He prayed that he’d have time to shoot the second goon before he got shot himself. Sweat began to bead on him again.
I gotta concentrate. If I miss, they’ll kill me, and then God knows what they’ll do to Katy and Elizabeth.

Jake couldn’t believe that for the third time tonight he was preparing to kill someone. He took a long, deep breath then slowly let it out. The movement was now at about fifty yards, approaching rapidly. Jake took another deep breath, held it for a moment, then slowly exhaled. He started shaking. Images of Katy hugging him and of Elizabeth about to be raped flashed through his mind. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear it. The movement was at forty yards. In his mind, he saw Katy’s face and heard her giggling.

Slowly he raised the gun, pointing in the direction of his target. Occasionally he could hear a stick snap. Jake’s mind was liquid with fear. He forced himself to take another deep breath. There was only one guy.
Where’s the other one?
he screamed in his mind. He wanted both. He had to end this right here, right now. Jake looked behind the first guy, who was twenty yards away, watching for any other movement. Glancing back to the only man visible, Jake recognized him as one of the gang members. He quickly looked back up the logging road.
Damn it!
He was only ten yards away now—he had let him get too close. Jake looked at him and then back up the road one last time. No one else was coming…that he could see.
Damn it!
he silently screamed.

The gangster slowed his pace. He was directly underneath Jake. With one hand, Jake simply pointed the shotgun straight down. He held onto the tree limb with the other. Jake’s desire to kill both gangsters had allowed the guy to get too close. He quickly considered allowing him to walk by a few yards, to make for a larger, better target.
To hell with it!
he thought, taking another deep breath as he aimed the shotgun at the gangster’s head—twelve short feet away. Jake had him.

Just as Jake’s mind told his finger to squeeze the trigger, he felt a huge sweat bead roll off his nose. He watched it drop in slow motion straight down, landing on the side of the gangster’s face. The gangster instantly looked up at Jake and jumped back. Still holding the shotgun with one hand, Jake squeezed the trigger.
BOOM!
Almost instantaneously, there was another gunshot.
KABAM!
The gangster had shot up at him. Jake felt a hard punch in his chest. He blinked several times trying to clear the blindness from the muzzle flash. The gangster aimed at him again. Jake had missed! He immediately pumped the last shell into the chamber as he swung the shotgun at the thug.
BOOM!
Jake fell out of the tree, landing hard on his side.

Jake slowly staggered to his feet. He struggled over to the gangster. Jake Crosby was mortified by what he saw. The thug had a hole in his chest big enough to drop a softball clean through. He was sprawled on his back, spread-eagle, not moving a muscle. The rimmed three-inch magnum had gone straight through him. It was the goriest thing Jake had ever seen. He stood hyperventilating for several moments. Finally regaining his composure, he looked at the guy’s rifle lying next to him. As soon as Jake touched it he knew it was useless. Part of the receiver was bent. The sulfurous odor of blood made him want to puke.

Quickly looking around for any sign of other pursuers, Jake did not see anything. Nothing. No movement anywhere. Then he felt his own chest.
No blood.
Jake looked up at his perch. He could see the white, freshly exposed wood where the rifle shot had hit.
I was lying on that limb
. A chill went down his spine. Jake had been within mere inches of catching a high-powered rifle bullet in the chest. Thinking of it caused him to dry-heave. After salvaging what little remained of his self-control, he ran wildly toward the girls.

When he was near, Jake started calling, “Katy! Katy! Where are you?”

“Over here, Dad!”

“Over here!” added Elizabeth.

They were right where they were supposed to be. Jake hugged Katy, then Elizabeth.

“What happened?” Katy asked, her voice quivering more than ever.

“We gotta keep movin’, I got one of ‘em. I got the one that shot at us. He may be the only bad guy left. But I’m not sure,” Jake said, the image of the guy who had killed Elizabeth’s attacker coming to his mind.

“You shot him?” Elizabeth asked in disbelief.

“Dad!” Katy was shocked.

“I had to. He was gonna kill us. Come on, let’s get goin’.” Jake thought he heard road noise just to the southwest. If they could get to the highway, they’d be able to flag down some help.

“Here, Elizabeth. Use this as a crutch,” he said, handing her the shotgun.

“What about the cushion?”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t have any more shells.”

Jake picked up Katy. He held her close. Her warm little body felt so good to him. Katy squeezed him back. Jake kissed her cheek and said, “You’re safe, baby. Quit shaking.”

Katy squeezed even harder. “That’s you, Dad.”

“Sheriff, Lakreshia’s here with the pilot,” Martha spoke into Ollie’s speakerphone.

“OK. Send him back,” Ollie instructed, rubbing his scalp as he glanced up at the wall clock. They had an hour before they could get airborne.

“Ollie Landrum,” Ollie said, standing with an outstretched hand.

“Joe Wilson, sir. I’m your ‘copter pilot,” he said, shaking hands firmly.

“Thanks for comin’. I really appreciate it. I’m the Sumter County sheriff. You probably saw Sheriff Marlow outside.”

“Yes. I’d just as soon stay out of the spotlight, sir.”

“I know the feeling. I’ll be going up with you. I have a fair knowledge of the area. We’ve got a missing eighteen-year-old girl and a thirty-something adult male along with his nine-year-old daughter. We don’t know how they’re connected. We suspect serious foul play because—”

“Do you get airsick, sir?” Wilson interrupted bluntly. “Because when we’re doing back-and-forth ground sweeps, it can be pretty rough on your stomach, sir.” The last thing Wilson wanted was someone puking up coffee and doughnuts all over his helicopter.

“I’ll be fine,” Ollie said, not totally convinced. “And please cut out the ‘sir’ business. This ain’t the army. I appreciate it and all, but it’s not necessary.”

“Yes sir. Sorry, it’s a hard habit to break, sir.”

“Since we’ve got a little time, I want to brief you on the terrain. It’s an immense area of pine plantations and hardwood swamps.”

“Good. Thanks. It’s gonna be foggy in the low areas. That’ll hurt our vis.”

“Let me ask you something. Are you leaving at eight o’clock to fly the governor to the beach?”

“No sir. I’m yours…as long as you can keep me topped off with fuel. This mission is
priority one
for me. It’s the first real mission I’ve had in quite a while. But just in case, tell the governor that you can’t get in touch with me. He can be a bit overbearing.”

Ollie smiled approvingly at him. He could tell Wilson wanted to help. His military background might be useful, too.

“Sir…Sheriff, I really enjoyed watching you play football. It’s a real pleasure to work with you,” Wilson said.

Ollie smiled and shook his hand again. “Thanks for being here. Let’s go look at those maps. Need some coffee?”

“I’d love some,” Wilson replied.

“Lakreshia?” Ollie asked, turning to her.

“I’ll get it,” she responded.

“I like mine
black
,” he said, smiling boldly at Lakreshia.

Lakreshia glared at him as she walked away. Ollie chuckled to himself. He liked Joe Wilson.

“Now that’s close,” R.C. said. R.C and Tillman froze when they heard the gunshots. “A shotgun blast, then a high-powered rifle shot, then another shotgun round!” R.C. continued, his police skills beginning to show. R.C. coursed the shots with his compass. They listened. Nothing.

“Come on!” R.C. said, taking off through the woods.

Limbs slapped R.C. in the face. Tillman’s shoe came off in the mud, but he quickly caught up when R.C. stopped to listen.

“I just heard a man yellin’ somethin’!” R.C. whispered excitedly. With his hands on his knees, R.C. was trying to catch his breath. His left side was hurting. He wasn’t used to much physical exertion. Tillman was even more winded.

R.C. took off again. The woods had become dense. The timber changed from pines to hardwoods. The ground was soggy, which slowed them a bit. R.C. could see a logging road off to his right. He let Tillman catch up. They stood still for about thirty seconds to catch their breath and listen.

R.C. pointed at the old logging road. “We can travel easier on that,” he whispered.

As soon as they stepped onto the logging road, R.C. spotted fresh footprints. He clicked on his flashlight and kneeled down for a closer look.

“Look at this. I’d say that’s a man’s boot, and that’s probably a female’s print, maybe Elizabeth’s,” he said, then looked up at Tillman.

“What about those?” Tillman asked, pointing out the tracks off to the side.

“I don’t know…definitely male.” R.C. shook his head. “And very fresh.” R.C. clicked off his flashlight and stood. “Come on.”

They had gone another seventy-five yards or so down the logging road when R.C. noticed something out of place ahead of him. He clicked on his flashlight. He couldn’t quite make out what it was. They slowly approached.

“What the hell is it?” Mr. Tillman whispered.

“I don’t know,” R.C. responded, easing his pistol out of its holster. The hair on the back of his neck was beginning to stand up. Something wasn’t right.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed as he recognized that the form was actually a body.

“Who is it?” Tillman asked, putting his hand over his mouth. The gore shocked him.

“I’m not sure. Man, I’ve never seen a hole that size. There’s blood everywhere. He musta been shot with a grenade launcher. Be careful where you step.”

R.C. felt in the corpse’s pockets. He found a new 9mm pistol, a cell phone, and a wallet. He stuck the pistol in his back pocket, then opened the wallet. Shining his flashlight on the driver’s license, R.C. nodded.

“Reese Turner. That makes some sense…he runs with Johnny Lee Grover. Didn’t recognize him.” R.C. quickly flipped open the phone and looked at the call history. “This will be enlightening,” he quipped with a nod and slid the phone into his pocket.

“Shine around and see if anybody else is here,” Tillman suggested.

“OK,” R.C. said as he put the wallet into his pocket. He quickly shone the light around the perimeter. “I don’t see anybody else.”

“What’s that?” Tillman asked, pointing up at a bright white spot on the dark oak tree limb above them.

“Looks like something blew the bark off that limb…had to be a gunshot.”

R.C. started shining his light around and under the canopy of the big tree. “Look at this shotgun shell,” R.C. said, holding the brass of a shell under the light. “Have you ever seen one do that?”

“No. It looks like it was cut…the plastic’s gone,” he commented. “It’s been rimmed. That’s gotta be what happened to our buddy here,” R.C. said, pointing at Reese’s body.

“I thought a shotgun would be enough…”

“A rimmed twelve-gauge would be like a mortar round, ten times the knockdown power. Instant death.” R.C. swung the light to illuminate the tracks going down the logging road. “Let’s keep going.”

After they had walked only a few yards, Tillman stopped. “Am I seeing things, or are there more tracks now?”

“No, you’re right…there’s one more pair of tracks, but these tracks are identical to the ones we’ve been following. It’s the same guy. He doubled back and tricked ole Reese here into a close encounter,” R.C. said, pointing out the similarities with his flashlight. “It’s the shooter. And I’d say he’s pretty slick.” R.C. continued shining the flashlight back at the tree limb, then down at the body, and then holding up the rimmed shotgun shell.