Whiskey Sunrise - a Christian Suspense Novel: A chilling tale of a desert that buries its secrets. (29 page)

“Hey, amigos.” A new voice from down the hall. A Spanish speaker. “Wha’cha doing to my room, man?”

“We’re searching for cops,” said the guard as he withdrew his weapon. “Wha’cha doing with the girl?”

“Ain’t none of your business,” replied the newcomer. “I was just here a minute ago, and there weren’t no cops in my room.”

The other guard, his voice colored with irritation, said. “List has us checking every room in this freaking house. And when the man speaks …” His voice trailed off.

“Okay. I get it,” the newcomer snapped. “I’ll check it out, so me and my girl can spend some time together.”

The two guards laughed, and Zach could tell they were moving down the hall.

One of the guards said, “Don’t take too long, or List’ll have your back end. They’re moving the weapons to the loading area. Let us know if you see anything, you know, out of the ordinary.” More laughter.

A quick search revealed only one hiding place. Zach backed into the closet and eased the doors closed. Watching through the slats, he saw two figures enter the room, silhouetted from the hall’s light. A tall male clutching a small woman against her will. She struggled to free herself, but the male maintained a tight grip on her.

“Say nothing, muchacha, and I might let you live,” said the male.

The female spat back a slew of angry Spanish, of which Zach caught only a smattering. The man only chuckled. He lifted her and dropped the girl on the bed. The springs protested. Before the girl moved, the man fell upon her.

“You make this fun for José.
¿Si?
” Then he backhanded her.

He brought something out of his jacket, but Zach couldn’t see what the man had. A moment later, Zach heard the thkkk of duct tape being peeled away and then torn. The man taped her mouth shut.

“To keep you quiet,” the man told the girl.

The girl began to struggle, and the man slapped her again. And chuckled.

“I like your aggression.” He leaned forward and grabbed her left wrist and bound it to the bedpost with the tape. “
Zorra
,” he added and reached for her other wrist.

Zach moved. He eased open the closet doors and rushed upon the man.

When Zach reached the bed, the man must have sensed his presence, for he turned.

“What the …” the man said, his eyes growing into saucers. Zach raised a fist and pummeled the man’s temple. The man’s head snapped backward, his eyes rolling back. He collapsed on the edge of the bed, and gravity caused him to slide off.

The girl balled a fist with her free hand and punched Zach in the shoulder.

“Hey! Stop hitting me. I won’t hurt you.” Zach held his hands out. “Don’t scream, por favor,” Zach hissed. “No grites.” He raised his hands in a surrender position. “Habla Inglés?”

She nodded like a bobble-head doll.

“I’m going to take the tape off your mouth.” He watched calm begin to take over her countenance. He pointed to his chest. “Good guy. Bién.” He pointed to the unconscious man. “Mal.”

After easing the tape from her mouth, he put a hand flat on his chest. “Me llamo Zach. ¿Te llamas …” he left the question open.

“Amalia,” she replied

He pulled his knife free from its sheath and sliced through the duct tape binding her wrist. A quick flip of his wrist, and the knife returned to its sheath.

“I need to get you out of here,” he said.

“No,” she protested, “I must find the hermanas. And the niñas.”

<><><><><><><><><><>

“Hey! Shut up!” the sentry yelled at his prisoners, leveling his AK-47 at them for emphasis. He tapped his feet, anxious for his companion to get back so he could take his smoke break.

“I don’t want to hear no more complainin’.” He jerked his gun back and forth, aiming at the different stalls.

Rye touched his dog tags under his shirt and felt the square amulet as well. His many bruises ached, his face hurt and his knee throbbed, but he had to get his family out and end this business.
This punk’s likely to shoot someone if he doesn’t calm down.

Movement behind the guard caught Rye’s attention.

“Drop your weapon.” Oakmann’s command cut through the stable’s gloom.

The guard began to turn. Rye tensed, expecting the sheriff to fire. A shadow dropped from the hayloft and landed on the guard. They fell into a heap, and a struggle ensued. Curses rang from the two as they kicked up dust. Rye moved to help, but the newcomer pinned the guard and twisted one arm behind the punk’s back.

“Who …?” the guard croaked.

“Your judge and jury,” Tex said, his voice a growl. “Don’t move. Or I’ll rip your arm outta its socket and shove it up the first orifice I find. You’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent …”

Holstering her weapon, Oakmann raced over to Tex. They gagged and handcuffed the guard. Tex dragged him over to a stall and bound
him to a pole.

For the next several moments, questions and answers flew among them. Rye let loose with a whistle, and the stable went quiet.

“Time for warm fuzzies later …” He hobbled on one leg, turning about to see everyone. “This is an ongoing police raid. List and some Mexican drug lord are shipping weapons southward, and we need to stop them.”

“But, Rye, you’re hurt,” said Dee, clutching Manny to her. “Your knee. Your face.”

“I appreciate your concern. But this is my fight, and I plan on taking it to List.”

A chorus of complaints erupted from the group. Rye waved his hands to quiet everyone, but to no avail. He remained rooted to his spot, eyes closed, waiting for the wall of voices to wear down.

“Dad?” Manny asked.

Everyone turned to the boy.

“Yes.”

“I’m scared.”

Rye stared everyone down, taking control with just his good eye. “We all are. Bravery is all about being scared but kicking butt anyway.” He cleared his throat. “So … here’s how this is going to play out. Oakmann, this cowboy—” he pointed to Tex “—and I are going back into the house. Reese and DePute are still in there. Whitewolf and Heilo, take Dee and Manny back to the cars. Iona and Chee will go with you.”

Heilo frowned and gave the briefest of nods. Whitewolf stared at the ground, offering no reply or even a hint to his thoughts.

Iona spoke up, “Do you think just the three of you can take on
List? He’s got at least three dozen men stationed here.”

Rye shrugged. “No problem. That’s only twelve apiece.” He said that with much more bravado than he felt. “Whitewolf. Heilo. I want you to watch the front entrance. If any of List’s people tries to escape, stop ’em anyway you can. No one escapes.” He stared each in turn. “One way or other, this ends tonight.”

Manny ran over to Rye and grabbed him around the waist.

“Dad, be careful. I don’t want to lose you.”

Rye wrapped his arms around the boy as he stuffed back the tears starting to wet his eyes.

“And I prefer you not lose me either.”

“Mommy and I prayed for you.”

The boy’s statement surprised him, but it also filled Rye with a warmth he’d not felt in a long time. His vision went watery. He smiled. They had prayed for him. Even after everything he had put them through.

“Take care of your mother, you hear?” He ruffled his son’s hair. “You’re her protector until I can come get you. And, Manny …” He peered into his son’s Hershey’s-chocolate eyes, seeing his son’s love for him. “Whatever you do, don’t stop praying. I’m really going to need it.”

Manny’s face lit up.
The kid should hate me.
But somehow, the boy didn’t, and Rye found that amazing.

Rye leaned into Manny and whispered. “I love you … and Mom.”

“People,” Oakmann said, “if you exit by the rear door, head straight for the thickets beyond the fence. The stables will prevent anyone in the house from seeing you. Careful crossing the barbed wire. There’s two horses out there. I’d take it kindly if you let ’em be.”

Rye released Manny when Chee and Iona slid over to him. The Navajo said, “We can fight, too.”

Rye studied the two of them.
I don’t want to be responsible for any civilians, but
…
Iona is an ex-cop, and Uncle Chee’s been around guns all his life.
He saw the pleading in Iona’s eyes and decided.

“Heilo, Whitewolf, when you return to the cars, rearm yourselves. And give Chee and Iona each a handgun and ammo. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

Iona winked at Rye. He looked away as his face heated.

Heilo nodded and took over the group, “Time to mount up, girls. Single file. Whitewolf, you lead. The rest follow the nice officer.” She bee-lined to Rye and gave him a light hug. “Take care of yourself, Chief.”

Surprised by Heilo’s unexpected affection, he hesitated before returning the hug. “You take care of yourself. Listen, my family is in your hands. I’m counting on you.”

“Me and Whitewolf will take good care of them. Just get that fat SOB mayor.” She smiled without humor. “I never cared for the man. He smells like snake oil.”

<><><><><><><><><><>

He prowled the grounds, the strength of the wolf spirit surging through him. He felt powerful and wild. A hunter. Deadly. A predator clad in the skins of a wolf that hunted the weak gringos as if they were long-eared prey.

Sounds alerted him to nearby creatures: winged, four-legs, and two-legs. He sensed the storm moving off, and his skin detected the
downward shift in temperature. Despite his awkward gait, nature fused with the supernatural in his soul.

He trailed the escaping humans. His animal spirit had alerted him to their presence when they exited the stables. So, he hid and waited for them; watched them hurry out of the stables into the wild land. After the last one had reached the thicket, he glided in behind them.

Each escapee carried their own scent of hope, fear, worry, alertness. Their individual heartbeats informed him of their location like pinging radar. Whenever one of them brushed past foliage, he heard the scuff of plant against cloth.

They will not escape me.

He drew closer to the fleeing group. The anticipation of the kill flowed through his veins. He saw them now, splashes of color in the drab thicket. The group had reached the driveway and raced for the exit. Their labored breathing filled his ears.

Tossing back his head, the Skinwalker howled; primeval, raw, and hungry. Dread-filled shrieks from the group pleased him. Dropping to all fours, he pounced from the undergrowth and onto the gravel path. He stood and drew back his hands, claws out.

The humans stood rooted to the path. He sniffed in their terror as if the scent was a fine wine.

Hunt is over. Time to kill.

His leg muscles prepared for the leap. He opened his mouth and issued a snarl, saliva dripping from his teeth.

He snapped his mouth shut.
What was that?
Something rushed through the underbrush towards him.
Who? No! It can’t be! I killed that woman.

From the undergrowth, this other Skinwalker howled its defiance
at him.

She dare challenge me? Where is the she-dog?

Then he saw her stepping onto the gravel.

The female snarled at him, back hunched and clawed hands held out to her sides. She turned to the humans.

“Run,” she growled at the group and turned to approach him.

<><><><><><><><><><>

“Time to cowboy up,” mumbled Rye as Oakmann and Tex joined him, at the side entrance to the second floor.

He peered into the smoky glass door.

“See anything?” she asked.

Rye shook his head. “Looking through that tinted glass is like peering through a mirror.” He turned his gaze back down the way they came, the stairs cutting into the canyon wall.

“The door locked?” Tex said and grabbed the door handle, a large chrome-plated arch. The door opened with a slight tug.

“That would be a nope.” Tex flung open the door and stepped inside. “Clear.”

Rye followed with his gun pointed downward. Oakmann followed and stood close to her deputy.

The entranceway opened into an unlit hallway. No movement. No sound except for the cool air flowing from the overhead vent.

“Kinda quiet,” Rye said. “I don’t like quiet.”

He nodded for them to move down the hall. Guns poised in double fisted holds, the trio eased their way down the hallway.

Rye’s heart pounded in his chest.
Careful here, cowboy.
He fought
to maintain a steady breathing pattern.
Don’t hyperventilate. Breathe in and out.
Despite the AC, sweat beaded on his forehead.
Just like the search and destroy missions in Iraq. House to house.

A TV droned from somewhere ahead. With every step, his foot pressed into the soft carpet. The paint on the walls smelled fresh. The swish of their clothing sounded loud in his ears.
Where was everybody?

They came to the first door, solid wood. Rye tried the doorknob, and it turned in his hand.

“Unlocked,” he mouthed. The other two nodded.