* * * *
He rode the Indian back the way our group had come, up the mountain, meaning to bypass the lake and continue due south towards his new life, if only temporarily. He could have kept going but couldn’t resist checking in on his newly appointed leader at the lake, making a surprise visit they would surely not expect this soon. The more than six-hour detour would have turned most around, but Mike didn’t sleep much; he never had. He could travel day or night, and couldn’t say which he preferred. He rolled in early, just after lunch, and saw Mitch and his girlfriend teaching a fishing class to many of the now full-time residents.
“All good here?” Mike asked. “As I left it?”
“Yes, sir. There are no more fights or auctions, only people helping people, as it should have always been. Are you looking for the new leader?” he asked.
“Nah. Just tell him I stopped in to check on him. I’ll do so in the future when I can.”
With that, Mike rode out, not concerned about the time loss and considering it a win.
* * * *
The new route took him on roads he had never traveled. He knew the direction of Interstate 25 and the Baker group’s general location, so he didn’t worry too much about the roads with the nimble bike, as long as he was headed in the right direction. He rode north and was lost in the euphoria every rider feels riding across open land. He was aware of his surroundings in a general sense and was not going to run off the road or hit an abandoned car. But he felt also a calm, at peace, like a car driver may feel arriving at work as a safe driver but spacing out on the trip to get there, thinking of a honey-do list…or maybe a new love interest.
Mike rode peacefully into just another part of the landscape when he heard it. The shots echoed in his head—Pop! Pop!—followed by five or six more before he felt the sting in his right side. The heavy bike skidded left, then right, as he pulled his right hand on the front brake and his foot on the back. He didn’t want to stop, but the pain was intense, like nothing he had ever felt, and his head was spinning, dizzy and disoriented. The Indian motorcycle came to rest on her side, throwing him ten feet farther, landing with a thud. He lay on the side of the dusty road, hearing his breath in and out, like listening to another man dying.
“No, this can’t be it,” he whispered. “Not now. They need help; my friends need help.”
He lay on the road, turning onto his back, and without a weapon could only wait for the next shot, the final nail. He smiled as they came towards him.
“Is that all you’ve got?” he laughed, spitting on the ground.
“You’re done this time,” said the man he could see maneuvering the bolt action on his hunting rifle. “‘An eye for an eye.’ Isn’t that what they say, or is it a life for a finger? Yes, I think that is what they were trying to say. Don’t worry; it will be quick.”
“It’s you!” Mike said defiantly, “‘The eight-finger man!’ How’s your fishing been?” He was not concerned with showing fear. He had none. “You better hurry if you want revenge. I think I’m going to pass out soon. Come on, let’s get this done,” he enticed.
“Or what?”
“Or you let me go so I can get my message to Colonel Baker.”
There was a pause as the men talked amongst themselves.
“What do you know about Colonel Baker?” another guy asked.
Mike couldn’t be sure and thought it was a long shot, but he assumed they had some form of communication and had heard the man’s sermons, or whatever they were passing for nowadays.
“I can fix him, maybe,” said one man coming up from behind the group with a bag in hand. “I mean, if that’s what you want.”
“The Medic to the rescue again,” said the sarcastic eight-fingered man.
“I took good care of your fingers, didn’t I?”
“They are still missing, aren’t they?” he snarled, holding up his hand. “Now we’re talking about the man who cut them off. Why would I let you help him?”
“What’s the message?” asked another, clearly the leader in Mike’s eyes. “And it better be good, or I’ll end this right here.”
“Tell Baker I have news about the Great Battle for the Valley.”
“Take a look at him,” he commanded the Medic, “and let me know if he can be saved. Let’s get on the radio and see if his story checks out.”
Mike had a plan formulating in his mind when the morning turned to dark in a split second. He came to hours later, sweating and still in pain. This pain he embraced, using it as a drug thinking about Arthur and his sister, Lily. He always thought if he could endure enough pain, it would lessen what he felt with each passing day since their loss. This is my test, he thought. I’m still alive and have a chance at saving my family and friends.
“The Colonel wants to speak to you,” said the man who had saved him from the second shot.
“Where?” asked Mike?
“No, when is the question—when he is back on the line. So, stay awake for me; your life depends on it.”
Mike did stay awake, playing mind games to keep his eyes open and focused on something…anything. He felt that he could go to sleep, drift off, and be done with it. He wasn’t afraid to die and hadn’t been for a long time, but he thought about Sheila and Javi. He thought about his new friends heading towards almost certain annihilation, only to be killed or enslaved.
Fighting to sit up, he took stock of his injury and didn’t remember much about what happened. Did I lose focus, or was it just unavoidable? he thought, not entertaining the what-ifs, had he skipped the lake check and headed straight for his destination. Did he spot me? He answered his own question, eyeing the eight-fingered man looking across the desolate valley through the largest set of binoculars he had ever seen. It doesn’t really matter, he thought.
“That looks more like a telescope,” Mike called out. “Overkill, don’t you think?”
“It made the difference between me seeing your face instead of just letting some random guy pass by on a motorcycle.”
“I see your point,” Mike agreed. “Lucky you, and one hell of a coincidence.”
Minutes turned to hours, and the bandage was replaced by the Medic, kneeling down.
“Sorry about this, man,” he said to Mike. “It’s going to hurt.”
“You don’t look familiar,” said Mike, remembering he had seen nearly everyone’s face at the lake.
“That’s because I haven’t seen you before,” said the Medic.
“So, you weren’t at the lake with those other guys who sold their better halves for food?”
“What? I mean no, sir. I’m not sure what you mean. I’m Max,” he offered.
“Mike,” he replied, shaking his hand with nobody else noticing, as his captors passed around a liquor bottle between them. “I heard you cut that one guy’s fingers off for no good reason,” he whispered.
“Do you believe that?”
“No. Something is off with all of these guys,” he added. “I just can’t put my finger on it—no pun intended.”
“Really?” asked Mike, smiling.
“Well, maybe just a little. Anyway, I was headed for the lake and ran into them. They told me that all of the men have to fight in a hole.”
“Not all of them,” said Mike. “Not any of these guys at least. You can go there now if you want. I was there right before this happened and everything is fine. They are free, all of them now.”
“Thanks, mister…I mean Mike. I’m not with these guys, but I’m going to stick with them until they reach that bastard Bak... Um, well, I’ve said too much. As long as this doesn’t get infected, you will live,” he mumbled, gathering his medical bag and walking back to join the group.
Hmm, Mike thought. Not sure if the Max guy was sincere or trying to play me. He observed for another hour, as the Medic steered clear of the others, minding his own business and not participating in the drinking.
* * * *
“He’s on!” one man shouted. “Shhh! Shhh! It’s Colon
el Baker on the radio!”
Three men helped Mike hobble over to the radio. There was some background noise and talking on both ends before he came on.
“They call you Mike. Is that right?”
“That is correct, sir. And you are Colonel Baker?”
There was a pause without a response…long enough for Mike’s captors to think they had lost the signal.
“What do you know about the Great Battle for the Valley?” Baker asked.
Mike had planned for this question all day—at least his conscious hours. He played up the pain, in case he said something wrong.
“I know people who are headed there, a group who clashed with some of your people not long ago.”
“We have clashes, as you say, every day. They don’t last more than a few minutes.”
“How many have dynamite, fireworks, fire, and the Military involved?” Mike asked.
“Raton Pass—are you part of the militia group up there?”
“No. My old group just passed through.”
“And you spilled our blood. Is that right?”
“Sir, I am a soldier, like you,” Mike replied. He held his tongue, knowing full well the man on the other end of the line was not a Colonel or a soldier but a zealous fanatic, preaching his distorted religion to the most vulnerable.
“I am a soldier, like you,” he repeated. “I fight for the side I am on.”
“Where is your group now?” Baker asked.
“Deep in the mountains, I guess. When they kicked me out, they took my guns and my boy.”
“Your guns and your boy, huh? But not your bike?”
“It’s mine, and I took it back is all. They didn’t chase me down, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“So, how can you help me, Mike?”
“I know their plans and I want revenge, plus my boy back.”
Mike decided to leave Sheila out altogether, knowing how the Baker guy felt about women anyway.
“Just a man and his boy wanting revenge—all that’s missing is the pet dog.” There was another long pause.
“I hear that you fought three men at once in a pit and won. Is that true?”
“Yes, sir, you have heard right.”
“I could use a man like you on my team, but how do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t!”
Baker laughed, saying something inaudible to those around him.
“Mike, you may just be the first honest man I’ve met. Tell me what you know about the Valley.”
“Yes, sir. I can do that, but only in person.”
Those around Mike looked at him like he had defied a commandment from God Himself.
“I’m not sure you know who you’re speaking with here,” said Baker.
“I understand completely,” replied Mike, not wanting to come off rude but realizing a meeting with him was the only way to get close.
“Should we kill him, Colonel?” asked the guy with less fingers now.
“I didn’t save him just to have him killed,” said Max, joining in the conversation.
“Who’s that?” asked Baker.
“His name is Maximillian, or something like that, and he says he is a medical something or other.”
“You kept Mike alive?” Baker asked Max.
“Yes, I did, and I won’t stand by and see him killed on my watch.”
“You two—Mike and Max, Max and Mike. I like you. Can you ride, Mike?”
“Sure…I mean, probably.”
“That’s a no,” said Max. “Not for a while, at least.”
“How long?” asked Baker.
“A week or two, maybe three.”
“Hold on,” said Baker, as he shouted orders to his men. “We have your location. Our helicopters are not ready yet, so we will send a truck. Expect them in a day or two.”
“A truck for all of us?” asked one of the men.
Baker didn’t answer, only adding, “If any harm comes to either of those two, you all will deal with me. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” they all mumbled.
“I said Understood?!” he screamed.
“Yes, Colonel!” they all said loudly.
The call was disconnected on Baker’s end, and soon after, the negotiations began.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Eighteen
Mike
North of Lake Pueblo, Colorado
Mike and Max were wooed over the next few hours by most of the other men in camp, asking for a good word so they too could catch a ride on the “Salvation Truck,” as they now called it. Max stayed close to Mike, talking about their backgrounds as much as either one would share with someone they had just met. Mike told him about these men and what they had done, knowing it was common knowledge now, and he did feel a sense of immunity waiting for transport.
“This Baker guy… You like him?” asked Max. “Maybe you trust him or are looking to protect him from harm?”
“I have a sense about people,” said Mike, without directly answering the question. “I’ve fine-tuned it over the years, and it’s pretty spot-on. So, I’ll ask you the same. Do you like him? Do you trust him? Do you want to protect him?”
Max paused, taking a deep breath before telling a melted-down story of the last month in his life.
“I was a medic in the Navy. Served four years and saved more than a few guys. Later, I worked as a paramedic and saved a few more. It’s what I do. I help people. I’ve even delivered two babies—a boy on a ship and a girl right on a city bus. My pops worked three jobs to put my siblings and me through school. He worked construction, did some landscaping, and was a part-time bookkeeper for several small businesses. He used his hands and his head.
“When Baker and his group came through our town, they took everything they saw: men, women and children. The dogs ran free or were shot for sport by his men, ours included. I was at the hospital when my father was killed trying to save our dog from some pointless game they called mutt cuts. They cut them down and took bets on how far out the shot was. They shot my dog and my dad, like rats in the street. I saw it, coming home. My father told me everything and died right in my arms.”
“You didn’t do anything?” asked Mike.
“No. There were dozens of men with guns, plus the Baker guy. I don’t even think he’s a real Colonel, but he was watching the massacre from atop his Military-style SUV and I think he paid the man who took my father’s life. My mom passed on several years back, thank God, but I did nothing. They shot twice from a distance while I was holding my father. Both shots barely missed me, and I laid down, playing dead on the side of the road until they left. I’m a coward through and through.”
“You came upon a scene and evaluated it accurately, it sounds like,” replied Mike. “You can’t take them all on,” he added. “If you did, we would not be talking now, and I would surely be dead. Revenge is slow-cooked, like a European meal with all seven courses. So, you now have courage?”
“I don’t know, but I have nothing to lose. Maybe that’s the same thing.”
“It’s close, that’s for sure, Max. So, what’s your plan?” Mike continued, knowing he may have taken the questions too far.
“My plans are to ki... What are yours?” he said, stopping himself from saying too much.
“My plans are complicated,” said Mike, holding back for now. “Do you have a weapon, Max?”
“No. I did, but these guys took it when I got here.”
“Okay. Bring your things over and sleep by me. If they try anything, I’ll get up the strength to do something, I’m sure of it. I don’t think they are that stupid, though, to mess with us now.”
Mike awoke in the middle of the night to Max’s yells. “Don’t hurt him, you bastards! Don’t hurt my father!” And another time, later on: “I’ll kill you if it’s the last thing...”
Only Mike heard this—only him and the eight-fingered man.
* * * *
Both men were left alone during the night. The next
morning, they were offered only water.
“I hope they come to get us,” said Max, “or we will starve for sure.”
“They are keeping us alive as instructed,” replied Mike—“no more and no less. Tell me more about your plans.”
“Okay, but I need to know I can trust you. How do I do that?”
“Have you ever looked a man in the eye and knew his word was true, whatever he said next?” Mike asked.
“Yes, I guess I know what you’re saying. I saw it in my father and grandfather, and I see it in you, but somehow it’s different,” replied Max.
“How so?” asked Mike, feeling he was getting somewhere with his questions.
“Well, they were peaceful men—hunters and fishermen—but never violent towards another person. You are different. I can see it in your eyes. I heard you defeated three men in a pit fight to the death, and you don’t even bring it up. I think you have a much more sordid past than that, and I’m hoping you will remember I saved your life out here in this outlaw of a camp.”
Mike laughed, holding his side but not showing pain on his face.
“I do, and I know what you need.”
“You do?”
“Yes. You need revenge for your father. You need to kill the man who authorized the murder. Am I right?”
Max paused, still not sure how to proceed… “You may be close… How many people, do you think?”
“How many people what?” asked Mike, having an idea of where this was heading.
“How many men and women have you killed?”
Next World Series | Vol. 5 | Families First [Homecoming] Page 16
