by London James
I disconnect the call and slip the phone back into my pocket. I raise my binoculars and look to the horizon. Nothing. I check my watch and see that afternoon is already approaching. I would have thought Hernan would have come first thing this morning.
Then again, maybe they’re having trouble even with the snowmobiles. The storm dumped a hell of a lot of snow out here, and I guess it’s possible that it’s too much for the snowmobiles to get through.
Or maybe, just maybe, he’s fucking with my head.
“I made you some coffee.”
I look down and see Isla at the base of the stairs that lead to my perch. She’s holding two cups of coffee in her hands, the steam coming off the mugs thick, and curling upward into the cool air. I take one last look at the field, see nothing, and come down the steps. She hands me a mug with a small smile and an anxious look on her face.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Anything?”
I shake my head. “Nothing at all.”
“Maybe they decided to pack it in and go home?”
A short bark of laughter bursts out of my throat. “It’d be nice,” I chuckle. “I somehow doubt it though.”
“Then what’s taking them so long? I mean, get it over with already.”
I take a sip of coffee and relish the rich, warm brew in my mouth. I swallow it down and take another drink.
“I’m thinking they’re either having a problem with too much snow, and the snowmobiles are not functioning right in it,” I say. “Or, they’re playing head games with us. Making us sweat it out and ratcheting up the tension. We’re more likely to screw up and make a mistake if we’re stressed out, so maybe that’s what Hernan is counting on.”
“Do you really credit him with that much intelligence.”
I take another sip and nod my head. “I do, actually,” I tell her. “I’ve kept up with him since leaving the Marshal’s Service. Given the fact that he nearly killed me, I developed something of an unhealthy obsession with the man. And one thing I’ve learned is that the guy is scary smart. If he weren’t a murderous, drug-running shitbag, he might have done some incredible things in this world. He’s that smart.”
Isla shudders, but I don’t think it’s from the cold. “Great. That’s really comforting.”
I shrug. “It is what it is. When it comes down to it and the bullets start flying, your smarts aren’t necessarily going to carry the day for you. When the real fighting goes down, you need courage and instinct. I don’t know whether he has those or not.”
I sit down on the step, and Isla takes a seat next to me. We drink our coffee in silence for a few minutes, each of us absorbed in our own thoughts. Stabler is racing around the yard, bounding through the snow. What happens to him if I don’t make it worries me. He’s not going to understand. All he’s going to know is that I’m gone. And I find myself wondering if he’s going to be okay without me.
Maybe it’s silly. Maybe I’m anthropomorphizing him too much, but I really believe that he and I share a tight bond. I believe he loves me as much as I love him. And the idea that he might wind up depressed if I don’t make it, that he just sort of gives up on life, breaks my heart. He’s been a loyal, faithful, and loving companion for a while now and I just want the best life possible for him.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
I look over at Isla. Even in the gloomy light of the day, her eyes sparkle somehow. I lean over and kiss her forehead gently.
“I was just wondering if you’ve firmed up our itinerary just yet,” I fib. “Wondering what the first stop on our world tour will be.”
“Liar,” she says and laughs softly. “Thinking about something as happy as that wouldn’t leave you looking as utterly morose as you do right now.”
“Morose,” I chuckle. “Now, there’s a good word.”
“I thought so,” she grins.
“Are you in there reading the dictionary or something?”
“Possibly,” she sasses.
“Well, remind me to not play Scrabble with you ever again.”
“You’ve never played Scrabble with me anyway.”
“And rightly so,” I say. “I can’t compete against somebody who uses the world ‘morose’ in normal, everyday conversation.”
We share a laugh and a smile with each other. I look her in the eye and feel a dull ache in my heart as I wonder if I’m ever going to see her again once the shooting starts. It seems unfair to have found somebody so amazing and somebody who matches me so well, in so many ways, but then put her in the middle of some drug war, surrounded by evil, cruel, and murderous villains who want to kill her simply because of her bloodline.
The universe has a sense of humor and it sucks.
“Italy,” she finally answers.
I nod. “Italy it is then.”
She smiles and lays her head on my shoulder. I kiss the top of her head, and we sit like that for a few moments, just absorbed in one another. Stabler stops bounding though and runs over near us, his head raised, and his ears perked. He lets out a soft chuff as his body goes rigid.
“They’re coming,” I say.
Isla looks at Stabler with fear and dread etched upon her features. I get to my feet and bound up the steps. Raising my binoculars, I scan the field beyond my wall. Sure enough, there are snowmobiles coming in this direction. A lot of them. It’s just as I feared – Hernan is bringing a small army with him.
There’s nothing to be done but sticking to the plan. I have to roll the dice and whatever happens, happens. At least I can die knowing I went out protecting the woman I love. It’s cold comfort, but it’s something, at least.
I lower the glasses and hurry back down the stairs to where Isla is waiting. I can see by the look on her face that she’s hoping it isn’t true and that Stabler was reacting to something else.
“Time to go,” I say simply.
Tears are already running down her face as I lead her back through the house. I have to call for Stabler twice. It’s as if he knows what’s about to happen and doesn’t want to leave my side. Eventually though, he comes. I get them into the back room, open the secret door, and usher them both inside.
“Okay, I don’t want either of you sticking your heads out until I give you the all-clear sign,” I instruct. “Do you understand me?”
She opens her mouth, poised to argue with me, but then closes it again. Instead, she steps forward and throws her arms around the back of my neck, squeezing me tight. I hold her for a moment, then give her the most loving, passionate kiss I possibly can. I put every ounce of my emotions for her into it, hoping that if this really is the end, she’ll carry that memory with her forever.
It’s like she knows it because when I pull back, the tears are running unchecked down her face. I give her a crooked smile.
“I’ll see you soon,” I murmur.
“You better,” she replies, though her voice lacks conviction.
Isla steps back so I can close the door. I hesitate a moment and look at her just a second longer. I want her face etched into my mind as I go out there to face whatever hell Hernan is about to unleash upon me. At least I can have something good and something pure in my head.
“I love you, Isla.”
Her voice is thick with emotion, but she manages to choke out the words. “I love you too, Baker.”
I close the door, then quickly enter the code to seal it. That done, Isla is now shut and locked inside the bunker, and Walt will be the only one able to get her out.
With a sense of dread growing in my gut, I turn and head out to face down the devil – come what may.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Isla
The door closes with a heavy thud and locks into place with a hard clank – it’s a sound like finality. A moment later, I hear a series of electronic chirps. It sounds like a code being entered on the keypad or something. I puzzle over it for a moment only because nothing like that happened the last time he shut me into the bunker.
I r
un over to the keypad and punch in the code Baker gave me to open the door, a suspicion growing in my belly. I punch in the last number, and the keypad buzzes and glows red.
“No, no, no,” I mutter as I punch in the code again.
I get the same response, and I slap the door, tears of fear, frustration, and anger rolling down my face as I realize what he’s done. He sealed me into the bunker with no way out. Stabler chuffs softly and whimpers.
“He locked us in,” I say to the dog. “That damn man locked us in here.”
The thought about how we’re going to get out if the unthinkable happens crosses my mind, but it’s fleeting. If he locked us in here, I have no doubt he has a way to get us out – even in the event he’s not around to do it.
My stomach is churning and filled with knots of worry that constrict tightly. I feel lightheaded and like I might just throw up. I feel so utterly helpless and useless locked into this damn – tomb. Turning, I rush down the ramp and head for the security suite, quickly powering up all of the equipment.
Stabler sits close by my side, seemingly unwilling to let me out of his sight. Or maybe he doesn’t want to be out of my sight. Either way, the soft whimpers and mewls escaping him make it sound like he’s just as scared as I am.
The picture on the computer monitors resolve, and I have to scroll through the cameras to find the view I want – Baker standing alone on the platform against the rear wall. He’s got an array of weapons with him and a bag full of extra ammunition – the magazines I loaded for him. He’s standing there, staring out at whatever’s coming beyond the wall through his binoculars.
Part of me wishes I could see what was coming – what he’s up against. The other part of me is a little glad I can’t, only because seeing what he’s up against and knowing the odds against him would rip me apart.
I stare at the screen, completely riveted, so when a phone rings, I nearly jump out of my skin. Stabler lets out a yelp and jumps to his feet, as freaked out as I am by the sudden, intrusive noise. I look around for the source of the sound and find it tucked away on the corner of the desk.
I snap up the phone and look at the screen, quickly realizing that it’s not Baker calling – he’s not holding a phone to his ear. Who in the hell has the number to Baker’s secret Batcave?
“H – hello?”
“Isla, it’s damn good to hear your voice,” a man says. “It’s Walter Parr.”
I’m hit by a bolt of the surreal. Why is he calling me here? Why isn’t he here helping Baker fend off this attack? Better yet, why wasn’t he here before, pulling us both out of this shit he created?
“You realize Baker is about to get himself killed because of what you’ve done, right?” I ask, my voice hard and cold.
“I – I’m hoping that doesn’t happen,” he tells me. “But yes, to answer your question, I know that everything that may happen is my fault. I manipulated the situation to put you close to Baker, and I dragged him into this when what I worried was going to happen came to pass. The responsibility for this mess is mine.”
“That’s wonderful,” I spit. “But that’s not going to stop the bullets.”
“Have the Zavala’s arrived?” he asked, his voice tight.
I look at the computer monitor and see Baker still standing there with the binoculars to his eyes.
“Not yet,” I answer. “But, it’s a matter of moments now.”
“Do you know how many are coming?”
“I don’t,” I say. “But enough that Baker is worried. He tried to hide it, but I could see the fear in his eyes.”
There’s a loud sigh on the other end of the line, and he falls silent for a moment. I keep watching the computer screen and see Baker pick up one of his guns. He sets it on top of the wall in front of him, then pulls something out of his pocket. Whatever it is, he keeps it in his hand and presses the binoculars to his eyes with the other. I can only imagine what that means.
“They’re almost on top of him,” I say softly. “Did you know?”
“Know what, Isla?”
“Know that he was going to take this head-on by himself?” I ask. “Did you know that he was going to seal me into this bunker?”
“I didn’t until just a little bit ago,” he admits. “I called Baker to get an update, and he told me what his plan was. He gave me the code to open the door back up and get you out of the bunker.”
“Why are you not here, Marshal?” I roar at him. “Why is he out there alone? Why is he going to die when this is your job, not his?”
When Parr speaks, his voice sounds incredibly pained. “I never wanted this, Isla. I never intended for any of this to happen.”
“That’s great and all, but it’s happening anyway,” I yell. “Why the hell are you not here?”
“It’s – complicated,” he says. “Just know that this is my fault.”
“You’re damn right it is,” I hiss. “And now Baker – one of the best men I’ve ever met – is going to die because you fucked up.”
“I know,” he says softly. “And believe me when I say you don’t understand how personally painful this is for me. Baker and I go way back. We served together –”
“Yeah, I know,” I interrupt. “Baker admired you. It’s unreal. You march him out to his death, but he admires you. How does that even work?”
“Isla listen to me,” he says. “I told Baker that I rounded up some of the men we served with. We’re all en route to you now. It’s just going to take a few days for us to get to you because of the storms.”
“Great. It’s all going to be over by the time you get here,” I tell him, my heart breaking with each and every word.
“I know,” he says softly. “He gave me the code to get you out of the bunker though. I just wanted to call you to let you know that you’re not alone out there and to sit tight.”
“I’m not alone. That’s fantastic,” I sneer. “Baker is though.”
“Isla, if there was something I could do about it, you had best believe I would. If I could trade places with him right this second, I would,” he says, his tone harder than iron. “I would rather die myself than have him die because I fucked up.”
“Yeah, unfortunately, that’s not an option.”
He falls silent for a moment, as if my words wounded him. Good. They should. There is no understating just how enormous Parr’s fuck up is, and there is no overstating the cost of it.
“Anyway,” he sighs. “I just wanted to tell you to sit tight. That I’m on my way and I’m bringing help.”
“Like I have any other choice than to sit tight,” I say and slam the phone down.
I lean back in the chair as I see Baker start to fire on the screen before me, a physical pain steals through my heart. I can’t control myself any longer and am lucky to grab the trash can in time, throwing up loudly into it. After dry heaving a couple of times, I find that I don’t have anything left to give, so I set the trash can back down.
I look at the computer screen again and see Baker reloading his gun. He pops up above the wall and starts shooting again. I can barely see through the tears that are clouding my vision. It’s all so hopeless.
Everything is so hopeless.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Baker
There are at least two dozen bad guys bearing down on me. Probably more. This is going to get real nasty, real quick. With the binoculars pressed to my eyes in one hand and the remote detonator in the other, I bide my time and wait.
I’m curious to see what they learned from the last time they came straight at me. Will they try to employ some defensive maneuver? Or will Hernan consider them to be acceptable losses? Don’t know and don’t care. My only goal is to cut as many of these bastards down as possible before they get to me. Thinning out that herd is the only way I’m going to survive this fight.
I watch them come, the anticipation – and perhaps even a little excitement – rising within me like the tide. I groan though, when about half of the group coming this
way splits off from the main body. That can only mean one thing – Hernan did his homework, and they’re coming through the forest path.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself.
I can’t be in two places at once, so I have to hope I can knock down this main group before having to deal with the secondary one. They approach the line rapidly, and I set off two of my final charges I have out there. The sounds of explosions are muffled by the thick layer of snow but still prove effective as two of the snowmobiles burst into flame and go flying. The screams of the riders echo to me across the snowy field.
I cast a wary eye toward the forest path and see that it’s still clear. Turning back to the main force, I wait until the last possible moment before setting off my last explosive. It sounds like a loud cough and the earth directly beneath one of the snowmobiles erupts in a hail of fire and shrapnel. The rider doesn’t even have time to scream before he’s consumed by the blast.
“Three down, more than a dozen to go,” I mutter to myself and laugh.
Picking up my weapon, I take aim and hold. When they get within fifty yards, the men all abandon their snowmobiles as I open fire. The chatter of my weapon rings through the air and is quickly followed by the sound of return fire.
Slugs slam into the wall before me, forcing me to take cover. There is a withering hail of gunfire in front of me, and I keep waiting for Hernan’s men to come through the forest path to join the fight – meaning, it’s only going to get worse.
When there’s a pause in the gunfire, I jump to my feet and lay down a line of bullets of my own. My line of fire cuts down three men who were trying to take shelter behind a fallen log. They made the mistake of standing while they reloaded. Fools. Their bodies twitched and jerked as my bullets tore through them, dancing as if being controlled by invisible strings before falling to the snow.
A burst of gunfire from the right side of their line sounds, driving me back down behind the wall again. As I hunker down, furtive movement from the forest path draws my attention. I grab the tablet I have sitting on my bag of ammunition and check the cameras I have mounted out there.
