Hard Road to Redemption

by Alex Ander

  Chapter 27

  Impending Blast

  Strong arms enveloped Stockwell’s upper body and pushed her rifle downward while the same force tugged on her weapon, threatening to disarm her.

  Unable to get her MP5 into the action, she let go of the pistol grip, latched on to the holstered Glock 19M riding in a horizontal holster on her vest and drove her left shoulder into her attacker.

  He backtracked.

  The two entangled masses slammed into a wall.

  She drew her pistol, thrust it to the left, across her chest, turned her face away from the impending blast, and jerked the trigger three times.

  Her opponent’s body seized.

  From across the room, motion caught Stockwell’s eye.

  A second man had regained his senses, and his weapon was up and pointing in her direction.

  *******

  Jacob advanced further into the dwelling while seeing the space through his NVGs.

  Incoming rounds.

  He dropped to one knee behind a sofa, peeked out from the right side, and leveled his rifle at where he had seen the muzzle flashes.

  One half of a human head and the open barrel of a gun appeared.

  He squeezed the Banshee’s trigger four times.

  The partial head became a whole head, and a torso followed, as the assailant fell over sideways.

  “Tango down.” Jacob stood and caught sight of a second man shooting toward Jacob’s nine o’clock.

  *******

  The first incoming bullet went right of Stockwell.

  She grabbed the man she had shot in the chest and pushed him toward the second attacker while returning fire on the new threat.

  A second projectile hit her human shield in the abdomen, expended most of its energy inside its victim, kept on going, and bounced off the FBI agent’s protective vest.

  The dying man collapsed.

  Losing her cover, she dropped with him while firing her Glock pistol.

  A third bullet sped over her head and lodged in the wall.

  The corpse hit the floor.

  Stockwell landed on her butt and winced. Ow.

  The body listed to its left.

  Her belly pressed against the dead man’s back, her finger working the 19M’s trigger, she went with the cadaver’s motion and came down on her left side.

  The nine-millimeter’s slide locked open.

  She glimpsed the empty gun. “Damn it.” Her left arm and left leg trapped under dead weight, she pulled, pushed, and kicked her way to freedom before reloading the weapon and shoving it out in front of her.

  Her second attacker keeled over like a tree falling in the woods, his head bouncing off a wall before his body folded in half next to a straight-back chair.

  *******

  Jacob swung his SBR toward the second man.

  Having already taken several rounds to his bare chest, the assailant crashed into a wall and crumpled into a ball on the floor.

  Jacob looked further left but did not see his teammate. “Stockwell, report.”

  In his ear, grunting and straining sounds.

  “Stockwell!” He raced toward her and took a knee on her starboard side. “Are you hit?”

  “No. My,” she motioned, “friend here was kind enough to help me out.” She gave him a final kick to the kidney to gain separation and rolled to her knees. “How many did you get?”

  “One.” He took her hand and pulled.

  She rose to both feet, holstered her pistol, and gripped on her rifle, “Ow,” before lowering her chin to her chest and grabbing her left butt cheek.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s,” she waved him off, “it’s nothing. I’m good. I just came down hard on my tailbone.” She hobbled forward. “By my count, we have at least one more threat to deal with.”

  Having also done the math, “That’s what I’m coming up with, too,” Jacob swapped out the CMMG’s partial mag for a full one. “Let’s clear the rest of the—” spotting movement, “get down!” he hooked his left arm around her tummy, spun left, and took her with him.

  The duo landed on the floor behind a flower-print sofa.

  In the darkness, fully automatic gunfire erupted. 5.56 NATO bullets sprayed around the home’s interior, punching holes in the walls, splintering wooden chairs and tables, ripping up fabric furniture, and shredding curtains.

  Jacob crawled away from his woman, squirmed onto his left side, and brought into the fight his loaded-with-frangible-rounds Mossberg 590 Shockwave SPX. His right hand on the short shotgun’s grip, he fired, racked the gun, and fired again.

  Ten feet away, a gray-haired man grabbed his arm and dropped the Colt M16A3 rifle he had fired.

  Racking the Shockwave SPX...

  Gray Hair ran toward the kitchen and crashed through a flimsy screen door.

  ...Jacob exhausted another twelve-gauge shotshell on his fleeing mark before trundling onto his knees and hopping to his feet. “Stockwell, you hurt?”

  Having come down on her sore butt and tailbone again, she grunted while rolling onto her left hip. “No. I’m,” she snagged a quick breath, “I’m good. Go.” She flailed an arm, “Go get him,” then clawed at the floor to get to her knees.

  Unconvinced, Jacob stared at her.

  She spied him. “Trust me. I’m fine.” She thrust out a finger. “Go get that son-of-”

  Hearing her finish her off-color sentence, he bolted for the kitchen and pulled up short at the mangled screen door, its frame secured to the jamb, its netting ripped and laying on the ground outside.

  Somewhere, a motor groaned twice before coming to life.

  Jacob transitioned to his CMMG, poked his head and rifle through the opening, and glanced left and right.

  The motor revved twice.

  He pivoted his head and rifle to the left, toward the sound, and stepped through the screen door.

  Tires spun.

  He darted for the corner of the building, swung left, and raised the long gun.

  A four-wheel, all-terrain vehicle lurched left and disappeared behind the front of the structure.

  Jacob sprinted to the next corner, swiveled left, and got off three shots.

  The ATV zoomed behind the ‘A’ frame building.

  He sprinted.

  The four-wheeler’s motor whined higher and higher.

  He caught a quick glimpse of the machine and shouldered his Banshee nine-millimeter.

  The ATV sped down the driveway and vanished among the dense trees.

  “Son-of-a...pup.”

  Stockwell: “What’s going on, Jake?”

  Recalling the video feed from the drone, and his and Stockwell’s earlier advance up the driveway, he looked right, toward the forest, and took off running.

  “Jake, what’s your status?”

  “I’m going after him.” He unhooked his shotgun and let it fall. “Remember those switchbacks?” Disconnecting the CMMG from his vest, “the ones we cut across on our approach?” he dropped the rifle.

  “Yeah. What about them?”

  Now free of the added weight of the long guns, and the threat of them snagging on tree limbs, Jacob leaped over a log and charged into the woods. “I think I can catch up to him.”

  *******

  Jacob knifed through the heavy brush.

  Up ahead, the ATV growled.

  Seeing headlights flickering in between tree trunks, he pushed a low-hanging branch to the side and forced his way into the driveway. He drew his Coonan, whirled right, swung his weapon in the same direction, and aimed for the rider’s back.

  The target veered left, took the path, and was swallowed up by the tree line on the same side.

  He holstered his pistol and ran into the forest while envisioning the next hairpin turn. He’ll have to slow down and come back toward me.

  For the next fifty yards, Jacob zigzagged among wide trunks, slapped at branches, and trampled pine needles underfoot.

  The ATV’s motor wound down then ramp
ed up two seconds later.

  Jacob picked up his pace, risking a collision with a tree, or tripping on a stump or fallen limb.

  Fifty feet on his two o’clock, headlights danced.

  He glanced toward the light show, faced forward, spotted an opening, and pumped his arms harder.

  The vehicle gained speed.

  His eyes going back and forth from the opening to the moving target, Jacob ran.

  The ATV drew nearer.

  After a last glimpse at his mark, he stormed out of the woods, took two steps, leaned forward, and launched himself.

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 28

  Close Lined

  Stretched out in midair, like a superhero, Jacob close lined the rider with his left arm.

  Rider flipped over backwards.

  His left arm propelled backward after contact, Jacob landed on his right side, grimaced, and barrel rolled several times.

  The ATV swerved left and crashed into a tree.

  After skidding across the dirt, then doing a reverse somersault, Rider ended up on his back. Looking up, yelling at the tree canopy, he grabbed his left arm and rocked back and forth, his foul language permeating the night air.

  Jacob crawled out from under the shrub that had caught him.

  Rider flopped onto his belly.

  Jacob stood and went for his 357 Magnum, but is hand came up empty. He scanned the area at his feet but found no weapon.

  Rider did a push-up and rose to both feet, his face contorting, as he clutched his left arm.

  His attention drawn to his opponent, Jacob lowered his stance and felt a twinge of pain. He reached around behind him and arched his back while he stepped onto the matted earth that served as a driveway.

  Circling each other, the two men squared off, pirouetting in concert until the distance between them ran parallel with the roadway.

  Jacob flipped up his NVGs and regarded the man’s features. He flexed his left arm while rubbing his left shoulder. “You must be Hendricks.”

  Hendricks held his smarting left arm by the elbow. “And you must be the Homeland Security guy.” He made a face while wiggling his fingers. “Sheriff Winston said your name was,” he paused, “St. Christopher?”

  “Where’s the girl? Where’s Miranda?”

  The older man studied his younger adversary. “You’re not just a ‘fed,’ are you? You’ve got skills...military skills.” He cocked his head and half closed one eye. “Navy Seal?” He shook his head. “No.” A smile traced his lips. “You’re Army, aren’t you? Ranger?”

  Jacob slid the Short KA-BAR knife from its horizontal sheath at the small of his back.

  Chuckling, Hendricks drew a full-size KA-BAR from inside his right boot and aimed the seven-inch blade at Jacob. “Oh, yeah. You and me...we’re the same, all right.”

  His brow wrinkling, Jacob shook his head. “Not even close.”

  The gray-haired man tapped his chest with the KA-BAR’s tip. “Ten years in the Army—five as a Ranger.”

  Jacob gritted his teeth. I don’t give a rat’s— “Where’s the girl you kidnapped?”

  “Uncle Sam trains me to kill,” Hendricks ambled to his right, “but then kicks me out of his club when I,” a beat, “enjoy my job a little too much...shall we say.”

  Jacob circled right to keep his distance. “Dishonorable discharge?”

  Hendricks’ eyes flared red.

  Jacob spotted the anger and slowly nodded. “What was it for...raping little girls in the ‘Sand Box?’”

  Feeling another rush of anger, Hendricks laughed to control his emotions. “I’ll make you a deal—Ranger to Ranger. If you beat me, I’ll tell you what I did with the girl. If I win, then,” his crooked smile returning, he held a shrug, “well, you won’t really care, will you?”

  Jacob assumed a fighting position. “You don’t have to die tonight.”

  Hendricks matched his foe’s stance, “But you do,” then charged while swinging his KA-BAR.

  Slicing the air with his own knife, Jacob met the man’s attack.

  Blades clinked twice.

  Jacob sent his left fist into Hendricks’ face.

  The man’s head rocked, and his body followed, as he staggered backward while holding his bloodied nose.

  “Next time, I won’t lead with my fist.”

  Hendricks chortled, wiped his hand on his pants, and came in for a second attack.

  Parrying the strike and stepping right...

  Hendricks’ momentum carried him forward.

  Jacob pivoted left and sliced his blade across the back of his adversary’s left knee.

  Howling, Hendricks grabbed his wound, hobbled away, and did a one-eighty to face his attacker.

  “Like I said...you don’t have to die tonight.”

  Now nursing a leg wound, his left arm not at a hundred percent, Hendricks saw his chances at victory fading. “Screw you.” He pushed aside the pain and rushed Jacob with everything he had, slashing his KA-BAR back and forth in front of him.

  Jacob fended off two strikes and retreated.

  An image of Chrissy Toberman, along with her words, popped into his brain. He’s going to rape her. I know. Because...

  Hendricks advanced.

  ...he did the same things to me.

  Jacob backpedaled and redirected the attacks before his mind queued up a mental picture of his missing daughter. He heard her voice. Daddy...he did the same things to... His muscles straining at the thoughts, he squeezed the knife handle. In the next heartbeat, his eyes narrowed, and his blood pressure skyrocketed. He clenched his teeth and saw the sexual predator through an imaginary haze of red.

  Hendricks lunged forward and shoved out the knife like a sword.

  His Short KA-BAR in his right hand, the clip point aimed skyward, Jacob deflected the strike to his left, did a clockwise three-sixty, while reversing his hold on the weapon, and then whipped his arm backward to drive the fighting knife into Hendrick’s chest.

  The stabbed man gasped.

  Jacob twisted his hand and gave an upward thrust.

  Letting out another quick wheeze, his KA-BAR slipping from his grasp, the older man clutched his fatal injury.

  Jacob laid his left hand on the man’s left shoulder and pushed while retracting the 5.25-inch blade.

  The cult leader fell to his knees and looked up, a smile on his face, blood oozing from between his teeth.

  Jacob loomed over him. “Where’s the girl?”

  Dropping to his elbows, the already-dead man swallowed then coughed up a line of red. “I’m a man of my word, but...you’re too late. The girl’s already,” he coughed, “dead. I did to her what the little,” he cursed, “was going to...” he hacked.

  A longer string of crimson spewed out of his mouth.

  “...was going to do to me.” His eyelids drooping, his body going limp, “I gutted her on the Appalachian—” he toppled over and landed on his right side, his eyes staring straight ahead, never to blink again.

  Two seconds later, Jacob glimpsed the red staining his knife’s blade then eyed a deceased Hendricks. What have I done? A sudden bout of nausea overtaking him, he dropped to one knee and hung his head. Forgive me, Lord. He made a fist. Don’t let Miranda suffer for my mistake. Please, show me where she is. Tell me where to find her.

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 29

  We’ve Missed Something

  6:29 A.M.

  Ninety seconds after the first shot had been fired, the gunfight had ended, and Stockwell had cleared the rest of the house before waiting for her teammate to return.

  After killing Hendricks, Jacob had weaved his way back through the woods, collected his discarded weapons, and met his partner.

  Now, surrounded by three dead bodies, Jacob and Stockwell stood in the living room with their overlapped hands resting on the butt of their slung rifles, their NVGs up and out of the way, their weapon-mounted flashligh
ts sending beams of light bouncing off the floor.

  Jacob shook his head. “I screwed up, Stockwell. I let my emotions get in the way of the mission...finding the Innocent.”

  Facing him, she laid her right hand on his left shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up, Jake. He had a deadly weapon.”

  “He was wounded. I could’ve disarmed him. I didn’t have to kill him.”

  “Or,” she bobbed her head from side to side, “he might’ve been sandbagging you to get you to let down your guard.” She gave him a gentle squeeze. “You did what you had to do.”

  He made a face. “I’m not so sure. If I hadn’t killed him, we would be able to force him to tell us where Miranda is.”

  “Jake,” Stockwell sighed, “he said he,” she faltered, “he said he killed her.”

  “But that makes no sense. Why go through the trouble of taking a teenage girl with you when your world is crashing down...only to then kill her in the woods?” Jacob planted hands on hips and glanced around the room. “I think we’ve missed something.”

  “All right. Assuming Hendricks is lying, and Miranda’s still alive, where would she be?” Stockwell held out her hands, palms up. “We’ve searched everywhere. She’s clearly not here.”

  He fast walked out of the house, stopped at a spot equidistant from the outbuildings, arched his back, and shouted into the air. “Miranda!” He turned around, shouted her name again, and waited.

  Nothing.

  Stockwell faced him. “Maybe she escaped during the shooting and is now hiding somewhere...afraid to come out.”

  Jacob cupped his hands around his mouth. “Miranda, we’re federal agents. We’re here to take you home.”

  Fifteen seconds of silence passed.

  “What if we head back to the Appalachian Trail and start searching,” said Stockwell? “We have a starting point—the compound—and we have a destination...here.”

  He eyed his partner. “That’s a lot of territory to cover.”

  She shrugged. “We’ll call in whoever we need to. But, if there’s a chance she’s alive, then we need to start looking for her.”

  Drawing his lips into his mouth, he nodded. “You’re right. We need to do something.” Jacob headed toward the driveway. “Let’s go put together that search party.”