by Bruno Miller
Boom! He was careful to lead the runner by just enough, and the bullet struck him square in the chest. The impact lifted the moonshiner off his feet for a split second and spun the body backward in an awkward flip. He came down hard on his face, and his body crumpled around him, lifeless and still.
Crack…crack! While he chambered another round, Ben glanced over and caught the last flash from Joel’s muzzle. He strained his eyes, trying to find what Joel had been shooting at, but failed to see anything. He continued searching while he thought about the fact that he was down to his last three rounds. After that, they’d be left with twelve rounds in an unfamiliar pistol and whatever Joel had left in his AR, at least until he could scavenge something off one of the dead moonshiners.
Ben heard Joel shoot again, this time a single shot. He still couldn’t see what he was firing at, and it made him anxious. Whatever it was must have been in one of Ben’s blind spots.
Crack! And whatever it was, Joel was still shooting at it. From his position, Joel could see down the main passageway that led to the front gate of the compound. It was also along the trail Ben imagined they used to drive the confiscated vehicles to the back of the enclosure. But from where Ben was located, most of that view was blocked by container houses. He was parallel to the main trail in, and his view was limited to what he could see through the spaces between the containers and the lane leading from the still, or what was left of it.
He’d positioned himself on the trail to the still because he thought the moonshiners would focus their attention there, but it seemed that most of the action was in Joel’s area. Maybe he should have hunkered down with Joel behind the tires, after all. But there was no point in second-guessing his decisions. He needed to stay focused and keep his son covered. To make matters worse, he knew Joel was running low on ammunition as well.
Chapter Ten
Ben searched the gaps to see if he could pick up on any movement and maybe figure out what Joel was shooting at, but he saw nothing. He blinked and pulled away from the scope for a moment before putting his eye back up to the lens. Ben thought that his lack of sleep and proper nourishment was playing tricks on his mind, but there was no mistaking the increasing amount of light coming from somewhere over by the compound’s entrance.
Seconds later, the light was accompanied by the sound of a vehicle. It was one of the pickups that had carried them to the camp that morning. Sporadic flashes of light bounced around the forest as the truck bounded wildly along the trail leading into the camp and headed straight for Joel’s position. They were going to try and take his son out with the truck. That was what Joel had been shooting at repeatedly and using up his ammunition on. Even in ideal conditions and with plenty of light, that was a tough shot with iron sights and an unfamiliar rifle.
Ben had to do something fast. The poor kid was probably in full-blown panic mode right about now. And who wouldn’t be with a truck bearing down on them and a shortage of ammunition at their disposal?
Ben quickly picked the truck up in his scope and began to calculate the shot. His best chance would be when the truck crossed the large opening that intersected the trail he was positioned on, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take a shot or two before the truck reached that point. After it crossed the intersection, there wouldn’t be enough time to get another shot off before it reached Joel. He had three chances to take the driver out, and he needed to take them now. The first shot would probably miss, but he could at least learn if his lead at this range was accurate. He squeezed off the shot and worked the bolt without looking away from the target. Ben could see a cracked and busted-out driver’s side window that had been intact before the shot, but the truck was still going strong and maneuvering on the trail well enough to reach Joel.
He followed the same shooting method for the second shot, and this time the truck reacted almost immediately by swerving off the trail and running headfirst into a large tree. From his position, Ben could hear the smashing glass and crumpling metal. He kept his scope trained on the wreckage while he cycled his last round up into the action from the now-empty box magazine.
Fighting the urge to run for his son, Ben stayed put and watched for a while. The driver was slumped over the wheel, and if neither one of the shots had killed him, the head-on collision with the tree should have. But he didn’t see the passenger. Then, to Ben’s surprise, the door on the far side of the truck flew open and a man staggered out, pointing a pistol in Joel’s direction. And that was how Ben spent his last round.
Now that his rifle was out of ammunition, there was no point in staying where he was. Ben jumped up, slinging the M24 over his shoulder, and pulled out the pistol, all the while fighting the urge to look over in the direction of the still. He could tell the fire was burning out of control by the amount of light it was throwing off, but he didn’t want to look at it from this close and ruin his night vision. He was glad that the still was burning as well as it was and didn’t care if the fire spread to the whole compound and reduced this place to ashes, but first they needed to recoup the gear and supplies that had been pillaged from the trucks.
He needed to get to Joel, though, and as fast as possible. Those two in the truck might have been the last of the moonshiners or there might be a couple more. There was no way of being sure, and Ben wasn’t willing to take any chances. He wouldn’t be satisfied until they’d searched and cleared every square inch of this place, including the makeshift container houses. That was something he wasn’t looking forward to, but they didn’t have a choice. He imagined that some of their stuff had already made it inside some of the meager shacks.
He moved swiftly from one shadow to the next until he reached the body of the man who had been running with the AR-15. He found the weapon a few feet away and popped the magazine out to inspect it. There were at least a dozen rounds left, so Ben tucked it into his back pocket and would later pass it on to Joel.
This was going to be a close-quarters battle from here on out, and the pistol he confiscated would work fine to fight his way through the camp. In fact, he almost preferred it for the maneuverability it would allow. Ben continued on and stopped behind a large stack of wooden pallets before approaching the junk pile where Joel was hiding. He didn’t see his son at first, and his heart skipped a beat before he realized that Joel was doing exactly what he’d told him to; he was keeping low. Joel poked his head up over a tire, his weapon ready to fire.
“Joel…” Ben followed up his call with a sharp whistle in an effort to be heard over the roar of the truck’s engine and exhaust. Joel searched in his direction, and after a couple of seconds, he spotted his dad and acknowledged him with a quick wave before returning his forward hand to the AR-15. Ben held his finger up, then pointed at the wrecked truck. He’d get the magazine to Joel in a minute. He just wanted to check on the driver and passenger of the truck first.
The engine screamed at nearly full throttle with the back tire spinning as fast as it could in the dirt; the driver still had the pedal pushed to the floor, and the engine screamed with a high-pitched whine that echoed through the woods like some kind of crazed animal. If he didn’t shut it off soon, the engine would surely blow, not that he cared, but that god-awful noise was making it hard to think straight.
Ben confirmed the driver was dead but kept the pistol ready until he made sure the passenger was dead as well. He reached in and yanked the key from the ignition, careful not to get any of the driver’s blood on himself, which was no small feat considering the interior of the truck was plastered in it. Ben guessed that one of the .338 rounds had done him in, but he also noticed a few bullet holes among the cracks that covered the windshield. There were three distinct bullet holes on the driver’s side, and Ben could see that Joel had landed a few well-placed shots of his own.
He couldn’t blame Joel for spending what he figured to be the rest of his ammunition on the truck; he would have done the same thing in that situation. Ben was almost positive Joel was out of bullets now, and the s
ooner he joined up with him, the better.
Leaving the truck and the two bodies behind, Ben headed back toward Joel. Careful to keep his eyes peeled for any remaining moonshiners, he closed in on Joel’s position as fast as he could. With the truck engine shut down, Ben could hear the dogs barking from their cages, and he thought about the two moonshiners he’d seen around the fire. Were they among the dead, or were they still out there in the compound somewhere, armed and dangerous? They were pretty tuned up on moonshine when he last laid eyes on them, but panic could sober a man in a hurry, at least enough to fight. He hadn’t recognized any of the bodies as theirs, not that he’d been looking that well.
“Hey… Hey, it’s me,” Ben whispered as loud as he dared while making his final approach to Joel. With the truck silenced, the woods were quiet again, all except the occasional crackle or pop as another jar of moonshine burst in the fire.
“I see you,” Joel answered.
Ben jumped over the stack of tires Joel was crouched behind and went straight to the ground next to him.
“Here.” Ben shoved the magazine from his back pocket at his son while keeping his gaze out toward the camp.
“Great, I’m out.” Joel expelled his empty magazine and let it fall to the ground, then inspected the replacement for a second before shoving it into his rifle.
Ben looked his son over. “You okay?”
Joel nodded. “I’m good.”
“I figure there’s at least two of them left out there somewhere if Rita was right. Maybe more. She was kinda vague about the number of kids but pretty specific about there being eight men and four women. How many did you manage to take out?”
“I think three.” Joel pointed out into the camp, indicating two different lumps on the ground. “The third one took off around that way, but I know I hit him.”
“Well, that’s eight for sure, then, and maybe nine. Let’s check the bodies for weapons. Then we’ll get back to the others and let them know what’s going on.” Ben led the way with Joel close behind. It was nice to have an extra set of eyes and ears covering him as he searched the bodies.
The first belonged to an older woman, taken out by what appeared to be a single bullet to the chest. Her right hand still firmly gripped the shotgun next to her, and Ben had to twist it back and forth a couple of times to pry it loose. The gun was a basic over-under breach-load 20-gauge shotgun with a shortened barrel, and when Ben checked it, he saw that both chambers were loaded. It was another weapon they could use, and Ben handed it to Joel to carry back to Allie. He knew she could handle it, and the sooner everyone on their team was armed again, the better he would feel about their situation.
The next body was that of the older guard who’d antagonized Ben from the start and tried to get the better of him. Joel had shot him in the neck. Maybe one of his double-tap volleys, judging by the amount of matter missing from the guard’s throat and the puddle of blood he was lying in. Ben hated to admit it, but the sight of the dead guard gave him some satisfaction, and so did taking his weapon. It was another AR-15. This time, Ben took the whole gun rather than just the magazine.
“Give this one to Sandy after you show her the basics.” Ben hated to load his son up like this and impair his ability to shoot, but both guns had slings, and he needed Joel to get back to the others while he looked for the wounded moonshiner.
“Where are you going?” Joel asked.
“I’m gonna meet you at the cars, but I’m going this way. You said you hit someone who ran that way?” Ben pointed to the nearest container house, which was the first in a row of several.
“I know I hit him at least once, but he made it around the corner before I could get another shot off.” Joel looked upset with himself over the fact that he’d let one of the moonshiners slip away.
“Don’t worry about it. I got it covered. Get back to the others and get them ready. I’ll be there in a minute.” Joel nodded, and Ben started to move out but stopped. “Hey, tell them we’re almost there now.”
Joel smiled and nodded again before continuing back to the others. Ben hoped that information would boost the kids’ morale, especially Emma’s. Between the explosion and the gunfire, no doubt they would be nervous wrecks. He wished he could go with Joel and tell them everything would be all right, but he needed to take care of this loose end first.
It didn’t take long to find the trail of blood from the one who got away. The steady drippings and distant fire made a reflective trail through the leaves, and Ben had no trouble following it.
As he gingerly stepped on the dry ground and tried to be as quiet as possible, he couldn’t help but think of the mule deer hunt he and Joel had done two years ago. They found a nice buck on their second day out, but it was a long shot across a canyon, and Joel pulled his shot just outside the vitals. They tracked that animal for the rest of the day and into the night before finally finding it tangled up and dead in a thicket of scrub oak. It ended up being an unforgettable hunt and an overall great adventure.
Their current situation was not a great adventure and just as unforgettable, only not in a good way. Here he was, following another blood trail at night on a mountain range far from home. There’d be no prize mulie at the end of this trail, but there would be an animal, the worst kind.
Chapter Eleven
The trail led Ben toward the houses, but he continued past the entrance of the first dwelling he came to. The container had a regular-looking door cut into the broad side and a little stoop made out of half-cut logs. There was a small window not too far from the door, and he could see the faint glimmer of a candle or some other kind of dim light.
He was careful to stay low as he crept under the window and followed the blood trail. They’d have to go through each and every one of these places before they could be sure they were safe here. Not that he intended on sticking around this place any longer than necessary, but it was going to take some time and effort to regroup after all this. And he didn’t want to be constantly looking over his shoulder while they repacked the trucks. He still would, of course, but they needed to make it as safe as possible.
Ben stopped and had to take a high step over a partially torn-open bag of trash, its contents spilling onto the ground. From the looks of the place and the shoddy work done on the containers, he was surprised they’d bothered to put their trash in a bag at all. To avoid the scattered rubbish, he took extra caution traversing the next couple of steps and finally reached the end of the first container. He stopped there for a moment and listened as he studied the blood droplets on the ground. They were getting farther apart and diminishing in volume, along with his optimism of finding a dead moonshiner at the end. Whoever Joel had shot had figured out a way to stop most of the bleeding. Maybe a tourniquet. Whatever. The trail wasn’t that heavy before, but at least it was consistent. Now it was sporadic and getting hard to follow. The last thing they needed was an armed and desperate drunk lurking in the shadows. He needed to find this moonshiner before they found Joel or the others.
He moved forward, each step calculated and quiet as he scanned his surroundings for any movement. He wished he was with Joel right now, and all he could think about was what would happen if this guy doubled back around through the camp and tried to reach Joel. That would take him past the containers and near the confiscated cars, right where Sandy and the kids were hiding.
Suddenly, Ben didn’t want to move slowly and cautiously anymore, but he forced himself to stay the course. He also thought about Joel with the shotgun and second AR-15 slung around his shoulders. He’d be loud and make an easy target if he didn’t get to the Cadillac before he was spotted. Of course, he should already be there by now, and maybe he was. Ben tried to stop his imagination from running wild with bad scenarios. He needed to focus on the upcoming container and the next blind corner he was approaching. Between the lack of sleep and proper food and water, that was hard enough, and it was starting to take a toll on his body. If it wasn’t for the adrenaline coursing thro
ugh his veins, he wouldn’t have been able to stand upright, let alone take on a camp full of moonshiners.
He tried hard to refocus. There was a very real chance the person he was tracking was just around the next corner. With all the gunfire and noise from the still blowing up and then the truck crash, they were most likely hiding and nursing their wound. But he wasn’t going to count on it. Ben readied the pistol as he sliced the corner and slowly cleared segments of space between the containers. Nothing there.
He started to make his way across the front of the next container, careful to stay low enough that he could slip under the upcoming window but froze when he heard the distant crack of what sounded like Joel’s AR-15. It was coming from the back of the compound, somewhere near the jail cell containers or the cars.
Screw it. Ben jumped to his feet and ran full tilt to rejoin the others. The situation was too dangerous to justify being separated from Sandy and the kids anymore. This was how mistakes were made, and they couldn’t afford that.
When Ben arrived, he was surprised to see Sandy standing there with an AR-15 at her shoulder. She was as still as a statue and kept the gun trained on the dead moonshiner some twenty yards away.
“It’s me, guys,” Ben announced before he dared get any closer. He didn’t want Sandy to turn the gun on him by mistake. He doubted she’d ever shot one, much less killed someone before, and that sort of thing had a way of briefly separating people from reality.
He approached slowly, putting his hand on the warm barrel and encouraging Sandy to lower the rifle.
