by R. A. McGee
Porter didn’t move. He waited, then blew two sharp whistles.
One long whistle answered. Badway came slipping through the woods. He wasn’t even breathing hard.
“All good?” Porter said.
“Oh yeah.” Badway pulled a small device from his bag. It was about the size of a paperback book, made of plastic with a metal face. There was an array of buttons—two were glowing green and the others were red.
“You sure this’ll work?”
Badway looked at him, but said nothing.
The two men turned their attention to the compound.
After a few minutes, Badway spoke up. “This will work.”
“It better,” Porter said. He clicked the button on his radio. “Amy?”
“Go for Amy. I always wanted to say that.”
“What time was the flight supposed to leave?”
“Like, a half hour from now. We waiting?”
“Yeah. We wait,” Porter said.
The sun was still high and bright but had taken none of the chill out of the fall air. The birds sang in the trees as if to alert everyone the pair was lying in wait. Porter shifted to his other knee, to relieve the numbness in his legs.
“You plan on ever getting back with Trish?” Badway said.
“Why? You want to ask her out?” Porter said.
“Come on, bro. I’m serious.”
Porter thought for a few moments. “We got a divorce for a reason. We are just two different people. Nobody’s fault.”
“If you had to do it again, would you?” Badway said.
“Do what?”
“Get married,” Badway said.
More silence. “You mean to her, or just get married again period?”
“Either.”
“Nope,” Porter said.
“If you had a Doc Brown DeLorean and you could go back in time, would you meet Trish, or would you stay home sick that day?”
“Why are you asking me this shit?” Porter said.
“It’s what guys in war do. We ask each other questions. It breaks the monotony.”
“I would want to meet her again. But she’d be better off without me, so I’d stay home sick.”
“I’ve never felt like that. About a woman, you know?”
“Amy’s messing with your head, isn’t she?” Porter laughed.
“I’ve never had a problem with ladies. But I’m stammering and stuttering like a fool when this girl looks at me. Think that means something?” Badway said.
“Yeah, Sarge. It means something. When we get out of this, you need to talk to her.”
“I will if I can get the words out.”
“You have a Bronze Star, but you’re terrified of a blonde girl,” Porter said, to needle his cousin. “What a tough guy.”
Badway shrugged.
Amy’s voice beeped in. “Hey, guys?”
“Yeah?” Porter said.
“The guy in the guardhouse? He walked out a couple minutes ago. I’ve been watching him.”
“What’s he doing?” Porter said.
“He took a leak. Then he lit a cigarette and now he’s walking up the hill.”
“Is he close to the truck yet?”
“No. I don’t think he can see it. He’s just pacing back and forth, stretching his legs.”
Porter breathed deeply. The guard needed to go away. They weren’t ready for the diversion yet.
“Okay, now he’s running in place. I think he’s just trying to stretch or stay warm,” Amy said.
Porter squeezed the grip of his rifle tighter. It was a reflex and would do him no good. There was little chance he could hit the guard from where he was crouched, and the gunshot would be an alarm for even the laziest of guards.
“It looks like he’s heading back down the hill. Still jogging, doing that high-knee thing that people do. So weird,” Amy said.
Porter relaxed his grip on the rifle. “Let me know what else you see. We need to wait a little longer, so we can get Vance on the way to his plane. Earlier than that is no good.”
“Okay. Amy out,” she said.
A cool breeze passed over him and Porter rubbed his hands together.
“Why did you guys break up?” Badway said.
“Shit, man, you still want to talk about this? Now’s the best time to you?”
“I’m curious. No one ever told me. Your mom never even told my mom. Nobody knows what happened.”
“Because it’s private.”
“I used to run a support group, remember? You can let things out.”
Porter scanned his rifle over the compound, past the plane and the buildings, over the red clay of the ground. He lowered the muzzle. “It was my fault. I always tell people it happens, that sometimes two people grow apart. That’s bullshit. It was all me.”
“Did you cheat on her?” Badway said.
Porter glared at his cousin. “You've known me my whole life; you think I’d cheat on her? Honestly?”
“No. But I don’t know what else you could do that’s your fault.”
Porter was quiet. A breeze rustled through the trees above his head, bringing a fresh group of leaves down. “Remember what I told you? About that case?”
“The one you left the Feds over?”
“Yeah. I was pissed when I first quit. Acted like an asshole. I was tough to be around, moody, anxious. Pissed off.”
“More so than always?” Badway said, his joke falling flat.
“All we did was fight, and I pulled away. I couldn’t handle it. She started calling me ‘Telly-Porter’ because I always vanished. She still calls me that. It’s like a knife every time.”
Badway didn’t say anything.
“She was… Trish was pregnant. New, still early, you know?”
“I never knew,” Badway said.
“No one did. You’re the only person I’ve ever told.”
“I’m honored.”
Porter shrugged. “The worst thing that ever happened to me. I don’t really talk about it.”
“Pregnant is a good thing.”
“Usually. But with the stress of everything and… She lost the baby. That was the beginning of the end.”
There was silence in the woods. Even the birds stopped chirping.
“The doctors said it was a natural thing. That the pregnancy wasn’t going well and it was normal for the body. Healthy.”
“Sometimes it’s true.”
“I don’t believe that shit for a minute.”
“You think it’s your fault?”
“Of course,” Porter said. “And I always will. If I would have just been there…”
“Porter, I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. Seriously. I never want to talk about it again.”
“Thanks for sharing that with me.”
Porter shook his head as if waking from a daydream. “Sharing? Next thing I know, we’re all going to hold hands and drink a kale shake or something.”
“You don’t have to hide sincerity,” Badway said.
“But I’d rather. Deal?”
“It’s your world, bro, I’m just tagging along.”
Amy’s voice crackled over the radio. “Boys?”
“Go,” Porter said.
“The guy is out of the guardhouse again. He’s smoking another cigarette.”
“That’s all?” Porter said.
“No. He’s walking up the hill.” Amy’s line went silent.
Porter didn’t click the transmit button on his radio. He didn’t want to step on her transmission if she was sending it.
“Shit,” Amy said. “He’s moving further up the hill. No. Stop, stop, stop. Turn around. Guys, he’s not stopping. Shit, he sees the Yukon. He sees the Yukon, guys.”
“We aren’t ready,” Porter said to Badway. “Vance isn’t in the open yet.”
“He’s walking around the Yukon. Should I shoot him?” Amy said.
“Negative,” Badway said over his radio.
“You want to go?” Porter said.
“This is running down the hill and screwing one cow,” Badway said.
“As long as that cow is Vance, I don’t care,” Porter said. “Amy? You still there?”
“Of course.”
“Okay. Soon, things are going to get hectic. Just watch as much as you can and give us feedback.”
“Got it.”
“Do it,” Porter said to Badway.
The former soldier had a large smile as he pressed the first button on his device. From where the cousins sat, it was as if nothing had happened.
Amy chimed in on the radio. “The car just started rolling. The guard moved out of the way and the car’s rolling down the hill. It's really going. Damn. It crashed into the gate.”
“What’d you do?” Porter said.
“Small, localized, remote charge on the parking brake. I parked at the top of the decline and left it in neutral. Easy stuff,” Badway said.
“Now the guard’s talking on his radio. He has a pistol out, pointing down the hill at the car.”
“Now?” Badway said.
“Not yet.” Porter stood, shaking the cold from his legs.
“There’s another guy coming out of those trailers in the back. Wait a minute, two more guys are coming out. They’re heading toward the front gate.”
The faint sound of gunfire rang out. At their distance, to Porter and Badway it sounded like popcorn in a microwave.
“The first guard moved off into the woods. The other guys are shooting at Porter’s truck. They’re just standing there now,” Amy said.
“Probably yelling and trying to get the driver to come out,” Porter said into the radio. “Let me know when they move closer.”
The radio was silent for a few moments. Then Amy spoke into the men’s ears again. “Okay, the first guy is walking toward the back of the car. The other two are closing in fast.”
“Now?” Badway said.
Porter closed his eyes and nodded. When he opened them, Badway had a grin from ear to ear on his face.
“You should have let me do this a long time ago,” he said. Badway pressed the second button on his device. “You needed a new truck, anyway.”
This time, the explosion was so loud that it sounded like it was next to them. Porter felt the concussion in his chest, even as far away as he was. He shouldered the rifle and looked up at a large cloud of smoke that was now drifting up in the distance.
Badway tossed the device in his bag, raised his rifle, and followed Porter out onto the tarmac runway, toward the compound.
Thirty-Six
“Holy shit!” Amy said. “The Yukon went up six, eight feet in the air. The gate’s blown off its hinges. Those three guys got knocked off their feet. Guys? They aren’t moving.”
“Good,” Porter said, and took his hand from the radio.
The men worked their way across the runway, back onto the deep red clay. They were exposed and there wasn’t a piece of cover anywhere from the plane to the first of the open-sided warehouses.
Porter waited for the impact of a bullet, tingling with anticipation. The plan to ambush Vance had gone sideways, and now there wasn’t an advantage to what he and Badway were doing. They weren’t ahead of the game. Vance knew they were here and he could be ready.
Porter hated a fair fight.
No bullet came. Porter stopped under the metal roof of the first warehouse. Even larger up close, the massive structure was held up with dozens of rusty I-beams as support columns. The ceiling was close to thirty feet off the ground and large concrete blocks—resembling enormous Legos—were spread out on the floor. The blocks were stacked in a U-shape and formed separate holding areas for the different types of rocks, waiting to be ground up for use as cement.
“You good?” Porter said to Badway, who had arrived several steps ahead of him.
“I’m waiting on you.”
“Yeah, well, not everyone is a track star,” Porter said. “Amy?”
The radio receiver in his ear crackled to life. “Go for Amy.”
“Anyone else moving around?”
“I haven’t seen anyone,” she said.
“Let me know if you do,” Porter said.
He walked through the warehouse, staying as close to the wall as he could without running into the concrete blocks, and stopped at the end.
“It's a duplicate,” Badway said of the next warehouse.
From what Porter could see, it was exactly the same as the warehouse they’d just walked through. “Amy?’
“Yeah?”
“Still no one?”
“Nope. Not a thing.”
“Stand by,” Porter said. He crouched down and motioned for Badway to join him. “They’re all holed up in the trailers, aren't they?”
“Fortified position. Why would they leave?”
“I want to press the issue. You good with that?” Porter rose from his crouch.
“Of course, but you’re too damn slow. We need to pick things up. Shock and awe don't work with no shock or awe.”
“Blow me,” Porter said. “Let’s go.”
No longer careful as he moved his way through the area, Porter kept a firm grip on his rifle and ran to the end of the new warehouse, then through the next two. Badway was on his heels the entire time. The men stopped at the edge of the last warehouse.
A thin patch of forest stood between them and the trailers.
“Amy?” Badway said as Porter breathed deeply.
“Still nobody. You’d think with gunshots and an explosion, the cops would be here by now,” Amy said.
“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Badway said. “No one’s coming. You ready?”
“I’m just waiting on you,” Porter said. He raised his rifle and sprinted through the clay to the tree line.
He loved his Chuck Taylors and wouldn’t buy anything different. Still, they weren’t the best shoes to run across rocks in. Porter cursed every stone he stepped on.
The line of trees was sparse and would make for lousy cover. Porter kept running through the trees until he came to the first trailer in the group, and stood close to the back left corner.
It was a generic brown color. On the side was an aftermarket wooden ramp that started left, then turned back to the right, snaking its way up to the front door.
The trailer where the men were standing was the first of five, lined up nose to end. From the water tower, Porter had seen that there were five more trailers opposite the first, and a large concrete walkway in between the pod.
Porter looked at Badway. “Where do we start?”
“I thought you had a plan.”
“I did, but it didn’t involve clearing trailers.”
There was a loud groan, and Porter snapped his rifle up, toward the sound. After a minute, he lowered his rifle again. “I think that’s just the structures settling.”
“We should take our time and go trailer to trailer,” Badway said. “Make sure we don’t pass up any threats. I don’t want to get shot in the back.”
“Right, that’s standard. But this isn’t a standard situation. We don’t have a bunch of support. It's just us. Don’t forget, Trey is somewhere in these trailers. Not to mention, Kevon could be tied up, too. We have to be careful,” Porter said.
“Okay. What do you want to do, split up? That’s no good.”
“I don’t know what I want to do,” Porter said. “This is a soup sandwich.”
The pair didn’t get much longer to think. A staccato blast rang out, splintering the elaborate wooden ramp in front of them.
Porter moved from the side corner of the trailer around back, trying to keep as much of the flimsy trailer metal between him and wherever the shooter was.
Several more blasts rang out. Porter could hear them impacting on the other side of the sheet metal. He poked his head to the right side of the trailer, to see the walkway between the rows. A man and woman were running away, pulling a child with them.
“It’s Van
ce,” Porter said. “He and Stacy are hauling ass.”
“Then who’s shooting at us?” Badway said.
“Could be anyone. You want the shooter or you want the family?”
Badway thought for a moment. “I’ll take the shooter. You need some more cardio in your life.”
“Of course I do.” He cinched the strap of his rifle in place to keep it from moving around. “You ready?”
“I got you.” Badway moved back to the left side of the trailer. He raised his rifle and squeezed off three rounds, careful not to aim anywhere that could hit Trey.
Badway’s shots were answered by another burst of rounds. When they stopped, Porter sprinted after the group.
He didn’t possess Badway’s speed, but he was still athletic enough to catch a former pilot, dragging a woman and child with him.
He hoped.
Porter sprinted through the walkway, away from shots being fired off to his left. He ignored them, hoping they weren't being aimed at him and that Badway could work his way through the problem.
He closed the distance on the group as they ran around the corner of the other row of trailers. This was the dangerous part of the chase.
Generally, when going around corners, it paid to be careful. It was easy to run into an ambush. As with the corners at Badway’s apartment, Porter should have unslung his rifle and taken the time and care to make a safe transition.
Except his quarry was getting away. And people were shooting somewhere behind him. He didn’t have time to wait.
He sprinted around the corner of the trailer.
Nothing. He kept going, past the short wall of the end and to the other side.
Porter ran into Keith Hylands, who was raising a pistol into position at the same time. No longer in an ill-fitting suit, Hylands had a tight polo shirt on that displayed both the Parabellum logo and his impressive bulk.
He must have been leading the group out, making sure the way was clear in front of them. Now he was making sure the tail they had was gone.
Porter grabbed the man’s hands, preventing them from being raised toward him.
“I told you in the bathroom to leave this alone,” Hylands said.
Porter kicked the man’s left knee, buckling it. Taking a risk by letting go of the pistol, Porter slammed a right and then left into the side of Hylands’s neck.
