Compound Fracture

by Franklin Horton

  Secondly, he’d been deprived of his whole reason for taking on this endeavor. The entire point of bringing her back here instead of turning her over to the security detail at the campground was so he could have the pleasure of seeing his father’s face when he successfully accomplished what he’d set out to do. Whether he turned her directly over to his father or presented her at Arthur’s gate to negotiate their surrender didn’t matter. Either way he’d have the satisfaction of having done what his father had not been able to do.

  Except now that satisfaction had been stolen from him and he sagged with defeat. His miserable condition took on an even more pitiful form in that light.

  Sonyea turned slowly, her neck turning within the confines of the zip tie until she was facing him, the gun barrel against her throat. “Jeff—”

  “Shut up! I don’t want to hear anything you have to say!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You think I want your sympathy?” he spat. His eyes bore into her with a rage so deep she wondered if he might kill her just to vent the surge of emotions within him. Coming to some conclusion, he jerked the rifle, the movement whipping her head forward. “Let’s go.”

  She was terrified the rifle would go off from his erratic movements. She couldn’t see if he had the safety on or not. She started to turn and walk, accepting that this next part was inevitable. Without his father to turn her over to, they would go directly to the gate and something would take place there. She didn’t want to admit that she suspected what Jeff’s fate would be there. They would kill him. He didn’t have any chance of prevailing in this. Why did she feel so bad about that?

  She turned away from the empty campsite, ready to lead them to the gate, then stopped. Jeff stared at her in frustration. He didn’t have much left in his tank, either in terms of willpower or patience. He couldn’t afford for this to drag out too long.

  “What is it?”

  She raised her cuffed hands, extended a single finger, and pointed back the way they’d come. Jeff turned and squinted, experiencing a little difficulty focusing with his bleary, fever-ravaged eyes. Then he saw it. A bedraggled and slouched form, moving with the same pained and broken gait as his own.

  Jeff sighed, a protracted grunt of disappointment. Even at this distance he knew it was the man he’d left for dead, broken and bleeding at the bottom of the embankment. He didn’t know how he could still be alive, nor did he understand how the injured man had managed to catch them. It must have been the time lost sleeping so long. Perhaps this other man, nearer to death, already withdrawing from the physical needs of the body, had continued moving through the night, powered by some supernatural force.

  Robert was not going to stop him. His dad had already stolen part of his victory and he would not allow this dead man to steal what remained. Jeff pushed the gun barrel against Sonyea’s throat, prodding her into stumbling backward.

  “Let’s go. Now!”

  Jeff was wholly unaware of the stir his appearance created within the compound. His arrival with Sonyea had been so slow as to be undetected by the sentries until he began shouting angry commands at her. The confused sentry went on alert, whipping his binoculars around and finding Jeff and Sonyea at the abandoned camp.

  “Gate for command,” the sentry whispered into his radio. “I need command at my position immediately.”

  The sentry waited, and was preparing to repeat his urgent plea when Arthur replied.

  “Go for Arthur. What’s going on?”

  “Sir, that cook that we captured is approaching the gate on foot. He’s armed and has Sonyea Brady as a prisoner.”

  “Everyone hold your fire,” Arthur said. “I’m on my way.”

  The whine of an approaching side-by-side confirmed to the guard that they were indeed on their way. Less than two minutes after getting the call, Arthur and Kevin were piling into the observation post. Arthur didn’t say a word, going straight for the binoculars that the sentry extended to him. Kevin took a position behind a tripod-mounted spotting scope and began making his own assessment.

  “I’ll be damned,” Arthur said. “Those two look rough. Makes me wonder if Robert is dead.”

  “That would be a negative,” Kevin said. “Look behind them. Maybe two hundred yards back. Just coming into view at the crest of the road.”

  Arthur adjusted his viewing angle and let out a low whistle. “Talk about the walking dead. These guys look like they were dragged here behind a vehicle.”

  Kevin hit the mic on his own radio. “Gate for Brandon.”

  The reply was nearly immediate. “Go for Brandon.”

  “I need you on the gate with your long-range kit. Need it now.”

  “Camo?”

  “That’s a negative,” Kevin said. “Just need you on the gate with good glass and a tuned rifle. Confirm when you’re in position.”

  “Roger that. On my way.”

  “I don’t suppose this kid has a radio,” Kevin said. “I’d like to ask him what the heck he thinks he’s doing.”

  “We’ll find out in good time,” Arthur said, assessing the three bedraggled figures in his sight. He lowered the binoculars, then handed them back to the sentry. “Let me know if there is any change in circumstances.”

  “Where you going?” Kevin asked. “Think you got time for a nap or something?”

  Arthur shook his head. “Figured I’d meet them at the gate and talk this out.”

  “What?” Kevin asked, stepping away from the spotting scope and staring at Arthur in surprise.

  “Yeah, the kid doesn’t have a radio and I’m too old to hear what he’s shouting from here. I need to get closer.”

  “The kid has a weapon,” Kevin pointed out. “An SBR or AR pistol trained on the woman and a handgun tucked in his belt.”

  Arthur shrugged. “I’ve got the backing of a small army. I’ve got a sniper on the way. Plus I’ve got my personal weapons. I think I’ve got this covered ten different ways.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Kevin suggested.

  “The hell you will. That will just make the situation more stressful. I’d rather have you back here providing cover fire if things go south.”

  “At least take the side-by-side. You can take cover behind it if bullets start flying.”

  “I can do that,” Arthur said.

  “Brandon, give me an ETA,” Kevin said into his radio.

  “Settling into position,” Brandon replied. “On target in less than thirty.”

  “Roger that,” Kevin said. “Do not fire unless directed to do so. We clear on that?”

  “Affirmative. Do not fire unless directed to do so.”

  Arthur smiled at his friend. “Okay, let’s get this dog and pony show on the road.”

  Arthur hopped into the side-by-side and started the engine. He made the short drive down to the gate and killed the engine. He remained in the seat, watching through the windshield. Sonyea was leading the way, probably seventy yards from him. She had a hand to her neck, like she was tugging against something. It made Arthur suspicious but he couldn’t see anything.

  The congressman’s son, Jeff, remained hidden behind Sonyea. To the rear, remaining at least two football fields behind them, Robert Hardwick was limping along like some wavering mirage, only the vestigial remnant of a man, what remained when the body was too damaged.

  Arthur couldn’t see if Robert was carrying a weapon or not. He raised his rifle and peered through the optic but the adjustable one to four power optic didn’t tell him a lot. When he turned it on Jeff and Sonyea again, something just didn’t seem right. Maybe it was his angle. He hit the mic on his shoulder and spoke into his radio.

  “Arthur for Kevin.”

  “Go for Kevin.”

  “Get on whatever the strongest optic is you have up there and dial in on Sonyea Brady’s neck. There’s something weird going on. She keeps tugging at her neck but I can’t tell anything from here.”

  “Roger that.”

  Sonyea and Jeff had m
oved another twenty feet closer. It was about time to intercede.

  “Kevin for Arthur.”

  Arthur keyed his mic. “Go for Arthur.”

  “This is some of that third-world terrorist bullshit. The kid has his barrel strapped to her neck with something. Could be a zip tie, could be wire, I don’t know. It’s like a dead man switch. We drop him and he’ll probably still have time to top her.”

  Arthur sighed. This complicated things. “Roger that, Kevin. I’m stepping to the gate to address them. You guys don’t make a move unless things go south. I don’t want this woman hurt. She’s one of ours.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Brandon?” Arthur asked.

  “Affirmative.”

  Arthur slid out the door and stretched. He adjusted his plate carrier, then leaned back in and got his rifle. He snapped it to the buckle on the sling and double-checked the chamber, then walked toward the gate. He assessed what cover he had available to him, both to each side of the gate and behind the ATV.

  Sonyea was ahead of him, close enough that he could see the fear in her eyes. Her hands rode looped into whatever devious device the kid wrapped around her neck. Jeff stared at him over Sonyea’s shoulder, looking more like a kid sick with the flu than some combatant there to make demands. They were about forty yards away now. It was time to get this figured out.

  “That’s far enough!” he called out.

  Jeff lurched to a stop. His sudden movement pulled the zip tie around Sonyea’s neck tight and she jerked to a stop.

  Rather than address Arthur, Jeff turned and nervously scanned for Robert coming at him from behind. Robert had gained some ground and was probably a little more than a hundred yards behind his quarry. He staggered forward with the unwavering rhythm of a damaged machine that knew no direction but forward and no speed but for that which it was originally set.

  “Stop FOLLOWING me!” Jeff bellowed.

  Robert did not reply or slow, only limped onward. Jeff drew the handgun from his belt, Sonyea’s own Glock. With his right hand still holding the grip of the AR bound to Sonyea’s neck, Jeff was forced to shoot the Glock with his offhand, the left. He fired twice, hitting nothing. He fired twice more.

  Robert didn’t parry or dodge, didn’t break pace. Dust kicked up around him, the two shots going low.

  Unsatisfied with the results, Jeff dumped the mag to no more affect. Robert didn’t slow or flee into the woods, nor was he hit. The bullets hit the ground or went wild. There was the ping of a ricochet skittering off a rock somewhere.

  When the gunfire began, Arthur raised his rifle but did not have a shot. Sonyea’s eyes widened and she shook her head. Arthur kept the rifle raised but didn’t shoot, prepared only to fire if fired upon. If he did so, he understood that it would probably be the death of Sonyea. At the same time he was worried that the kid, so distracted by engaging Robert, might accidentally pull the trigger on Sonyea.

  “Stop following me!” Jeff screamed again, his voice cracking.

  Robert kept coming.

  38

  “You have a shot, Brandon?” Kevin said into his radio.

  “Sir, I can easily drop him but I can visually confirm that the safety on that weapon is in the OFF position. A spasm or the movement of his body falling can discharge that weapon. It is securely fastened to the female prisoner’s neck with perhaps a two inch gap between the barrel and her spine. If he fires, he will not miss.”

  “What’s your range?”

  “Three hundred and sixty-seven yards.”

  “Relocate,” Kevin ordered. “I want you at two hundred yards or less. This could come down to a matter of millimeters.”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Confirm when you’re in position.”

  “Roger that.”

  Kevin knew Brandon was just as good at this distance as he would be at a closer range, but getting closer would reduce environmental factors such as the updrafts common in these high mountains. He continued to study the scene through the spotting scope. He could see Robert better now and the man appeared to be injured. He was covered in dried blood and was moving at an awkward gait, due to either exhaustion or injury. He held a handgun in his hand, pointed at the ground, and he walked with a steadfast determination.

  Kevin could also see that Arthur had his own rifle at the ready but couldn’t take a shot for the same reason that Brandon couldn’t. There was no shot that didn’t mean certain death for Sonyea.

  “In position, sir,” Brandon announced. “I’m ranging one hundred and eighty-three yards.”

  “What’s your caliber?” Kevin asked.

  “6.5 Creedmoor.”

  “What can you do with it at that range?”

  “Sir, I can choose which pupil to place the round in,” Brandon replied with confidence. “If it wasn’t for the woman strapped to the barrel of the gun.”

  “Stay in position. Don’t fire unless cleared to do so.”

  “Affirmative.”

  Kevin was too far off to hear what words were exchanged but saw Arthur speak to the cook. Despite verbally engaging with Arthur, the beaten-down cook couldn’t keep the approaching Robert off his mind. He kept turning and watching the man come toward him. Then the handgun came out and he fired. None of the shots hit and Robert didn’t slow his approach.

  “All teams! Hold your fire!” Kevin ordered into the radio. He didn’t want anyone to hear the shots and get carried away. There was nothing they could do at this point to resolve or deescalate the situation. “The gunfire is outside the fence and does not pose a risk at this point. I do want Fire Team Alpha to take a concealed position to the northwest of the gate with a view of the approach road. Over.”

  “Roger that,” came the reply from the team leader.

  This was all Kevin could do at this point. Get people in an optimal position to respond to whatever might happen. He hoped it would resolve peacefully but he had little faith in that outcome. These men outside the gate were exhausted, injured, and apparently simmering with rage at each other. Such men were poor decision makers. They were men who killed or got themselves killed.

  39

  “Son!” Arthur barked at Jeff. “If you don’t pay attention to what you’re doing you’re going to accidentally kill this poor woman. Is that what you want?”

  Jeff was staring down at the Glock in his hand, the slide locked back, and the chamber empty. He seemed to be trying to figure out why it had quit firing and what he needed to do to make it go boom again. He looked down at his body armor, hoping he might see a pocket obviously containing a fresh magazine, but he had no hands available to open the flaps on any of them.

  Jeff’s distraction worried Arthur, who watched from behind a raised rifle. “You need to drop that handgun and focus on what you’re doing. If you keep moving, you’re going to put too much pressure on that trigger and that rifle will go off. How about we put the safety on?”

  At that, Jeff raised his pale, sweaty face and glared at Arthur. “How about you kiss my ass?”

  Arthur could see how sick the boy was now. That wasn’t good. His decision-making would only be worse. He was sweating profusely, had red-rimmed eyes, and his skin had an odd pallor.

  “If you wanted to kill Sonyea, you would have done it already. You wouldn’t have brought her to my doorstep. If you’re here with her, it’s for a reason. Drop that handgun, focus on what you’re doing, and let’s talk about why you’re here. Tell me what I can do for you.”

  At the mention of the handgun, Jeff recalled why he had it out.

  Robert!

  He whipped his head around so violently he nearly lost his balance. He staggered, tugging against the rifle, and Arthur flinched, knowing it would certainly fire. Somehow, it didn’t. Jeff found that Robert had closed the distance between them and was getting even closer.

  “Stop or I’ll kill her!” he screamed.

  Arthur was uncertain if Jeff would intentionally kill her or not but he was going to accidentally kill
her if he didn’t quit moving so erratically. “Stop, Robert! Let me handle this!”

  Robert paused his forward movement but did not break his intense concentration. Arthur could just make out the laser-focus, the glare of pure hatred and murderous rage. Robert was determined to finish this. He wanted to kill Jeff.

  “Robert, let me speak to Jeff for a moment,” Arthur said. “Let us try to resolve this. You’re making him nervous and I’m afraid there’s going to be an accident.” Hopefully the logic of that would seep into Robert’s head. His message was don’t think about killing Jeff, think about accidentally killing Sonyea.

  Satisfied he’d at least been granted a temporary reprieve from Robert’s pursuit, Jeff dropped the Glock. Arthur couldn’t be sure if it was an intentional move or simply from a lapse in attention. Jeff stared down at it as if he couldn’t figure out what happened or how to fix it, then he looked at Arthur.

  “Where’s my dad? What happened to my people? Did…you…kill them?”

  Arthur lowered the barrel of his rifle. He was still ready to whip it up in an instant but he didn’t think talking to Jeff over the barrel of a gun was going to instill any confidence. “I didn’t do anything to them, son. They packed up of their own accord and left. Made it sound like they had a fallback plan or something.”

  Jeff rolled his head back on his shoulders and stared at the sky for a second. It was a gesture of utter frustration and hopelessness. Arthur could see it on his face. Jeff had come all this way with a plan, with a particular expectation of how this was going to play out. All that had gone out the window. The game had changed entirely in his absence and now he didn’t know what to do.

  “You doing okay, Sonyea?” Arthur asked.