House at Road's End

by Peggy Staggs

  What could possibly be so important he’d risk getting shot? Ever the optimist I said, “The shooters probably left.” At least I hoped they had.

  “That’s not what I’d do.”

  “They aren’t Delta Force.”

  “No. They are not.” He took the M4. “They’re a couple of idiots hired by bigger idiots.”

  “I thought you were dead. You scared me.”

  “You really thought I was dead?

  “Yes. There’s a big hole in your windshield.”

  He smiled. “Would you miss me?”

  “No.”

  “Liar.” He put his hand to his head and stopped. “You really brought your girl car up here?”

  “Hey, it’s a very nice SUV. I like it.”

  “It got stuck in a hole didn’t it?”

  “Yes. But—”

  He was smiling. Then he said, “It’s too dangerous up here for you. I’m taking you back and picking up my deputy.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Okay, that was pretty much all for show. There was no way I’d be any help if they started shooting again. I could shoot back, but all I had was my .38.

  “I’m sure you can. I don’t want you getting shot.”

  I’d go with that. “Where’s the shooter?”

  “Shooters. Up the hill watching the truck. We have more problems. We’ve got to wench out the truck. We can’t turn around here. The only spot wide enough is up the road a mile. We’ll be exposed the whole time. Not wise. How far is your SUV?”

  “It’s not all that far, but I think the rear axle is broken.”

  “We walk,” he said.

  We stopped ten feet back from the road cut. Below, all appeared normal, except for the great big hole in the windshield. He pulled out his gun. “Do you know what a pain in the ass getting a new windshield is?”

  I didn’t, and I was sure he didn’t want an answer. I thought of mentioning the very big hole in his seat’s headrest. I decided it wouldn’t improve his mood.

  I stopped him. “We’ve got to get the truck out and get up the hill. We can’t go back to town.”

  “Why?”

  “Mission’s not done. We go for the evidence. That’s what Dad would do.” Yes, I was going to pull the Dad card.

  “The General would never put you in danger.”

  He was right. I stood straight. “We need to go for the evidence.”

  “No. I need to go for the evidence. You need to go back to town.”

  He turned to go.

  I pulled him back. “Here’s the way it’s going to be. We get the truck out and go on.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” I was standing my ground.

  “Is there ever an easy way with you?”

  “No.”

  “If you get hurt up here, who’ll take care of me if I get shot?”

  “If you get shot up here, I need to be here to take care of you.” Pretty much the last thing I wanted to do was play cowboys-and-bad guys. “I don’t like being given orders.”

  “Protest noted.” He left.

  As he stepped away from the safety of the hillside a series of shots rang out. One shot slammed through what was left of the windshield. The rest thundered into the front of the vehicle. He made the truck and pulled open the backdoor, then grabbed something.

  I was out of my element. I felt helpless. I couldn’t deny the cold fear gripping me. If I could see them I could at least shoot at them. No. I knew what direction to shoot. I pulled out my weapon and started shooting up the canyon. For a split second the shots stopped. In those seconds Jack made it across the road and up to me. He seized me by the arm and kept running.

  I had only enough time to grab my backpack.

  When we were safely in the trees he stopped.

  “You okay?”

  “I don’t like being shot at,” I told him.

  “Most people don’t. Let the adrenalin settle. You’ll be fine.”

  “I will not be fine. I’ve lived in the big-bad city where no one ever shot at me. Ever. I come to a nice quiet state, and a nice quiet small town and my dad is killed in my front yard, and Sergeant Tully in my backyard. And someone put out a hideous trap and caught my cat in it. People keep breaking into my house, and now.” I gasped for air. “Now, someone shot your truck, and they’re shooting at us.”

  “I know. Jane took care of Edgar Holmes. He won’t be setting any more traps. And I’m taking care of the rest.” He reached out and brushed the hair from my face.

  “They shot your truck again.”

  “I’ve got a bullet hole in the hood and a broken-ass windshield.” He frowned at the sad mess that an hour ago had been his shinny truck.

  More shots.

  Jack pulled me down. “This guy is packing some serious firepower.”

  Several more shots hit the front of the truck. A headlight shattered as the sound of bullets impacting metal echoed through the canyon.

  Then silence.

  We waited.

  More silence.

  Above us a bird screeched.

  A river of liquid ran out of the engine and down the road. Like I said, I’m no mechanic, but I know when stuff starts running out of the engine, you’re in trouble. As in, you now have a large hunk of metal that’s not good for much of anything, except target practice. Apparently, that was exactly what they were going for.

  I watched as the liquid formed a river then puddled next to a rock, and finally soaked into the road.

  “They killed my truck,” Jack sounded resigned. “I liked that truck.”

  That’s when I noticed the hole in his jacket. “Jack, are you hurt?”

  “I’ll be fine. My truck won’t. There have to be eight bullet holes in the radiator. When I catch that shithead I’ll make him eat it. Whole.” He sounded like he meant it.

  Blood dripped from his fingertips.

  “Let me take a look at your arm.”

  “It’s a scratch.”

  “Is that your considered medical opinion?”

  “Yes.” He took off his jacket. The hole in his shirt didn’t support the scratch theory. “I’ve seen a lot worse and I’ve had a lot worse. I’m fine.”

  “I’d still like to take a look at it. If you’re done ranting about your truck.”

  “What? You aren’t impressed with my self-control?”

  “I’m guessing having your truck shot is a big deal around here.”

  “Are you kidding? He killed my goddamn truck.” He pointed to the vehicle. “I’m going to shoot him and everyone he knows.”

  “Sit down.” Either his arm had begun to hurt or he realized the futility of yelling at someone who couldn’t hear him. Whichever it was he sat down in the shelter of a rock.

  “You know we’re pinned down here.”

  “First of all, you aren’t fine. Second, this isn’t a scratch. You have a bullet in your shoulder. And third, I don’t have the proper instruments to get it out. And fourth, I wouldn’t do it here anyway.” I indicated the area around us. “Dirt and germs. And this is far past my first aid kit.”

  “The thing I went back for was my aid bag.”

  “Aid bag?” That would help a lot. “Jack.” I kept my voice calm. “This is a little above a first aid bag.” I looked at the backpack. “It’s Army colored.”

  “It blends in better that way.”

  “Why do you have an aid bag?”

  “Because at one time I was a medic.”

  “Your wound is a little above an aid bag.”

  “Not mine.”

  He was right. It was just this side of a field hospital. “I still don’t want to do this here.” I found a vial of pain killer and pulled out a syringe.

  “No. I’ll be fine without that.”

  “Do you have any idea how much it will hurt to dig out a bullet?”

  “A lot less than when I had to do it myself, left-handed.”

  He had a point. “I’ll make it as quick as I can.” I hesitated. I hadn
’t done any surgery since my residency and never without anesthesia.

  “Go ahead, Doc. I’m ready.”

  Great, that made one of us.

  The bullet was shallow and hadn’t done much muscle damage. “It must have been a ricochet,” I said as I held up the slug.

  He took the forceps from me. “We have two shooters. This is not from the rifle that killed my truck.”

  I shivered with fear. One shooter was bad enough, but two?

  After stitching up his arm I said, “Jack that had to hurt a lot. I’m sorry.”

  “Doc.” He ran his hand—the good one—across my cheek. “You’re great.”

  I felt unreasonably please. I knew I could do it, but to have him say I was great. Damn it. Every time I thought I’d gotten a hold of the situation, it slipped out of my grasp. Who was I kidding? I didn’t have control of anything. I hate not having control.

  As I bandaged his shoulder he said, “We’re going up the hill in search of better cover.” He pulled his backpack from the ground, hoisted it over his good shoulder.

  “There’s no way we can make it up there. It’s got to be a 10 percent slope. And it’s all sand, rocks, and trees. You’re shot and you’ve lost a decent amount of blood.” I put my hand to his cheek. It was clammy. “You’re getting shocky. And they’re still shooting at us.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “And you got your medical degree from?”

  “Army sent me to Medic school.”

  Okay, so he had more practical trauma experience than I did. Not many people get shot doing research in a lab. The mice aren’t armed.

  “Won’t they see us as we climb?”

  “We’ll be out of sight as soon as we get to the trees.”

  There hadn’t been any shots since the last volley. Still, I didn’t like the idea there were two shooters. Who knew where they were by now. Then, we heard the sound of ATV’s in the distance.

  “Besides,” he said, “they’re gone. What I can’t figure out is why.”

  “Why what?”

  “They have ATV’s, high-powered rifles, and the advantage. So, why don’t they finish us?”

  Right now, I was pretty glad they hadn’t.

  The ATV’s sounded closer. “Jack,–”

  “I hear them.”

  They raced down the road toward us. Without pausing, they tossed something in the truck.

  Jack threw himself on top of me.

  I felt the shockwave a second before I heard the blast.

  He rolled to one side and got to his feet.

  My ears were still ringing, but I could hear him. “They blew it up.”

  I looked down at what was left of the truck. The windows were gone. The door, the one still attached, hung by one hinge. One lay on the road. Pieces of truck were everywhere.

  “At least, it isn’t on fire,” I said.

  “Only because they killed it first. All the gas ran down the hill. Damn it.”

  My knees began shaking. I stumbled. “I...I...”

  He stopped. “Scary as hell isn’t it?”

  “No kidding?” My voice cracked. “What if he’d shot you in a more vital place? I couldn’t get you in the truck. And it wouldn’t have done any good if I had because they blew it up.”

  “They didn’t.”

  “That’s so not the point.”

  He put his arm around my shoulder. “I know.” His voice held the warmth of empathy. This was backwards. He was the one who was wounded, and I was supposed to be the caregiver. “You’ll be fine.”

  I pulled away. “No I won’t. And I don’t like having to dig bullets out of the people I’m with. I want to find those people and...and.” I felt my legs go limp and I struggled to stay on my feet. Too late, I slipped to the ground.

  “You’re doing fine.” He folded me into his arms. There’re times when only physical contact will heal.

  I finally stopped shaking. Reluctantly, I left the aura of security surrounding him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Do you think they’re still out there?”

  “After that?” He reached to his shoulder. “Bet on it.”

  “You’re bleeding.” The shock of the explosion had worn off.

  “I’ll put a dressing on it.”

  “Really? Isn’t that what you said I was for? Take off your shirt.”

  He laid his jacket on the ground and pulled off his shirt.

  “Nice work. You ripped all my stitches out. I can’t keep putting them in. You’ll start fraying. Don’t rip them out again.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  We headed up the hill.

  “Do you think they’ll come back?”

  “They aren’t finished. Right now we need to get to the top of the hill.”

  “How far?” I resisted the urge to rub the spot where my boot grated on my right ankle.

  “To the resort? A couple of miles by road.”

  The climb was taking its toll. I wasn’t sure I could tough it out. But, if he could do it, after being shot, so could I.

  “Feet hurt?”

  “What?”

  “You’ve slowed down and you’re limping.”

  He’d noticed. “How can you tell if someone is limping when you’re climbing a hill?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “They hurt a little.”

  He steered me to a rock. “Let me see.”

  “I’m fine.” Yes, it was my turn to be irrational.

  “Sit. We’ve got a ways to go.”

  He pulled up my pant leg. “I’ll bet that doesn’t feel good.”

  Where my boot hit my right ankle the skin resembled raw meat.

  “You should wear longer socks.”

  “I didn’t have any. And I didn’t think I’d be climbing hills.”

  He pulled off the offending shoe, shook his head and reached into his backpack. “Hold still.” He spread ointment on the affected area, then took out a pair of clean socks. “These won’t fit, but they’ll help.”

  “Thanks.” I got to my feet. “It feels a lot better.”

  Climbing was much easier. Still, I knew I’d be soaking my feet later. The hillside grew steeper. “I don’t see how people would be able to get up here to go skiing.”

  “The resort pledged money to rework the road.”

  “They’d have to if they wanted anyone up here.”

  We’d made our way over, around, and under fallen trees and huge rocks. I hoped we were at least getting close. I had to ask. “This isn’t a bear trail, is it?”

  “Don’t worry, anything that would eat us is nocturnal.”

  “Great, something to look forward to when the sun goes down.”

  After what seemed like another thousand flights of stairs, we came to a clearing at the top of the ridge. Out in the sun it was warm. “The view is spectacular.” The valley spread out before us like a vast oil painting. The road was not far below us.

  The mountain above us was dusted with snow. I wrapped my arms close around me. “It’s already snowed up there.”

  He pointed to a spot below the summit. “That’s the resort.”

  “We’re going to freeze.”

  “No. We aren’t going to spend the night out in the open.”

  He pulled a bottle from his pack and handed it to me. “Drink some water.”

  “What all do you have in there?”

  “We can live off it for a few days if we have to.”

  “What did you do in the Army?”

  “My job,” was all he said.

  Okay, I got it. He wasn’t going to talk about it. He needed to rest. “I have lunch in my pack. All we need is a safe place to eat.”

  “We’ll eat when we get to the shack.”

  “No. I’m hungry.” Maybe that would work. Of course it didn’t.

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “We’re not going to make it to the shack if we don’t eat. You, because you’re shot. Me, because I
get cranky when I get hungry.”

  “Good to know.”

  I pulled the soft-sided cooler from my pack.

  He smiled, laid his pack on the ground and sat down.

  I unzipped the cooler. “Jane fried chicken.”

  “Don’t toy with me. Jane’s chicken? Kingdoms have fallen for less.”

  The crisp mountain air was clean, and quiet. I breathed in the calm.

  When I finished pulling out containers, napkins, and plastic forks, we had quite a feast. Jane hadn’t left out anything.

  “Were you planning on eating all this?” he asked.

  “Jane had it in her head we were going on a picnic.”

  “Another time.”

  Another time. Picnics are for summer. I’d be gone. Unreasonable sadness stole the crisp air and replaced it with a bitter chill. This isn’t where I’d planned to spend my life. In the middle of the mountains, in a town so small it didn’t even have a clinic let alone a research facility. No. I’d stick to my plan. No matter what.

  He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His face was pale and he didn’t move his left arm. He was in pain. “Jack, pain medication will help.”

  He shook his head.

  We sat on the hillside in the afternoon sun. The sound of birds surrounded us. If things were different, it would have been a perfect afternoon to enjoy the last of the fall’s warmth and Jane’s lunch.

  It didn’t last long.

  The sound of ATV’s echoed through the ravine.

  Jack pulled me back up the hillside. “We need to take cover.”

  “Is it the shooters?”

  “Could be hunters.”

  The sound grew closer.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Jack found a spot tucked under a huge pine tree. The needles poked through my sweater. My jacket lay ten feet away with our packs. Without the sun, I was cold. I wrapped my arms around my core as I shivered.

  I could hear the engine noise growing louder. The low hanging branches limited my view of the road. “It sounds like there are several of them.”

  He shook his head. “Echo.” He straightened. “There they are. Two. Probably the same two buckets of horseshit who blew up my truck.”

  The men stopped, but didn’t shut off their ATV’s. We couldn’t hear them over the sound of the engines.

  “What if they see us?”

  “Then I shoot them.” Jack pulled his sidearm.