“That was close,” he whispered.
Elvin sounded rattled. “I’m a sitting duck up here.”
Patrick eased an end of the travois lower. The man was right. There was no flat ground around to set Elvin on. Nothing completely covered by sheltering rock.
“Come on, come on,” Elvin hissed.
“I’d have to unstrap you and take you off the travois. It would hurt, and you’d be stranded.”
Crack.
Another shot. Another hunk of rock burst free and into the air. It clattered to the ground.
“They’re going to get me. Do it.”
“You’ll pass out.”
“Shoot at them already.”
Patrick drew his .357 Magnum and checked the cylinder. It was fully loaded. “I can’t take you off the travois and shoot at the same time. Can you fire, too, from that position?”
Elvin grunted. “I dropped my gun.”
Patrick groaned. “Where?”
“A few yards back. I’m not sure.”
Patrick felt his lips moving and pressed them together. He remembered the flare gun in his waist band. He hated leaving Elvin completely unarmed. While not a conventional weapon, it would be better than nothing.
He handed it over. “Keep this. It’s only got one shot, so save it for when it really counts.”
Elvin nodded.
Patrick took that for a thank you. “You’re welcome,” he muttered.
He peeked over a boulder toward the crash site, looking for a shape, for movement, for anything. Shooting back blindly was a waste of ammunition. Doing it while surrounded announced their position to anyone who hadn’t already seen them. Eddie had headed in the opposite direction from where the shots had been fired. So, the shots had to come from the riders. And, based on where they were heading and the fact that they were firing, it had to be the mobsters. Patrick was sure of it. But just the two they’d seen? Or was the third man flanking them, even now?
Crack.
The bullet whistled over their heads, coming from their other side. Eddie. Was he shooting at them or the goons?
Crack.
Patrick drew in a sharp breath. That shot sounded like it had been fired from yet another direction. From down below them. The third mobster? Patrick realized there’d been no answering ping from bullet striking rock. Not near Elvin and him, and not anywhere else close enough to hear. Which didn’t make sense, unless the person firing didn’t know where they were or was a terrible shot.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.
As unbelievable as it seemed, he knew it was a burst of machine gun fire, definitely coming from above them. His blood chilled. His Magnum six-shooter was no match for that kind of weapon. But he had to try, as soon as it was safe to raise it.
Elvin’s voice was low and scared. “Ay, ay, ay, ay.”
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.
The burst seemed to go on forever, giving Patrick time to fix on the goons’ position. He was almost positive now they were climbing the dirt path up to the crash site, and that they had all but reached it.
The noise stopped. Patrick rose up and fired three quick rounds. Three down, three to go. Then reload. But a sick feeling washed over him. He hadn’t packed any extra ammunition in his saddle bags, because on a normal ride into the mountains, he wouldn’t have needed any. The possibility he’d be involved in a firefight had never occurred to him.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
More shots rang out, so close together that Patrick couldn’t tell where they were coming from, only that they weren’t from a machine gun. But, in the quiet after the firing ceased, the next sound was clear. Hooved animals, galloping. Horses, based on an intermittent metallic ring. Shoes on rocks. He cocked his head, judging location and direction. To his left and moving away from him, like the horses were hugging the tree line in an arc around the expanse of the park. Whether their riders were with them, he had no way of knowing. Then he winced. Please don’t let that be Reno and the Lunker.
Footsteps approached, hopping from boulder to boulder. Patrick turned his head and his gun toward the sound. Eddie, ten feet away from them. He was visible to the shooters above, as was Patrick to him.
He grinned and aimed his gun at Patrick’s head. “Got ‘em, boss man,” he shouted.
Crack.
Patrick ducked. I love you, Susanne. The hair on the top of his head fluttered. He couldn’t believe it. He was alive. The bullet had missed. Thank you, God. But he didn’t have any more time to marvel. He rolled over and lifted his revolver.
Before he could draw a bead on Eddie—or him another on Patrick—a new voice spoke. “Drop it, Eddie. I have a gun pointed at the back of your skull. Turn around and look if you don’t believe me. I’d rather shoot you between the eyes anyway.”
A broad grin stretched across Patrick’s face. Henry. The shot from below earlier. It had to have been his friend’s. And despite the dangerous crossfire, he’d scaled these boulders for Patrick.
There was a metallic clatter.
“Now put your hands on your head. Hand, I mean.” A pause. “Good.” Then, “Patrick, you okay?”
“A heckuva lot better now! But be careful. Those thugs are shooting at us from above.”
“A machine pistol. I think I know where they are.”
Henry had heard the rat-a-tat-tat, too, so of course he’d known it was a machine gun. But what made him think it was a pistol?
Before he could ask, Elvin said, “Not that anyone cares, but I’m fine, too.”
Henry crawled into sight, staying low, and keeping his weapon on Eddie.
“Henry, you old devil, where’d you . . .” Patrick’s voice trailed off. Henry wasn’t alone. A boy crawled up beside him. A big, strong boy, also pointing a gun at Eddie. It took Patrick a moment, but then he recognized him. Ben Jones, the young man the Sibleys had taken in. “Oh, hey, Ben. Man alive, is it ever good to see you guys. This is Elvin.”
Elvin waggled fingers on his uninjured side.
“Elvin, meet Henry and Ben.” Patrick spider-crawled over to Eddie. “You won’t be needing this anymore.” He took Eddie’s gun, which had fallen between some rocks, but was still reachable. He patted the man’s waist, looking for a belt. He needed something to secure Eddie’s wrists with. “Anybody got any rope? We need to tie this one up.”
“I do. But keep your head lower. It won’t take long to reload if they’ve got another magazine.” Henry tossed a small coil to Patrick. It had been fastened to a belt loop on his jeans.
Patrick trussed Eddie’s hands behind his back, keeping Eddie between himself and the shooter above.
Eddie cried out in pain. “My elbow and shoulder are busted up. You can’t do this.”
“You should have thought about that.”
“Big mistake, man.” Eddie shook his head.
“One I’m willing to make.” Patrick jerked at Eddie’s wrists, forcing the other man down beside him. Eddie hissed. Yeah, that has to hurt like a son of a gun. Serves him right. “What brought you back, Henry?”
There was a long silence. “The bad guys came down the mountain. We got one of theirs earlier. Luke, I think. Then we followed them up here. By the time we’d snuck up behind them, they’d already climbed up a ways. When they started firing, we returned the favor, then scrambled up here just as Eddie turned on you.” He paused, listening. There were no sounds from above. “There’s more to tell, but it can wait.”
“But my kids are okay?”
“They’re fine.” Henry cleared his throat. “So, you think we scared them off? I can’t believe they haven’t shot again.”
Patrick shook his head. “They won’t leave. There’s too much at stake.”
“What do you mean?”
“A plane load of cash.” Patrick gestured up the mountain.
Henry drew in a long breath. “That explains a lot.”
“I’m willing to bet they’re loading it into bags right now, which would explain why they’re
not firing. This could be our opportunity to get the heck out of here.”
“It’s an expensive bet if you’re wrong.”
“But it may be our only chance.”
“All right then. How about I take our prisoner?” Henry grinned.
“Good. Ben, can you take one end of the travois? We need to move fast.”
Ben nodded. “Yes, sir.” He met Patrick at the travois, and the two men lifted Elvin.
“Let’s stay as low as we can.”
Patrick bent at the waist and flexed his knees, then started down the rocks. Ben kept pace with him. It was four times easier and faster with two men who could use both of their arms.
“Like riding in a Cadillac,” Elvin said.
“Eddie and I are right behind you.” Henry’s voice was a low murmur.
“How did you end up here?” Patrick whispered to Ben.
“Uh, I was already on my way.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What for?” It wasn’t hunting season yet. Late August fishing wasn’t great. And from what Patrick had gleaned from Henry, Ben stayed really busy with work and summer classes.
“Uh, I was coming to see Trish, sir.”
Patrick froze mid-step. His jaw tightened. Had he heard right? Ben and his daughter?
Before he could formulate a cogent reply, the horrible rat-a-tat-tat of the machine pistol started up again. Ben and Patrick crouched between boulders. Dust and rock chips flew up around them. Again, Elvin was left partially uncovered, and his tortured, terrified breathing was almost as disturbing as the sound of the weapon firing. Rock chips were flying from ten, twenty, even thirty feet away. Like the shooter was spraying the area. Patrick got out his revolver, ready to take a shot whenever the machine pistol paused.
“Argh!” It was Henry’s voice.
“You all right?” Patrick called over the noise of the gun.
“A shot clipped me. I’m okay.”
Why couldn’t it have hit Eddie instead?
After what felt like an eternity, the firing stopped. Patrick peered over a rock, searching for a target, revolver up. He had three bullets left, but if the goons were at the crash site, he was too far away to hit them.
“I’m firing,” Henry said.
“Me, too.” Ben pulled back the slide on his gun.
Even if Patrick couldn’t hit them, he could help scare them back. “Let’s do it.”
CRACK. CRACK.
Henry and Ben started alternating shots. Moonlight glinted off the metal of the plane. Aiming there was Patrick’s best bet. Maybe he’d get lucky. He took two more shots, spacing them between the other men’s rounds. One left.
Patrick saw a flash from the downed plane. “Duck!”
Henry and Ben stopped firing just as Patrick heard the rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat. He kept low to the ground, breathing hard. Elvin screamed.
Patrick said, “Did they get you?”
Elvin kept screaming. The mobsters kept firing. How could they stop the spray of bullets? Then Elvin stopped screaming.
CRACK.
A bright light streaked through the air toward the crash area, a tail of smoke behind it.
“What in Hades?” Henry whispered.
The rat-a-tat-tat stopped. It took a moment, but then Patrick realized Elvin had fired the flare gun. Patrick groaned. A fireball. Aviation fuel. He wanted to shake Elvin, to slap some sense into him. What had the man been thinking? But it was too late. The deed was done. Luckily, the likelihood of the shot hitting the gas tanks in the plane’s wings was very slim.
Patrick held in a breath, watching. The flare seemed to move in extreme slow motion toward its target. Elvin must have a dead eye, because the fireball was tracking straight for the gleaming metal. Not good, not good. Then it made contact. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Patrick let himself feel hopeful. Maybe it had missed the tanks. Maybe it had even taken out one of the mobsters.
Then there was a blinding flash, a shock wave of air and debris against his face, and a bone rattling BOOM. Patrick hit the dirt face first. Elvin started screaming again.
“Who shot a flare gun?” Henry asked.
Patrick spoke through gritted teeth. “Elvin.”
“My money.” Eddie sounded like he was going to cry. “You blew up my money.”
“Whoa, man,” Ben said.
Whoa is right. Patrick pictured the nose of the plane wedged into the rocks. The wings attached to that nose held upwards of eighty gallons between them. There’d been a leak in one tank, but he knew from examining the site, from smelling it, that one of the tanks had still been carrying significant fuel. The force in the tight space . . . He lifted his head. The plane was burning like the Aggie bonfires he’d attended as a young boy, when his family had lived next to the Texas A&M campus. As he watched, another explosion rocked the sky. This time Patrick didn’t duck. Pieces of plane shot upwards like oversized Roman candles. He tried to imagine the mobsters surviving the blast. If they were anywhere close to the plane, it seemed impossible. He couldn’t muster up any pity for them.
A piece of flaming plane dropped to the ground thirty feet uphill from them.
“Take that, Cardinale.” Elvin’s voice tapered off as a deep rumbling started.
The rumbling turned to crashing and booming.
Patrick jumped to his feet. “Rockslide. Go!”
Patrick grabbed one side of the travois, and Ben snatched up the other.
“Hold on tight. I’m going to move fast,” he told Ben.
Elvin moaned. “Hurry.”
The crashing and booming grew louder, like an ominous drum roll working toward a crescendo that Patrick hoped was a long way off. Henry was shoving Eddie along. Both men were moving awkwardly. Patrick hopped to the next boulder across the slide. Ben jumped, and the travois jolted Patrick backwards, nearly dragging him over. Patrick righted himself and leapt again. This time, Ben was more in sync, making his way forward at the same time as Patrick’s jump. They worked their way across the rock field in rhythm, away from the sound of rocks gathering steam.
“Too slow,” Elvin said. “Too slow.”
He was right. There was no way they were going to outrun the tons of rock hurtling down the mountain at their speed.
Patrick panted. “Faster, Ben. Faster.”
One minute, Patrick’s eyes were moving between the ground and Henry’s back. The next, Henry and Eddie disappeared. Patrick hadn’t realized he could be more terrified than he was until that second. A shout caught in his throat. Had they fallen off a precipice? He would have expected them to scream on the way down. He hadn’t heard anything. But he couldn’t dwell on it now. More and more dust and debris were pelting his face. The rocks were almost upon them.
Then Patrick saw his friend. Henry was huddled under a rock ledge, and Eddie was with him. In front of them was a sheer drop. If they hadn’t had the light from the moon, then surely that drop would have been where they met their ends. But with the moon, they’d found cover and avoided the death plunge. Henry started motioning for them. Hope surged in Patrick. But if he didn’t pull Ben along faster, the rocks would swallow them up.
“Shelter! Come on!” Patrick screamed. He gave one last desperate yank on the travois and leapt under the overhang.
The noise of the rocks catching up with them was deafening. Henry pushed backwards on Eddie, making space. Patrick dragged Elvin further into the shelter. It was only then that he realized Ben was no longer holding the other end of the travois.
The boy had vanished.
Henry shouted, “Ben!”
Around them and now over them, enormous rocks were careening. Cartwheeling. Leapfrogging. Crashing, splintering, pounding. Patrick closed his eyes and covered his head and ears by wrapping his arms around his head.
Ben. The boy had been coming to see Trish. The thought of the two of them together had nearly shorted out Patrick’s brain. Now the thought of having to tell Trish that Ben was dead seemed
far worse. Dear God, please let Ben be all right, he prayed, over and over.
The slide seemed to go on forever. Patrick wondered what fresh horrors it might wreak. An earthquake? Would it block their exits and make their sanctuary a tomb? They were powerless to do anything but wait and see.
He forced his mind back to his prayers.
And then, Patrick realized the vibrations and pounding had stopped.
His ears were ringing. He tried to swallow but couldn’t. His mouth felt like he’d eaten a bucket of sawdust.
No one spoke. No one moved.
After close to a minute, Patrick raised his head, eyes open, arms down. He couldn’t see to the end of his own fingers. “Is everyone all right?” He didn’t dare call out to Ben by name. He could only hope the boy would answer.
“Yeah,” Eddie said.
“No worse than I was,” Elvin said.
“Where’s Ben?” Henry’s voice sounded on the edge of panic. “Where is Ben?”
Patrick winced. Henry and Vangie had grown to love the boy. For Henry to come all this way to help Patrick, only to lose the young man who had become like a son? It was unthinkable.
A rock fell off the ledge behind him. He heard coughing. Not Elvin. Then a groan and the sound of something shifting.
“I’m here,” a voice said.
“Ben!” Henry’s voice cracked.
Patrick crawled back around Elvin. Ben was wedged in a crevice, just at the mouth of the overhang. Patrick’s eyes were adjusting to the conditions. The dust was settling. He could see well enough to check him for injuries. He sized the boy up and immediately reached for an arm. He started his prodding, palpating, rotating routine. “You’re all right, Ben?”
Ben nodded, brushing dirt off himself with his other hand. “I’m okay.” He jerked a thumb back toward the crash site. “But I’m pretty sure they’re not.”
A female voice rang out. “Hey! Hey up there! Are you all right?”
Ben and Patrick looked at each other. Patrick couldn’t have been more surprised to hear a woman in the middle of the night at the base of Black Tooth than if the Pope had showed up at his home to play poker. Her voice sounded distant but clear.
Snaggle Tooth Page 25
