A Trip to Normal

by Ray Wench

  The shot roared in his head, as his hands reached the man's throat. To his surprise, he had little to no pain. The force and speed of his attack drove the man back, onto a fallen tree trunk. He bent over the trunk backward, with Mark's full weight curving his body. All the wind driven from his lungs, the man's eyes bugged out and his gun fell to the far side of the log. Mark's momentum carried him over the trunk. He grabbed his opponent's shirt as he went dragging the man with him. They pounded onto the ground. Mark's hand smacked against a rock. He winced, but picked it up and cracked the shooter's head with a sickening, wet thud. The man's eyes opened wide, he exhaled and slumped, his eyes rolling up.

  Mark stood and stepped away from the body. He did a quick search of the man's belongings, taking the gun and a knife; he looked for the second shooter but for the moment, everything was quiet. He checked the magazine. Five rounds remained. Patting the man down, he found seven more bullets in a pocket. He filled the magazine. Twelve shots. He would have to make them count.

  He stood, the weapon aimed forward, and swept the gun in a slow, short arc. Up ahead a lone gunshot broke the peace. The shooter broke cover only a few feet from where Mark stood. Surprised, Mark jerked the trigger and missed. The man dove for the ground. Standing in the open, no cover close, the only thing Mark could do was keep firing.

  He stepped and fired at the area he last saw the man. He slipped to the right and fired three more times, before ducking to listen. After several long, nerve-racking minutes, he moved again. He found the body under some pine tree branches, legs protruding. He ducked to see underneath, expecting a bullet any second, but nothing happened. He grabbed a leg and hauled the man out. Mark doubted death had come quick, but it had come. Two of his blind shots had struck him in the back. He blew out a loud breath and spun in a circle. No one else was in sight.

  “Darlene!” She didn't answer. “Darlene,” he called louder.

  “What, asshole?”

  “Just making sure you're all right.”

  “Why don't you step out somewhere I can see you to find out?”

  “Somehow I don't think that'd be wise. I'm going back to make sure Elijah is all right. Get Kendra to safety.”

  He didn't wait for her to respond. It would most likely just be a threat anyway.

  Twenty-Eight

  “In position,” Tara's static-filled voice announced over the radio. Lynn turned down the volume. Though expecting the call, when it came, it surprised her enough to jump.

  “Report,” she said, motioning with her hand for the others to join her.

  “Count at least twenty adults, most armed. Several children. If they're holding our people, I cannot determine where. Setting up ambush now. Will call back when done. Going to radio silence.”

  Lynn was about to say something to sign off but decided against it. She put the antenna under her lower lip and thought. This was taking too long. She wanted to do something, but what? Her mind returned to her original plan. If she didn't hear something in the next few minutes from the scout team, she would put her own idea into motion.

  The wait was intolerable. Patience exhausted, she issued orders. To the driver of the jeep, she said, “Pull up to a position where you can see the barricade, but one that offers the least amount of risk. I want them to know you're there, but not be able to target you. The rest of you, pull the minivan parallel to the trailer and take up shooting positions behind it. I'm going in under a white flag. If they shoot me, I expect you to avenge me.” She tried to force a smile, but the effort was too great. “I need something long, like a pole or tree branch, and a white flag.”

  Someone handed her an old white towel. Minutes later a branch appeared and Private Ordway used his knife to whittle off the nubs and branches. The towel tied to one end, she was ready.

  “This is crazy,” a tall man named Denver said. “You should wait for word from that officer.”

  “That may take too long. This way, I'll get an answer one way or another, as well as serve as a diversion for what Tara and her people are doing. If they shoot, return fire. Keep them pinned down so they can't get off any shots. Let's go.”

  The looks they gave each other spoke to the fact they all thought this was a bad idea, but no one offered any argument. They climbed in and the two vehicles moved out. The jeep stopped first and the machine gun swung toward the barricade. The minivan moved another ten yards before turning broadside. Everyone hopped out and found a shooting station.

  Lynn stood on the floor of the van, grabbed the roof and leaned out. Lifting the makeshift white flag, she waved it above her head. After several seconds, with no volley loosed their way, she stepped down and went to the front of the van. There she waved the flag a few more times before she took a deep breath and walked into the open.

  She advanced in slow, measured steps, stopping a third of the distance from the barricade. A high-pitched voice shouted, “What do you want?”

  “I just want to talk. We're not looking for a fight.”

  “So talk.”

  Lynn took another step forward. “We're looking for the people who were in that SUV.” She pointed.

  After a brief pause, a huskier voice answered. “Yeah, so are we.”

  That wasn't an answer Lynn expected. Did that mean they didn't have them or had they been captured and escaped? “Are they here?” she said.

  “Why are you looking for them?”

  Lynn thought about her response. “They took something of ours and we want it back.”

  An argument broke out behind the trailer, but the words were lost in the distance.

  The first voice came back. “We want them too. They killed two of our people.”

  “So, you don't have them here?”

  “No.”

  “Would you let us look?”

  More discussion. “You're close enough right there.”

  Lynn tried to think of how to phrase her next sentence without making the other group angry enough to shoot. “We really need to know.”

  The second voice yelled, his tone angrier. A short, squat man in blue jeans and a Cincinnati Reds jersey stepped from the side of the trailer nearest the abandoned SUV. “We don't have to show you shit.”

  He pointed a menacing finger at her. “We're not afraid of your machine gun. We've got plenty of weapons aimed at all of you. We're telling you we don't have them. If you don't believe that, tough shit. If they were here, all you'd find is bodies anyway. And we'd give those to you. We've got people out searching for them now. If you want them alive, you're too late. When our people find them, they're dead. Now turn away or we'll open fire.”

  Fear touched Lynn's heart. Though it fought to control her, it was in an all-out battle with her anger. She backed away, thinking it the best course of action before she said or did something that might get her killed. Her radio squawked. She put it to her mouth and said, “Go!”

  Tara said, “You're one crazy be-yatch, You know that?”

  “What?” Lynn said, as if not hearing her right.

  “Never mind. Your bold little walk drew the defenders attention in your direction. We took the apartment complex with no resistance. Our search and subsequent interrogation of a few of the residents leads me to believe our people are not here. They were, but after a confrontation, escaped. These people sent out a posse to pursue. I think it's best to walk away without a fight, while we can.”

  “Agreed,” Lynn responded. She took two more steps back, spun on her heels and hurried to the van. “Let's pack up and move out.” To Private Ordway, manning the machine gun, she said, “Keep us covered until we're clear.” He gave a quick two-finger salute.

  Denver had just shifted into drive when the gunshots started. “Quick,” she shouted, “get us out of range.”

  She lifted the radio, “Tara! Tara, come in.”

  A few tense seconds later she got a response. “Sorry, I was a little busy for a moment.”

  “You all right?”

  “Yeah, we're good. A fe
w of them came back up the hill as we were leaving. A few shots were exchanged, but no one was hit. We'll join you about a mile back from your position. Out.”

  “Roger. Out” She sat back and exhaled, releasing her anxiety.

  She lifted the radio and stared at it. To call, or not to call. If they were in trouble and she used the radio, it might give them away. But, if they were in a tight spot, wouldn't they have called? If they were out of range, that'd be a moot point, but if silence were of importance, they would have turned the radio off. She decided to try. “Becca! Bobby! Lincoln! Come back.” No response. She tried twice more. They were either out of range, had the volume off, or, no … there was no or.

  The anxiety was back. She tried to push it aside, to wall it off, thinking there was no sense in worrying about the unknown, but the nagging fear persisted. She stared out of the window and thought about Mark. She missed him, but especially at times like this.

  Twenty-Nine

  “Sounds like gunshots,” Lincoln said, stating the obvious. They had hidden the boat and disembarked, taking up defensive positions along the large boulders that lined the shore.

  “Shh!” Becca hissed. She pointed to the left. “That way, on the other side of the marina. In or beyond those trees.”

  “You think we can get to it on foot, or should we take the car?” said Bobby.

  “Let's backtrack to the marina and decide from there,” Lincoln said.

  They moved, their increased speed and noise justified by their need to get to their father before it was too late. They broke from the trees and ran along the channel shore line, able to go faster in the open. Reaching the edge of the woods they turned and raced down its length. Lincoln led the way, utilizing the speed he'd once dazzled rival defenses with on the grid iron. Where the tracks were when the car entered the trees, he darted into the space, pulled up short, skidded and dropping to one knee.

  Bobby barely avoided running into him, pivoting to the side. Becca stopped in time but shielded from what caused the abrupt stop by Lincoln's body.

  “Well, looky what we found, boys.” The voice surprised her, but she recognized trouble. Still out of view from the speaker, Becca retreated two steps and bolted around the trees. “Go get her,” the voice shouted behind her. She ducked into the trees before they came into sight, dropped and buried herself under the foliage and behind a tree. She slid her knife free and fought to control her breathing and her revving heartbeat.

  Running steps pounded on the ground in front of her. “Where'd she go?” one said.

  “Dunno,” a deeper voice answered. “But she couldn't have gone far. I'll go around the corner, you cut through the trees. I'll meet you on the other side.”

  “Shouldn't we stick together?”

  “Dude, it's just a girl. If you find her, shout out and drag her ass back to Max.”

  Becca heard rustling as someone moved cautiously through the undergrowth. She slowed her breathing. The approaching hunter was close. Lying on her stomach, she cursed herself for not stopping in a better striking position, but she dared not change now. She tightened her grip on the knife. Sweat beaded and ran from every pore. Something creepy crawled up her arm. Every fiber in her wanted to swat the thing off, but she bit her lower lip and buried the urge.

  Footsteps to the right. Then nothing. Had he seen her? More steps and he stopped again. She imagined him just to the right of the tree she hid behind. How well did the green carpet of vegetation covering much of the ground conceal her? She'd know in a moment. More steps.

  Bobby watched helplessly as the two men went in pursuit of his sister. The remaining three men had their weapons trained on Lincoln and him. The leader said, “Armando, take their guns.” A tall, lean brown-skinned youth of about eighteen, stepped forward and snatched the weapons. He deposited them on the trunk of the car.

  Bobby wondered where Drew was. Was he still in the car, or had he gone looking them? He didn't see a body, so he didn't think whoever these people were, had spotted him yet.

  “What do you want?” Lincoln said, defiance ringing in his voice.

  “Payback, asshole. You killed two friends of ours. Now, we gonna take you back to answer for it.”

  “We only defended ourselves. Your friends attacked us first.”

  “Don't matter. It also don't matter how many of you we bring back alive. As long as we have one of you to bring to the council, it's all right if we kill the others. So, if I were you, I'd be real calm.”

  Armando said, “We have to kill at least one of them. We deserve that, don't we?”

  The leader laughed. “Oh, we will. Wait till they bring the bitch back. We can have some fun with her then decide who dies.”

  More constant gunshots came from the trees across the marina to the west. Bobby and Lincoln locked eyes. They knew they had to get away, but how?

  “Sounds like someone's having a good time,” the third man said. “Think that's too far to be our guys though.”

  The leader scrunched up his face, either in thought, or he had gas. “Go stand watch in case there's more of them somewhere. We don't want them sneaking up on us.”

  The third man ran off.

  They wouldn't have a better chance, thought Bobby.

  As if reading his mind, the leader backed up a step and aimed his weapon, a single-barrel pump shotgun, at his chest.

  Two more steps and Becca saw feet inches from her face. He was directly above her. She closed her eyes expecting an explosion of pain, but nothing happened. The hunter moved on. Becca followed the feet with her eyes. Before he got too far away, she twisted her torso and slashed with the knife. The finely honed edge sliced his Achilles tendon with little effort. The man buckled at the knees, his hand reaching for his foot. A banshee-like wail rose from his mouth filling the forest with his pain.

  As his body crumpled, Becca pounced, cutting off the scream by piercing his larynx. Becca dragged the blade left and right, finishing the job, and pushed the still twitching body away. She was on her feet in an instant, going deeper into the woods in the general direction of the car.

  Boibby heard the horrific scream at the same time he noticed movement inside the car. Drew sat up, his eyes still looked unfocused. He shook his head once, then gazed out of the window again. Whatever images registered in his brain, the look on s face told Bobby that Drew knew it was serious.

  The scream ended as suddenly as it had started. Bobby ignored it for the moment, reassured in the knowledge it was not his sister. His eyes caught Drew's, who nodded. Bobby tried not to tense, but whatever Drew did, he had to be ready to move. Plotting his move, he would go for the leader, hoping Lincoln would adjust and take the second man.

  Both men stood near the trunk with their backs to the car. Drew grabbed the window frame and pulled upright. Unable to control it, Bobby's heart rate soared. He glanced at Lincoln to see if the big man gave any signs of whether or not he saw Drew, or was just a good actor; he gave no outward sign.

  A hand snaked out of the open window, a gun in his grip. Bobby gulped hard seeing how much Drew's hand shook. If he took a shot, it had just as much chance of hitting him or Lincoln as it did either of the bad guys.

  Bobby closed his eyes and waited for the explosion. He didn't have long to wait. Bobby was moving before his eyes opened. He took in the scene in a second. Armando, spun around as if he were a top and someone had pulled his string. A mist of blood lifted into the air. The leader turned as well, but seemed to think better of it and spun back.

  Not sure he could reach the gunman in time, Bobby dove for Armando’s legs. A bullet carved a path through the air just above him. Another shot from Drew was answered by a burst of automatic fire. Bobby ignored all else as he wrapped his arms around the leader's legs, twisted and pulled. The man collapsed on top of him. Bobby kept a tight grip and rolled, pulling the man with him. The gunman fired again. How much longer before he brought the gun in line?

  Releasing his grip, Bobby risked everything by diving for the
gun. Another bullet was triggered. A searing pain burned Bobby's left forefinger as the bullet whizzed past. Bobby envisioned a bloody stump on his left hand, but could not afford to dwell on the loss. He gripped the gun hand and gun and twisted it hard against the man's wrist.

  His opponent fought hard to retain possession, but Bobby felt the advantage swing his way. With the upper position, Bobby applied pressure to the wrist. The pain would either be too much for the man to bear or his wrist would break. Bobby didn't care one way or another as long as he released the gun.

  The man pummeled the back of Bobby's head with his opposite fist. The blows weren't hard but still had an effect. Bobby forced the gun arm up over his opponent’s head. Bobby crawled higher and his body covered the gunman's face, who sank his teeth into Bobby's belly.

  Bobby screamed and pulled away; using the same tactic, he lunged at the gun hand, sinking his teeth into the wrist; he applied pressure. The other man latched on with his teeth again. It became a battle of who could handle the pain best. Bobby forced the agony from his mind as he bit down harder. Coppery tasting blood leaked into his mouth, as fire spread across his stomach. He tried to lift up and away from the teeth, but the man had a good hold and rose with him.

  Snarling, Bobby went berserk, gnashing and tearing and bouncing up and down on the man's face. He twisted with each rise and slammed as much weight down with each descent. The gun fired once more, the blast echoing in his ears before it dropped to the ground. Bobby drove an elbow into his enemy’s face. He brought up a knee and dropped with all his weight on the man's gut. The explosion of air signaled the end of the fight. The man doubled up clutching his midsection.

  Bobby rose to a sitting position and dropped four straight right-handed power shots to the biter's face and he stopped moving. Bobby growled, stood and howled. A sudden sound behind him smothered the animal cry in his throat. He spun, arms raised, ready to defend, in time to see the third man's gun fall from his hands; a second later, his body fell on top of it. Becca stood behind him, bloody knife in hand. The cold-hard look of the hunter lit her eyes. She lifted her head and imitated Bobby's wolf-like howl. He joined her in unison.