Hawke's Target

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  Muzzle flashes from deep in the woods were followed by a shriek, and then a string of more rapid shots.

  A faint shout came through the blasts. “Dogs!”

  Seconds later, Boone charged back into the barn as men poured outside to join the others. The razor in his hand dripped blood, and his shirt was splashed red. “Daddy, we have to go!”

  With the agility of a man thirty years his junior, Daddy Frank spun and charged halfway down the barn to a battered blue and white 1968 Ford pickup backed into a stall. Boone jumped behind the wheel and twisted the key.

  The starter whirred on the old truck, refusing to catch.

  Moving at barely a crawl, a battered pickup that looked like it had been through a car compressor knocked one of the barn doors off and plowed into the barn with Alonzo slumped behind the wheel.

  Shouts and commands came from outside. “Federal agents! Put down your weapons!”

  A fusillade from the barn drowned the orders. Heavily armed agents in battle gear flitted through the trees. Tactical lights snapped on in the woods, seeking out the armed men both inside the barn and taking cover behind the randomly parked vehicles.

  “The feds are here!” A bearded man who was one of Daddy Frank’s third cousins grabbed the handle on the Ford’s passenger side.

  Daddy Frank shouldered the man off balance. He crashed through a stall with the crack of snapping wood, striking his head on a support post and knocking him unconscious. The old man shouted at Boone through the open window. “Don’t flood it, you idiot!”

  The starter ground down again. With an expression of complete calm, Boone waited, staring at the darkness through the rear doors.

  Jimmy Don and a second cousin named Scotty saw Daddy Frank yank the door open and slide into the seat. “Daddy! Wait!”

  Carrying handguns, they charged down the long hall, intending to jump into the bed of the escaping truck.

  Jimmy Don waved his arms, hoping to get their attention. “Daddy! Don’t leave us!”

  Furious, Scotty raised a Sig Sauer. “They’re leaving anyway. I’m gonna shoot both them sonsabitches!”

  “Not my Daddy!” Jimmy Don shot Scotty in the side with his Glock and ran. The man slammed face-first onto the ground.

  * * *

  Time slowed for Alonzo. There were men in tactical vests shouting from the woods for him to stop. Somehow the Glock was back in his hand, and he fired through the open passenger window. The woods rocked with return fire that punched even more holes in the truck’s sheet-metal sides. Glass exploded, covering everything inside the cab with glittering shards.

  Hot lances of pain in Alonzo’s shoulder, neck, and side would have been debilitating if he hadn’t been stoned from the drugs. Holding a gaping wound across his neck, Alonzo felt the gush of hot blood pulse through his fingertips and soak his shirt.

  Randomly parked pickups and farm trucks blocked his way, but he pressed the foot feed and plowed through them as if he were driving a bulldozer. The hand holding the pistol was suddenly useless and it fell limp across the console as the truck finally reached the barn and punched through a dizzying swirl of scrambling men. Metal crunched as he sideswiped parked vehicles. His target in sight, he let go of his neck and steered through the open doors with a bloody left hand. Men danced out of the way as he drove halfway into the barn, crashing into the bed of a blue-and-white pickup stalled in the wide hallway.

  The impact slammed the truck sideways into a support post that cracked like a falling timber. Hand-hewn rafters and support beams collapsed under the stresses of added weight. The entire side of the barn sagged, and a cloud of dust filled the air.

  Half of the hayloft landed on the hood of Alonzo’s truck in an explosion of ancient dust at the same time the light went from his eyes. His dead hand opened and the Glock slipped free to hang off his finger through the trigger guard. Directly underneath was the detonator’s toggle switch.

  * * *

  On the lane leading to the barn, a line of headlights from a variety of vehicles snapped on, discharging a secondary swarm of men in combat gear. Tactical lights flickered in the woods, attached to rifles fitted against professional shoulders and finding targets behind the parked cars and inside the barn.

  Stern voices barked commands. “Federal agents! Drop your weapons!”

  The orders were swallowed by more gunfire from inside the barn.

  Chapter 65

  Damn, there was a lot going on all of a sudden. I instinctively knew the guy in the white truck was my vigilante. It might have been because he shot two people without blinking an eye, or maybe it was nothing more than instinct.

  But all of a sudden the whole world blew up and I never expected to see so many men with guns in one place. I hollered at him to stop, but the guy swung a pistol and shot at me. The pump shotgun in my hands boomed and I was sure I’d hit him, but he kept driving like he was wearing body armor.

  I threw another shell at him, and a voice in the distance hollered for me to put down my gun. I recognized the commands that came from law-enforcement officers. I think I heard someone say they were federal agents and maybe DEA, but before I could answer, drop the shotgun, or say kiss my ass, more than one gun opened up in my direction.

  “Don’t shoot! Texas Ranger!”

  Flashes in the darkness told me they couldn’t hear or weren’t listening. Either way, I spun around and took off at a dead run to gain some distance until those boys out there cooled down.

  Return gunfire came from the barn, taking their attention off of me. There was no use in trying to be quiet. Shoving fresh shells into the shotgun, I ducked into the edge of the trees for cover and sprinted back where I came from, knowing Perry Hale and Yolanda would be there for cover.

  The idea was to disappear until the gun battle was over, then come out when everyone had calmed down enough to see my empty hands and badge. Vertical streaks of light coming from the barn’s old planks gave me enough illumination to see my way. I kept one eye on the side, as I raced past a line of various-sized closed doors lining the outside wall. Skinny trees and brush grew against the warped sides. The hammering echoes of the firefight followed me like a physical cloud.

  While one side of my brain concentrated on getting me the hell out of there, the other worked on the puzzle that was the vigilante. He’d come back, but instead of making his delivery, he came shooting.

  Good lord! That truck might have been full of Semtex, just like the kid had said. Digging in my heels, I came to a stop near the back corner of the barn. I needed to warn the feds, even though it had been me who called them about the explosives.

  A round took a white chunk out of a nearby tree. I ducked. Everyone was shooting at everyone else.

  Wait. Why was my vigilante shooting at them when he came in? More pieces clicked into place. He’d been traveling across the state, settling scores. What if those scores extended to his crazy-ass family? Was this one last issue, to go in a blast of glory?

  Blast. Good God. Perry Hale had mentioned earlier that if he had plastic explosives and wanted to take people out, it would be clean and efficient. If I had a truck full of plastic explosive, and was bent on suicide, I’d drive straight into the hornet’s nest before setting it off.

  Brambles tangled my feet and I fell face-first, landing hard enough to see stars. Desperate, I rose to my full height and pulled free of the thorns. “Perry Hale! Yolanda! Explosives! Run!”

  If I was in there and people came driving in like that, I’d find the nearest exit, and that was only feet away from where I tripped. The gunfire increased in volume just as the world lit up with bright headlights and the roar of even more engines from the opposite end of the barn.

  Great. They called in reinforcements.

  Seconds later, an old 1968 Ford pickup shot outside and started down a two-track trail barely wide enough for the two-tone body. The truck’s back glass exploded. It slewed for a moment and crunched into a pine tree, shattering the left headlight.

&
nbsp; Two men rushed out with pistols in their hands, looking as if they intended to roll into the bed. They saw me and dug in their heels when I hollered and raised the twelve-gauge to my shoulder. “Texas Ranger! Throw up your hands!”

  Another round from the engagement out front slammed into a pine tree only a foot or so away. Splinters flew, causing me to duck at the same time the running men brought weapons to bear.

  The bores of their pistols looked huge, and I tangled in the briars again, which dropped me to my knees. From a distance of only twenty feet, I saw my own death in those muzzles. The weapon in the grip of a prematurely gray-haired man spat fire an instant before both men wilted from what sounded like two distinct streams of automatic-weapon fire that followed them to the ground.

  Only two people I knew would shoot like that until the threat was neutralized. Perry Hale and Yolanda. They’d saved my bacon again.

  Pulling free of the thorny vines, I charged toward the pickup that shifted into reverse. “Get out of the truck!”

  It backed up a couple of feet before the rear tires spun, filling my face with damp sand.

  Chapter 66

  Alonzo knocked the blue-and-white truck sideways, collapsing half of the barn. Boone stomped the gas, dragging the entire right side against a support beam, and further weakening the structure.

  “Get us outta here, boy!” Daddy Frank’s voice came through the open window, hoarse with fury.

  * * *

  Seconds later they shot out the door, followed by Jimmy Don and his high school buddy Spencer, who were running close behind, intent on jumping into the truck bed. They were within inches of escape when a man in a western hat appeared just outside the barn. He threw a shotgun to his shoulder.

  “Texas Ranger! Throw up your hands!”

  Gunfire splintered the bark of a tree only a couple of feet from the Ranger, staggering him.

  Spencer dug in with his heels, bringing up a Smith and Wesson pistol The lawman holding the shotgun stumbled in the dim light.

  From the darkness, an extremely accurate stream of lead plucked at Spencer’s shirt. He grunted and stumbled sideways, still trying to raise the pistol. Bullets followed him to the ground until he lay still.

  Jimmy Don suddenly went completely numb from a second river of lead, and the last thing he saw were incredibly fast muzzle blasts coming from two positions in the dark woods. He died in the glow of warm yellow light, wondering how it could have all gone so wrong.

  Chapter 67

  With the two threats down, Perry Hale pressed the comm button as soon as he lowered the rifle. “Good shootin’! You heard him! Go go go!”

  Yolanda flitted through the trees like an oiled ghost, away from the barn at a dead run. They couldn’t risk being caught by the federal agents who were intent on shooting at everyone they saw. Neither of the veterans intended to engage American law-enforcement officers. It was time to get gone.

  * * *

  Gunfire swelled behind them. Armed men loyal to Daddy Frank rushed out the front doors, doing their best to escape in any vehicle that could still run. They were met by intense gunfire from a swarm of federal agents who seemed to appear out of nowhere.

  Tactical lights mounted on automatic weapons cut through the night.

  “Drop your weapons! Drop ’em!”

  “Federal agents!”

  The commands came too late, and the barn’s defenders ignored the instructions. Muzzle flashes from the woods revealed agents wearing glowing DEA and ATF insignia on their vests.

  Daddy Frank’s men had nothing to lose. They poured it on the agents, who hadn’t expected such a ferocious response. Hearing the rising intensity of battle, Senior Agent Marrs issued orders over his VOX radio to pull back. He had no intention of fighting a frontal assault.

  Like ghosts, the agents ceased firing and fell back with practiced precision.

  Marrs had a better plan, and it would come from up above.

  * * *

  Staying low, Perry Hale dashed through the trees, using his own dimmed flashlight. They’d taped the lenses, allowing only a slit of light through. He rushed past Yolanda, who fell in behind and matched his pace. The gunfire fell off as they gained distance.

  She followed for more than two hundred yards before her voice came through his earpiece. “Sonny!”

  Perry Hale didn’t slow. “He’s all right. I imagine he’s hauling ass, too.”

  She caught up with him and grabbed the strap of his MOLLE pack. “Stop!”

  He spun. “What!” They no longer needed the earpieces.

  “He may be hurt.”

  “He’s told us to run if the feds showed up. That’s what we’re doing. Those guys back there were so jacked up they’d’ve shot us before we told them who we are.”

  “We can’t just leave him.”

  He saw the flash in her eyes and calmed. “Didn’t you hear what he said? He told us to run, and my job is to protect you, too.”

  “It can’t be like that.”

  “It is.”

  “Dammit!” She scanned the area. “But we just found him again.”

  His voice was flat. “So have they.”

  That was the moment lights appeared from their left and they realized they’d stopped at the edge of the cleared corridor through the pines.

  She glanced down at the lane illuminated by the moon. “We’re gonna have a talk about this, this situation of ours when we get . . .” She quit talking when the headlights on a moving truck bounced up and down, flickering in the trees.

  Chapter 68

  The truck that had punched out against the pine tree threw dirt in my face. I ducked my chin, using the hat brim to protect my face. Because of that, I didn’t see Perry Hale or Yolanda at all, but that’s what they were good at.

  Just like them, I needed to get away from the chaos at the other end of the barn before I got shot. Those guys on my side were focused on one thing, targets. Even though I wore a badge, there was still the chance of getting shot.

  Because the driver stomped the accelerator so hard, it took several long moments for the worn tires to get a grip on the sand and pine needles. I don’t know what possessed me to grab the tailgate as the truck accelerated through the darkness, but I did. I dropped the shotgun and grabbed onto the tailgate with both hands. The trailer hitch cracked my shin, and I stifled a scream.

  There’s not a farmer, rancher, or pickup driver who hasn’t walked around the back of a truck and cracked his shin on the hitch sticking out like a scythe. We all know it’s there, but we do it anyway and when we hit the damn thing, it makes the rest of us laugh like lunatics every time, because we’ve all done it.

  My eyes watered, and I barely had time to take two running steps before jumping onto the back bumper. The rear tires hit something, bucking the rear end into the air and flipping me up and over into the bed full of farm trash, beer cans, wire, and empty sacks that once probably held feed or fertilizer. An empty plastic bucket bounced up and over the back.

  There it is again. When am I gonna learn not to be so damned impulsive?

  Right then, there were more pressing matters as I bounced around in the trash.

  A round ricocheted off the back of the cab, causing the driver and passenger inside to duck. Another bullet punched through the tailgate, hitting a spare lying in the bed. It jumped, air escaping with a loud hiss. The taillight reflector to my right exploded.

  As the truck accelerated, I lay as still as possible, waiting to see what would come next.

  That’s when I realized I’d lost my hat, what there was left of it.

  Chapter 69

  Boone’s eyes flicked to the Ford’s shattered side mirror at the same time a white plastic bucket flipped up and over the tailgate. His bloody left hand slipped on the hard skinny steering wheel.

  On the other side of the cab, Daddy Frank looked over his shoulder at the broken, frosted back glass. Unable to see outside, he squinted into the cracked side mirror at the barn disappearing i
n the trees. “Alonzo set us up?”

  “Yes.” Boone squinted through the glass. “It all fits.”

  “Good job.” Daddy Frank pointed. “Let the feds have him. He never was worth a shit anyway. We take the river. The boat’s still there. We take out at Shi’Ann’s dock.”

  Boone knew exactly where he was talking about. He’d been there only a few hours earlier. “Why don’t we take out at the iron bridge at the highway?”

  “Don’t question me. I have a plan.”

  “Where will we go?”

  “Why, to Mexico, of course. There’s nothing to stop me from simply driving across the border.”

  “Then what?”

  “I have more money than God, son. I can live like a king anywhere I want in the years I have left.”

  Chapter 70

  “Somebody’s coming.” They’d almost reached the river when Perry Hale dropped to a knee, Yolanda right with him.

  A blue-and-white pickup rolled down the little clear track using nothing but its running lights. Perry Hale and Yolanda knelt behind the line of understory brush growing in the cleared edges of the trace.

  The truck passed, only two feet away, and in the glow of the rising moon, Perry Hale saw an old man riding in the passenger seat. A bald apparition drove and he wondered if the man was wearing some kind of mask.

  But it was the next sight that shocked him so badly he almost burst out in tension-fueled hysterical laughter.

  From back against the tailgate, moonlight revealed Sonny Hawke’s bare head rising above the bed to look around. He saw Yolanda start and gave them a tiny wave, then flicked his hand for them to run.

  They ran, even harder.

  Chapter 71