by Ray Wench
A sudden commotion, a rustling of branches and leaves, made Mark freeze. What was happening? Had he been discovered? He was afraid to look. Was his pursuer rushing toward him? Mark could wait no longer. He tensed for battle and spun around the tree, rifle pointed. But no target was there. Confusion morphed into panic. Mark pivoted to the right. Nothing. Behind him? Still no one. The guard had disappeared.
Mark didn’t know what was happening, but he wasn’t about to stand around and find out. To the far left he could see a body moving through the trees; another soldier in camouflage dress. Mark ducked and moved as silent as his screaming mind would allow. He wanted to run. He didn’t know where his hunter had gone, and he didn’t care. For the moment, he was alive and free. He was going to take advantage of the lapse.
A low deranged-sounding cackle came from his left and sent shards of ice throughout his veins. Had the guard played him and brought him into the open? If so, he had lost. With the gun held low so it wouldn’t appear threatening, Mark turned very slowly. To his surprise, no one was there. An uncontrolled shiver passed through him and didn’t let go for a full minute.
The cackle sounded again farther away. Through the trees, a large, dark, hairy body zigzagged. Big Foot? He snapped from his shock when a voice called from behind him.
“Sadler, report.”
Mark crouched, and in a much more hurried and desperate pace, left the voice behind. He didn’t stop for twenty minutes. The rear of a house appeared to his left. Dropping behind a stack of old discarded tires, he pulled out his binoculars. Nothing moved in pursuit.
He dared not linger. Mark increased his speed while crossing the more open backyard. On the other side he stopped. The property bordered the turnpike. A descending slope led down to the paved lanes. There were a center barrier, two more lanes and an upward slope – all in the open. He would be an easy target. To the left was an overpass, but that road led to the air base. His only option appeared to be the right, following the trees along the top of the turnpike, but there were probably soldiers waiting for him there.
It wouldn’t take long for them to realize this was the only direction he could’ve gone. He was trapped again. Then twigs snapped.
Twenty-Five
As the hairs stood on the back of his neck, Mark, whirled, rifle held waist high, pointing at the woods. The chill descended over him once more – so strange, so eerie, almost supernatural. Unnerved, he darted his gaze from spot-to-spot rather than a full scan. Nothing. He shook the feeling and moved toward the overpass along the edge of the trees.
A truck appeared on the far side of the turnpike. Mark dropped to the ground. The truck reached the bridge and crossed, taking an eternity to reach the other side and disappear from view.
He continued to lie there, listening for the sound of doors or running steps. His mind played out a scenario where armed troops were dispersing through the woods to surround him. His angst created a chain reaction within his body; increased heart rate, rapid breathing, profuse sweating, and a desire to flee without caution. What sounded like a muffled scream seeped through the trees. On edge, he jumped. It was time to go.
He crawled to the edge of the slope, rose to his feet, and ran crouched until he reached the underside of the bridge. There he looked behind for any pursuit. So far he was alone. But he had been running in the open. If the spotter in the tower had seen him, the soldiers would be on his trail soon.
Mark grabbed the steel I-beam beneath and craned his neck to see above. No one followed, but he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that someone was watching him. Could the man in the tower see him?
Mark slid down the cement slope until he reached the paved road below. Looking left and right, he dashed for the safety of the cement pillars in the median. Ducking behind them, he sighted through the rifle’s scope. Right of the bridge, left of the bridge: no one was in view. Then a dark shadow moved up on the slope. Just a quick flash and it was gone. The vision spooked Mark, and he dashed for the next set of pillars without caring if anyone saw him.
There, he stopped again. This time nothing moved at all through his scope. Perhaps the shadow before had been his imagination. He shuddered like someone was playing his nerves like a banjo. Turning, he sprinted the final distance to the opposite side. Using the bridge to keep him obscured from the tower’s line of sight, Mark climbed the slope.
Here was the one danger spot of his escape route. The next source of cover was thirty yards away. In his best days he could run a 4.4 forty, but four seconds would be a long time when avoiding a sniper’s bullet. He searched the brush across the turnpike as well as the road above. Now or never. He hesitated. He feared the never.
With a burst, Mark climbed the final steps to the flat ground above and ran as hard as he could to the trees ahead. No shouts of alarm sounded behind him. No trucks followed nor, more importantly, did any bullets. Mark reached the first tree and blasted straight through the branches until he was four tree trunks deep. There he stopped, bent over, struggling for air.
He was too old to do this stuff again. He’d been too old to do it the first time. Now Mark was just pressing his luck. He took off at a jog. He headed east and kept under cover until he came to a road. Squatting, Mark slowed his breathing while he studied the open ground left and right. The only sound was his controlled breathing.
Mark was just about to cross the road when he heard the truck. He dived back just as the vehicle rolled to the intersection. It stopped for a moment and then turned, driving right past him. He held his breath. His cover wasn’t complete, but he was afraid to move.
To his great relief, the truck continued past. As the army green canvas top disappeared over a rise in the road, Mark bolted for the other side. They had not given up the search for him. The trip home was going to take a long time.
When he reached the road where he had left the truck, Mark toyed with the idea of trying to reach it. Having the truck would make getting home easier, but it would also make him easier to spot. There was nothing he really needed inside the truck, and certainly nothing that could lead anyone back to the house, he hoped. In the end, Mark’s best choice was to get farther away from any pursuit than to find another vehicle to drive home.
He alternated his route east and north, one block at a time. About three miles later, he entered a residential neighborhood that had not been picked over by scavengers. He broke into a house and found bottled sweet teas. Although he hated his tea sweet, Mark drank two bottles and slid a third in the back pocket of his jeans.
He opened a box of peanut butter-filled crackers and munched on them while he went to the garage. A red Cadillac was parked in one space. Mark went back inside to search for the keys. A lone key hung from a series of pegs attached the side of the refrigerator. Bingo! It had the Cadillac emblem on it.
Mark did not start the engine yet. Now that he had a car, he took advantage of the space. He went back inside and rummaged for anything useful. With the car loaded with food and drinks, Mark opened the garage door and backed down the driveway. He put his handgun in the cup holder built into the center console. He practiced grabbing it a few times, and then drove through the subdivision until he found the exit. The road was clear. He drove to the first intersection and turned north.
He took a very circuitous route and only made his way toward the house when he was sure no one was tailing him. His adventure left him with many unanswered questions. If the army unit had moved into the base, they were close.
There was a lot to think about, many plans to make, and much to fear.
Twenty-Six
“Did you see that?”
“Since it was right in front of us, Sis, it was kinda hard to miss.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“Hey, I was just saying.”
The object of interest was a red Cadillac that had gone by at a high speed. Bobby and Becca were sitting in the pickup in the driveway of a house that sat back off the road a long ways. The drive was covered by woods on
both sides, making it difficult to see. Which, of course, was the reason Bobby had selected it.
They had stopped for lunch, and to give Becca a chance to wash and change. She looked a whole lot more human now. Bobby stuffed half a canned peach into his mouth. The juice dripped down his chin. Using his sleeve he wiped the trail clean. “Why should we follow?”
“Maybe whoever was driving might know where Dad is.”
“He might also be a killer like everyone else we’ve run into so far.”
Becca lowered her head and looked into the half-eaten can of SpaghettiOs in her hands.
“Becca, we’ll find him, I promise. You just need to be patient. There’s a lot of area to cover. I know you’re anxious. I am too. But it won’t do us any good to rush into a situation where we might get killed or captured.”
She looked at him. “You promise, right?”
“Absolutely.” He crossed his heart, the motion spilling peach juice on his pants. “Shit!” He wiped at the liquid.
Becca laughed.
“Yeah, that’s funny, huh? How’d you like it?” He pretended to spill some on her.
In a flash everything changed. Her face scrunched into an evil persona. “Try it,” she shouted, but the voice wasn’t hers. Before he could blink, she had a knife pointed at his face. His mouth opened in shock. He froze, afraid to move, lest she think his actions were aggressive. But he couldn’t slow the pounding of his heart.
They both stared at the point of the blade as she held it perfectly still, inches from Bobby’s eye. Becca’s face morphed back into her own. She lowered the knife, her cheeks reddened.
“I-I’m sorry, Bobby. I don’t know what happened.”
“Jesus, Becca, what the hell’s wrong with you?” Bobby opened the door and jumped out. He pitched the can of peaches against a tree and walked away.
“Bobby, I’m sorry. Come back. Please.”
Bobby ignored her. He needed to calm his nerves. Becca had seemed okay when they left the house, but as each hour passed without finding their father, she reverted to her unstable personality. Her evil self, as Bobby silently named it.
He loved his sister, but in truth, she scared him. They couldn’t find their father fast enough. Bobby longed to be able to turn her over to Dad and let him deal with her. After being with her 24-7 these past weeks, he was ready for a break. Besides, he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d survive. That knife had come out of nowhere, so fast that Bobby never could have countered her had she decided to plunge the blade into him. He couldn’t live this way.
The car door shut. Bobby stiffened, but with great control did not turn to face her. He was taking a huge risk. There was no guarantee which persona came out of the pickup. For all he knew, she was advancing leading with the knife.
Bobby fought the urge to run. Becca’s hand on his shoulder caused him to jump. His heart stopped a beat and his bladder threatened to release.
“Geez, Bobby, relax. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re my brother. I love you. I could never hurt you. I’m sorry about before. I don’t know what came over me.”
Bobby looked at her. Her face was so innocent now. Her eyes held sadness. But how long would this personality stay? She stuck out a pouty lip.
“I screwed up. I’m sorry.”
More like you are screwed up.
She leaned forward to kiss his cheek. Bobby flinched away.
“Come on, Bobby, don’t be mad at me. I can’t take that. I need your strength.”
He held still and let her kiss him. As she went back to the pickup, Bobby resisted an urge to wipe the kiss from his face. He sighed. Where are you, Dad?
Twenty-Seven
Back in the driver’s seat, Bobby said, “Ready to go?”
“Yeah, let’s find him.”
Bobby shifted into gear and edged forward. At the driveway’s end, he stopped and looked both ways. Satisfied, he pulled out just as an army truck barreled down the side street half a block away.
The vehicle lurched as the brakes grabbed. The truck swerved, but didn’t flip over. “Shit!” Bobby spun the wheel hard left and accelerated. The engine growled as it sped forward.
The rearview mirror revealed the truck was turning around. This was not good. How many men were inside the truck? They had a lead and the pickup should be more maneuverable than an army truck. He shot down the road trying to form a plan of evasion. Cross streets were few and far between out in the country, but one was coming up. He glanced in the mirror. The truck was now following.
Bobby turned a hard left and almost couldn’t hold the road. The tires spun on the loose gravel on the side of the road before catching. The pickup jumped forward. Up ahead was a major thoroughfare. If he took it, he could easily outdistance his pursuers, but he would also be in the open for a long way. He decided to risk it. Behind him the truck had not yet reached the intersection.
Turning right, Bobby headed west. Ahead was a cross street. If he could reach it before the truck reached the main street, the pursuers would have no idea where he was. “Watch behind us, Sis. Tell me if they see us turn.”
Becca spun in her seat and looked out the rear window.
Bobby made the turn.
“Nope, we’re good.”
Bobby began to relax. They should be able to lose them easy now. The pickup rose as it crossed an overpass. Descending the other side showed him a large fenced area to the right and a few houses spaced apart on the left. He toyed with the idea of pulling up a driveway and hiding behind a house, but that would give up his advantage. He continued further and then slammed on the brakes.
Up ahead, a jeep was exiting the fenced area – with a machine gun mounted on the back.
The pickup’s tires gripped the road. The tail began swerving sideways, threatening to flip over. Bobby’s hands slapped the wheel hard, adjusting in time to keep the wheels grounded, but the move brought him closer to the jeep.
“They’re coming.” Becca jacked a round into her handgun.
“We have to go back. If they open up with that machine gun, we won’t stand a chance.” Bobby turned quickly, running across the front lawn of a house, and pushed the pedal to the floor. As they crested the overpass, the canvas-topped truck was driving straight for them. A quick look behind confirmed Bobby’s fears – they were about to be trapped on the bridge.
“Hold on,” he shouted. He drove straight at the truck. The machine gun wouldn’t fire with the truck in their line of sight.
“What are you going to do?” Becca squealed.
“I’m gonna ram the truck. Open your door and get ready to jump before I hit them.”
“Seriously?”
Bobby didn’t respond.
She opened the door and stepped on the doorstep.
Bobby slowed for a second. “Now.”
He didn’t watch, but knew she was gone. He punched the accelerator again. The driver of the truck, evidently thinking Bobby was going to try to drive past him, turned sideways to block the entire road. Too late he saw his mistake. The driver’s eyes widened.
The collision lifted the pickup in the air pitching Bobby forward where he met the exploding airbag face-first. Not waiting to see if the seat belt would open, Bobby used his knife to puncture the bag and slice through the restraining belt. He was out the door in seconds and running to the walkway over the bridge.
Shouting voices came from the back of the truck. Bobby raced past as a hand shot out to grab him. He ducked enough to avoid the grasp and ran for the opposite side of the bridge. He glanced around for his sister, but didn’t see her. A moment of panic assaulted him, and then he heard the scream. But the scream was not Becca’s.
He stopped and turned. Becca jumped down from the truck’s running board. The driver was holding his head. Men emerged from the truck’s bed.
“Come on,” Bobby urged. He started running again. There were woods in front of him. They needed to get there to break up any clear lines of sight shooters might have.
Bob
by made the trees safely and stopped to cover Becca. She was ten strides away. Any thought Bobby had of successfully escaping was diminished when he saw the pursuit. Half a dozen soldiers followed, each with a rifle.
Becca blasted past him. “What are you waiting for?”
Indeed.
Bobby ran. There was not enough room to move with stealth. Brother and sister, side-by-side, crashed through the undergrowth. Bobby looked behind for an instant and was smacked in the face by a branch Becca had pushed through. The blow stunned him for a second, but offered a chance to spy any pursuit. He was surprised to see that no one was following, or at least none that he could see. If these guys were trained soldiers, they could be on him and he might not know until it was too late. The thought spurred him forward. He caught Becca and squeaked out, “Something’s wrong.”
“What?”
“No one’s behind us.”
“Maybe they gave up.”
“Doubtful. They may have gone around to catch us wherever this comes out.”
Becca ran on. A moment later she said, “Well, that would be stupid. We should stop and turn around.”
“I don’t think so. There’s sure to be someone back there. Most likely they’re moving forward to pinch us between the two forces. I think we change direction though.”
“Okay, what are you thinking?”
“Well, we don’t know where this comes out in this direction. We know to the left there’s a road.”
“And you don’t think we can go back?”
“I don’t think that’d be smart. To the right is the turnpike. It’s so wide open, they may not expect us to go that way.”
“So that’s your plan? Run into the open?”
Bobby grunted. “You got a better idea?”
“Lead on, brother.”
Bobby cut in front of her and went right. Becca followed. A few minutes later they reached the edge of their cover. The turnpike lay below, wide open for miles. There was no one in sight. “Wait to see if I draw fire.” Bobby didn’t wait for a response. He held his breath and stepped into the open. He slid down the slope. No bullet hit him.
