by Ken Jolly
"Throw in two boxes of ammo and you have a deal.”
She rustled around pulling the gun down off the wall.
“Those are some bad people looking for me. Have you seen Ralph?" He was what passed for law enforcement in the Laurel area.
"He was in town earlier.”
“I’ll find him. I've been running from these people for years. Ralph might be outclassed but he is all we have. These professional assassins learned their trade and treachery in the deserts of Afghanistan. They aren't his usual Saturday night drunks.”
Hazel looked doubtful.
I unloaded the jeep, placed the new rifle in the gun rack after loading it and engaging the safety. Really could use a combat magazine but the five rounds that came with the gun would have to do. I had to remind myself there were only three of them. Five rounds would suffice.
I wanted Ralph in on this so I checked buildings driving into town. If I had the local law on my side, it might avoid questions when we counted the bodies.
I found the sheriff’s car in the Lodge’s parking lot. He was in the bar drinking coffee.
As much as I dislike having hired assassins after me, I didn’t want to kill them unless I have to. Having the local constable with me would lend credence to my story. It was going to be hard enough to explain.
I brought Ralph up to date with my real name and why I have been hiding and the impending problem.
“So you think these guys are at your cabin right now laying in ambush?”
“That’s my best guess. They didn’t follow me this far for an autograph. I’ve seen a lot of pain and death in the war. I prefer avoiding hurting them.
“Some months ago, I sat with a dying friend in the hospital and I’ve seen enough of pain to last the rest of my life. I’m afraid they are not giving me a chance. This is a showdown.”
“What now?” Ralph asked.
“I’m going to go in advance and spring the trap. You get some guys together and bring in the posse.”
Ralph turned to Sam at the other end of the bar. “Sam, are you up to swearing in as a deputy?
Fear
When my cold dead carcass is picked clean except for the bones they will find my weapon out of ammo, with the slide locked back. I've been running and hiding for the last two years and it's time to see the end of this.
Everyone eventually loses his edge. You become aware of mortality. Living on the edge had broken my nerve. I've been running ever since. Enough is enough and it's time I get my life, name, and self-respect back.
This new feeling was actually a relief. Soon everything will be settled and I can be Jonah again. I had never liked the assumed name anyhow. It felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders.
Ralph was still in town gathering a crew. I pulled my noisy jeep to a stop several ridges from the cabin and killed the motor. From there, I would approach on foot and not advertise. I expect them to be watching and did not want to step into their trap.
I packed a shoulder bag with the ammunition for the new rifle, and several pistol magazines and strapped on the STI. Adding binoculars and a coil of rope finished out my load.
It's one thing for them to lay in ambush however, I didn't expect them to be aware that they were also being hunted. Let them sit fat and happy not knowing the tables have turned and the game is going to be played by my rules.
Besides, it was one of those glorious summer days and a nice day for a walk. The sun was out though the nearby peak cast a shadow and a cool breeze blew on the back of my neck.
If I had been hunting an animal I would have stalked them into the wind, but humans have little sense of smell, so the fact that I was coming in downwind did not bother me. However, sound does carry a little better with the wind.
I know how to walk quietly in the woods. Most people drag their feet through dried up leaves and step on branches. It is possible to stalk quietly. You just have to move slow, pay attention where you step and work at it.
My cabin is below the timberline. This setting provided green trees to use as cover. At the last hill, I crawled on my belly. Keeping my head low, moving slowly I did not provide any silhouettes, and keeping myself as one with the brush, I slowly approached. No sudden moves and no noise.
I crested the hill, crawled down another twenty yards and laid up in ground cover under the shadow below a large tree. I settled in patiently to wait. I needed more Intel.
I would let them give their positions away. I was now the hunter, they the hunted.
There was a small trail of smoke rising from the fireplace and an old truck parked out front. I had no idea where they had got the truck. I was not familiar with it. I knew there had flown in with Gus but the truck might mean there were more than three of them.
They seemed very sure of themselves however, and I was not approaching until all of the advantages were mine.
It really made me mad me that they were comfortable in my cabin.
A moose lumbered across the driveway below and several birds were chirping. The quiet pastoral scene told nothing about the killers lying in wait.
Ralph, with the posse had agreed to wait until they heard shooting to enter. These people were way out of the Sheriff’s league. Heck there were some who claimed he got his badge from a cereal box.
Two patient hours later, I was rewarded with movement.
There were limbs swishing in the tree and not that much wind!
This proved to be a tall skinny man in a red shirt coming down the trunk of a tree. You would have thought he would at least be smart enough to wear camo. Clever bastards had set up a high look out. Someone not expecting this would have driven up the drive and right into their trap.
He went inside slamming the door, and I heard voices. Several minutes later, another man came up to the house from the backyard. Evidently, dinner or a watch change but I now knew their ambush points.
The tall skinny one came out of the cabin again and moved the truck behind the barn before returning to the house. Someone had figured out the truck would be a dead giveaway if I saw it when I returned.
With everyone inside, if I moved fast there might be a chance of catching them together!
I slipped down the hill following the rock ravine to the cabin. I kept low, moving quiet and not attracting attention.
Reaching the trees that overhung the house; I slung my rifle and quietly scaled the tree. Now it was doubly important that they not hear. I silently padded across the roof to the smoking chimney.
This was the point where I felt at most peril. It’s easy to hear people walking on a roof.
I pulled off my jacket and draped it over the flue. Smoke ceased to flow out the chimney.
I then moved rapidly into a position on the roof that provided concealment from direct observation under the ridgeline and I smiled.
Before much longer, my plan came to fruition. It was an old Indian trick. Smoke them out.
Their shouting and coughing could be heard from inside as smoke billowed from the main room. I recognized a panicked Arabic word yelled for fire.
Shortly the front door slammed open as the tall skinny one came running out coughing.
He was in a panic with two of his henchman rapidly following on his heels. That made three and I was about to make my presence known when I heard the back door open and a fourth person ran into the rear yard.
That’s just great! This was suddenly quite tricky. I didn't intend to be caught by a crossfire. Since they had separated, I no longer had tactical control.
I slipped across the roof ridge and spotted the assassin in the rear of the house. I found him in the scope hopedthe rifle was sighted in, and shot him in the back. It looked like the gun pulled a mite to the left.
This was survival rather than fair play. They outnumbered me. I had no regret shooting him in the back. He would have done the same to me. Seeing my target fall to the ground, I switched my attention back to the front. I hope that the man I dropped in the rear was out of the fight and would
stay there but until confirmed he was still a potential active.
The two in the front yard both armed had spun upon hearing my shot and was looking all around but with smoke burned eyes, they had yet to spot me.
I hoped to save witnesses for Ralph and leave some alive for my own purposes but that was up to them. If they needed killing, I could oblige. I raised my rifle again. I squeezed off a round in the dust between them. This got their attention but they still had not spotted me.
As soon as I fired, I worked the bolt to engage another round to the chamber without removing my scope from the target.
I covered the tall skinny one in the red shirt in the scope. He was closest to cover and I yelled in Arabic, "Stop! Drop your weapons or die." Sometimes it’s useful having language skills, even if mine are rudimentary and learned on the street.
The tall skinny one in the red shirt ran for the brush and I dropped him on the fly. Just like barking a squirrel. There hadn't been much time and running targets have to be led. A log went out from under him as he sprawled.
My attention swung to the short skinny one who I saw had put his hands on his head. I yelled again, "Drop your weapons,” and heard steel hit the ground, “Knives also!" I added.
The one that was surrendering pulled a wicked long knife and dropped it to the ground. I shuddered at the sight of the knife. The other assassin I had dropped didn't move.
I addressed the man still standing who was armed. “We do this the easy way or the hard.”
He hesitated in indecision, than wisely chose to drop his handgun. My finger had been tightening on the trigger.
I checked the one in the backyard and if he wasn't dead, he was doing a good imitation of it with the puddle of blood pooling in the dust.
"OK, now go over to your pal on the ground and pull all of his guns! Carefully!”
He was still looking around trying to spot my position but he did go over to his wounded buddy who had now risen to kneel in the dirt.
After he threw a pistol into the bushes, I commanded him to help his friend and move over to the driveway.
According to Hazel and Gus there had only been three. I had found four and hopefully I had all of them, but there was no certainty.
I figured the Arabs were far enough from the guns so I switched to the STI and rapidly descended the tree while keeping them in view. Once on the ground, I felt better, but more exposed now that they knew my position. These were vicious trained professional killers.
I walked over to the pile of guns and kicked the guns further away.
I approached the three that I had cornered being careful to maintain distance. A mistake often seen on television is the person controlling with the gun gets too close. Television can get a person killed.
I bent down to pick up the last pistol that had been thrown and in this moment of inattention, the one that I had hit in the leg made a bid.
It seems he also had a knife. I was really tired of knives. I barely saw it coming as he lunged.
I hit center of mass and he dropped like a rag doll.
I ordered the unwounded men, "Step over to the right… Further than that if you plan on living.”
I moved to his buddy, kicked him in the side for signs of life, and tossed the knife into the brush.
"Any other surprises? You have any more guns, knives? Looks to me like Abdul over there is not going to make it."
The nearest prisoner interrupted, "His name is…."
I stopped him short. “The name doesn't matter as he's not getting a headstone. If the sheriff doesn't want his body I'll drag it into a ravine, pour pig grease over his carcass and let the raven's pick his bones clean. My country, my rules."
He blanched and mumbled something, so I asked, "Care to repeat that?"
He spit. "INFIDEL!"
"Whatever, but I'm a live one. Now we wait."
"What do we wait for?"
"The sheriff should be rolling up soon."
We didn't have long to wait. A dusty old black pickup came rolling up the drive. Hazel was driving with Ralph riding shotgun. Four men in back bristled with guns. The truck rolled to a stop in a cloud of dust. My mountain was getting busy.
Sam who seemed to be leading this party hopped out of the back of the truck, "Matt, Hazel told us you were in a peck of trouble. Thought you might need some help. He glanced from my two prisoners to the dead one. "Looks like we may be a little late."
“I told you he was starting a war,” Hazel yelled exiting the truck. “Were they after the gold?”
I suggested, “You might check the backyard. Be careful, I think there’s another dead one but you never know. They invented the word treachery."
Sam smiled, “Was it a war?”
“More like they decided to commit suicide by breaking into my home. I’m calling it self-defense, but we will let Ralph decide.”
Two of the guys went into the back and were not gone long. "Yep, dead as a coon. What happened? Is she right? Did a war start?"
"They started it. I finished it. Their guns are in a pile over there."
"Care to watch these guys for me? If they move do me a favor and shoot them." The prisoner rolled his eyes at this but I had a feeling he would be submissive.
The sheriff, walked the crime scene, inspected the bodies, and stared down the live ones.” "What trouble have you gotten yourself into?" he asked the prisoner.
The Arab tried blaming me, "He started it. He butchered my friends."
"Guy, we've known Matt,” he corrected himself, “Jonah a long time and he always seemed a peaceable fellow." He sighed, looking at me, “Sometimes it’s the quiet ones.”
He stared harder at the prisoner. "Not from around here are you?"
Ralph looked at me again harder. "You don't look very scared."
"I told you the situation. Maybe, I'm tired of being scared."
"Well, I'll bring these in and get their story.” He gestured at the other bodies. “Guys, throw the bodies in the back of the truck.
“Matt, next time you are in town stop by and we will take care of the paperwork.” He kicked the body, “Looks like self-defense to me.”
Before the sheriff rolled out with the last survivors, I went to the truck and addressed the Arab that spoke English. "You can tell whoever hired you not to send anyone around again. I’m tired of this shit. You can consider yourself lucky to be alive. If they pursue me, it won’t be pretty. I’ll be coming after them."
The sheriff asked me. “Are you threatening someone?”
“I’m not making a threat,” I gave the prisoners a real hard look that I hoped would make his skin crawl. “Just a promise.”
Laurel
Hazel, the oldest resident of Laurel, squinted into the weak sun hearing the drone of a plane. She was not expecting any flights today, and as snow was predicted, She felt justifiable curious. When nothing much ever happens something out of the ordinary like this begs attention.
Her friend Janice, who was also the town's gossip, was always going on about Hazel minding her own business. “Heaven knows, there's not much in this town that is not her business,” she thought.
She knew the plane. The Super Cub belonged to Peaks Aviation over in Juneau. The blue painted bird banked a slow circle checking landing conditions on the lake.
The pilot, Gus, had been worried about beating the storm front, however agreed to make the flight after a lot of money was waved under his nose. His cooperation had conditions and he had warned, “If the weather goes bad we turn around.”
The predicted fast moving weather was now on the horizon filling the northern sky and he saw the first snow flurries sweeping the northern end of the lake.
Having checked the lake for floating debris and other hazards like swimming moose, he leaned the plane into a steep left bank lining the ship for final approach. Full flaps and he eased up a mite on the throttle. The small plane floated down and leveled. His little Super Cub could land on a dime. The plane completed the pass lining up on
final and touched down kicking up rooster trails of spray behind the plane’s floats.
Laurel is small. Back in the gold mining days it had a fair population, now not many people wanted to live this far in the back. The snow covered roofs of the Trading Post as the residents called it, Church, and Lodge almost disguised the town unless you knew where to look. The whole place was buried under the early snows of winter. The only roads were now ruts made by snowmobiles as the few cars in the village had already been put away for the winter. One old yellow school bus stood parked next to the school.
Not more than three dozen people lived in the village proper and maybe a score more in the outlying homesteader cabins. The population was digging in preparing to be isolated for the winter.
Gus turned to his passenger whom he had already profiled as a city slicker. Playing the tour guide, he pointed out the town of Laurel.
"There's Laurel." He used hard rudder to taxi the plane even closer and pointed "and the town dock where we will be landing."
Bush pilots are the only connection Laurel had with the outside world. This close to the arctic travel was difficult. Even if there was no snow, roads were muddy and slow going. During the winter, snow on the passes prevented most overland travel unless you were very desperate or had a bad case of cabin fever. It takes a special type of person to live isolated.
The town catered to hunters in the winter and fishermen in the spring. It was the last stop on the edge of the true wilderness. The town’s cottage industry was the brave sportsmen who travelled this far out on the ranges for large game and salmon.
"You would think they could at least radio when making an out of schedule delivery," Hazel grumbles to herself, taking off her shopkeeper’s apron before walking down hill to the town's dock. As put out as she was, she had a burning curiosity. The village got few visitors, especially unannounced.
By the time, Hazel made it to the dock the plane was taxing in. The pilot feathered the prop and with consummate skills developed over thirty years as a brush pilot coasted to the dock.
Several people had beaten Hazel to the dock braving the cold wind and beginning flurries of driven snow. An old man tossed a line to the pilot standing on a pontoon, who warped the plane in the last few yards. The arrival of a plane was always an event in the town.
