Last Man Standing

by Stephen Leather

‘It sounded human,’ said Standing.

  Bobby-Ray nodded. ‘Yeah.’ He picked up his hunting rifle.

  Standing ducked back into the bedroom and reappeared a few seconds later holding his Beretta. ‘Shall we wake up Kaitlyn?’ he whispered.

  He shook his head. ‘She’ll be safer inside.’

  They listened again but heard nothing.

  ‘The birds have gone quiet,’ whispered Bobby-Ray.

  ‘That’s a bad sign,’ said Standing.

  Bobby-Ray nodded. ‘Stick close,’ he said. ‘I’ll keep you away from the traps.’ He bent double as he ran out of the cabin to the edge of the clearing. Standing followed him, keeping the barrel of the Beretta pointing at the ground.

  40

  Ivchenko kept his hand clamped over his nephew’s mouth and hissed at him to stop struggling. Nesterov’s foot had gone through a thin layer of twigs and had been impaled by two sharpened sticks in the hole. The makeshift stakes had penetrated right through Nesterov’s Nikes and the foot inside. The stakes were smeared with blood but there was something else, too.

  ‘Shit,’ said Demidova, a look of distaste on her face. ‘He smeared the sticks with his own shit.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘To cause infection. Punji sticks they call them. It’s an old Viet Cong trick.’

  ‘What do we do?’ asked Ivchenko.

  ‘We can leave the sticks in until we get him to an emergency room, but if we do that he won’t be able to walk. If we pull the sticks out, he’ll bleed.’

  ‘He has to walk,’ said Ivchenko. He tightened his hand over his nephew’s mouth and whispered into his ear in Russian. ‘This will hurt, but it will be over soon.’ Nesterov began to struggle but Ivchenko held him firm. He nodded at Demidova. She grabbed Nesterov’s ankle and pulled hard. Nesterov went into spasm as she yanked the foot off the stakes.

  ‘Be a fucking man,’ hissed Ivchenko, in English this time.

  Nesterov was shaking and his eyes were closed. Ivchenko slowly released his grip on his nephew’s mouth. Nesterov’s face was wet with tears.

  Demidova undid the laces of Nesterov’s training shoe and pulled it off. Nesterov grunted and Ivchenko slapped his hand over his mouth again. Demidova took off Nesterov’s bloodstained sock, unscrewed the cap off a bottle of water and poured it over the injured foot.

  ‘We need to move,’ said Ivchenko, standing up. He prodded Nesterov with his foot. ‘Can you walk?’

  Nesterov nodded.

  ‘Then get your shoe back on and follow us,’ said Ivchenko. He nodded at Demidova. ‘Now we move, and we move quickly,’ said Ivchenko. ‘But we spread out. If they heard us they’ll be heading this way.’ He waved to the right and pointed at Sorokin and Tarasov. ‘That way.’ The two men grunted and started forcing their way through the vegetation on the right. ‘Petr, to the left.’ Okulov flashed him a thumbs-up and headed off.

  Demidova started following the track again and Ivchenko tucked in behind her, trying to follow exactly in her footsteps, his Uzi clasped to his chest.

  41

  Bobby-Ray stopped and held up his right hand, clenched into a fist. Standing froze. There was something moving through the undergrowth to their left. Bobby-Ray had his rifle at the ready, his head cocked to the side as he listened. There was more noise, off in the distance. The brushing of leaves and the snapping of a twig. Standing’s finger was on the trigger of his Beretta and he scanned his surroundings.

  Bobby-Ray unclenched his fist and moved forward. Standing followed him. A bush in front of them rustled and then a small deer dashed out, sprang to the side, leapt into the air and then ran between them. It disappeared off into the distance springing from side to side as if it feared they were chasing it.

  Bobby-Ray flashed Standing a tight smile and they started moving again. Bobby-Ray pointed ahead then gave Standing an ‘OK’ sign and pointed to the left, letting him know the area was safe to move through.

  They heard another rustle ahead of them and again they froze. Something was moving towards them and it was larger than the deer. They crouched down, senses on full alert.

  They caught a glimpse of a big man wearing a dark blue hoodie and jeans, cradling a MAC-10 with a large silencer. Bobby-Ray slowly hung his rifle across his shoulder using its sling and pulled his hunting knife from its scabbard. He looked over at Standing and Standing nodded. The quieter the better.

  The man approaching them clearly wasn’t used to walking through undergrowth and his progress was accompanied by the cracking of twigs and the rustling of leaves and the occasional Russian curse.

  Standing couldn’t hear anyone else nearby. They kept low until the man was almost on top of them and then Bobby-Ray sprang forward, pushing the MAC-10 to the side with his left hand and thrusting the knife into the man’s temple. Standing pulled the gun from the man’s grasp as Bobby-Ray lowered him to the floor. The man shuddered once and went still. They both froze, listening for any sign that they had been heard. Nothing.

  Bobby-Ray wiped the knife on the ground and then slotted it back into its scabbard. The MAC-10 was much heavier than the Beretta but with the silencer on it would make a lot less noise, so Standing decided to use it instead of his handgun. He shoved the Beretta into his belt. Bobby-Ray was already moving ahead, his rifle back in his hands.

  Standing checked the MAC-10. It was set to full automatic. With a fire rate of greater than a thousand rounds a minute it was the perfect way to waste ammunition. He flicked the selector switch to SEMI so that it would fire single shots.

  Bobby-Ray stopped again, made a fist and then pointed off to the left. Standing listened. Two people. Trying to move quietly but failing. Bobby-Ray pointed for Standing to go left while he would go straight ahead.

  Standing moved slowly, taking care where he placed his feet and trying to minimise contact with the bushes around him. He came across a massive cobweb, more than three feet across, with a black spider in the middle. He ducked under it, and when he straightened up he was looking at a big man holding a Kalashnikov AK-47 across his leather jacket. His eyes widened when he saw Standing but he was holding his gun awkwardly and he didn’t have his finger over the trigger, so Standing had all the time in the world to aim his MAC-10 and put a bullet in the centre of his face. The back of the man’s head exploded across the vegetation, glossy red against green, and he slumped to the ground. The silencer cut down on a lot of noise but it still made a loud popping sound.

  Standing heard another rustle to his left and then three quick crunching steps and another man appeared. He was holding a MAC-10, the twin of the one Standing was using. Standing kept his left hand on the insulated silencer for greater accuracy and shot the man just below the throat. Blood gushed down over his hoodie and splattered over his gun, which dropped to the ground. The man had just enough time to raise his hands to his throat before the life faded from his eyes and he buckled and fell into a bush.

  Bobby-Ray appeared at Standing’s side. ‘Nice work,’ he said appreciatively. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and picked up the dead man’s MAC-10. ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ he whispered.

  The two men stood stock still and listened. There was complete silence around them. They stayed where they were, breathing tidally, in and out with the least amount of movement, as they concentrated on their surroundings.

  42

  Gregory Nesterov winced as he finished tightening the lace on his Nike. He stood up slowly, then tried to put his weight on his injured foot. It hurt like hell and he could feel blood still oozing from the wound, but he was determined not to be left behind.

  He heard a popping sound in the distance, followed by another shortly afterwards. He frowned as he tried to make sense of the sounds. Tarasov and Okulov had silencers on their MAC-10s but they usually fired rapid bursts.

  Nesterov listened but didn’t hear anything else. He checked his phone again but there was no signal. He put his phone back in his pocket, bent down and picked up his Glock. He gritted
his teeth in pain as he straightened up. He took a step down the track, wincing again. He was going to make that bitch pay for this. His uncle had kept him away from the girl while he had her prisoner in his compound, but now it was clear she was up for grabs. He’d never had a deaf girl before and he wondered whether she’d be able to scream. He’d find out soon enough. But first he had to get to the cabin. He took another step, grunted, and then another. He’d make the bitch suffer before she died, he promised himself.

  43

  Standing could hear Bobby-Ray moving off to his right. The track was further off to the left and Standing was heading in that direction. Moving through dense vegetation was a tense business at the best of times, but when you knew there were men with guns heading towards you, the tension became almost unbearable. In a combat situation where bullets were flying and shells were exploding, Standing’s instincts would kick in and he would react without thinking. But moving through areas of limited visibility meant he had nothing to react to. All he could do was to wait for the enemy to appear.

  He took another two steps and then stopped and listened. He heard a rustle at his two o’clock but figured that was almost certainly Bobby-Ray. He moved his head slowly from side to side. The thickness of the vegetation where he was meant that he couldn’t see more than three feet ahead of him so he was depending on his ears. Something snapped over to his right. He turned towards the sound, his finger on the trigger of the MAC-10.

  He pushed forward slowly. An insect buzzed by his ear but he ignored it. Sweat was dripping down his forehead and he wiped it away with his left hand. As he brought his arm away he saw Ivchenko, holding what looked like an Uzi. Ivchenko roared and pulled the trigger, sending a hail of bullets that smacked through the bush to his left. The Uzi was notoriously difficult to control one-handed, especially when it was set on automatic. Standing got off a shot with his MAC-10 but he was also holding his weapon one-handed and his shot whizzed over the Russian’s head.

  Ivchenko continued to spray bullets and Standing had to dive to the side, hitting the ground hard. He brought the MAC-10 up but all he could see was vegetation. He rolled over and came up in a crouch. The firestorm had stopped but almost immediately he heard the click of an empty magazine being ejected, followed by the click-clack of a fresh one being rammed home.

  He heard two loud pops over to his right. That had to be Bobby-Ray’s MAC-10 but there was no way of knowing if he’d hit his target.

  Standing stayed low, sweeping his limited area of vision with his gun, his finger tensing on the trigger.

  Something snapped over to his left and he whirled around but there was nothing to see, just bushes and trees. Then the leaves on the bush next to him exploded as bullets ripped through them and again he had to dive to avoid the carnage. He hit the ground and rolled and came up next to a redwood. He kept the tree at his back as he got up. The volley of bullets came to an end and once more he heard the metallic clicks as the magazine was replaced.

  He heard a crack off to his left and a bullet thwacked into the tree so close to his head that fragments of bark peppered his temple.

  A man was shooting at him with a Kalashnikov that looked like an AK-47 but the sound was slightly off and he figured that it was probably a lower-calibre AK-74. He ducked just as a second round thwacked into the tree. He fired twice but the shooter had already disappeared. He bobbed his head from side to side, trying to see through the vegetation but it was too dense.

  He moved away from the tree and as he did, the figure with the AK-74 popped up again, further over to his left. The carbine was up but Standing fired first. This time he had his left hand on the silencer to help absorb the recoil and he saw the round smack into the shoulder of his target. Then Bobby-Ray was on his feet rushing towards the figure, firing three times as he ran. All three hit their target and the figure fell back in a shower of blood.

  Standing moved forward, knowing that Ivchenko was still in the vicinity with a fresh magazine in place. Bobby-Ray disappeared from view again.

  Standing heard movement ahead but relaxed when he realised it was the figure with the Kalashnikov, twitching before death. As he got closer, Standing saw it was a woman, though her features were so masculine there had been no way of knowing that when he was shooting her. Not that it would have made a difference to the outcome. She had been trying to kill them and that was all that mattered. As Standing looked down at her she went still.

  There was the rustle of vegetation off to his left and he swung his MAC-10 towards the sound. Ivchenko’s tendency to fire off a whole clip at random made him far more dangerous than a professional soldier firing off single shots; there was no way of predicting when he’d fire or in what direction.

  A twig cracked. Then another. Standing tensed and ducked down, his subconscious making himself a smaller target, even though the calculating part of his brain knew that it would make precious little difference if the Russian unloaded the weapon in his direction.

  Despite the pressure he was under, his heart was beating normally and his breathing was slow and regular. He wasn’t scared, or even worried. He had a task to do and he would carry out that task to the best of his ability until he was either successful or no longer capable of carrying it out.

  There was a sudden thudding sound at his one o’clock, followed by another. It wasn’t footfall, something had been thrown and he realised it was almost certainly Bobby-Ray, trying to cause a diversion. He was throwing something, rocks maybe, in the hope of attracting the Russian’s attention. Standing took another step forward and then moved around a clump of saplings. He caught a glimpse of black between the fronds of a bush ahead of him and then he saw Ivchenko, his Uzi held out in front of him with both hands. Ivchenko tensed as he heard two more rocks fly through the undergrowth and thud into the forest floor.

  Standing took a step forward to get a better view but his foot cracked a twig and Ivchenko started to turn. His head turned before his body and his eyes widened when he saw Standing. Standing’s finger was already on the trigger and his left hand was holding the silencer steady. He squeezed off one shot and the round smacked into the Russian’s shoulder. The Uzi started to fire but Ivchenko wasn’t aiming, it was an automatic reaction to the shock of being hit. Standing fired again as Ivchenko continued to turn and the round clipped a chunk off the top of the Russian’s head. Ivchenko was only about forty feet away but the MAC-10 was inaccurate at the best of times. The Uzi was still spraying bullets but most of them were thudding into the ground. Standing tightened his grip on the MAC-10, took aim again, and fired two shots in quick succession that both hit Ivchenko in the chest. The Uzi dropped from his fingers and the Russian fell backwards, arms outstretched, collapsing into a bush.

  Standing’s eyes were watering from the cordite in the air and he blinked away tears as he scanned left and right, wondering if it was over or if there was more to come.

  44

  Gregory Nesterov limped into the clearing. He could feel his training shoe filling with blood and he knew that moving was only making it worse, but he gritted his teeth and ignored his pain. He heard more rapid shooting off to his left as he walked slowly towards the cabin. It sounded like his uncle’s Uzi. Sweat was pouring down his face and he was finding it hard to breathe; it was as if his chest was being held in an unforgiving vice.

  The door to the cabin was closed and there didn’t seem to be anyone around. He gently eased open the door and moved inside. His injured foot was throbbing but his heart was pounding and he barely felt the pain as he waved his Glock around, covering all the corners. There were two doors, one closed and one ajar. He moved to the open door. It was a bedroom, with bunk beds. Empty.

  He turned and went back into the main room and over to the closed door. He held the gun in his right hand as he turned the handle with his left. The door was heavy and opened with a slight squeak. There were curtains over the single window but enough light was coming in to illuminate the figure lying on the bed. His heart pounded.
It was the girl. She was wearing a white T-shirt and had her arms over the top of her blankets, her hair sprawled across the pillow. He licked his lips and when he swallowed he realised his mouth had gone dry. He felt himself growing hard as he thought about what he planned to do to her.

  ‘Hey, dickhead.’

  Nesterov turned to see Bobby-Ray Barnes in the doorway behind him.

  ‘Not planning on hurting my sister, are you?’

  Nesterov swung up his gun but Bobby-Ray already had the MAC-10 trained on Nesterov’s chest and he pulled the trigger. The round ripped through Nesterov’s heart. He crumpled and fell to the floor.

  Standing joined Bobby-Ray at the doorway. ‘I think that’s the lot,’ he said.

  ‘For the moment,’ said Bobby-Ray. ‘They’re not going to stop, Matt. This isn’t over by a long way.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Standing. He went over to the bedroom door and looked at the bed, where Kaitlyn was still fast asleep, her blonde hair in disarray over her pillow. He smiled and shook his head. ‘She didn’t hear a thing.’

  ‘That’s kinda the definition of deaf,’ said Bobby-Ray, patting him on the shoulder. ‘What do we do now? We’ve got six bodies. Do we call the cops?’

  ‘I don’t see how us calling the cops helps us. We don’t know if we can trust the cops up here any more than the LAPD.’

  ‘Do you want to bury them? We’ve got shovels.’

  ‘What about the lake?’ said Standing. ‘It’ll be easier and quicker.’

  Bobby-Ray nodded. ‘Probably best,’ he said, closing the bedroom door. ‘Let’s see if we can get it done before sleeping beauty wakes up.’

  45

  It took Standing and Bobby-Ray the best part of two hours to dispose of the bodies of the dead gangsters. They carried them one by one to the lakeside and lined them up, side by side, close to the small boat. They filled the pockets of the corpses with rocks and then took them two at a time out into the middle of the lake. Before rolling them over the side and into the water, they used knives to puncture the lungs and slit open their stomachs. Bodies swelled up when they decomposed and allowing the gases to escape would keep the bodies on the bottom of the lake.