Holding Their Own IV: The Ascent

by Joe Nobody

  Standing helpless on the street, Pete watched the off-road machines grow smaller and smaller in the distance. “Why didn’t you shoot, Pete?” asked one of the first helpers to arrive.

  “They had Terri, and I might have hit her by accident. I never had a clear angle.”

  “Do you know who those guys were? Why would they want to take Terri?”

  Pete didn’t answer, instead lowering his head, and then slowly walking over to perch on the guardrail bordering the street.

  One of the men stepped over, concern showing on the gent’s face. “Hey, Pete, you okay?”

  Pete looked up with sad eyes and mumbled, “I’m not looking forward to telling my friend we let someone kidnap his wife.”

  Pete rushed about inside the bar, trying to organize a posse. Motor vehicles were in short supply in Meraton, anything capable of off-road travel rarer still. Someone had recommended horses, and messengers had been sent to several outlying homes and ranches, soliciting help.

  Being a retired cop, Pete had questioned Betty and Kevin, the wounded boy still in a partial state of shock. He had also walked the crime scene, noticing Terri’s spent shell casing, the wires from the Taser, and the lack of blood anywhere in the area. He surmised that Terri had hit her target, but the assailant had no doubt been wearing body armor.

  Terri’s 9mm pistol was left behind, further evidence that the men who abducted her weren’t common criminals. These days, any firearm was valuable, and everyone knew it.

  A hundred things were happening at once, including speculation on the range of the getaway ATVs, where they would take Terri and even one person suggesting a courier be sent to Fort Bliss to ask for a search via helicopter.

  Frustrated by a lack of resources, it soon dawned on Pete that any effort to rescue Terri was hopeless. Every minute that went by gave the kidnappers more of a head start, and the trail would quickly grow cold. There simply wasn’t any way to organize enough men and transportation to be effective.

  Pete considered opening the bar’s floor safe and retrieving the directions to Bishop’s ranch. He could send some men to fetch Bishop and Nick, but no one knew for sure where the two men were headed. Besides, Bishop was already furious over the place’s whereabouts being known by whoever attacked yesterday. Increasing the number of people who knew the secret location would make things worse. Even if he did risk sending someone, by the time they made the round trip, the kidnappers’ trail would be cold.

  The only positive aspect of the morning was the arrival of two Beltron ranch hands, the men taking the day off to shop in the market and refresh themselves at the bar. Excited by the furlough, they had left the distant spread before sunrise, riding their horses into town less than an hour after the crime.

  Pete knew both of the men were expert hunters and experienced with the surrounding terrain. Both had eagerly agreed to follow Terri’s abductors as best they could. Watching the two horsemen ride off, Pete was somewhat relieved to at least being doing something, even though he doubted the horseflesh could catch up with the motorized kidnappers.

  Before their departure, Pete had issued a serious warning to the two cowpokes while holding his hands a few inches apart from each other. “These guys came that close to killing Bishop at his ranch. They shot Kevin. They carried smoke grenades, Tasers, and assault weapons. Don’t try to be heroes—you’ll end up dead. Just trail them, find out where they went, and get back here. We’ll decide what to do then.”

  It was late afternoon before Bishop pulled the truck into the parking lot behind The Manor.

  “Hey,” Bishop teased, “do you think my head wound qualifies me to park in the handicapped spot?”

  “I don’t know if I would be earitating Betty if I were you.”

  Tired from the long trip and anxious to see Kevin and Terri, the two travelers stepped down from the cab and stretched their stiff arms and legs.

  As they made their way to the front entrance of The Manor, Bishop noticed that the few men who were around avoided eye contact with him, prompting a comment to Nick that he’d better take a shower as soon as possible.

  “What’s going on?” Nick noticed as well. “I thought these people liked you.”

  A small crowd of locals was gathered around the front steps of The Manor. Nick noticed several people looking down and avoiding eye contact with the approaching duo. “Something’s wrong.”

  Pete separated himself from the group, walking briskly to intercept the two men. Focusing on Bishop, Pete said, “Bishop, I’m sorry to tell you this, but. . . .”

  “Terri?”

  Pete looked down and spread his arms in frustration. “Bishop, we tried to stop them. They took her from Kevin’s room and . . . .”

  “Terri!”

  Bishop meant to shove past Pete, but the stout bartender put his hand on Bishop’s chest and stopped him. “Bishop, they grabbed her about an hour after sunrise and headed northeast. I’ve got men out …”

  Bishop’s head started swimming, the result of a massive adrenaline surge and the shock of the news. Staggering a half step, Nick and Pete quickly moved to stabilize their friend.

  While Bishop began mumbling half-formed questions, Nick and Pete bracketed him and made for the hotel’s lobby. Pete told Nick, “Kevin’s okay, but still a little shocked. He can’t hear real well because Terri got off a shot in that little room, but the doc says he’ll be okay.”

  The two men managed to get Bishop into a chair, and one of the women fetched some water from the kitchen. After he was sure his friend was stable, Nick headed for the stairs. Pete warned, “Nick, Betty is standing guard with her shotgun in Kevin’s room. Give her some warning.”

  Nick nodded and proceeded to take the stairs two at a time.

  “Betty,” he shouted from the top of the steps, “it’s Nick. I’m coming in.”

  “Dad!” Kevin looked up, flashes of relief crossing his face. “Oh, God, dad! They took Terri!”

  Nick moved immediately to embrace his son. “I know son, I heard. How are you? You doing okay?”

  Kevin started weeping in his father’s arms. Between the sobs he managed to blurt out, “I tried to stop them, Dad . . . I couldn’t move . . . it was the same man who shot me in Alpha.”

  Nick soothed his son’s hair, answering each statement with, “I know, son . . . It’s okay . . . I know. . . .”

  Bishop recovered quickly, becoming ultra-cold and logical. “Pete, tell me what you know so far, please.”

  During Pete’s retelling of the morning’s events, Bishop didn’t stir or blink, his breathing remained even. The only sign of the fury surging through the man’s veins was the white-knuckled grip being applied to his chair. When Pete finished, Bishop had questions.

  “Pete, did one of the men carry a SCAR rifle?”

  “I don’t know, Bishop, what’s a SCAR?”

  Bishop went to the hotel’s front desk and retrieved a piece of paper and pencil. He quickly made a rough sketch, showing Pete a drawing of a modern looking battle rifle with a folding stock.

  “Yes . . . yes, one of them did have a rifle that looked like that.”

  Bishop nodded, now sure it was the same men who had attacked the ranch, 99% sure it was the same men who broke into their room at Fort Bliss.

  “Pete, how long have the cowboys been tracking them?”

  “They left about an hour after the kidnapping, so roughly eight hours.”

  Bishop paced back and forth across the lobby floor, his path taking him from the front window and back to his chair. “Pete, I know you and Betty did your best. I’m not upset with you. I just can’t figure out what to do. I’ve never felt so helpless.”

  “Bishop, the good news is the doc doesn’t think the shock from the Taser would harm Terri or the baby.”

  Bishop nodded, thankful for the small bit of positive thinking. “I’m trying to figure out where they would take her. They clearly have access to equipment like ATVs. They must have a pretty good supply of fuel as well.”<
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  Terri remained conscious throughout most of the affair, but without the use of her limbs, she couldn’t fight back. She slowly regained the control of her body during the ATV trip, but having her hands bound during the unstable ride didn’t afford much opportunity to resist, let alone any attempt at escape.

  Halfway through the journey, she decided to make her captor’s life miserable using the only weapon she had at her disposal—vocal cords.

  “What kind of cowardly man uses a Taser on a pregnant woman? Can you just tell me that? Do you have any idea of what my husband will do to you once he finds you? He’ll skin you and your friends alive and boil your bones in his piss …”

  The driver of the ATV listened in silence for the first four or five minutes, never acknowledging a word she said. She was about to give up, when the man took a hand off the handlebars and reached to his side. Producing a large knife, the thug held it in front of Terri’s face, and said, “I’ll cut your cheek meat into thin slices if you don’t shut up. You won’t be so pretty once I’m done. It’s your call.”

  Something in the man’s voice convinced Terri that he’d actually do it, so she decided to be quiet. Besides, she had practically exhausted her extensive repertoire of insults anyway.

  For what seemed like hours, the three ATVs roared across open desert, climbed foothills, and skirted around deep canyons. The constant bouncing, jarring ride, combined with her physical condition, caused Terri’s bladder to work overtime. She half turned to the rider and announced, “I’m a pregnant lady, and I’ve got to use the bathroom.” Her request was ignored by her chauffer. Less than a minute later, she tried again. “I can pee all over both of us, or you can stop and let me go behind the bushes. It’s your call.”

  After a few moments, the driver zoomed to the front and held up his hand, signaling a stop.

  Terri was roughly lifted off the ATV and practically carried a few feet off the path. The man unbuttoned the top of her jeans and despite her protests, yanked her pants below her knees. He grabbed Terri’s jaw with an extremely strong grip and hissed, “Shut up and piss.”

  Terri glanced at the two other riders, the smirks on their faces indicating they weren’t going to be gentlemen and look away.

  “I can’t go with someone watching me. It’s called bashful kidneys,” she announced with a defiant tone.

  “Whatever. You’re not going to run far with your pants around your knees.”

  And with that, her captor turned away and walked toward the other two riders. “Give her a break,” he growled.

  A few minutes later, they were bouncing across the desert again.

  With her hands behind her back, Terri tried to think of anything she could do to facilitate her escape or rescue. She recalled writing down a shopping list of items she could use at the camper, her intent being to visit Meraton’s market before the day’s end. Slowly, as the ATV jolted from side to side, she managed to feel inside her back pocket, and tear off a small scrap of the paper. When she was sure the trail diverted the driver’s attention from her actions, she let a small piece blow free in the wind. It was probably useless, but she had to try.

  As often as possible, Terri dropped a paper-breadcrumb, her hopes being that anyone trying to follow the kidnappers would come across her litter.

  Doing something to resist helped her fight the despair that was welling up inside of her. As the hours passed, and they traveled further and further away from Meraton, Terri realized her chances of rescue were dwindling. Anguish soon gave way to desperation, which was quickly followed by an overriding sense of gloom.

  Eventually the three vehicles pulled into what appeared to be a warehouse, the building accessible via a little-used exit off of a major interstate. Given the direction and distance of their travel, Terri assumed the big highway was I-10. The large metal building didn’t have any signage or distinguishing marks, apparently having gone out of business some time ago. Her captors had evidently been using the abandoned facility for some time as someone lifted a loading dock door upon their approach.

  Terri noted all of the windows had been covered with tin foil, probably to block any light leaking out after dark. Once the three ATVs were inside, the door was pulled down; the silence seemed odd after so many hours of listening to the roar of engines.

  Again, her dignity was insulted as her captor lifted her off the seat with little effort. Making sure she was standing, the brut spun her around and got up close to her face.

  “I’m going to explain this to you one time, and one time only. You are going to be questioned by the boss. He’ll be here soon. Until then, if you try and escape or cause me one iota of bullshit, I’ll bleed you. I’ll do it slow and make you wish you were dead. After the boss is done, it’s his call what happens to you. Do you understand?”

  Terri shook her hair away from her eyes, and looked up at the man with a harsh expression. “And who’s this boss of yours? What does he want to know?”

  With a movement so fast, Terri didn’t have time to flinch; the knife was on her cheek. “No questions. Keep your mouth shut.”

  Terri nodded her head in agreement; the cold steel against her face was very pervasive.

  “Good,” the man said, and then nodded at one of his comrades.

  Terri was taken to a dark doorway, the entrance to what was a completely empty room except for a five-gallon bucket and a gallon milk jug full of water. Her escort cut the nylon tie restraining her hands and then shoved her inside.

  “The bucket is the head, the water is to drink.” Then the man closed and locked the door behind her.

  Terri paced around the room a few times, the damp, dark cell having no windows or other features of note. Despite a comfortable temperature outside, she felt cold—the foreboding situation and dark quarters causing her to wrap her arms tightly around herself as she paced.

  After a few trips around the clammy concrete floor, Terri took the potty-bucket, flipped it upside down, and made a stool. Her dire predicament beginning to crush any sense of well-being, Terri’s primary concern was for her unborn child. She really didn’t feel any fear over what these evil men had in store for her, and honestly told herself that she would sacrifice her life right now if it would guarantee the child’s survival.

  Terri’s eyes grew wet as she thought about the future and wondered if Bishop would be able to find her. “You can’t count on that,” she mumbled quietly. “You can only count on yourself.”

  There was also a bit of anger in her soul. She hadn’t done anything to anyone as far as she knew. She was completely unworthy of kidnapping. Fear of not being able to provide whatever these men wanted began to creep in. Would they kill her and the baby after convincing themselves she didn’t know or have anything of value?

  Terri had never felt so alone before. The walls of the room seemed to draw closer and closer. All she could do was pray.

  Meraton, Texas

  January 6, 2016

  The sun had set over an hour ago, and Bishop was about at the end of his rope. Pete had been convincing, using the logic that everyone should just wait until the trackers returned. As dusk had passed to night, Pete’s argument had made even more sense, given the chances of a misidentification leading to an accidental shooting were higher at night.

  Betty and Nick had done their best to sooth Bishop’s nerves, the former pouring an endless supply of coffee while the latter repeating, “We’ll get them brother . . . if there’s a God in heaven, we will find them . . . and when we do. . . .”

  The sound of hooves galloping down Main Street drew everyone to The Manor’s front windows. Over a dozen men had gathered, many riding in on horseback and prepared to give chase. Each time another had arrived, Bishop rushed to the glass, hoping it was the trackers returning with news. This time, it was.

  Bishop was outside before the men could even dismount, his face eager for news of his missing wife. The older cowboy spoke up first. “We found a trail; we’re pretty sure your wife left us clues.”


  “Did you find them?”

  “No, sir. But we’ve got a good idea of where they’re at.” Reaching in his pocket, the younger cowboy pulled out three small scraps of paper.

  “We found these little pieces of paper spread along the trail. They kept us on track over solid rock until we could pick up their tire tracks in the sand again. We ran out of daylight, but I’m sure they were headed for the old Robinson garage up by I-10.”

  Bishop wasn’t familiar with the place, and his expression indicated as much. He started to ask more questions, but the old tracker said he could explain better with a cup of coffee and a map. Seeing that the men and horses were exhausted, Bishop held his tongue until the trackers could get some caffeine.

  Pete unfolded a map on The Manor’s pool table and everyone gathered around while Betty filled two cups. After a few sips of coffee, the older man continued. “Those machines they were riding have limits on what terrain they can cover. We use ’em out at the ranch all the time. Sometimes, in rugged country, ya just can’t beat a horse.”

  Pointing toward the map, the man continued. “That ruled out this whole section of the Glass Mountains—there’s just no place to go, even with a horse. So, we picked up the first tire tracks about here.”

  The younger man joined in. “Over here is where I found the first piece of paper. I thought at first it was just random trash, but a half mile further north, I found a second one. It was right beside a tire track and the same type of paper.”

  “We found the third scrap all the way up here, and if you connect the three dots, they make a straight line.”

  After another sip of coffee, the man continued. “We rode until it got to dark and found the last tire track five miles south of Robinson’s old place. That’s the only shelter for several miles either direction and would be a good place to hide out. Pete told us not to be heroes, so we turned around and came back.”