Let the Hunt Begin

by Alex Ander

  Devlin withdrew from the saddle-mounted scabbard her fully loaded Henry Big Boy—weighed down by eleven extra cartridges in loops on the ammo carrier—before resting the buttstock on her right thigh, the gun’s muzzle pointing skyward.

  *******

  FIVE MINUTES LATER...

  Spotting footprints in the snow, Devlin got down from Sophia.

  Dismounting, Randall eyed the tracks. “They’re fresh.”

  Her eyes following the deep marks from the cabin, down a rolling slope, and toward the north, “They lead away from the cabin, but,” she shouldered her long gun, “let’s not take any chances.”

  Randall drew his Walther and followed her. “Who goes in first?”

  “That would be me.”

  “Why do you get to have all the fun?”

  “Since when is getting shot first fun?” She motioned toward the door.

  He threw it open.

  Devlin charged in swinging the Henry left and right, “U.S. Marshals,” her gaze taking in the entirety of the tiny interior in a fleeting look. “Clear.”

  Observing the same emptiness, Randall holstered his weapon and made a quick pass around the space, noticing an unkempt bed and furnishings strewn around before he squatted and lifted a hand in front of the fireplace. “It’s still hot. I think whoever was here didn’t even bother to extinguish the fire before leaving. I can still see red embers. They must’ve just left.”

  “Which means,” she gave the area another visual inspection, “if Hammer stayed here last night, then we’re closing in on him.” She spun on her heels. “Come on.”

  Outside, three feet away from their transportation, hearing her phone ringing, Devlin retrieved the device and saw ‘Faith’ on the screen. “Hello, Faith. Long time. What’s up?”

  In Devlin’s ear: crackling and garbled speech.

  “Hello? Can you hear me, Fay? You’re breaking up. Hello?” She glimpsed her cell and saw one bar before putting the mobile to her cheek. “If you can hear me, we’re,” she did a quick mental calculation of the distance she and Randall had traveled, “in the mountains about twenty-five miles northeast of Elmer, Idaho...heading north. We can’t be far from the Canadian border. We’ve been tracking Hammer for...”

  The phone beeped in her ear.

  “...the—” Devlin eyed the screen and saw ‘No Signal’ displayed. “I lost her.”

  Having mounted Sophia, Randall moseyed the horse up to his partner and stretched out his left hand. “Let’s get going.”

  She squeezed his forearm, stuck her left foot into the stirrup, and pushed off with her other leg.

  He pulled.

  She settled into her spot behind him and slid the Big Boy back into the scabbard.

  Randall nudged the steed with his boots.

  The animal went to a walk before going to a trot upon receiving the corresponding prompt from its rider.

  He steered Sophia along the blemishes in the snow. “Maybe we can go a bit faster and close this guy’s lead on us quicker.”

  *******

  6:53 A.M.

  In the last hour, having alternated Sophia’s gait between walking and trotting—but favoring the walking pace—Devlin and Randall had traveled four miles in deep snow. He pulled on the horse’s reins. “Whoa. Whoa.”

  The equine stopped to the right of a large fallen tree and began eating snow.

  He swung his right leg over the animal’s head and jumped to the ground.

  She dismounted in the normal manner.

  He hauled out a water bottle from his jacket pocket. “Well, Soph, old girl, I’ve been saving this for you.” Not having come across any water sources since shortly after departing from their overnight shelter and knowing the horse would have a hard time eating enough snow to satisfy its requirements, Randall glanced around while unscrewing the cap. “Seems this is as good a time as any to crack it open.”

  Devlin shook her head, “Great minds...” and handed over one of the water bottles Bentley had stowed in her jacket pockets. “Here. You can add the one I’ve been saving for her as well.”

  He took the container and set it on the tree trunk. “You’re just trying to get on her good side.”

  “What do you mean trying?” She patted the horse’s neck. “She knows I’m the one who saved her from those wolves.”

  “Excuse me?” He continued pouring small amounts of liquid into his palm while Sophia lapped it up. “I was right there with you.”

  “Yeah, but I,” she cocked her head and half closed an eye at him, “took out more of them than you did. So, I think,” she stroked fur, “Sophia likes me best.”

  Sniggering, “You think so, huh?” Randall placed the now empty bottle in the snow on the log before opening the full bottle and filling his palm. “Well, when this is all over, we’ll see which one of us she lik—”

  A gunshot rang out.

  The plastic container on the log flew into the air.

  Devlin and Randall dropped to the ground behind the fallen tree and drew their pistols.

  Sophia ran into the forest ten yards away.

  A string of gunfire.

  Bits and pieces of bark sailed over the agents’ heads.

  They ducked down further.

  Randall glimpsed his partner. “That’s a five-five-six.”

  “I know. And Hammer had an AR-15 slung over his back at that cabin.” Devlin shuffled backwards on her left hip, away from Randall, along the length of their cover, then craned her neck to peek over it. “Looks like,” she dipped down again, “he might be set up in a stand of trees on the opposite side of that crossroad up ahead.”

  More incoming rounds strafed the snow ahead of the log.

  Randall fired back. “I saw muzzle flashes. He’s in the middle of that stand of pines on our eleven o’clock, fifty feet up the hill.” The deputy marshal scooted right, raised his gun, peeked above his cover, emptied the Walther, and fell onto his back.

  Devlin returned fire from around the left end of the tree.

  5.56mm bullets tore up the snow around her.

  She rolled behind the horizontal tree.

  Randall inserted a fresh magazine into his PPQ45 and ran the slide forward.

  Devlin performed a tactical reload and stowed the partial in her jacket pocket. “Cover me. I’m going to make a run for Sophia and get my rifle.”

  “Forget that. You’ll never make it.”

  “I’m a fast runner. I did track and field in high school...even took home a state championship in the long jump.”

  Randall pivoted his head toward the woods, his mind estimating the distance. “That’s awesome, but unless you can jump thirty feet in twelve inches of snow, I’m here to tell you...you ain’t never going to mak—”

  “I only want the horse,” said a distant male voice. “Walk away, and I won’t shoot you. You have my word.”

  On his backside, the top of his head a few inches from tree bark, Randall pointed his chin toward the sky and shouted over the wood. “No offense, but your marksmanship doesn’t exactly have me trembling in my boots.”

  Devlin shook her head at her partner. “There you go again...provoking our enemies.”

  “Helps to throw them off balance, mentally.” He smiled. “Plus, it’s fun.”

  She raised her voice. “You’ve robbed three banks and murdered two people. We’re not walking away.”

  Hammer: “I didn’t kill those people. Samantha did.”

  Randall frowned at his partner. “Why do they always want to split hairs? Do they not know what it means to be an accessory?” He looked toward Hammer’s position and hollered at the unseen man. “I’ll tell you what. How about you drop your rifle and come out with your hands up? And I promise I won’t beat you to a pulp with your own weapon.”

  Gunfire.

  Wood splinters flew into the air above his face.

  Randall turned away then came back when the shooting stopped. “A simple ‘No’ would’ve sufficed!” He trundled onto his be
lly. “Target practice is over.” He planted hands in the snow as if he were about to do a push-up. “You know how pissed off I get when people point guns at me? Well, I get doubly P-Oed when those guns go off. I’m making a run for the rifle. Give me a head start, will you? Send some rounds downrang—”

  Devlin lunged right to grab a handful of his clothing. “You’re not going anywhere. You said it yourself. That’s too much ground to cover. He’s got a rifle and most likely a variable power scope dialed in on our location. As soon as you stand up, you’ll be like one of those yellow duckies at a carnival shooting gallery.” She gave him a firm tug on the arm of his jacket. “Stay put. You hear me?”

  “Is that an order?”

  “Does it need to be?”

  He regarded her for a short spell. “Are you this strict with your daughter?”

  “Don’t have to be. She’s more mature.”

  He turned away from her. “Wish I could argue that point.”

  Devlin stole a peek over the log then dipped back down. He’s got the high ground, better cover, and a rifle. She saw Sophia among the trees while picturing the Henry in the saddle scabbard. We need to even these odds. She ran through possible options in her mind then shook her head. They’re all terrible.

  “You know, I never could hit those dang ducks at the carnival. And I was a pretty good shot, too. I’ll bet the carnies had those gun sights all jacked up, so customers like me couldn’t—”

  “Quiet.”

  He faced her. “Oh, so you get to brag about your high school glory days in the long jump, but I can’t talk about—”

  “No. I mean be quiet. I think I hear something coming.”

  Randall turned an ear toward the northeast. “Yeah.” A tick. “I hear it, too.”

  “Sounds like an engine. A four-wheeler?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  The noise grew louder.

  He risked a look over the trunk. “I believe that’s a snowmobile.”

  Ten seconds later, its headlight on, a snowmobile came out of the woods, met up with the east-west trail, then traveled westward.

  Devlin caught sight of the machine on her two o’clock. When it reached her one o’clock, she saw a figure carrying a rifle emerge from the trees on the north side of the crossroad. She went to her knees. “It’s Hammer. He’s going to...”

  *******

  Duke Hammer ran into the road, fired three rounds at the ground in front of the oncoming snowmobile, then pointed the AR-15 at the rider’s head.

  The rider slammed on the brakes.

  Hammer dragged the man in a black one-piece snowsuit off the sled, hopped on, and mashed the thumb throttle.

  Its engine whining, the snow craft took off along the trail, heading west.

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 38

  My Job

  Darting into the woods to find Sophia eating snow, Devlin weaved around a couple trees and made a beeline for the horse. Ten feet from the animal’s left-rear leg, she jumped onto a downed oak, ran along the level log, and leapfrogged over the beast’s hind quarters, landing in the saddle a quarter-second later.

  Sophia raised her front legs off the ground.

  “Easy, girl. It’s just me.” Devlin leaned forward to snatch the reins then initiated a one-eighty left-hand pivot before nudging the animal with her feet and steering it out of the woods.

  Randall met up with his partner. “What’re you doing, Jess?”

  “My job.” She gestured toward the man in the snowsuit. “Check on him, will you?” Transitioning Sophia from a trot to a gallop, her legs bent at the knees, “Hee-yah,” Devlin lifted her butt off the saddle and matched the horse’s up-and-down motion. “Let’s go get ‘em, Soph.”

  Stretching out its neck, its powerful muscles straining, the mare responded like a dog bolting after a thrown baseball.

  Reaching the east-west crossroad, being led into a left turn, its hooves now on compacted snow, the horse picked up speed.

  Seventy-five yards behind Hammer, Devlin noticed his lead growing. I’ll never catch up to him. Sophia won’t be able to keep this pace up for as long as he can. She leaned back and finagled the Henry Big Boy from its resting place in the scabbard. Still holding the reins, she thumbed back the rifle’s hammer and took aim, timing the horse’s gait with the lever gun’s bouncing front sight.

  The front sight cycled through three positions—above her target, on target, and below it before reversing course.

  Marrying her body’s vertical motions with the Henry’s front sight coming on and going off target, Devlin timed her first shot while easing back the trigger.

  The Big Boy bellowed.

  Up ahead, Hammer cranked his head around then turned back and leaned forward.

  She ran the lever forward and backward then repeated the sighting and firing process four more times.

  Her fifth shot struck pay dirt.

  Hammer grabbed his right shoulder.

  The snowmobile slowed.

  Devlin and Sophia gained ground on their prey and closed to within fifty yards. Devlin glanced down at her hard-charging mount. Come on, girl. Hang in there. In the next instant, she scowled at the back of Hammer’s jacket.

  Accelerating again, the snowmobile pulled away from her.

  “Damn it.” Devlin readied her rifle for another shot, her right forefinger applying steady pressure to the trigger.

  A hundred yards ahead of Hammer, coming in over the trees on Devlin’s eleven o’clock, a black helicopter swooped down and hovered in the path of the snowmobile.

  From aboard the aircraft, a loudspeaker blasted out a female voice: “U.S. Marshals. Stop your vehicle and...”

  Smiling, Devlin lowered her rifle. Great timing, Fay.

  “...raise your hands. I repeat...stop your vehicle immediately and—”

  Swerving left to leave the trail, the snowmobile sped over powdery snow then slowed before zipping into a gap between two stands of pine trees.

  Slowing the steed, Devlin guided Sophia to the left, and the horse cantered through the same gap.

  Thirty yards later, the woods closed in around the rider and her mount.

  Ten yards later, a riderless snowmobile came into view, as the trail tapered into a wall of pines.

  “Whoa.” Devlin pulled on the reins then hopped down from the saddle, as Sophia came to a halt. Her head on a swivel, long gun in hand, she tied the horse to a tree branch and followed Hammer’s footprints deeper into the woods.

  Stopping at a semi-open patch, a few trees and snow-covered brush scattered about, she stayed behind a thick tree trunk and spied tracks bisecting the wide expanse ahead.

  A string of 5.56mm gunfire erupted.

  Bullets snapped off branches above her head and sunk into bark.

  Devlin spun around and put her back to the tree, the Henry Big Boy facing upward and running parallel with her breastbone.

  A second string thumped off the tree.

  When the reverberation on her butt and shoulder blades ceased, she twirled in place counterclockwise, lowered the gun’s muzzle, and fired the rifle until the hammer fell and a ‘click’ was heard.

  She rotated back, while raising the muzzle skyward, then got busy plucking cartridges from the ammo carrier with her right hand and shoving them into the magazine tube, finishing off with an up-and-down working of the lever.

  Ten ticks passed.

  She peeked out, spied the vicinity that had been her target, then pivoted back behind cover.

  Ten more ticks.

  Her back to the trunk, Devlin glanced to her left and right and saw mighty trees, fallen trees, twigs, broken branches. Snowy pathways zigged and zagged throughout the landscape. It’s suicide to go straight at him. Her head pivoted back and forth again before she hunched over and slunk into the woods to her right to make a clockwise end run and come up on Hammer’s right flank.

  At the quarter-circle mark, incoming rounds tore up t
he trees around her.

  She dropped to her belly and crawled to a tree trunk big enough to conceal her then rose up and pressed her backside against the rough surface. Having seen her prey’s location before she had gone prone, Devlin whirled left, took a knee, lowered her Big Boy, and got off five shots to the left of a specific grouping of pines before darting through the forest and stopping behind a tree she had picked out earlier, one with good cover and only twenty feet away from Hammer’s last known position.

  Five seconds passed.

  Ten seconds.

  She turned an ear toward her target.

  No breaking twigs. No snow crunching underfoot. No breathing. The only sound was from the nearby helicopter making passes over the trees.

  Five seconds more.

  Devlin poked her head and rifle out and eyed the grouping of pines but saw no movement. Her gaze flitting about, she plotted a course among the trees and dashed out from cover, moving from one skinny tree to another before approaching Hammer’s hideout among the pines.

  At her feet, the snow was matted with tracks fanning out toward her ten and two o’clock. He couldn’t have gone in two different directions at once. She scowled. He could’ve doubled back, but, she gave each route a quick look, which one did he actually take?

  In the distance, the helicopter was approaching, its noisy engine and rotors drowning out the subtle sounds of a still forest.

  After another left-and-right twist of her head to glimpse her choices, Just pick one, Jess, she followed the footprints toward her ten o’clock, footprints that snaked along a slim, curvy path nestled among limbs hanging low under the weight of several inches of fluffy snow.

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 39

  Flash of Black

  Having taken the walkway as far as it would go, Devlin stood at the edge of a cliff and looked down at a near ninety-degree drop-off that led to a gradual slope which ended at a figure-eight-shaped mountain lake located more than a hundred feet below. She scanned the snow-caked terrain. There’s no way he could’ve made it down. He had to have doubled back.

  The raucous helicopter growing louder, she turned away from the incoming aircraft and made her way back up the path that had been trampled by both humans and animals.