No one spoke.
In a voice that was still tired, but suddenly solicitous, he said, “I don’t want anyone getting hurt today. I radioed ahead, so the Bradys know you’re coming. I didn’t tell them why. I don’t want to discuss that on the airwaves. But they know we’ve got a problem.
“But they wouldn’t let me talk to Hank or Abby, so there’s something brewing over there, too. They’re not going to tell me what’s up, on the CB, any more than I’m going to tell them. There’s all kinds of assholes out there monitoring the channels.
He scanned the men’s faces to make sure they were listening.
“When you get there,” he continued, “I don’t want any of you letting on that we lost four men. They don’t need to know our numbers.” Three men, he thought before going on; three men and his nephew, and he could add to that the man they lost two years earlier, so there were five. “If it doesn’t look good getting into their compound, turn back. Peterson is going to be there to provide cover. Even though they’re letting us in, keep in mind they don’t like us.”
Four of the men nodded. Peterson just stared.
“Remember, I don’t want all of you actually going all the way in to the Brady place. Especially you,” he said to Brian Peterson, brother of one of the men who’d been killed. “Just you and Fred,” he said to Raymond and he nodded to Fred Mayfield. Mayfield was a relative to the Bradys and having blood go along was likely to defuse any hostilities. “I want just the three of you to go on their land, but I don’t want Brian to go all the way in.”
He turned to Peterson who held a scoped Steyr SSG sniper rifle. Peterson was a taciturn man of average size and average looks. There wasn’t much to suggest he was unusual, until you realized he had no close friends—never did, never would—and that what he was best known for, and made him valuable to the compound, was that he was the best shot in the compound; a phenomenal shot. Before the ice age started, he’d been the best in the state, and before that he’d been a premier sniper in the Army and he finished pretty high at the Camp Perry rifle matches in Ohio. There were stories that he took all the toughest sniping assignments when he was deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan. But there were also stories that he sometimes shot civilians just for sport. They’d never been verified, but those who knew him believed they were true.
“I’m not going to tell you how to do your job,” LaCroix said, “but remember, your mission is simply to provide cover for Billy and Fred in case they need to haul ass out of there.”
Peterson stared at LaCroix without acknowledging what he’d said. He was the one guy who could creep LaCroix out and Louis felt a vague chill as he looked into Peterson’s almost empty eyes.
LaCroix then looked at Raymond to make sure everything was understood.
“Got it,” Raymond said.
“You guys know what you gotta do and how to do it. Follow Billy. He’s a good leader.
“But no more chances. Until two days ago, we only had one other incident, and it looks like it’s been the same guy each time. That’s two strikes. We’re not having a third one called on us. I don’t want anymore burials. And I want everyone back here from the Brady compound before sunset. We’ve got more funerals to do.”
LaCroix looked at his watch. “Sunset’s going to be about eight o’clock, tonight. I want you back long before then.”
He suddenly caught and clutched the casing he’d been tossing and asked, “Any questions?”
“What if we see that guy again?” Tom Burke asked.
LaCroix thought about that. “If you can take him alive, fine. I’d like to know who he’s with. But no chances. If you have to kill him, kill him; we don’t lose any more boys.”
He turned to Peterson, again. “Brian, keep the boys safe with your rifle.”
Peterson said nothing. The other four nodded.
They started the two snowmobiles and the racket drowned out all other sounds on the compound. LaCroix walked over to Billy Raymond, patted him on the shoulder and nodded, and without another word he turned and walked back into the main house.
Bearing five vengeful men, the snowmobiles started on their journey.
Chapter 11
August 28
The backcountry of Curry County was carpeted with a late August snowfall. Billy Raymond and the four men he led made their way south to the Brady compound, staying east of Highway 101 as they went. Except for some clouds forming to the northwest, the sky was still clear and each man hoped it would warm up enough for the snow to melt. There was going to be enough of it falling in the months to come.
“Eyes open,” he had told them before they’d left. The others knew what he meant and they kept a vigil for the shooter who might still be lurking out there.
They reached the barbed wire fencing that marked the edges of the old Brady ranch and parked their snowmobiles at the bottom of a small draw in the shelter of some trees. Jim De Angelis and Tom Burke were assigned to wait with and protect the vehicles while Raymond, Mayfield, and Peterson skied ahead. Fences were irrelevant, now. There were no more range animals to keep in. Goats, pigs, and chickens were all anyone kept anymore, and they kept those penned. So, Raymond cut the fence in the event the snowmobiles had to come in a hurry.
Though now on the Brady property, they still had a few miles to go before they reached the compound.
Raymond and Peterson each had a walkie-talkie and De Angelis had a third one where he waited with the snowmobiles. A fourth, monitoring their shared frequency, was sitting on the desk in Louis LaCroix’s office back at the compound.
“Don’t use it unless you have to,” Raymond reminded De Angelis. “And watch what you say; Louis doesn’t like chatter.”
De Angelis knew that and resented that Raymond told him the obvious. But he said nothing.
Mayfield tied a white flag to the end of his rifle’s barrel and skied at the front of the group, then the three went through the forest along an assortment of old lumber roads and cow trails for their rendezvous with Abby and Hank.
They strung themselves out along the route and were well over half an hour into the ranch when a voice ahead yelled, “Hey!”
Mayfield pulled up short. Raymond, fifty yards behind him, stopped at the same time. He looked back at Peterson who was much further back, but was now fading into the woods with his sniper rifle.
Raymond clicked his walkie-talkie. In a low voice he said, “We’ve been greeted.”
“You all right?” De Angelis asked.
“Yeah, there’s someone up ahead.”
A staticky voice broke in and said, “How many are there?” It was Louis LaCroix.
“I don’t know. I just heard the one voice, haven’t seen anyone, yet, but there are probably a few.”
“Do you know who it is?” LaCroix asked.
“Haven’t seen anyone, yet,” Raymond said again.
“Do you want us to come in?” De Angelis asked.
“No, we’re good.”
“Where’s Brian?” LaCroix asked.
“He’s back in the trees, but they must have seen him. If they recognized him, they know he’s here.”
“They know. They’re probably listening as we speak. So you boys be careful,” LaCroix said and neither he nor De Angelis said anymore. Raymond slipped the walkie-talkie back into his pocket.
On a small hill, some hundred and fifty yards ahead, a man emerged from behind a large oak. He glassed them with a set of binoculars then waved.
Mayfield waved back. “It’s Jerry Brady,” he called back to Raymond. “One of my cousins,” he added.
Relation or not, there was still a lot of distrust in this new world, particularly between the LaCroix and Brady compounds.
“Is anyone with him?” Raymond asked.
“I can’t tell.”
But Raymond was sure Brady wouldn’t have shown himself if he was alone.
Then the cousin yelled something, and Mayfield listened intently. He turned and yelled back to Raymond, “You u
nderstand that?”
Raymond shook his head.
“He wants Peterson to get the hell out of the trees with that rifle.”
Raymond had to commit to a decision. He was sure the Bradys wouldn’t stage an ambush after Louis LaCroix had announced they’d be coming. He looked back along the trail and thought a few seconds. Then he beckoned to the now unseen Peterson.
It was a minute before Peterson came out of the trees. He stood on the trail until Raymond waved him ahead, again. Then the three men skied further on, but they stayed strung out in case it was a trap.
Raymond was relieved when Jerry Brady finally skied down the hill to meet them. Like the others, he was dressed in white and he had a rifle slung over his shoulder. He came up short in front of Mayfield. “What’s this about?” he asked.
Mayfield jacked his thumb up over his shoulder indicating he should talk with Raymond.
Raymond got close enough and Brady asked him, “What are you here for?”
“We’ve got problems.”
“Everybody’s got problems.”
“Yeah, well there’s someone out here and we want to know if you know anything about him.”
Brady didn’t say anything.
“A shooter,” Raymond said.
Brady spit in the snow in disgust and Raymond and Mayfield knew he was asking the right questions..
“Have you met up with him?” Raymond asked point blank.
“If it’s who I think you’re talking about, yeah.”
“Have any idea who he is?”
Brady shook his head. “The old lady’s wondering if he was someone you guys know, if he’d come off the road, or if there’s someone been operating around here we don’t know about.”
“We think he’s old news,” Raymond said.
“What do you mean?”
Raymond didn’t answer.
Peterson caught up but stood back with his rifle.
“Well, we know who the girl is what’s with him,” Brady said.
“There’s a girl with him?” Raymond asked in surprise.
“Yeah.”
“The Gibbons girl?” Raymond asked, remembering what he’d heard Dodd say on the hill two days before about Sandra Gibbons marrying a guy named Amaral. But there hadn’t been a girl with him when he killed the three men and LaCroix’s nephew, Kyle.
“I don’t think her name is Gibbons,” Brady replied. “But I never did hear her last name, either. Her first name’s Danielle. She used to be here.”
“She was here? She’s one of your girls?”
“No, no, no. She’s from the road.” Brady figured folks at the LaCroix compound already knew at least some of what went on at the Brady compound, and about the girls taken off the road. “Do you know who she is?” he asked, wondering where Raymond had gotten the name Gibbons.
Raymond shook his head.
“Where’d the name Gibbons come from?” Jerry asked.
It was too long to explain. “It’s just a name I heard the other day. But the first name was Sandra.”
Brady shook his head. “No, this girl’s name is Danielle--‘less she was lying to us. She’s probably sixteen. But let me tell ya, she’s a cunt. Even after everything that happened to her, she stood up to Abby and Hank. That’s why we had to get rid of her.”
“What do you mean, ‘…everything that happened to her’?” Raymond asked.
Brady was silent. He didn’t want to talk about how she’d been gang raped the first night. Instead, he changed the course of the conversation and asked, “What was your run-in with the guy?”
“He was on our territory. You know we ain’t gonna put up with that, even if it’s one of you guys. He got some lucky shots in. Got away before we could take him.”
“He ambushed you?”
Raymond shook his head while looking ahead. He knew Brady wasn’t out here alone. He wanted to see who else was up on the hill. But nobody showed. “No, we were chasing him. Then he ambushed us.”
Brady looked at Brian Peterson and his sniper rifle. “Where were you?”
Peterson didn’t answer.
“Figure it out,” Raymond said. “We wouldn’t be down here worrying about him if he’d been with us.”
Brady didn’t press it any further, but he was getting edgy because of Peterson’s searing stare.
“The guy got his brother,” Raymond said to Brady.
“Dead?”
Raymond nodded.
“Sorry,” was all Brady would commit to.
Peterson showed no emotion.
But a casualty, Peterson’s brother, had now been introduced into the conversation. Jerry Brady made a mental note of it as Raymond knew he would. Each side was keeping score of how many able-bodied men were at the other’s compound.
“Well, he actually ambushed our guys, too,” Brady finally said. “Our boys didn’t even know he was there. I don’t know what he’s using, but it looks like you’ve got some competition,” he said sarcastically to Peterson as he looked again at his fancy sniper rifle.
The conversation was going nowhere for Billy Raymond. “Can we go in now?” he asked. “We gotta talk with the old lady and Hank and see what they know and what we can work out…to stop this bastard.”
“Got snowmobiles?” Brady asked.
“Not with us,” Raymond lied. There was no sense in tempting anyone with something as coveted as a snowmobile that ran.
“Your brother the only one he got?” Brady asked Peterson.
“The bastard took four of us,” Raymond blurted out.
“That means he got eight,” Brady said.
“He got four of you guys, too?” Raymond asked.
Both men realized they probably shouldn’t have admitted to anything. But it was part of a bond that was forming, now. An alliance that would unite two feuding compounds against a common—though unknown—enemy was starting to firm up.
“He got Andrew Ingram, Eddie McFaddin, and two of the old lady’s grandsons, Barry Higgins and Joel” Brady said.
“Joel?” Mayfield asked in surprise. He was related to him, Higgins, and McFaddin.
Brady nodded.
“Son of a bitch,” Mayfield said.
“We’re wasting time. Take us in,” Raymond said.
“She’s not going to be happy to see anyone,” Brady responded.
“We’re not here to make her happy. We’ve got to find out who this guy is, find out who he’s working with, and put an end to him and whoever he’s operating with. This guy’s responsible for the only casualties we’ve had in three years of doin’ this stuff. And that’s what we’re here for. We want to find out what you guys know and what—maybe together—we can do about it.”
Brady thought about it for several seconds.
“Well, she is expecting you. But I don’t think she’s gonna wanna talk.”
He looked back and waved his arm.
Another man came out of the trees and skied down the hill. He stopped when he reached the group. The men from the LaCroix compound recognized him as Steven Ingram, brother of Andrew Ingram who had died in the field.
“We’re takin’ them in to see Abby,” Brady told him.
Ingram seemed uneasy. It didn’t take a genius to realize he didn’t really want to be there, but he nodded and there was an exchange of pleasantries, condolences, and handshaking and the deal was sealed.
“Sorry about your brother,” Raymond said.
“Thanks,” Ingram allowed.
“We’ll take ya in,” Brady said to Raymond, “But I’m warning ya, I don’t know if the old lady’s gonna want to talk with ya, what with the funerals goin’ on.”
“Then we’ll talk to Hank.”
Brady spit on the snow again. Though stupid and dangerous, Hank was a fact of life and a force to be reckoned with at the Brady compound, and he was the person Abby depended on most.
Raymond took out his walkie-talkie, again. “We’re going in,” he announced.
“I want no more
than two of you going in and I want Brian to stay concealed,” LaCroix said.
Raymond looked at Peterson and said, “Get into the trees.”
“I ain’t goin’ for that,” Brady objected.
“You got all the cards,” Raymond said. “If nothing happens, he just sits out here and waits. If you guys decide to fuck with us, we got cover or someone who can get back to the ranch and let ’em know what happened. Peterson’s not gonna hurt anyone if we don’t get hurt.”
Brady shook his head. This was unacceptable.
“Then you tell that dried-up old bag that she can come and talk with us, and you explain why you turned us back.”
Peterson had already disappeared into the woods when Raymond started skiing away. Mayfield followed.
“Wait,” Brady yelled.
The two men held up.
Brady looked at where Peterson had gone out of sight. He knew he wasn’t coming back out of the trees.
“Come on,” Brady said. “I’ll take ya in.
“You stay here and keep an eye out for Peterson,” he said to Ingram.
Ingram’s agitation increased. He shook his head. “I ain’t staying out here with him. That guy’s crazy,” he said and started back up the hill.
Brady watched Ingram leave. He looked back at where Peterson had disappeared. But Brady himself wouldn’t want to stay out here with Peterson, so he let Ingram go.
“Okay, I’ll take you in,” he said to Raymond and they started toward the ranch house.
Raymond looked at the sky. More clouds were moving in from the northwest. It could be another storm coming their way. They’d have to get this trip over with, soon. With that thought in mind, he fell in behind Brady.
Δ Δ Δ
There was a sense of unease when Jerry Brady and Steven Ingram returned with two armed men from the LaCroix compound. Louis LaCroix was fond of saying they both “fished the same stream…” when he referred to robbing the people coming down the 101, “…and there’s barely enough there for one compound.” But when the LaCroix compound had men out on the road, just because they were further north, they had first pick of what was coming down the pike. There was some resentment over that on the Brady compound just as there was resentment in the communities further south in Brookings, Smith River, and Crescent City toward any town north of them.
Danielle Kidnapped: A Novel of Survival in the Coming Ice Age Page 13
