Just as they left the city limits, Malik noticed several parked trucks containing many civilians, all armed. Instead of reporting it in, he just leaned back in his seat. If they stayed out of his way, the civvies were welcome to help.
Meanwhile, the most dangerous killer in history stood on top of the burning mountain, waiting patiently. He had trained from childhood for this day, trained to do only two things: protect Mother Earth, and kill its enemies. Nero smiled; he had always enjoyed a challenge whenever he hunted two-leggeds, and something told him that today would be a great day for a hunt. Parked a bit away from the smoldering flames, the only vehicle not burning, was an expensive RV with all its windows open. From its speakers roared Beethoven’s Fifth.
The mining camp on the plateau had been demolished. A bulldozer had crashed into the enormous wash plant and forced it down a gorge of its own making. All machines, excavators, and trucks were burning; some had exploded. The entire camp area, with its tents, RVs and camper trailers, had burned down. Part of the forest on the side of the mountain in the direction towards Skull Creek was burning, and the fire was still spreading; however, the many rock formations on the mountainside worked like natural firebreaks. At the actual mining site there was smoke, but it was spread out and minimal.
The bodies lay where they had fallen, most around or near the fire pits where the mining crew had been drinking. Some had been killed in their tents or RVs while sleeping. There had been no children on the site this time, and there were many signs that they were in a process of shutting down the operation. Nero estimated that perhaps ten people had been killed, maybe twelve; then again, he didn’t really give a shit about the numbers. No number of dead two-leggeds was ever enough. There had been only two women that he knew of that he had killed, as he surprised them and wiped them out; first one by one, though towards the end, there had been four of them left, four that he had to take care of almost at the same time; but they had scattered like scared mice, and it had been no challenge whatsoever to track them down one by one. He was very disappointed. The fact that most of them had been drunk made the challenge easier, though he supposed their numbers had made up for it. The one who had gotten away in a truck did bother him, because it ruined any further element of surprise; but there was nothing he could do about it now, except hoped that the runaway would die from the wounds he had inflicted on him. The witness, if he survived, would be dealt with in the future, like Carlos da Silva had been. So would anyone he had told.
The road he had fled by was now inaccessible; Nero had seen to that, sawing down several trees in a row and letting them collapse over the road. Whoever tried to scale the mountain would either have to remove the hindrances, or advance on foot…unless of course they had helicopters.
He hustled along quickly atop a ridge, then dropped the heavy chainsaw, the fuel can, and the extra gear for the chainsaw next to a man lying on ground. They were on a huge cliff above the mining camp, with a thin line of trees screening them from view. This man was in his mid-forties, not dead but deeply unconsciousness. He lay in a recovery position concealed by leaves and branches. They were both also well-hidden with thick brush. Between them lay several rifles, two pistols, and a few ammunition boxes. Nero picked out one of the larger caliber rifle with a scope. With the wind at his back and a clear field of fire, but for some smoke, Nero hunkered down and chewed on an energy bar, while sipping some of his herb tea from a canteen. He checked on the man next to him from time to time as he repeatedly went over in his mind the plan of action he had prepared. There had been plenty of weapons in the camp, but none of the miners had any with them when he attacked. He knew full well that miners had rules, just as lumberjacks did, when it came to when a person could carry a weapon; most of the time it was forbidden when in camp, avoiding any accidental shootings.
In the far distance below, he could see a small turn from the road; and that’s where he kept his focus, waiting for the flashing lights of the police vehicles. He knew they would come with helicopters in time, and he guessed they would fly around the smoke and circle the place before landing. If they were smart, the police would advance simultaneously from the vehicles and from the air.
Finally, he saw the first police vehicle, followed by many more; and then he heard the helicopters closing in, but he couldn’t see them yet. “Guess the idiots from the sky can’t wait,” he muttered to himself as he prepared his equipment.
He was right: two helicopters flew high towards the mining camp, avoiding the smoke; a third helicopter further away probably had snipers on board, and that was the flying tin can that concerned Nero the most. “Idiots are going to charge in just like Custer did, without even scouting, they’re so sure of victory.”
Nero leaned over the unconscious man, and broke an ammonia capsule and held it under the man’s nose. With the drugs in his system, it would take at least a minute or two before he came to his senses. The man moaned and coughed. Nero ignored him and moved swiftly away, to a point a bit away and above the man. He took cover and aimed at one of the helicopters. It was still too far away, so he waited. As he figured they would, the helicopter rotors made the smoke swirl around like a smoke bomb’s output, creating an ideal smoke screen. He aimed the rifle and waited, found the weakest point on the helicopter, and fired one round.
A second later, the helicopter started to twist and turn irregularly as black smoke poured from the engine. A sudden wind gust forced the helicopter towards the ground. The pilot tried to regain control, but failed as the helicopter’s rotors brushed a large tree, causing the craft to vault straight down to the ground. The second helicopter landed a bit further away, and several characters dressed in SWAT gear swarmed out. Amateurs. Nero took his time and fired off two more rounds, taking down two of the attackers.
He looked over to where the other man was. The miner sat up, blinking owlishly at the large revolver in his hand, confused as he shook his hand, trying to get rid of it. Superglue does the trick, Nero thought, smiling as he crawled carefully away and down the side of the ridge. He could hear the man muttering to himself, and eventually shouting for help. Nero didn’t have to look as he hurried away from the first position. He heard the man shouting in the distance, and then there were many gunshots. The man stopped shouting.
Nero got into his second position and waited. It wasn’t long before the third helicopter showed up, looking for a place to land. This time Nero hit the pilot dead center between her eyes; as she slumped, the helicopter spiraled down and crashed into the side of the one that had landed.
He moved quickly behind the ridge, staying under cover, then waited and listened for other helicopters; he might have missed one. When he was sure that there had only been three, he decided to advance against the survivors. Most were helping their two gut-shot colleagues, while some tried to help those in the wrecked helicopters. One person stood talking into a radio or walkie-talkie near the dead miner with the revolver glued to his hand.
Wearing his second skin, Nero advanced between the debris and the cover of the smoke until he was feet from the prey; and then he struck. The expression on the man talking on the radio as he died was one of confusion, shock, and then terror. Nero picked up the man’s submachine gun and looked toward his team members; most had their backs turned. He chose his weapons quickly, then dropped flat on the ground and tossed a fragmentation grenade with one hand, followed by a phosphorus/magnesium smoke grenade. He rolled behind the cover of a burning vehicle. The explosion was loud and wreaked havoc on the feds. He knew where most of the survivors were, though, and followed up by firing on them from a low position. He emptied the first magazine in seconds, then reloaded with the second clip that was attached to the first. Two SWAT members who stood further away and were unharmed by the explosion instantly turned and fired back, but their aim was too high. Nero rolled to his side and kept shooting until everyone was down. The majority were still alive, saved by their body armor, but they were in shock and/or injured. He used the two large
stilettos strapped to one of his forearms to finish off the survivors. One young woman tried crawling away; Nero walked up calmly and imbedded the blades in her neck. All too easy.
He left the bodies and tossed his weapon to the ground next to the dead miner. As he did so, he felt a burning sensation in his lower left side. He had underestimated the two-leggeds; he had been shot. Blood poured down his side, but there was no time to waste. He applied a temporary first-aid dressing, and moved on. He made sure all the two-leggeds were dead, and then he burned the helicopter that had landed, after dousing it with diesel and gasoline.
Nero carefully stretched his back and yawned, unwrapped another energy bar, and drank some water as he ate it. He then headed down the mountain, towards the oncoming convoy of cars and trucks. He could faintly hear the sirens in the far distance.
Stupid. They should have arrived together.
“That takes care of Reno, now it’s time for Custer,” he said. He found his own words immensely funny and laughed as he walked through the carnage, the sun beams fighting through the smoke casting a ghostly image on the surrounding smoke as he moved away, listening to Beethoven in one ear.
* * * * *
IT WAS a peaceful morning, the storm having long since left the region. The sun shone warmly, making the dew evaporate from the ground and trees, and there were only few clouds in the sky. The normally fresh air was infected by a horrible stench coming from a bundle of clothing lying on a pile of branches that was apparently intended to be a fire, which had never gotten started because of the rain from last night.
Todd finished his beer and tossed the can into the river; then he burped and dropped his pants, pissing into the same stream. Their old Volkswagen bus was parked on a small flat next to the river; garbage carpeted the ground, from beer cans to fast food bags to plastic cups. Little Flower lay inside their ride, snoring. Todd shook his head, getting his dreadlocks out of his grubby face, and then he lit a joint and stretched his arms into the air. After a moment, he took out his smart-phone and tried dialing, but the battery was dead.
He looked closely at the phone. “Man, this ain’t my shit, the fuck you come from, phone? Where the fuck my phone? Yoohoo, Flower, you seen my phone?”
“FUCK OFF! I’m sleeping!”
Suddenly all hell broke loose.
Several helicopters hovered nearby, and one of them came in right over the river, almost at the same level as Todd. From the brush and forest swarmed SWAT teams, surrounding the area. Frightened, Todd dropped the phone into the river.
In less than a minute, both Todd and Little Flower lay face-down on the ground, cuffed, both screaming about their rights. Meanwhile, a couple of officers were kneeling and throwing up their breakfasts.
The first thing Malik noticed as he left his chopper was the foul stink in the air. He did his best to ignore it, but it was highly concentrated. He immediately remembered Carlos’s words about a horrible smell, but when he saw the idiots on the ground, he knew they were most likely not his killers.
Whitney walked up to him and whispered, “I recognize these two from the phone we found with that video on it. It was also uploaded on Facebook, and someone else uploaded that on YouTube.”
“The one where they urinated on Carlos?”
“Yessir.”
“See if you can find more phones.”
Todd and Little Flower flat refused to assist the police, and five minutes later one smartphone had been collected. It belonged to Little Flower.
“You’re going to be charged with murder,” Malik said in his husky but calm baritone.
That shut up both suspects for a moment, and then both started screaming and shouting at the same time.
A SWAT officer approached Malik and Whitney. “Sir, you’re going to want to take this,” he said, as he handed Malik a phone.
Malik’s expression never changed as he listened to the conversation. When he was done, he ordered the SWAT officer, “Get two of those birds on the ground. Whitney, take over here. Find that phone. I’ll take two of the squads with me and leave the rest with you. Remember, we still have a tiger and some more shit to find.”
Whitney demanded, “What’s happening?”
“More deaths at the mine. Many more, from the sound of it. Not sure, it got cut off.”
“Sheriff, shouldn’t we regroup and try and find out what the hell is going on? Are you really going up there?”
Malik looked around. “I have to go. The thing, the monster it’s still up on that peak.” He pointed in the direction of the burning mountain.
From several radios came the sounds of people shouting through gunfire, “Officers down, officers down!”
“Fucking great. Let’s piss on them, too, you fuc…”
Little Flower caught the butt of a rifle dead center in her mouth, shattering all the perfect white, shining teeth paid for with Daddy’s money. She fell backward like a dead tree, unconscious.
“Yeah, try not to do that,” Whitney said, without looking at the suspect on the ground or whoever had shut her up. He placed his hand on Malik’s forearm and whispered, “Hey man, don’t go. I don’t think we’re ready for this.”
“Weren’t you a Marine?”
“Yeah, I was—but I also know when to choose my battles. Whoever or whatever is up there is stuck. All we have to do is keep it there and then advance when we’re ready.”
“That’s what you would do?”
“Yes.”
Malik shook his head slowly. “I appreciate the advice, but no, I have to go. I have to try. He or they can still get away. We have to go, and we’ll go now. You’re in charge until I get back.” Malik looked Whitney full in the face. “And if I don’t come back.”
Whitney looked tiredly on as the two helicopters flew towards the burning mountain top. He then turned around, and as he passed Todd, who was screaming about his rights again, he knocked him out cold.
The helicopters landed on the road by the intersection. There were firetrucks and ambulances parked on both sides of the road, paramedics waiting for permission to advance, all looking scared. By the road leading up the mountain were several police cars from different counties, waiting for Malik’s leadership. He looked to the officer in charge.
A very nervous middle-aged deputy from the county immediately to the west greeted Malik. “Sir, my name is Duncan. Edge Duncan. We don’t know quite what’s going on, we haven’t been up the mountain yet, but I did send up a scout team.”
“Who did you send?”
“Three officers and two rangers, sir. They insisted, and they know the lay of the land.”
“When was the last time you heard from them?”
“A while ago. They did, however, report that there are several big trees blocking the access road, so here we are, waiting for you guys.”
“No words from the Feds? Their special team?”
“No, nothing. They went ahead of us in the choppers.”
“My orders were specific, were they not? To wait for the ground force?”
The officer nodded. “Yessir. I don’t know why they went in before we got here. No more signs of the helicopters.”
Malik organized the situation at the road crossing, establishing road blocks and consulting the emergency rescue people. It took what seemed like forever, and the SWAT teams he’d brought with him looked at him unhappily; but he didn’t care. He wanted everything to be ready before he advanced. Quantity had its own quality when it came to warfare, and he knew in his bones that this was a war. He’d seen it in the streets of New York and Baltimore. Though he’d never expected it here, he would rise to the challenge. He would keep the people who depended on him as safe as possible.
Malik looked up towards the mountain, and then he realized something. “Everyone stop what you’re doing and shut up!” he shouted. He had to repeat himself several times before everyone was silent.
There were no sounds from anything except a mild breeze sighing through the pines.
; “Strange,” he said to Duncan. “There’s no sound at all, nothing. Not from animals or anything.” He looked at the other man. “How long since the scouts left?”
“Just before you got here, sir, maybe half an hour now.”
Malik was furious, and was just about to chew out his colleague when another two police trucks showed up. From the first truck emerged Whitney and Diego, a former Miami SWAT leader. Diego had his old SWAT outfit on, and he still wore a bandage on his head and on one of his arms, and walked stiffly due to his thorax injury.
“Shouldn’t you still be in the hospital?”
Diego just frowned as he checked his M24 Sniper Weapons System, then looked up at his Sheriff. “Shouldn’t you stop yapping and get hunting?”
Malik just smiled at the smartass remark. He nodded towards Whitney, whom he would normally chew out for leaving his position back at Skull Creek, but their eyes met and no words needed to be said. Whitney carried an old-style Vietnam-era M16 rifle with several magazines attached to an old military west. From the second police truck merged Bard and Takoda. Takoda wore a headband representing his Lakota heritage, two feathers braided into his thick hair—ready to go into battle and count coup with his rifle. Malik ignored Takoda’s headband. They were past all formalities; now it was time to hunt, in whichever way made each man most comfortable.
Malik gave some final instructions while checking his weapons. “No one walks alone. Pair up in couples and in groups of four. Half will advance on the south side of the road, and the rest on the north side. Snipers in the back; try and find good cover positions. All rescue workers, stay here until further notice; and highway patrol, remain with the road blocks.”
The Lumberjack Page 31
