He had managed to keep his vision intact by squinting and facing away from the flash, but his ears were ringing, making it difficult to maintain awareness of the battlefield. The soldiers had taken a huge chance using the M84. It could easily have caused a cave-in, crushing everyone inside. Whether it was a careful calculation or the act of desperate men, the flashbang grenade had been effective at driving him back.
“Lenny! Can you shoot—”
Mason stopped when he saw Bowie licking the side of Lenny’s face. The man’s eyes were open, but the life had left them. His Bible lay open on his lap, perhaps offering a few final words of comfort. Lenny had made his own exit from the world, and it was not at the hand of an assassin.
Mason hurried to the opposite door and motioned for Bowie to go ahead of him. Together, they raced down the hallway and up the mound of debris leading out. Gunshots sounded behind them as they crawled out through the hole. Mason quickly slung the M4 across his back and raced over to his final trap. Facing away from it, he bent over and heel-kicked the top of the wagon with everything he had. It jerked to the side but didn’t fall.
A soldier suddenly poked up through the hole with an MP5 at the ready. Before he could take aim, Bowie grabbed him by the back of the neck and dragged him out. He screamed and flailed against the dog. Even as the first soldier was being mauled, the muzzle of another rifle poked up through the hole.
Mason leaned forward and kicked the wagon again. This time it made a creaking noise as it started to slide out from under the pole. Objects were in motion, and nothing could stop what would happen next. A thunderous crash sounded, and the ground shook beneath his feet as gravity finally brought the utility pole down. It crashed onto the museum’s floor, collapsing it inward and creating a giant sinkhole. Mason fell to his knees and grabbed a metal water pipe to keep from being sucked into the vortex of concrete and stone.
The man wrestling with Bowie wrapped his legs around the dog and rolled away from the sinkhole. They fought ferociously, Bowie biting his arms and legs as the soldier fought to keep the giant dog away from his throat. Each time the soldier reached for the knife in his boot, Bowie lunged forward, forcing him to once again go on the defensive. It became a matter of will and strength, and while the soldier was fierce, Bowie fought as if he was not of this world. Piece by piece, he tore the man apart. First came his fingers. Then his ears. And finally, his throat.
When the collapsing floor settled, crushing all those below, Mason got to his feet and called Bowie to him. The dog slowly ambled over, licking the blood from the fur around his mouth.
“That’s a good boy,” he said, leaning over and patting him on the side.
While Bowie’s ferocity was disturbing to witness, Mason would never discourage it. A warrior’s two greatest enemies were hesitation and mercy, and he wasn’t about to instill either in his wolfhound.
As Mason navigated through what was left of the museum, he was feeling pretty good about how things had worked out. He had received confirmation of President Pike’s involvement, uncovered a way to contact General Hood, and prevented Lenny from being murdered by a band of military assassins. All in all, not a bad day’s work.
His self-congratulation ended abruptly, however, when he spotted Leila sitting next to the body of a dead soldier. He broke away from Bowie, racing toward her. Despite the urgency, he remained careful not to get too close to the enormous sinkhole, instead hugging the outskirts of the floor that was constructed of rebar-infused concrete.
When he finally made it to her, he dropped to his knees. Leila’s right pant leg was soaked with blood. He brought his fingers to her neck to check for a pulse, and her eyes slowly opened.
“Did you come back for that kiss?” she said, a faint smile crossing her lips.
“You bet I did.” He pulled his knife and cut up the leg of her trousers. It was then that he saw the bullet wound through her calf. Even with her pinching the artery with both hands, a trickle of blood still bubbled out with every beat of her heart. Emotion threatened to overwhelm him. “What did you go and do?”
“I tried to play soldier. I should have known better.” Her voice was weak and breathy.
Mason’s mind raced as he desperately tried to find a solution. He didn’t have the medical training or tools necessary to open her leg and repair a severed artery, and he knew of no doctor or hospital operating within a hundred miles.
Leila surprised him by letting go of her leg and reaching out to hold his hand. Her fingers were slippery with blood.
“I want to tell you something, Marshal.”
“Call me Mason, please.”
“Mason,” she said, nodding. “I don’t want to die without you knowing the truth.”
“What truth?”
“I lied to you when I said I was a journalist.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“No, listen. This is important. I work for Mossad. Do you know who we are?”
Her revelation surprised him.
“Israeli secret service.”
“My agency sent me here when the outbreak first started.”
“Why?”
She closed her eyes, and for a moment, he thought she had passed out. Before he could check her pulse again, her eyes fluttered open.
“We had traced the… the origin of the virus to your country. Your president knew… she knew…”
Her hand fell away from his, and her eyes closed.
Mason reached up and checked her pulse. It was beating rapidly, but there was little pressure behind it. Like the soldier they had doctored in the JIF plant, she risked going into hypovolemic shock if he didn’t stop the bleeding.
He lifted her leg into the air with both hands and squeezed hard. Warm blood continued pulsing out over his fingers. Pressure alone wasn’t going to keep her from bleeding out. He moved one hand up to pinch behind her knee, compressing the posterior tibial artery, and used the other hand to remove his belt. When he had it free, he secured the belt around her calf about two inches above the wound. With the application of a tourniquet, the bleeding all but stopped. He glanced at his watch, mentally starting a sixty-minute timer. Battlefield experience had shown that tourniquets could be left for at least an hour without risk of ischaemic injury, but a tourniquet did nothing more than buy her a little time. She was dying, and it would require a surgeon to save her.
Kneeling beside Leila brought back painful images of when he had held Ava in the hospital. It seemed that history was destined to repeat itself. The thought of cradling another woman as the warmth of life slowly left her body was too much for him to accept.
“No,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes. “Not again.”
Bowie moved closer and whined. Perhaps he too was reminded of Ava’s passing.
Mason forced the feeling of helplessness from his mind. Now was not the time for surrender, or even acceptance. Rather, it was the time for clear thought and bold action. Determined to find a way to save her, he scanned the area for anything that might help. His backpack lay where he had left it, but it didn’t contain the medical supplies necessary to repair an artery. Even if it had, he didn’t possess the skill required to use them.
He spotted Annie coming up the museum’s stone staircase with Flynn still riding on her back. Behind them sat the X-49 SpeedHawk. Fully fueled it would probably go four hundred miles. Boone was only two hundred miles away. It took him all of four seconds to formulate the plan.
Mason hopped up and raced over to grab his pack. Bowie watched him but never left Leila’s side. Annie and Flynn approached as he hurried back and scooped Leila up into his arms.
“What happened?” asked Annie.
“She was shot in the leg.”
Flynn peeked around from behind Annie.
“Is she going to die?”
“No.” Mason started down the stone stairs, and Bowie followed.
“Where are you going?” said Annie.
“I’m flying her to the h
ospital over in Boone.”
“You can fly a helicopter?”
Mason didn’t answer.
“Marshal?”
Mason said nothing more as he carefully descended the steps. Bowie, Annie, and Flynn all followed behind. When they arrived at the helicopter, he set Leila in the back, propping her feet up to help prevent shock. He motioned for Bowie to get in, and the dog immediately obeyed.
As Mason started to slide the cargo door closed, Annie stepped forward and grabbed his arm.
“Take us with you.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? We don’t have anyone else.”
“Because there’s a very good chance that I’m going to crash this thing.”
“You don’t know how to fly?”
He shook his head. “I’ve only flown twice, and that was in a UH-60 Black Hawk.”
“Still, twice isn’t so bad.”
“I crashed both times.”
“Oh.”
“Believe me. This is a long shot if there ever was one.”
“But you’re going to try?” Annie looked back at Leila. “For her?”
“For once in my life, I’m going on faith that there’s a reason for everything. For meeting her. For this helicopter being here. For my knowing a doctor in Boone who can save her.”
Annie nodded. “Okay. We’ll come with you then.” She started to climb into the back.
“But you don’t understand—”
“No, I do understand. You’re going on faith, and we’re willing to do the same. Aren’t we Flynn?”
“Does it mean we get to fly in a helicopter?”
“It does.”
“Then, yes, I’m going on faith too!”
“Please,” said Mason, “I can’t be responsible—”
Annie’s only response was to slide the cargo door shut.
Chapter 22
By the time, Tanner and Samantha entered the outskirts of Boone, it was nearly five in the afternoon. They were exhausted and uncomfortable, but at least they were finally nearing home. Tanner slowed the bike as they passed the city limits sign. It was the one town they had been through that seemed to have its act together, and he didn’t want to risk offending the local police.
“I don’t think I like motorcycles anymore,” Samantha said, scrunching down and leaning her head against the lip of the sidecar.
“No one ever said they were comfortable.”
“And no one ever will.”
He smiled. She was doing the best she could given the circumstances, and he was proud of her for hanging in for the whole ride without complaining.
“Want to swap out for something with a few more seats? It would give us a chance to stop in and say hello to that nice doctor lady.”
Without thinking, Samantha touched the small scar on her arm from where the transponder had been removed.
“Let’s just go on to the cabin. The only thing I want right now is sleep.”
With the decision made, they breezed through Boone on Highway 421, passed through Sugar Grove, and then turned west, heading deeper into the Blue Ridge Mountains. Forty-five minutes later, they were turning up the small dirt road that led to the Raines’ family cabin.
Tanner guided the bike around the metal barrier and cruised up the final stretch of the driveway. He stopped hard at discovering the wreckage of a UH-60 helicopter sitting on the front lawn. It lay pitched forward as if it had toppled over during takeoff. The windshield was peppered with bullet holes, but a thick spattering of blood prevented him from seeing how many bodies were inside.
“What do you think happened?” Samantha asked, sitting up.
Tanner climbed off the bike and pulled his shotgun free of the handlebars.
“Helicopter crash.”
She looked at him and shook her head.
“Why do I ask you those kinds of things?”
“You got me,” he said, grinning.
Samantha stepped out of the sidecar and came over to stand beside him.
“Okay. Better question. Do you think it’s the helicopter that Agent Sparks was in?”
“Either that, or we have a knack for attracting secret black helicopters.”
She stared at the splash of blood on the windshield.
“I wonder if he’s inside.”
“Let’s go see.”
They approached the helicopter from opposite sides. The cargo doors were wide open, and they found themselves staring across at one another. There were eight jump seats in the back, all of them empty. Tanner stepped up to the pilot’s door and gave it a tug. The corner was planted firmly in the dirt, and it wouldn’t budge. He leaned around and peered in through the corner of the shattered windshield. The body of a pilot lay inside, still strapped in and wearing his helmet.
“Is it Sparks?” Samantha asked, stepping around front.
“No, it’s not him.”
She rubbed her finger across one of the bullet holes.
“Who do you think shot it down?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say my son did this.”
They both turned and looked toward the cabin. It appeared to be undamaged, and the same red Hummer sat parked in the driveway.
“I wonder if he’s still here.”
“If he was, he’d have come out by now.” Tanner said nothing more as he marched toward the cabin.
As they approached the front door, Samantha pointed to a large bloodstain on the porch.
“That wasn’t there before. You don’t think…” She didn’t finish her sentence.
Tanner swallowed hard and pushed the door open, half expecting to find his son lying in a pool of dried blood. He didn’t. Except for a few coffee mugs sitting on the table, the inside of the cabin was basically the way they had left it.
“Hello?” Samantha said in a loud voice. “Anyone in here?”
There was no reply.
With his shotgun in hand, Tanner quickly checked the cabin. His only discovery was a Browning .50 caliber machine gun and several cans of ammunition lying on the bedroom floor.
“Is that what he used to shoot down the helicopter?” Samantha said, looking in from the bedroom door.
“Must be.”
“So, they didn’t get him. The blood was someone else’s.”
He nodded. “I’m not sure how it all went down, but there must have been a hell of a fight.”
“Do you think Agent Sparks is dead?”
“Yeah,” he said, “I do. This doesn’t look like a fight that ended with a peace treaty.”
“If Sparks is dead, it means I’m finally safe.”
Tanner suspected that it was the death of her mother that actually ensured her safety, but he responded with only a simple nod.
Samantha walked over to the couch, unloaded her gear, and flopped down. She looked utterly spent.
“You want me to go fire up the burn box?” he asked. “That way you can get a hot shower.”
“Sure, but let’s rest a little while first.” She closed her eyes and curled up into a ball.
Tanner stood at the door, watching as Samantha drifted off to sleep. It had been a long day and an even longer trip. They had gone all the way to Salamanca to deliver a father’s parting message, braved the streets of Washington to recover a few family heirlooms, and fought their way back to a home that neither really knew. Along the way, Samantha had grown a year older, and he had picked up a few more scars. They had received word of her mother’s death—a loss that she had not yet had time to properly grieve over, and they had come to accept one another as more than protector and child.
Though the trip was finally over, he suspected that their journey had a ways yet to go. The day that Tanner had escaped from prison, he’d thought that his freedom was simply good fortune, a chance to live when others had died. Now, he realized that he couldn’t have been more wrong. His life had been spared so that she could survive. He was to be the rock on which she stood until she was ready to be on her own. Whether or n
ot there was a divine being guiding all things, he couldn’t say. But as he looked down at young Samantha sleeping, he knew with certainty that the universe was not without purpose.
Chapter 23
Before Mason touched anything, he surveyed the basic controls… collective level, cyclic stick, throttle, tail rotor pedals. They were all there, exactly like in the UH-60. However, there was also a host of other switches, buttons, and gauges that he didn’t recognize.
Annie slid up into the co-pilot’s seat next to him.
“Can I help?”
Mason looked over at her and accepted that, for the next couple of hours, they were in it together. She had as much riding on the outcome as he did.
“Most definitely.”
“Just tell me what to do.”
“Mostly, I need someone to talk to. Don’t worry if you don’t understand. Just call it all back to me. It’ll help me to process what I’m doing.”
“Okay. Should I grab this stick too?” She reached for the co-pilot cyclic stick.
“No!” He quickly reached over and placed a hand on hers. Realizing it had come off a bit gruff, he smiled and softened his tone. “Believe me. I can crash this thing all by myself.”
She returned his smile, taking her hand away from the controls.
“We won’t crash.”
“No? How can you be so sure?”
“Stories like ours don’t end that way.”
Mason knew differently, but he didn’t argue the point.
“There’s no time for a preflight check, so we’ll just assume everything is where it should be.”
She nodded. “They landed only minutes ago. How could it not be?”
“Exactly.” He leaned around to check the rotor blades. “Blades clear.”
Annie checked her side. “Clear on my side, too.”
He toggled a switch. “Engine one ignition switch on.”
Battle Lines (The Survivalist Book 5) Page 24
