Safe and Sound

by J. D. Rhoades

  Holley flicked the device on. “Fall back to the truck,” DeGroot said in his ear. “We’ll get something that’ll take care of this problem. On my count of three. One…”

  Holley slumped back against the car. He closed his eyes and gathered his courage.

  “Two…”

  He came to a crouch, still sheltered by the vehicle.

  “Three!” There was a sudden pop pop pop of small-arms fire as DeGroot opened up from cover on the man in the tower. Holley sprang to his feet and ran like hell for the truck.

  ***

  The people in the truck had their own problems. At the first sound of gunfire from in front, Caldwell had thrown the truck into reverse and begun backing down the gravel road. He misjudged the width of the road and the right rear tire went into a shallow ditch.

  Caldwell yanked the wheel back the other way. The truck slewed across the road, overbalanced, and tipped over. It came crashing down on its left side with a sound of rending metal. Caldwell heard Phillips shout from the cargo compartment as some of the boxes came unsecured and tumbled about in the back. Then there was silence, broken only by the ticking of the hot engine, now dead and cooling. In that silence, Caldwell heard another rifle shot, then shouting from up ahead. A third shot. He began crawling backward into the cargo compartment. It would be easier to get out the back than to try the driver’s door which was now pointing skyward.

  Phillips sat among the jumble of boxes. There was blood on the side of his face, yet he appeared calm. He had his rifle out of its case and was checking it over. He looked up at Caldwell. “Nice driving,” he said.

  “Fucking Patrick,” Caldwell fumed. “He went too goddamn far.”

  “Hmm,” Phillips agreed. “Well, he is known for that.” He set the rifle aside, apparently satisfied that it was undamaged. He took the fighting knife from his belt and used it to slice open one of the boxes. He pulled out something that looked like a large bundle of netting, with leaves and branches woven into it. He gestured toward the back door.

  “I assume that’s the best way out?” he said. Caldwell nodded. Phillips reached out and groped around till he found the latch. Then he yanked hard sideways. The door rattled as he pulled it along its track. Daylight filled the interior of the truck. Phillips climbed out and slung the netting over his shoulder. Caldwell followed, wincing at the aches and pains as he straightened up. He saw Holley running down the road toward them. He pulled up at the sight of the up-ended truck. “Whoa,” he said.

  “What happened up there?” Caldwell asked.

  “Sniper,” Holley said. “In the fire tower. Danny didn’t see him until it was too late.”

  Phillips just nodded. His face showed only minor irritation, as if this was of no more import than a flat tire. “I’ll have to deal with him, then.”

  “Wait,” Caldwell said. He reached into the back of the truck and began overturning boxes. As he searched, DeGroot jogged up. “Bladdie idiot!” he spat. He looked at Holley and laughed nastily. “Caught a bit of a skrik there, hey? Didja piss yourself?”

  “Hey, fuck you,” Holley snapped back. “You didn’t fucking tell us they’d have a fucking Barrett. What else do they have that you forgot to fucking tell us about?”

  “Hah!” Caldwell said. He pulled a box about a yard long from the back of the truck. He laid it on the ground and slit the package with his knife. The box was filled with plastic packing peanuts. He reached into the mass of white and pulled out an olive-drab tube slightly under a yard long. There was a web sling attached to the tube like that of a rifle.

  Holley, his irritation forgotten, grinned like a child at Christmas. “That what I think it is?”

  “Yep,” Caldwell said.

  Holley held out his hands. “Gimme,” he said. Caldwell handed it to him and he slung it on his back.

  DeGroot turned to Phillips. “Find a place to give us some overwatch.”

  “Yeah,” Holley said. “See if you can keep that bastard’s head down in the tower. I’m gonna get a little pay-back for Danny Boy.” Phillips nodded and slipped off into the woods.

  “Let’s try this again,” DeGroot said.

  ***

  Keller felt the crunch of the gravel under the car’s tires. They had reached the long driveway up to the cabin. He redoubled his efforts, raking the zip cuffs as hard as he could against the rough metal. It wasn’t working. He wasn’t going to have time. He felt the car lurch to a stop. Then the tires were spinning in gravel. There was the sound of a gunshot and the car came to a stop. Someone was screaming. The car was rolling. There was a bone-jarring impact and Keller’s head banged against the inside of the trunk. He heard more shouting, the horn blowing, then the car rocked again with an impact like a hammer blow. The horn stopped. Keller looked up, gasping for breath, his mind fogged with pain. He didn’t realize at first what he was seeing as he looked at the trunk lid.

  A thin sliver of daylight.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Inside the house, Marie had been dozing on the couch when she heard the sound of the rifle. She leaped to her feet. Powell came piling out of the back bedroom.

  “We’ve got company,” he said grimly. He picked up the assault rifle propped by the door. Marie opened the door of the bedroom where Ben had been napping. He was sitting up on the lower bunk, blinking in confusion. “What’s going on?” he said. The rifle fired again. Ben flinched at the sound.

  “Get under the bed, baby,” Marie whispered frantically. “Don’t come out till I say so, okay?” Ben nodded. She could see the whites of his eyes in the dimness of the room. He swung his legs off the bed and dropped to the floor before scooting his body underneath the lower bunk.

  Marie ran back into the front room. Powell was at the window, his rifle at his shoulder. “Where’s Lisa?” Marie said as she picked up her own weapon.

  “Outside somewhere,” Powell said. His voice was detached, as if they were discussing a trip to the store. “Said she was going to reconnoiter.”

  “Well,” Marie said, “she left her rifle.” She gestured to where the weapon sat propped by the front door. Marie went to the other front window. She saw the familiar shape of Keller’s vehicle. It was resting at a slight angle, off the road, the trunk jammed against the trunk of a tree.

  She raised her rifle to her shoulder and peered through the scope. There was nothing moving. “It’s Jack’s car,” Marie said. “Did you see him?”

  “No,” Powell said. “I saw some guys tear-assing back toward the woods. None of them was Keller.” Powell hesitated. “If he’d been driving,” he said, “he would have stopped and given the signal like we told him.”

  Marie felt her heart die in her. “Oh God,” she whispered. “DeGroot…he must have…”

  “I’m figuring that’s how he found us,” Powell said. “He must have gotten it out of Keller.”

  “No,” Marie said, shaking her head. “Jack wouldn’t give us up.” Powell was silent. She knew what he was thinking. That everyone could be broken if you put them through enough pain. And there was no denying someone had found them. A tear rolled down Marie’s face. She brushed it away with the back of her hand. She could see DeGroot’s calm, mocking face in her mind’s eye. The emptiness in her was changing, turning to a savage resolve.

  All right then, you bastard, she said silently. You’ve fucked with me and mine long enough. Today you die for it. Come on then. Come on and die.

  ***

  Riggio scanned back and forth with the scope, searching for targets. He wasn’t worried about warning the people in the cabin. The report of the huge sniper rifle would have been more than enough to send everybody to battle stations. He trusted Powell. He always had. A flash of movement to his left caused him to swing his sights to bear on a rapidly moving figure below. He saw a quick glimpse of old-fashioned green camo before the figure disappeared into the trees. Lisa, he thought. What the hell does that girl think she’s doing? He turned his attention back to the area of the wrecked car. He saw t
he slightest flicker of movement behind a large boulder at the edge of the treeline. Riggio had only a second to register the flash and hiss of a rocket launch, less than that to see the quick plume of smoke from the back blast. Then Holley’s anti-tank rocket blew him and the top of the fire tower to flaming pieces.

  Mike!” Powell screamed. Marie could see burning debris raining down into the yard in front of them. Powell screamed again wordlessly and cut loose with the assault rifle.

  “What was that?” she yelled over at Powell.

  He stopped firing. “Fucking LAW, man,” he said, his voice choked. “They just killed Mike with a fucking rocket.”

  “Where did they get that kind of firepower?” Marie said.

  “I don’t know,” Powell said more calmly, “but we are in some deep shit.” He looked around. “Get to the back bedroom,” he said. “Make sure no one gets in that way.”

  Marie nodded and headed back. On the way she stopped and poked her head into Ben’s room. “Mom?” she heard his voice from beneath the bunk. “Is that you?”

  “Yeah, baby,” she said, trying to keep the tremors from her voice. “Stay down.”

  “Is Jack coming to save us?” Ben asked. She didn’t answer. Ben spoke up again. “He’ll be here,” he said almost cheerfully. “Jack won’t let us down.”

  Marie tried to say something in response, but she couldn’t trust her voice. She headed for the back room.

  ***

  Keller was curled on his back, his wrists going numb beneath him from his weight. He had been repeatedly smashing at the nearly sprung trunk lid with his boots. As the abused latch finally gave way and the trunk popped open, he heard the hiss of the rocket, followed by the shattering blast of impact. It was a sound he had heard in a thousand nightmares. In his mind, he saw the arc-light glare of rockets, heard the screams of dying men as he lay helpless in the sand…

  He snarled and turned his body, struggling to a kneeling position in the trunk. He got his legs under him and stood up. The huge tree blocked his most direct route out of the trunk. He tried to go over the side, stumbled, and came crashing to the rocky ground with an impact that knocked the wind out of him. He lay there in agony, struggling for breath. As his lungs finally drew air, he became aware of a heavy sweet smell and the sound of something liquid trickling onto the ground. He looked over at the car. The violence of the rear impact had crumpled the Crown Vic’s rear end and cracked the gas tank. A thin stream of clear fuel was pooling between the rear wheels.

  “Dude,” a voice said, “looks like you’re having some serious aggravation.”

  Keller looked up. A stocky man dressed in camouflage stood a few feet away, grinning at him. He had on a Kevlar vest that barely fit across his massive chest. The olive-drab tube of a LAW rocket lay at his feet. An AK-47 was strapped across his back. As Keller watched, the man unslung the assault rifle and raised it to his shoulder. “Look at it this way, man,” he said conversationally. “This’ll be a damn sight easier than what my old buddy DeGroot had planned.”

  Keller gritted his teeth and struggled back to a kneeling position. The mercenary laughed with delight. “Yo, respect,” he said. “Never say fuckin’ die, man. I like that.”

  He lowered the gun. There was a manic grin on his face as he propped it against the tree. “Tell you what, dude,” he said as he drew the fighting knife that was hanging from his belt. “I’ll make it a little more fair.”

  ***

  Phillips gritted his teeth, trying to control his irritation. The whole operation offended his sensibilities. Everything was being rushed. He hated being rushed. Sniping, to him, was a matter of deliberation, of planning, of picking just the right position and calculating the shot. Sniping was like surgery. This, on the other hand, felt sloppy and improvised. This was just butchery.

  “Any time today, bru,” DeGroot’s sardonic voice sounded in his earphone.

  Phillips grimaced in disgust. He flopped down and pulled the camouflaged ghillie suit over him. He raised the rifle and scanned the killing zone. He could see the wrecked car to his right across the broad clearing. The house was to his left, the tower looming above it. Suddenly, the top of the tower exploded in a gout of red flame and black smoke.

  “Boo-yah,” he heard Holley’s whisper in the phones.

  That was another thing that rankled Philips. The total lack of radio discipline. At least the threat from the tower was neutralized. Phillips saw the trunk of the car pop open. He swiveled the rifle to bear on the movement. He was amazed to see Keller rise halfway out of the trunk. He lined up the shot. As his finger tightened on the trigger, Keller disappeared from his view as he fell over. Phillips bit back the curse that rose to his lips. His shot was obscured by the bulk of the car and the tree it was resting against. He scanned a bit to his left. There might be a shot through the windows.

  One was blown out, leaving only the one on the far side to obscure his vision. Still, it would be tricky. He saw Holley. He was moving in from the right, his AK at the ready. Phillips could see the grin on his face. Then Holley propped the gun against a tree and drew his knife.

  You idiot, Phillips thought. He keyed his microphone. “Holley,” he whispered furiously, “what in the bloody hell are you doing?”

  There was no answer.

  ***

  I’ll be damned,” Powell said. He saw the trunk lid pop up, saw Keller stumble and fall from the car. He took a breath to yell the news back to Marie, then stopped as he saw another figure step out into his sight. The other figure dropped a familiar-looking cylinder on the ground in front of him. That’s the bastard that killed Mike, Powell thought. His finger tightened on the trigger. But Keller had moved. He was between Powell and his target.

  “Come on,” Powell muttered. “Move, damn it.”

  ***

  The man with the knife moved toward Keller with an easy assurance, like a cat stalking on wounded prey. He feinted with the knife, laughed again as Keller staggered to his feet. “Just wish I had more time to play,” he said, “but you know how it is. So many engagements, so little time.” His face became taut with concentration.

  There was a sudden blur of movement in the leaves behind him. As the man started to turn, a hand snaked across his throat. There was a brief glint of steel and the hand was suddenly gone. The man had a stunned expression on his face. His hand went to his throat. The hand turned suddenly crimson as the severed arteries sprayed bright red blood across them. He tried to cry out, but all that came out was a bubbling wheeze as the air from his slashed windpipe mixed with the spurting blood. He turned as he fell, trying to see who it was that had killed him.

  Lisa stood behind him, her own crimsoned blade clutched tight in one hand. She looked at Keller, a stunned expression on her face. “I never actually killed anyone before,” she whispered. The man had fallen to his knees, blood coating the front of the vest. He seemed to hear Lisa’s words and looked up. An expression of disgust crossed his face as he toppled over. Lisa looked at him lying in front of her and took a step back. She laughed, a little hysterically.

  “Come on,” Keller said. “Cut these damn things off me.”

  Lisa looked up, confusion in her eyes. She shook her head as if to clear it and stepped forward. Keller turned around to give her access to his bound wrists. He felt the knife sawing at the plastic of the cuffs.

  “How many of them are there?” Lisa asked.

  “Three now,” Keller said. “They started with five. Whoever was in the tower got one of them. You took out another one. Thanks, by the way.”

  “Don’t mention it,” she replied in a subdued voice.

  ***

  The damned car was still in the way. Phillips’s vision was partially obstructed by the remaining car window, but he could still see the two figures, Holley and Keller. Abruptly there was a third figure, a commotion, then blood everywhere

  “Idiot,” he muttered out loud for the first time as he saw Holley’s body fall out of his sight.

 
; “What was that?” DeGroot asked in the earphone.

  “Keller’s out of the trunk,” Phillips whispered. “Holley tried to play silly buggers and take him with his knife. Someone else got Holley from behind. He’s down. Permanently, judging from the amount of blood.”

  “Who took him?” DeGroot demanded. “Powell or Riggio?” DeGroot asked.

  “Can’t tell.”

  “Whichever it is,” DeGroot said, “take him out. And Keller as well.” Phillips merely clicked his mike on and off one time to signal the affirmative. He could dimly make out two figures still standing. They were slightly downslope from the car; he could just make out the top of Keller’s head. It was a shot he knew he could make, but there was a higher percentage shot available. Phillips always took the higher percentage shot when possible. He lowered his sight and prepared to fire through the remaining window.

  ***

  The cuffs fell away from Keller’s wrists. He grimaced at the pain as blood began to flow freely again. He turned around. Lisa was standing there, between him and the car. She stared at the bloody knife in her hand. She looked up at him with an uncertain smile.

  “I did the right thing,” she said, “right? I didn’t have any choice.”

  “Yeah,” Keller said, “you did the right thing. We need to get away from the car. The gas tank’s ruptured.” She nodded.

  The air was suddenly filled of flying glass.

  Lisa made an abrupt sound, midway between a grunt and a sigh, as if she’d been kicked from behind. She sagged forward into Keller’s arms. Instinctively, he dropped to the ground, pulling her on top of him to cushion her fall.

  He rolled her off of him. She cried out in pain as she landed on her back. There was a stunned look on her face.

  “I…I…,” she whispered. He gently turned her onto her side.

  The entry wound was in the center of her back, slightly below the shoulder blades. Bright red blood pumped rhythmically onto the leaves. The sharp coppery smell of it mingled with the gas fumes, nearly choking him. As he watched, the rhythm slowed, stopped. He turned her back. Her eyes stared sightlessly into the sky.