Escaping Vegas

by Dennis Elder

  They would exit the motel on foot to minimize noise, cross a large parking lot while keeping the motel they’d slept in between themselves and the motel the convicts had slept in. This would give them good cover until they got to the service road and could begin riding their bikes again.

  Just as they left the motel parking lot, a group of twenty three HBs appeared suddenly in front of their path. The HBs had been milling around in the parking lot, but when they saw Mark and his team, they turned violently and rushed the group. Gracie screamed, then clamping her hand over her mouth in a futile effort to take back the cry.

  Mark dropped his bike to side and commanded, “Rangers, knives only!”

  The other six rangers dropped their bikes and rushed forward around Mark, creating a temporary barricade between the rest of their group and the approaching HBs.

  “Keep it quiet,” said Mark. “Maybe through the eye into the brain. “Remember nothing seems to bother them but a hit to the brain.”

  With that Mark moved forward with his knife facing forward in the traditional Special Forces fighting stance. The other Rangers did the same.

  Chapter 158: Gracie, again

  Harold had been sitting outside on the balcony for the last two hours. Sleep was evading him again. He dragged out the most comfortable chair from his room and balanced his feet against the balcony railing.

  Suddenly he thought he heard a muffled scream. It sounded like it came from his left. He stood up slowly and turned in that direction, straining to hear the sound again. He stood there for a few seconds longer but heard nothing more. But he knew he heard something.

  After fetching his rifle, he decided to walk toward the sound and check it out. It wasn’t like he had anything to do anyways.

  He shouldered his gun and set off. It was dark so he moved slowly, careful not trip over something. He meandered across the road and up toward the motel across the street. Once he got into the parking lot he stopped and listened for a moment. But nothing but the wind filled his ears. He was about to turn back when he thought he heard another strange noise from around the other side of the motel. It went silent again but then the sound returned. Harold pulled down his rifle and leveled it out in front of him, pointing it in the same direction he began to walk.

  When he came around the building’s corner he suddenly came upon a large group of people. The shock of seeing so many people caught Harold off guard. The group he saw first were walking people. He watched one man deftly shove the long end of his blade though the eye socket of one of the walking people and then withdraw it in one clean stroke. He saw this done several times before realizing these people were the one’s they’d been hunting for several days. He jerked up his gun suddenly and sighted it on the man closest to him.

  “Freeze,” shouted Harold.

  When he shouted all the women and young men to his left jumped at the sudden volume his voice carried. They’d been absolutely quiet for so long, so the shout un-nerved all of them.

  The men in the middle of the walking people stopped too and turned back to see Harold move a little further toward them.

  One of the men raised his hands in the air slightly and turned his full attention toward Harold. The others went back to killing the remaining three walking people. When they finished their grizzly tasks, then all turned back toward Harold again.

  “Put you’re weapons on the ground,” shouted Harold keeping his gun pointed at the big man closest to him.

  “Easy there, partner,” said Mark. “Be careful where you’re pointing that thing.”

  Mark dropped his knife to the ground and then put his hands in the air.

  “You’re my prisoners,” barked Harold. “Everybody stays where they are.”

  Mark slowly moved to his right a bit. He hoped to distract the guys and give someone in the group a chance to neutralize the guy from another side.

  “We’re going to follow you orders,” said Mark in a non-threatening voice.

  “Bet you ass you’re going to,” shouted back Harold.

  “Now hold up there son,” said Frank, from Harold’s right.

  Harold instinctively swung his gun toward Frank and momentarily away from Mark.

  “I aint’ your son, boy!” shouted Harold. “And pretty soon you’re gonna be my bitch.”

  “No need to get nasty,” said Mark, as continued to move to Harold’s left.

  Harold noticed the men were moving around a bit too much. He felt suddenly threatened.

  “Hold it right there,” shouted Harold, swinging the gun back around on Mark.

  But Mark kept moving very slowly to Harold’s left. Frank and Sam did the same but to Harold’s right. The movement was making him extremely nervous. He gripped his rifle stock more firmly and shook it at the men. The women and teenagers hadn’t moved a bit.

  “Everybody stop moving, right now!” shouted Harold.

  Frank and Sam froze, hearing the fear in Harold’s voice. But Mark kept edging to Harold’s left.

  “Stop moving!” shouted Harold again. “Stop moving, or I’ll shoot!”

  Harold was on the edge. His anger and frustration was apparent. But Mark kept moving. He was hoping he might be able to jump the guy from the left or at least draw his fire and give everyone else a chance to get away.

  “Stop it,” shouted Harold. “I’m warning you for the last time.”

  Mark moved one more step to his right. When he did Harold jerked his single shot Browning thirty caliber hunting rifle up to his shoulder and pointed it directly at Mark’s head. But Harold would never get the chance to pull the trigger because a nine millimeter bullet from Gracie’s handgun penetrated his skull just above his right ear exiting the other side nearly as easily as it had entered from the other side. The sound was deafening and Harold dropped to the ground like a large sack of potatoes, his weapon clattered to the ground next to him. Gracie kept her weapon on Harold, just in case he was still alive. This was how she’d been taught to shoot by Mark and the other Rangers. Even so, everyone stared at her in silence. A couple of the teenagers’ mouth’s hung open. After a couple more uncomfortable moments Grace finally broke the silence.

  “He was going to kill Mark,” she whispered. “I couldn’t let him do that, “she finished, while expertly holstering her weapon.

  Mark reacted swiftly, there was no time to waste now.

  “Thank your Gracie, I appreciate the gesture,” said Mark, at the same time moving toward his bike. “I think we can be certain they know we’re here now, so let’s carefully move down to the service road and begin today’s ride.”

  He looked around to make sure everyone was ready.

  “They won’t be ready to ride for 20 minutes, maybe more. That will put at least a couple of miles between them and us. And we will stay ahead of them by taking very short breaks and riding until it’s too dark to continue. Remember, we’re in better shape than them, so we should be able to keep a safe distance.”

  With that Mark climbed on his bike and led the group around the edge of the blood soaked parking lot littered with dead HBs, and Harold, the Boy Scout turned convict.

  Chapter 159: I’ll take it from here

  Ivan was the first man to appear on the balcony. He’d heard the shot clearly. He stood now at the balcony’s railing for the second time tonight, listening for a clue where the shot had come from.

  But there was only the sound of the men stumbling out of their rooms into a cold wind blowing in from the West. After a few more seconds Ivan barked a command.

  “Everyone get your weapons and spread out,” shouted Ivan. “Find out where that shot came from!” The veins on his fore head stuck out like squirming earthworms on a hot sidewalk.

  The men had heard Ivan bellow many times before. But never like this. They got the message and immediately went back to their rooms. After a few minutes they were all dressed and armed. Ivan had shouted follow up orders instructing groups of ten or so to go out in all directions. When someone found something,
they were to call out. Ivan was armed but remained standing at the balcony rail outside his room. He could hear the men’s boots as they ran around in different directions, their flashlight betraying their positions.

  After ten minutes a man’s voice called out.

  “Up here,” the man shouted. “Up here!”

  The man’s voice boomed and Ivan heard it easily. He turned immediately toward the voice and then ran to it. The other men heard it too and made their way toward the shouting.

  By the time Ivan made it to the backside of the motel, twelve members of Ivan’s army were already there. They were standing in a circle around a body splayed out on the parking lot asphalt. Their flashlights illuminated the dead body of Harold, one of Ivan’s two lead men.

  When Ivan approached, the men on one side of the circle parted to the let their boss inside. Ivan crouched down for a close look at Harold’s body. The big Russian looked Harold over quickly and settled his stare at the large hole on the left side of the dead man’s head.

  “Not good,” said Ivan, realizing this was one of his remaining right hand men.

  Just as he stood up, Beaver ran up to the group. The men all knew Beaver and Harold were pretty close. They’d been prison bunkmates for the last five years. He would not take this well. Beaver looked down at the dead man. At first he didn’t recognize his friend. Then he knew.

  “Harold!” shouted Beaver, as he crouched down to check over his buddy. His hands quickly ran over his body as he looked to find where his friend was hurt. Then his hands found the side of Harold’s head he finally saw the blood. Beaver realized is friend was dead.

  “No,” whimpered Beaver. “No.”

  Ivan didn’t want to waste time, but it wouldn’t look good if he tried to cut Beaver’s time short to grieve for his friend. So, the Russian turned to his men.

  “The bastards that did this must be close by,” shouted Ivan, as Beaver continued to cry for his friend.

  Beaver’s arms pulled Harold’s bloody body close to his chest. As he cried, he began rocking back and forth.

  “Spread out and find them,” continued Ivan. “You,” picking a large man next to him. “You take five men to the North. And you…”

  “No,” shouted Beaver, as he stood up. He wasn’t crying anymore and he quickly wiped the remaining tears from his eyes. “We know they are going North,” continued Harold, as he looked darkly at Ivan. “They’ve already left. Our best move is to get saddled and start up the freeway right away.”

  Ivan considered Beaver’s idea. But he wasn’t sure.

  “But they may still be nearby in a hotel,” said Ivan. “If we don’t search first we may ride past them.”

  “No,” continued Beaver. He was all business now. The remaining Scout turned his flashlight to the ground and started looking. Ivan watched him search and soon followed behind him.

  “Here,” said Beaver, as he stepped around two of the dead HB bodies. “See the bike trails here and…. here too.”

  Ivan looked closely at the ground. The sky was beginning to grow lighter. He could see multiple bike tracks running through blood pools around the dead HBs. The tracks ran out further and then out of the parking lot down toward the street to the North.

  “They came through here, “said Beaver, pointing at the ground and street. “Multiple bikes.” Then Beaver reached down and touched the blood on the sidewalk. He rubbed the fresh blood between his thumb and forefinger. “This blood isn’t even dry. They were just here.”

  That was enough for Ivan. He turned back to the men.

  “Everyone back to the motel,” bellowed Ivan. “We are close my friends. Everyone must be feed and ready to ride in fifteen minutes.”

  Ivan led the men back to the hotel. They were all walking fast. Beaver stayed behind a minute to say goodbye to his friend.

  “OK, buddy,” began Beaver. “You rest now. I’ll take it from here.”

  Chapter 160: Tyrone’s pace

  During one of their many radio checks during the previous night, Mark and Tyrone discussed the challenges of the ride ahead. Tyrone was the natural choice to pull Susie behind him. He was known as the “mule” in the army because of his un-natural ability to pack and haul heavy loads. That same ability served him well on a bike. Nobody in the group could match his power and endurance. But the ride ahead rose over a thousand feet inside the next thirty or so miles. That alone would tax every member of their group. Adding the dead weight of another person to Tyrone’s bike would make the ride brutal, even for the mule. So, Mark decided that Tyrone would set the pace, no matter how slow. He and Susie would never ride point, but everyone who did would have to match his speed. This was easy for those who rode behind him, but not so much for those who road ahead. Mark noticed this first hand when he took his turn riding up front. You had to constantly look back at Tyrone and either speed up slow down. After a few miles Tyrone realized the difficulty for the riders ahead of him. So, he began giving verbal cues as his paced quicken or slowed.

  “Faster,” he’d shout if they needed to pick up the pace. “Slower,” he’d yell if the rider ahead needed to slow down a bit. The system was a little clunky, but it worked.

  Halfway up the thirty four mile long incline Tyrone yelled over his shoulder.

  “Major!” yelled Tyrone. “I’m gonna need a break soon.”

  Mark heard Tyrone and pushed forward from his current place in line. The grade was especially steep where they were and it took the Major a second or two to come up next to him.

  “OK, we’ll pull over when we come to the next semi-flat section of road,” said Mark between labored breaths. They’d learned by experience that it was nearly impossible to get everyone started cleanly on a steep hill. Mark hoped they would be able to climb to the top of the long rise by dark. This would give a good place to camp and provide a downward field of fire in case the bad guys behind them decided to sneak up on them during the night.

  Even though Tyrone was pedaling at a slower pace, everyone was working hard and breathing even harder. After another half mile they found a flatter place to pull over.

  “Break,” shouted the Major.

  Quickly the column pulled to a stop. Everyone got off their bikes and took a knee. Quite a few laid down flat on the asphalt. You could see their chests rising and falling as they tried to catch their breath. The air was cold and columns of condensation puffed up over and over again into the air like little human volcanoes.

  “Ten minutes,” added Mark. “Good time to hydrate and eat.”

  The major reached into his saddlebags and pulled out the big binoculars and looked up toward the front of the column.

  “Jake and Jacob,” said Mark.

  “Sir,” replied Jacob, trotting back to Mark’s position. Jake walked up.

  “I need you guys for a tough job,” started Mark.

  “Yes sir, replied Jacob energetically.

  Jake would always follow the Major’s orders, but he knew that when the Major said he had a tough job for you, it certainly would not be easy.

  “We know there are some bad guys back there following us. What we don’t know is if they are keeping up with us or falling behind.,” said Mark, as he handed the big binoculars to Jake. “Every so often I’m going to signal you two to stop as the rest of the column continues to ride ahead. Every time you stop, find some high ground and look back to see how far our pursuers are behind us.

  Jake shook his head and stuffed the binoculars inside his jacket. He understood the Major’s plan.

  “After a few stops you should be able to estimate if they are losing or gaining ground on us,” added Mark, as he looked up toward a tall hill to the West. “From up there you should be able to see almost all the way back to St. George. Understand?”

  Both scouts shook their heads.

  “The hard part isn’t going to be humping up and down the hills,” said Mark. “The hardest part will be getting back on your bikes and having to ride like crazy to catch back up with us.
And then only having to stop and do it again.”

  Mark looked over the two men. Jacob looked excited. Jake looked determined.

  “OK then,” said Mark. “Get going.”

  The two scouts deftly jumped over the freeway’s low dividing barrier wall and began climbing their way up the hill to the West. The Major watched the two men go and noted how they seemed to move so effortlessly. Jacob was certainly turning into Jake’s clone.

  Mark pulled out his map and did a quick check. Then he took a long pull from his water bottle. Finally, he broke out an energy bar and started chomping on it.”