Escaping Vegas

by Dennis Elder

  “Five more minutes,” he shouted between mouthfuls.

  Chapter 161: About an hour behind

  They didn’t know it, but Ivan and his bike riding army were about an hour behind their prey – about 10 miles as the crow flies. Their primary interest was to capture the women. After they caught up with them, they would kill the men and then return to the Bellagio with their spoils. Ivan had convinced the men that they would need the women to bear future children who would take care of them when they were older. Ivan’s speech was very motivating.

  His words had sparked the men into action and they left the comforts of Vegas with purpose and drive. But after a few nights of sleeping on the open road that inspiration was beginning to wear thin. Now they were being driven by something else. That something else was named Beaver.

  Harold’s death had done something to Ivan’s other Boy Scout. A switch had flipped in his head and now Beaver had turned hard as flint. Ivan rarely had to say anything to the men anymore. Beaver always beat him to it.

  While the men were getting ready to leave their motel back in St. George, Beaver yelled at one of the guys for taking too long to get his bike packed. The guy told Beaver to “back off.” So, Beaver pulled out his handgun and shot him in the forehead. Then, like it was nothing, he just kept yelling at people to move and prepare to ride.

  “We got a long day ahead, boys,” shouted Beaver. “Those women are so close you can almost smell ‘um,” he continued.

  The men were mounted and riding before all the smoke from Beaver’s handgun had cleared the air.

  “He is certainly good leader, maybe,” thought Ivan to himself, as they pulled back onto the North bound lane of I-15. “Perhaps replacement for Claudio.”

  The men had been riding for about four hours now.

  “Close to time for lunch,” said Ivan to Beaver riding just in front of him.

  The Beaver nodded his head.

  “Lunch,” the Scout yelled. And slowly the men pulled to a stop.

  “20 minutes,” barked Beaver. “Get your stoves boiling quick now. We’re getting closer with every hour,” he added as he pulled his stove from his backpack.

  “Yes, I think good management material,” thought Ivan to himself.

  Chapter 162: SatNav

  Jake and Jacob both took turns watching the convicts as they rode North. Jacob estimated they were about 12 miles behind now. Jake thought more like 13 miles.

  “Take your Bushmaster and measure the distance with the SmartScope’s satnav,” instructed Jake.

  Since Boon’s death two days before Jacob had been carrying Boon’s Bushmaster rifle, mounted with a precious SmartScope. He’d been looking forward to some training time on the scope. He quickly pulled up his rifle. The scope was a techno marvel. Jake had taught him how to use some of the buttons and knobs on Jake’s own scope, but there were still three other settings Jacob had not tried yet.

  The maturing teenager sighted the cross hairs on the convicts who were riding miles behind them.

  “Now feel for the large knob on the right side toward the front,” began Jake.

  Jacob reached slowly, feeling his way along the scope until he found the knob.

  “OK,” said Jacob.

  “Now twist it clockwise and watch the display to your right,” added Jake.

  Jake followed direction and watched a digital projection display word and numbers to the right.

  “When you get to SatNav, stop,” Jake instructed.

  Jacob rotated the knob until SatNav came up.

  “Got it,” said Jacob.

  “Now, keep the cross hairs on the target and depress the button on the center of the knob,” said Jake. “When the SatNav letters turn green, release the button and look to the left for a green counter display. It should tell you distance in miles and yards.”

  Jacob followed Jakes instruction and amazingly the display showed 12 mi, 720 yards. As long as he kept the cross hairs on the moving target the 720 reading dropped to 715, then to 710 and so on.

  “Amazing,” said Jacob, dropping the gun down and turning back to Jake. “Does it use a laser?”

  “We experimented with lasers,” said Jake. “But lasers can give away your position. So, we figured out a way to send continuous microburst signals to a military satellite, bounce it down off the target and then relay the distance back to the SmartScope.”

  Jake shouldered his own Bushmaster.

  “Better get going,” said Jake. “Got a hard ride ahead.

  Both men scampered down the hill with relative ease. They mounted their bikes quickly and began riding North on I-15 to catch up with the Mark and the main body.

  Chapter 163: Sooner or later

  It was near pitch-black dark when the Marauders finally climbed the last 500 yards of steep roadbed leading up and out of the long incline back that came up from St. George. Somewhere behind them were about forty men intent on doing them harm.

  Jake and Jacob took three more measurements during the day’s long ride. The bad news was the men behind them were slowly closing the gap. At the first measurement the distance was over 12 miles. At their last count they were about 10 miles back. They reported the news quietly to the Major. Jake told Jacob to not share their findings with the others.

  His map told Mark there was a shallow river just up ahead. He planned to camp on the South side of it for the night. Soon they found the spot. They climbed off their bikes and walked down to find a flat spot next to the stream. Everyone was so glad the day’s ride was finally over. Mark immediately began to issue orders.

  “Teresa,” shouted Mark. “Your primary duty tonight is to cook for you and Tyrone. Once he’s fed, make sure he gets into bed.”

  “Frank,” Mark said. “Get your guard duty set pronto. If I were our friends I think I’d try a sneak attack tonight. Four on each shift with two on each side of the road. Guards carry Bushmasters so they can use the SmartScope infrared. Each team takes a radio. And Frank,” added Mark. “No guard duty for Tyrone tonight.”

  Tyrone was unpacking his bike but was close enough to hear the Major.

  “Got no argument from me,” said Tyrone, as he stumbled off into the dark with is tent and sleeping bag under each arm.

  The rest of the crew had to use their headlamps to set up their tents in the dark. But once they were set, there would be no open fires and no lights. Soon the only sound was the hissing of the team’s camping stoves.

  Frank’s stove was set next to Mark’s as they both waited for their water to boil.

  “They’re closing the gap, aren’t they,” whispered Frank. He’d waited until he could be along next to the Major.

  Mark looked around to make sure nobody was within earshot.

  “They are,” said Mark.

  “How long have we got,” asked Frank.

  “Three days at the max, or until Tyrone collapses,” replied the Major.

  There was long silence. Both men were dead tired.

  “You got a plan?” asked Frank, as he cut open his freeze dried dinner pouch with his K-Bar knife.

  Mark took the knife from Frank and opened his own dinner pouch with a deft flick of his wrist. The Major leaned forward to listen to his stove. The water wasn’t quite boiling yet.

  “Got an idea,” said Mark. “But what concerns me most is we’re going to be out the open most of the time from here out. The towns are small and distances between towns is significant.”

  Frank shook his head like he understood.

  “If we get caught out in the open,” added Mark. “We’re gonna loose some of our people.”

  “Probably,” said Frank.

  Another long silence prevailed as the water on their stoves began to boil.

  “I think sooner or later we’re going to have to make stand,” offered Mark.

  “Yea,” added Frank.

  “And maybe sooner than later,” said Mark.

  They were a good thousand feet higher tonight than they were the evening bef
ore. While Mark and Frank ate their food in silence, they noticed a few flakes of snow beginning to fall.

  Chapter 164: Fish in a barrel

  While the didn’t know it yet, Ivan’s group had closed the distance between his men’s position and the group they were following. For one brief ten second moment Ivan’s men caught a distant glimpse of them ahead. Then, just as quickly, they disappeared over a hill. The man at the point had spotted them and shouted back to the group as he pointed forward. But the time the word was passed back among all the men, the group ahead disappeared again. But a few saw them.

  Once they’d stopped for the night, and after Ivan’s crew had eaten and were sleeping in their tents, three of the men, who had seen the group ahead of them, decided they would sneak forward in the dark and try to capture a couple of the women. Ivan had warned the men to never go off on their own at night. But these three guys were convinced it would be easy pickings.

  The leader of the three was called Ham. He caught the nickname when he lived with his grandmother as a young boy. He loved his holiday ham and the name stuck. The other two accomplices were Jerry and Slim.

  Once the all convicts were soundly asleep, the three men slipped quietly away and walked up the long I-15 grade in the dark. They were sure that they’d be able to find the women up ahead.

  “Gonna get me sum, tonight,” said Ham, enthusiastically.

  “Got that right,” added Jerry.

  The men continued to walk silently. It was very dark, so they flipped on their flashlights ever mile or so just to look at signs or sweep the road ahead of them. When they were just about to the top of the long grade Jerry thought he heard something to his right and turned on the flashlight toward the cliffs above him.

  “Shut that thing off,” barked Ham. “We must be getting close by now.”

  Jerry turned off his light and continued to walk up the long hill with his two companions.

  Above the three men, and on both sides of the road, crouched four of Mark’s marauders. Each gun was trained on the three men.

  William and Frank were on the East side of the road. Doc and Sylvia were on the West side.

  “Wait until you hear my first shot,” whispered Frank into the radio.

  “Roger that,” responded Doc, from the other side of the road.

  The three men walking up the hill were about 70 yards away now. Their bodies glowed light green through the SmartScopes mounted on all four of the Bushmaster rifles. Frank, William, Doc and Sylvia tracked the men with their rifles.

  “Like shooting fish in a barrel,” said Sylvia. “Doesn’t seem right. Almost cruel.”

  “It will feel right if that group behind us ever catches up with us,” said Doc, in a whisper just loud enough for Sylvia to hear. “Everyone we can kill now will decrease their overall firepower. So, look on this as a blessed gift.”

  “Still seems too easy,” griped Sylvia. She had become the voice of conscience for the group.

  The radio hissed again.

  “Remember, wait for my shot and then add yours,” said Frank through the radio. “Start on the man closest to you and then work your way inside. I’ll take the guy in the center.”

  “Roger that,” whispered Doc into his radio. “You get that girl?” Doc asked Sylvia.

  “Got it,” said Sylvia as he deftly switched the gun’s safety switch to fire.

  ‘You ready, William?” asked Frank, to his partner lying by his side.

  “Ready and able,” whispered William.

  Chapter 165: Pop, Pop… Pop

  Mark heard the gunfire and sat up suddenly inside his tent. He counted four quick pops, followed by three more – spaced out. Then it was silent again. Just as he predicted, somebody tried to sneak up on his crew. He was awake now, his adrenalin pumping. No way he could sleep after that. The Major pressed a button on his watch to illuminate the dial. It was just after 0400 hours or 4:06 am.

  Once dressed, he unzipped his tent flap and pulled on his boots. Ten minutes later William showed up and reported.

  “There were three of ‘um,” said William, after he shouldered his rifle. They’re all down. No survivors.

  “Good work, William,” replied Mark. “Make sure you pull the firing pins from their weapons and gather any usable ammo.”

  One of Mark’s biggest concerns was how low they all were on ammunition.

  “Yes sir,” said William. “You want us to do anything with the bodies?”

  “No,” said Mark as he shook his head. “Leave um where they lie. Maybe it will give our pursuers second thoughts about chasing us any farther.”

  “10-4,” replied William, who then turned and trotted off into the darkness.

  Once William was gone, Mark looked around at his fellow Marauder’s tents. The wind had picked up and was blowing steadily from the West. When the wind gusted several of the tent rain flys flapped and popped pretty hard. But nothing else moved. It looked like nobody even woke up from the gunfire.

  “Must be dog tired,” thought Mark to himself.

  Chapter 166: Boiling Beaver

  Ivan heard the same gunshots about a second after Mark did. The sounds were much quieter because of the distance, but the Russian mob boss heard all seven shots, counting them off as they passed. He too sat up instinctively, and then, while his eyes were still closed, started scratching his growing beard. He liked to keep his face clean shaven and the five day stubble was beginning to itch.

  Ivan guessed the gunshots meant a few of his men decided to go forward on their own. Because the sounds started and stopped quickly he also assumed those men had not fared well.

  Before Ivan could reach for his pants her heard Beaver.

  “Ok,” shouted Beaver. “Which one of you morons decided to go window shopping tonight?”

  The Beaver was walking around between the convict’s tents looking for missing men or empty tents. He had his flashlight on and was swinging it around, methodically checking each tent.

  “Couldn’t keep your pants on, heh boys,” shouted Beaver. “Had to go off on your own didn’t ya.”

  Beaver’s shouting and poking around had woken everybody up. Finally Beaver found the empty tents. It was Jerry’s and Slim’s. The tent next to it was empty too. Beaver was pretty sure it was Ham’s. Ham had a single person tent and slept by himself.

  “I hope the rest of you fools learned somethin from this,” barked Beaver again. “You can bet your bottom dollar those three maggots won’t be coming home tonight.”

  Ivan considered getting dressed and adding his wrath to the boiling cauldron called Beaver - barking out loud just a few tents away. But old Beaver was doing just fine all on his own. Ivan clicked on his flashlight and checked his watch.

  “Two hours more of sleep,” he calculated in his head. The Russian rolled back over inside his sleeping bag and was out almost instantly.

  Chapter 167: An Alamo thing

  The morning light was growing brighter. The sun would be full up in about 30 minutes. Jake and Jacob straddled their bikes. Each man had a plastic bag filled with light bulbs hanging from the handlebars of their bikes. Jake nodded his head and both reached into their plastic bags and pulled out a single light bulb. Having already surveyed the road, they wanted to throw the bulbs where the glass was most likely to be run over by the convict’s bikes. It was Mark’s idea, hoping it would cause a few flat tires –giving them a few more hours before the bad guys finally caught up with them. After they’d both shattered their two lightbulbs on the pavement behind them, they turned their bikes and trailers North again and started after the main group. They caught up with them in about an hour.

  During the group’s early morning breakfast Mark explained to the everyone that the men behind them were slowly catching up. This was not well received by the team, especially by the women.

  “What can we do?” asked Mary in an even tone.

  “Our best bet is to find a defendable position and hopefully surprise them,” said Mark. “Like we did
back in Vegas.”

  “And that would end it then, right?” asked Caroline.

  “If we’re lucky,” responded Mark.

  “And if we’re not lucky,” asked Pam.

  “Then there will be casualties,” said Mark.

  “On both sides?” asked Gracie.

  Mark took a deep breath.