by Chris Pike
Chapter 26
Amanda woke to the strange sensation of being jostled around. She opened her eyes a slit, and the first thing that came into view was the backside of a man. He had on a short jacket which reached just above his belted waistline, revealing a holstered Glock. For an instant she thought about grabbing it, but common sense dictated otherwise.
Her hair flopped around her face and when she moved to brush it away, she discovered her hands had been bound. She determined she was being carried over a man’s shoulder.
It was dark and the man leaned forward a bit as he climbed a hill. She flexed her feet in small increments only to learn to her horror her feet were bound, which meant running was out of the question.
Self-preservation guided her to be quiet and not let on she had awakened.
Amanda blinked her eyes into focus and tilted her head to the side to see the legs of another man. Dark shapes of tree trunks came into focus. Clumps of dry grass faded away into the woods. The path they were on was lighter than the rest of the woods. Sand probably. Pretending to be unconscious, she let her body sway with the man’s movements.
“Is she awake yet?”
Amanda closed her eyes, listening, and for a moment she thought she recognized the voice. It had a familiar sound, but in her fogged state, she couldn’t be sure she heard it correctly.
A rough hand grabbed her hair and forced her head up.
She sensed a bright light probing her face.
“Not yet.”
So there were at least two of them which meant she had a zero chance of escaping. She wouldn’t be able to run, her hands were tied, and her mouth had the aftertaste of something bitter.
She remembered now.
She had found Nipper and when she bent over to unleash him, a hand covered her mouth with a wet cloth that smelled of pharmaceuticals. She’d kicked at the man, only for him to lift her up and jerk her off her feet. That was her last memory until now.
Nipper.
If they hurt her dog she’d find a way for them to pay.
The jostling stopped, and the path changed to pavement. Amanda glanced down and saw two more pairs of legs. There were four of them now, so whatever plans she had to escape had just evaporated.
“Put her in the back seat.”
A car door opened and someone leaned her into the back seat, gently placing her on the seat. She played possum by closing her eyes and letting her head tilt to the side. She felt the weight of one of the men slide onto the seat. He lifted her legs and put them across his lap. Someone else slid in on the opposite side and raised her head, letting it rest against his leg. Her hair fell across her face.
The driver started the car.
She looked through the space between the seats to see two men in the front. She didn’t recognize them, but whoever they were, couldn’t be good. She doubted they would help her even if she asked.
The man who had asked earlier if she was awake spoke. “I know you’re awake, Amanda, so it’s no use pretending anymore.”
She recognized that voice. Zack Durant no doubt about it. Twisting her body, she shook the hair out of her face and stared daggers at him.
“You son of a bitch! You did this to me?”
“I didn’t think you’d come willingly.”
Amanda’s feet were resting on Zack’s lap, and no telling who cradled her head. For a moment she considered kicking him with a well placed heel, but dammit, someone had removed her boots. Regardless, she lifted her bound feet and shoved them at his face. He whipped his head back and her feet hit the side of the car.
She was so jacked up on adrenaline she didn’t even notice. She launched her legs again.
Zack caught her on the second try and he wrapped his arms tight around her legs. Amanda wiggled her body and jounced her hips. “Just stop it,” Zack said. “You can kick all you want to but it won’t do any good.”
“Go to Hell,” Amanda said. She put her head back down and glanced up at the man cradling her head. He had long hair and big eyes set on a baby face. “Kurt? Is that you?”
No answer.
Amanda continued looking at him thinking that she had seen him earlier. “That was you on the bike yesterday, wasn’t it?”
Still no answer.
The driver accelerated and the car was now on a highway. She wondered where they were going.
It all started to make sense now. Just like Chandler had suspected, they had been followed, and it was Kurt who had looked her over like she was a piece of meat. “What do you want with me?” Amanda asked.
“You’ll find out in due time,” Zack said. He reached over to Amanda and stroked her hair. She jerked her head away from him.
“Is that any way to treat an old friend?”
Chapter 27
Chandler looked up from the note. “What do we know about Zack and Kurt Durant?”
“From what we’ve heard they took over the UT Tower and the adjacent buildings including the student union right after the EMP,” Ralph answered. “People were fooled because at first they seemed like they wanted to help people. They got the generators running with the help of UT scientists, and worked with school administrators and students to gather food from area restaurants and grocery stores. They built up quite a stockpile.”
“Quite benevolent of them, wasn’t it?” Chandler said, his sarcasm unmistakable.
“Everything looked great until Zack and ten of his buddies herded everyone else into a room at gunpoint,” Ralph continued. “In groups of ten they took people out and made them explain why they were indispensable. If they convinced Zack, they got to stay. If not, they were shot or hung as an example.”
“How do you know that?”
“I heard it from a girl we found stumbling her way to a friend’s house,” Luke said. “She had escaped by playing dead after Zack shot her.”
“Where is she?” Chandler asked. “I’d like to talk to her. Maybe she can tell us more.”
Luke glanced down. “She didn’t make it.”
Chandler’s expression turned to one of determination. “Zack Durant is one bad dude. He’s not the kind of guy who will bargain with us. That only leaves us one option.”
Uncle Billy added with all seriousness, “One option, but three operators.” He used the word operator to refer to a Special Operations type who is trained and qualified to operate in the clandestine realm which is exactly the kind of mission they were about to go on.
He set down the beer he had been nursing.
“What’s up with that?” Luke said when he noticed. “You never let beer go to waste.”
“Gave it up when the note came. I’m stone cold sober and am now the fighting machine of my misspent youth, or maybe middle age.” Uncle Billy rubbed his not inconsequential belly. “No scumbag is going to hurt my nephew’s girl if I have anything to say about it. That girl has grit.”
Chandler knew deep down that Uncle Billy would be quite an asset. “Thanks, Uncle Billy. We’re going to need all the help we can get if we plan on rescuing Amanda.”
Uncle Billy could make five hundred yard shots all day long. In his day, everyone shot and long range shooting was expected if you wanted your man card.
“What do we know about what we’ll be up against?” Chandler asked. He needed one good plan and a backup plan. Failure to cover all the angles could mean death for all of them, including Amanda.
“There could be as many as two hundred people in the complex,” Ralph said, “but we estimate only about thirty or so are armed and willing to do what Zack says. The complex is guarded night and day. My son took a tour of the Tower last year, so I’ll let him tell you about it.”
Owen took a step forward. “Hey. Nice to meet everybody in case anyone missed it the first time.”
“Let’s skip the formalities,” Chandler said.
“Yeah, right,” Owen said. He swallowed once. “The balcony at the top is capped with a wrought iron safety cage to keep tourists from falling off, or from anyone
taking a last swan dive. Unfortunately, it would offer some cover when Zack shoots down into the crowd.”
“Okay, what else?” Chandler asked.
“The stairwell to the Tower is barred by a series of metal gates. You’ll have to deal with twenty-nine floors and an unknown number of Zack’s loyal thugs.” Owen scratched his chin, searching his mind for more details.
“Don’t forget the Barrett .50,” Uncle Billy added.
Luke slapped the side of his head. He felt like an idiot. “Then that was the guy who I saw at the range with the Barrett. It sounded like a cannon. He was bragging about all sorts of things including using Hornady 750 grain A-Max match loads. He said it could slice through a car like cardboard and could turn a man into chunks of bloody meat. He also bragged about the mount he had. He’s sitting pretty in the Tower with the Barrett. Said he has a military pintle mount so he could easily swing it. Since it’s a long range rifle, he would only have it pointing south toward the only real long range threats.”
“I’ve already experienced his marksmanship,” Chandler said.
“How so?” Luke asked.
“At the Littlefield Fountain when Amanda and I stopped there. I don’t think he was shooting at us. It makes more sense that he was saving us from the crowd. If he had meant to kill us, he would have. There must be some reason he wants Amanda.”
“Didn’t you say he and Amanda dated?” Luke said.
“Yeah, but that was years ago. It must be something else.” Chandler got the group back on track. “Can we take him from the ground?”
Owen shook his head. “We might be able to damage the gun, but we risk hitting the iron safety cage because the wind up there can be fierce. I would be concerned about a gust moving a bullet toward Amanda. And besides, Zack might want to pop Amanda right then. We can’t take that chance.”
Chandler dropped his head, trying to conceal the rage forcing itself to the surface. “There has to be a way.”
Luke put his hand on Chandler’s shoulder. “Remember how we used to talk about how we’d take out a sniper at the Tower so that 1966 wouldn’t repeat itself again?”
“I remember.”
“And how we said a shot to take out a sniper could be made from Dobie Center?”
“We were just kids messing around talking like that. Dobie’s gotta be around eight hundred meters away,” Chandler said. “I don’t have anything that can make that shot.”
“I do,” Luke said. “I’ve got a McMillan .338 Lapua. It’s the gold standard for bolt actions.”
“You have a Lapua? No way. The Luke Chandler I know couldn’t save a dime, and that rifle costs as much as a used car. How did you scrape up enough money for it?” Chandler’s voice intonation contained more than a bit of doubt.
Luke squared his shoulders. “I’m thriftier now, and besides, I sold my .300 Winchester Magnum a while back. The money I saved plus a little thrown in by Uncle Billy was just enough to buy it.”
Chandler was still skeptical. “Is this true, Uncle Billy?”
“It is,” Uncle Billy said. “When Luke sets his mind to something now, nothing can stop him.”
“What about ammo? It’s expensive.”
“Not when you handload it for two years,” Luke said. “I’ve been using 250 grain Sierra MatchKings. It’s 2,900 feet per second of deadly awesomeness. I can make the shot. I know it.”
Chandler’s face showed a puzzling combination of anger and enthusiasm. He looked at his dad and Uncle Billy for any indication they were with him.
“We’re with you, son,” John said. “Uncle Billy is too.”
“Damn straight I’m with you,” Uncle Billy said. His voice was steadfast and whatever buzz he had earlier was long gone. His mind was as clear as a sunny spring day. “Family first. Always.”
“Faith, family, and firearms,” Chandler said. “It’s something I learned in East Texas.”
“I like that,” Uncle Billy said. “Faith, family, and firearms. Whoever coined that was a real smart guy.”
“It’s something a friend of mine told me. Her name is Cassie and she’s a real strong girl who survived a plane crash and walked out of a Louisiana swamp. She learned it from one of the locals.”
“Amanda is a strong girl,” Tatiana chimed in. She had emerged from the house to join the men. “Don’t forget that, and don’t forget me. I can help too.”
“No, Mom,” Luke said. “This is no place for you.”
Tatiana looped her arm through the brawny arm of her husband. “Do our boys know the true story of why my family came here to America?”
“I never told them. You asked me not to,” John said.
Tatiana explained she was the granddaughter of one of the few surviving World War II women snipers. The family had escaped with only their clothes on their backs, a pair of diamond earrings, and a matching locket which belonged to Tatiana’s grandmother. Tatiana didn’t have to explain where her grandmother had hidden the jewelry. The family fled after the war because Stalin had not completely finished his purge. After finding friends to live with, Tatiana’s grandmother found work at a gunsmith shop. When Tatiana was old enough to hold a gun, her grandmother taught her how to shoot like the pros.
“That’s where I met your father,” Tatiana explained, “at the gunsmith shop. One day when the shop was shorthanded, I was working the front desk to help. Your dad walked into the shop with a 1903 Springfield. He said—”
John interrupted. “I said ‘Can you look at my gun?’ And you replied—”
“I’ll look at anything you want me to.” Tatiana cracked a smile. “The rest was history.”
“You’re still as beautiful as you were the day I met you,” John said. “And you can pass for ten years younger.”
Luke and Chandler were dumbfounded at the revelation. Chandler said, “Never mind, Mom, about the part about how you met Dad. You never told us about your grandmother being a Russian sniper.”
“You never asked. And when I tried to tell you, you were too busy with girls or guns, or running off and joining the military.”
The revelation was meaningful to Chandler. He had always wondered if his interest in guns was in his genes or a product of his environment. Now he knew. He felt blessed to find out he descended from a good shooter. Good shooters tended to be people who said what they meant and could be counted on when the going got tough.
He expected the going to get really tough tomorrow.
Chapter 28
Nobody had slept during the night.
Tatiana had filled the coffee pot several times, using an old fashioned paper filter and boiled water. Coffee had become a luxury since the grid went down and she had only served it on special occasions. She made breakfast during the wee hours of the morning, around 3 a.m. according to how the stars were positioned in the sky.
Walking into the dining room where the men sat, she served a platter of homemade bread warmed on the grill, venison from the night before, and fig preserves. The men drank their coffee black.
The small army sat around the dining room table discussing plans and counter-plans, and attempts to psychoanalyze Zack and Kurt flew back between the Chandler men and the Sassy guys.
While discussions were ongoing, Chandler constructed the layout of the western part of the university using items he found in the house. A tall vase substituted for the tower, a sugar bowl became the fountain, and broccoli from the garden represented the bushes and trees. Old Lego pieces acted as the good and bad guys, with green being bad, and yellow being good.
Chandler’s mother scolded him for wasting the broccoli, to which Chandler responded silently by popping a stalk in his mouth and eating it.
After much discussion, a plan was finally hatched with all the players having their own part to play. If it went right and the deception worked, they’d be able to save Amanda and rid the world of one extremely dangerous and evil man.
The kitchen table was covered with a variety of guns, including Chandler’s LaRue c
ounter-sniper rifle, the guns liberated from the Packsaddle Inn, and guns from the family’s collection. From these resources, they would be able to equip themselves for Chandler’s risky plan.
“Anybody seen Uncle Billy?” John asked.
“As a matter of fact, look who the cat dragged in,” Chandler said.
All eyes went to Uncle Billy, who sashayed in wearing a green and brown Ghillie suit.
Formerly invented by gamekeepers to watch over game in large British estates, the suits had been adopted by the sniper community. Construction of a workable Ghillie suit was required for most snipers to graduate training programs. The best Ghillie suits were comprised of a buff colored base layer—such as burlap—to which random pieces of camouflage or plant material were tied, making the person wearing it virtually invisible in a forest or a field.
“What’d ya think?” Uncle Billy asked. He twirled once then took a bow.
“You won’t win any beauty contests,” Chandler said.
“Maybe not, but I’m after the crown, and Zack Durant is the crown,” Uncle Billy said. He was dead serious. “You got the goods ready, Chandler?”
“I’ve checked and double checked the magazines for the LaRue and they’re ready to go.”
Chandler lifted the front part of the Ghillie suit and set it on his uncle’s shoulders to reveal a chest rack containing pouches for magazines. One by one, he inserted the magazines into the mag pouches then folded them shut. He flipped the front part of the Ghillie suit down then took his LaRue rifle and put the tactical sling over Uncle Billy’s head and under his left arm.
“Don’t take too many chances, Uncle Billy. Keep to the plan and everything will work out.”
“I like the feel of the rifle.” Not to let an opportunity for humor go by, Uncle Billy got in one last dig. “Hey, how about we swap even for rifles after this is over?”
Chandler rolled his eyes, looking at Uncle Billy’s beat up 1960s vintage Colt AR-15 Sporter on the table. Dabs of black paint were visible over the assembly boo-boos, and the triangular handguards were scratched, making unwelcome clacking sounds when held in a firm grip. The gun had an annoying opposing screw takedown system instead of the military captive takedown pin, so breaking the gun down into two pieces would take extra time.
