***
‘Sam’ crawled through the foliage to where ‘Pete’ was kneeling behind a large rock, blood dripping from his right ear.
“You’re hit!”
“The asshole took off a piece of my earlobe. I’ll live.”
“What are we gonna do?”
“I’m gonna stay here and keep their attention. You go into the woods on the right and work your way downhill off the trail. When you get in position below them with a good field of fire, fire a warning shot to let them know you can take them out at any time. If they don’t surrender, shoot them both in the legs. Got it?”
Sam nodded and slipped quietly away through the foliage as his partner yelled downhill.
“IT’S ALL OVER, TREMBLE. YOU AND THE BOY LAY DOWN YOUR GUNS AND COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM.”
“THAT YOU, PETE? HOW’S SAM? SORRY I HAD TO HIT HIM.”
“YEAH, IT’S ME. AND YOU CAN ASK HIM YOURSELF AS SOON AS YOU SURRENDER, BUT HE’S NOT TALKING TOO GOOD NOW ON ACCOUNT OF HOW YOU ALMOST BROKE HIS JAW. NOW DO AS I SAY AND NO ONE WILL GET HURT.”
“WHY WOULD I DO THAT?”
“OH, I DON’T KNOW. MAYBE BECAUSE YOU’RE CUT OFF AND ANOTHER TEAM IS COMING UP THE TRAIL ON YOUR SIX EVEN AS WE SPEAK. ALSO BECAUSE OUR ORDERS ARE TO TAKE YOU ALIVE IF POSSIBLE BUT NOT TO RISK CASUALTIES DOING IT, BUT SINCE YOU’VE ALREADY SHOT AT US, WE CAN KILL YOU RIGHT NOW, NO QUESTIONS ASKED. YOU’RE NOT GETTING AWAY, SO THE ONLY QUESTION IS WHETHER YOU AND SONNY BOY LEAVE THESE WOODS ON YOUR OWN TWO FEET OR IN BODY BAGS. YOUR CALL, TREMBLE. I’M GOOD EITHER WAY.”
“WELL, LET ME JUST THINK ABOUT THAT, PETE.”
“SURE, TAKE YOUR TIME, ANYTIME WITHIN THE NEXT TEN SECONDS WILL BE FINE.”
There was no response for several minutes and the man’s impatience grew. Then there was the crack of a gunshot followed by the whine of a ricocheting round. The man smiled.
“AND THAT WOULD BE THE FIRE TEAM I TOLD YOU ABOUT, TREMBLE. THAT WAS A WARNING SHOT. YOU HAVE THREE SECONDS TO THROW OUT YOUR WEAPONS AND SURRENDER OR THEIR ORDERS ARE SHOOT TO KILL. ONE … TWO …”
The man’s smile widened as he saw two pistols fly over the boulders and clatter on the rocks of the trail, followed by Tremble rising with his hands in the air.
“DON’T SHOOT! WE SURRENDER! KEITH CAN’T STAND BECAUSE HE HAS A SPRAINED ANKLE.”
***
Tremble stood motionless, hands in the air as the two men converged on him from opposite directions. He nodded at Sam and got a glare in return. He wasn’t surprised the ‘fire team’ turned out to be only Sam—it was the obvious maneuver and what he’d have done in a similar situation. He’d known their position was untenable from the moment Keith went down, but harbored the slim hope they might take down their pursuers on first contact. The outcome of the fight was a forgone conclusion when their first rounds failed to take out their opponents.
Pete held them at gunpoint while Sam frisked them. He also examined Keith, and Tremble clinched his teeth at his son’s stifled moans.
“It’s sprained all right, maybe even broken,” Sam said. “He’s definitely not making it back uphill without help.”
“Then the friggin’ hero here can carry him,” Pete said.
“He’s a big boy,” Tremble said. “I’ll need help.”
“Not happening,” Pete said. “You carry him, or we leave him here with a bullet in the head.”
“I can make it, Dad,” Keith said, “and you don’t have to carry me. Just let me lean on you.”
Tremble nodded and began to help his son to his feet under Sam’s watchful gaze as Pete reached for his radio and raised it to his lips.
“Central, this is Unit Twelve, do you copy? Over.”
He repeated the call with no response. “Crappy reception down in this holler. I’ll try again closer to the top,” he said to Sam.
His partner nodded, and they began the uphill trek, prodding their struggling captives before them.
***
Wiggins redoubled his efforts at the sound of the distant gunfire, his arm numb. He was a third of the way through the tree, and Tex sat below him, a pile of sawdust covering her head and shoulders. She stared at the ground to keep the sawdust out of her eyes.
“How much longer?”
“We’re getting close,” Wiggins said.
“You friggin’ liar, how close really?”
Wiggins sighed. “A little over a third of the way. When I get halfway, I’ll try to push it over.”
“What do you make of the gunfire?”
“I’m worried it stopped. As long as they’re shooting at each other, they can’t be headed back. Now, who knows?”
“I agree … wait! Stop sawing a second!”
Wiggins did; then he heard it too. Sounds from downhill. He pulled the saw from the notch and set it down. Tex looked up and gave him a frightened nod, the action dislodging sawdust from her hair and causing her to squeeze her eyes shut again. He moved downhill and squatted behind a thick tree trunk to study the trail.
A minute passed and the sounds grew louder, low conversation punctuated by muffled groans. Then the tops of heads came into view followed by torsos. It was the two fugitives they’d seen earlier. He could see now one was considerably older and there was no mistaking the family resemblance. The older man was half carrying a man who could only be his son. The older guy looked familiar, and the memory of the earlier overheard exchange came flooding back. ‘… let Tremble and his son escape …’
Wiggins’ blood ran cold. He had no idea what was going on, but knew without a doubt any witnesses had a very limited lifespan. He crouched, immobilized by fear as Tex’s captors came into view behind their prisoners. Tremble stumbled and almost fell, and Wiggins could see he was struggling with the weight of his son.
“All right, take a break,” called one of the captors, the one with a bloody ear. The captives moved to sit on a nearby boulder while their captors moved up even with them to stand in the middle of the trail.
Bloody Ear turned to his partner. “We’re closer to the ridge now. I’ll try Central.”
The man turned his head to speak into a mike clipped to his shoulder.
“Central, this is Unit Twelve, do you copy? Over.”
“Twelve, this is Central. We copy and request immediate sitrep. Over.”
Bloody Ear grinned at his partner.
“Central, this is Unit Twelve. We have the subjects in custody. Repeat. We have the subjects in custody. Over.”
“Copy that, Unit Twelve. We confirm you have subjects in custody. We have units about to deploy. What is your location and we will send assistance. Over.”
“Central, we are on foot near Bear’s Den but do not require assistance. We are returning to base ETA thirty minutes. Repeat. We are RTB in thirty mikes. Stand down assistance. Over.”
“Negative, Twelve. We are sending assistance to your vehicle location. Over.”
“Central, I say again we do not require assistance and believe presence of additional assets will attract unnecessary attention to the operation. Your call. Over.”
There was no response for a moment and the other cop spoke to Bloody Ear.
“Maybe we should let them send—”
“Screw that. We need all the credit we can get on this to make up for your screwup. I’m not sharing this collar with anyone.”
“Unit Twelve, this is Central. Very well, we confirm you are RTB in thirty mikes and we are standing down assistance. Please confirm you completed mission without complications. Over.”
“Central, we have one loose end. Repeat. We have one loose end. Please advise preferred action. Over.”
Again there was a long pause before the response.
“Unit Twelve, be advised loose end is best handled on site if local conditions permit. Please advise. Over.”
“Central, we copy. We will tie up loose end on site. See you in thirty minutes. Unit Twelve out.”
Any hesitation Wiggins harbored was laid to
rest by the radio exchange. He pulled out the Glock and looked at it. The men wore body armor, and by the time they got close enough for him to get off a head shot, they’d be too close for comfort. That left the little rifle. They were well within range, and since he had to take head shots anyway, he liked his chances with the popgun a lot better. He stuffed the Glock in his waistband and raised the little Henry.
“All right,” Bloody Ear said, “the break is over. Let’s get a move—”
Wiggins pulled the trigger. He heard a muffled pop without even the slight recoil he expected from the little rifle. Bloody Ear stood unmoving and then slowly collapsed, but Wiggins was already targeting the second man. He aimed and tried to fire again, but the trigger wouldn’t pull. Realization hit him between the eyes like a sledgehammer. He’d loaded the friggin’ quiet rounds, without even enough recoil to cycle the bolt. In a panic he jerked at the bolt to chamber another round, his hands slipping on the small knob.
The second man seemed confused, unsure of the source of the attack until Wiggins’ frantic movement caught his eye. He crouched to present a smaller target, and Wiggins’ second round went high. Wiggins was attempting to chamber a third round when his target lifted the M4. The older man launched himself off the rock and struck the shooter hard in the side, sending his shot wild as the two men collapsed in a heap. Wiggins dropped the Henry and pulled the Glock to race downhill to where the men struggled for the M4. He jammed the Glock between the second man’s eyes.
“Drop it!”
The man tensed for a moment; then the fight left him. He released the M4 to slump back on the ground, defeated. The older man struggled up and pointed the rifle at his recent captor, nodding to Wiggins as he did so.
“Keep him covered,” Wiggins said. “I’m gonna check the other one.”
The other man was dead, Wiggins’ shot having taken out his left eye. There was no exit wound, indicating the low-powered round had ricocheted inside the man’s skull, making multiple passes through his brain. He searched the man then took off uphill with the handcuff key.
***
Two minutes later the surviving FEMA man was cuffed to a tree some distance away, hasty introductions had been made, and Tremble gave Wiggins and Tex the short version of the State of the Union.
“We’re screwed,” Wiggins said to Tremble. “Even if we separate, they’ll scoop up anyone in the vicinity who might have seen anything.” He nodded toward their captive. “And then there’s our friend here. Unless we dispose of him, he’ll link us together anyway.”
“I’m sorry,” Tremble said, “we had no intention of endangering anyone else. I think you know that.”
“Of course we do, Congressman,” Tex said, “but—”
Tremble flashed a wan smile. “Considering the likely end of our short acquaintance, I think we’re all on a first-name basis. Call me Simon.”
Tex nodded. “All right, Simon. I was saying it doesn’t matter how it happened, we have to deal with it. And given the fact you’ve been dealing with it a bit longer than we have, do you have any ideas?”
“We can’t get far,” Tremble said. “We’re due back at Mount Weather in a bit more than twenty-five minutes. When we don’t show up, they’ll come looking. They already have a fair idea where we are, so they’ll move to contain us. We need to get across State Highway 7 before that happens.”
Tex and Wiggins nodded. “That makes sense,” Tex said. “The highway is less than half a mile down this hill and there is a lot more woodland to search and fewer roads to access it north of the highway.” She looked at Keith. “But we can’t move very fast.”
“Bill and I can probably carry Keith and still make pretty good time,” Tremble said, “but you’ll have to ditch some of your gear. After we cross the highway, we’ll leave the trail and find a hiding place.”
“What about him?” Wiggins nodded again toward their prisoner.
“I haven’t figured that out yet,” Tremble said. “Why don’t y’all check what you can jettison and I’ll go talk to our friend.”
Tex and Wiggins nodded again, and Tremble got up off his rock and moved towards the captive.
***
“You present quite a dilemma, Sam,” Tremble said. “I don’t want to kill you in cold blood, but that seems the only logical choice.”
The man surprised Tremble by shrugging. “It’s George, not Sam. George Anderson. I reckon if you’re gonna kill me, you might as well know my name.”
“Very well, George. I have to say you seem remarkably calm about it.”
George shrugged again. “You kill me or they kill me, so what’s the difference? I’ve screwed up twice big time, and I’ve been around these people long enough to know that’s not gonna go over well. I was thinking it would get me exiled to a ‘fugee camp, but then I realized I know too damn much. They’re not gonna just demote me or kick me out. They’ll kill me, same as they’ll kill you. So like I say, what’s the difference? Y’all aren’t gonna make it out alive and I’m never makin’ it home to the Georgia backwoods. That’s for sure. I wish now I’d never left.”
Something clicked in Tremble’s mind and a plan began to form.
“Why are you so sure we won’t make it? These woods are pretty thick.”
“And when we don’t show up at Mount Weather, the search teams will be just as thick. They had four teams outfitting with more on the way when we left, along with a chopper with IR search gear. We stood them down, but they’ll come back on line and be deployed in an hour, two at most. You can’t get very far in that time, especially with the gimpy kid, and you can’t hide your body heat from the IR, no matter how thick the cover is. You don’t stand a chance.”
“Assuming we do get past the infrared and the search teams, is there anything else we have to worry about. Tracking dogs maybe?”
George thought a moment, then shook his head. “Probably not. Mostly FEMA called on local sources when they needed tracking dogs, and you may have noticed things are a bit strained with the local folks these days.”
Tremble rubbed his chin. “How’d you like a fighting chance at making it home to the Georgia backwoods?”
“I’m listening,” George said.
***
Tremble walked back to the group with George in tow, without cuffs. Wiggins looked up and began clawing the Glock from his waistband.
“Easy, Bill,” Tremble said. “There’s been a change of plan. Our new friend George here has agreed to buy us some time.”
“You gotta be nuts! You can’t trust him. Why would you—”
“Because if we don’t, we’re toast. Don’t trust him, trust me. Now are you with me?”
Wiggins hesitated. “Yes,” Tex said; then Wiggins nodded.
“All right, pick a spot a bit off the trail to hide everything you’re leaving and show George here where it is.”
Wiggins looked skeptical and stalked off into the woods. He returned a moment later and motioned George and Tremble over, but Tremble noted he left his hand resting on the Glock in his waistband. He pointed through the foliage.
“See that big fallen tree, about seventy feet downhill?”
George squatted and peered through the trees. “Just barely,” he said.
“We’ll cache everything we leave behind it and cover it with leaves. We don’t have time to bury it, but it’ll be out of sight,” Wiggins said.
George nodded, and Tremble motioned them back to where Tex was sorting out the contents of both backpacks. They looked down at the items spread out on the ground, and picked up a few things.
“These look like duplicates,” Tremble said.
“Yeah, but two is one and one is none,” Wiggins said. “We’ll need—”
“We won’t need anything if we’re dead,” Tremble said, ignoring Wiggins’ glare as he slipped the items in his pocket. He looked at his watch.
“All right, we have twelve minutes before we’ll be MIA. George, pick up your former colleague and start back south. Bill, yo
u and Tex get everything repacked and see if you can maybe cut a couple of saplings and rig up a stretcher for Keith. We’ll be able to move faster if you and I carry him that way, and maybe we can take more of the other stuff if we put your pack on the stretcher with him. Tex can carry what’s left in her pack and scout ahead to make sure we’re not ambushed. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Y’all be ready to move.”
“But where are you going?” Tex asked.
“To buy us some time, but I don’t have time to explain,” Tremble said as he scooped up the radio from where it rested on a rock and fell in behind George, who had his dead colleague in a fireman’s carry.
“Wait a minute,” Wiggins said, and ran over to George. “I might be able to use these.” He unlaced the dead man’s boots and tugged them off his feet, then stepped aside.
Tremble nodded and took the lead, his exhaustion forgotten as he set a grueling pace back uphill to the access cutoff to Bear’s Den, then continued past it down the steep slope back toward a stream at the bottom of the hill as George labored behind him. He stopped at the stream.
“Okay, put him down,” Tremble said, and George dumped his former partner on the trail.
“We’ll make better time in the streambed,” Tremble said, glancing at his watch as he splashed into the stream and away from the trail, George on his heels. They moved down the winding stream as quickly as conditions allowed, ever mindful of the time. The AT disappeared behind them in the foliage.
“Okay, this should be far enough off the trail,” Tremble said, just as the radio crackled.
“Unit Twelve, this is Central. We request immediate sitrep. Do you copy? Over.”
“Showtime,” Tremble said, pulling the radio from his belt and handing it to George as he simultaneously drew his pistol. “And just on the off chance you haven’t been straight up with me, if I sense the slightest hint of a double cross, you’ll be the first to die. Got it?”
George nodded and took the radio.
“Central, this is Unit Twelve. We copy. Repeat your last. Over.”
“Unit Twelve, our telemetry indicates your vehicle has not moved. What is your situation? Over.”
Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 Page 32
