Operation Z-Day (The Raven Falconer Chronicles)

by Larsen, Dennis

  The display on her phone indicated less than 10% battery power. She cussed herself again, wishing she’d spent the extra $15 and gotten the car-charging accessory. The writer debated calling Smugs but felt she better save what little power was left in case a real emergency presented itself. The night before she’d sent a quick note to Mick, downplaying the situation, as not to worry her friends but tonight, as she sat looking into the flames, her heart ached for some companionship or news of the outside world.

  The last bite gone, she ran her finger around the inside of the plastic container and swept the very last morsel into her mouth. She contemplated what state she’d be in had it not been for the stack of firewood her uncle had chopped and placed alongside the cabin. Earlier in the day, Raven had tried to make it to town but when she’d slipped sideways on the narrow road and almost plummeted down a steep incline, she’d returned to the cabin and decided to wait for help to arrive. Surely, she must not be the only one without power and the utility company was working to restore it.

  Unable to sleep in the bedroom, it being too far from the warmth of the flames, she curled up on the couch and slept lightly, hoping the morning sun would restore the electricity, along with her optimism. Hours later something woke her. Raven bolted upright, the embers still glowing but no flame as she listened for the sound that snapped her from a dream. She pulled the blanket around her and strained to hear what it was that had startled her. Bzzzzz, Bzzzzz, the sound sent Raven to her feet shrieking, before she realized it was her phone reporting an incoming text message. “Idiot,” she said, reaching for her phone. Great, she thought, as she responded to the message from Bobi, telling her that they were on their way. ‘No POWER – steal a generator!’ She smiled as she sent the text, wondering if Bobi would take her at her word.

  More awake and clear-headed she listened again, thinking perhaps the night's sounds or a vivid dream had yanked her from her sleep. Nothing . . . no wait . . . there it is again. In the cold of the room, sweat formed on her upper lip as the distinct sound of someone or something walking across the back porch reached her ears. She held her breath and closed her eyes, focusing every ounce of energy on hearing what was happening on the other side of the wall.

  Suddenly, something heavy slammed against the back door, shaking the wall and sending a fishing rod and picture frame clattering to the floor. Raven screamed and jumped back, distancing herself from the door. She knelt next to the fireplace, almost crushing the phone in her fist. A single candle twinkled in the dark of the room, providing the only light, as Raven looked about for a weapon.

  There’s a shotgun, somewhere there’s a shotgun. Where . . . where? Raven tried desperately to remember where she’d seen it on a previous visit. On her hands and knees she scooted to the table and lifted the small candle with its lingering glow. The orange flame flickered and bent against the air’s faint resistance. It trembled and feigned being snuffed out but recovered quickly, dancing as she shuffled across the floor. Hot wax ran from a small, molten pool at the wick’s base, covering her fingers and numbing the tissue. “Bedroom, has to be in the bedroom,” she whispered under her breath, the sound of her voice calming her briefly. Outside on the landing she heard the squeaking of planks as they rubbed against each other. She stopped and whispered a quick prayer, before the sound of something against the door sent her flying into the bedroom.

  Inside the room, she looked under the bed but found nothing except dust balls and a stack of old puzzles. A large upright armoire stood against the wall, where only days before she’d unpacked her belongings. It’s not in there, then she remembered and jumped to her feet. Raven dripped some wax from the base of the wick onto the nearest bedpost and secured the shortened candle to free her hands. Standing on her tiptoes she ran her fingers over the top of the furnishing, first across the front, finding nothing, and then the back where her hand touched something cold and metallic.

  Encircling the steel of the shotgun, she wrenched it from its hiding place and swung it toward the door. Sweeping her left thumb across the weapon’s release, the chamber pitched open as the double barrels angled downward, exposing the brass ends of two shells. With her right hand she bent the rifle back into alignment, closed the breach and cocked the hammers. Her faint shadow, cast by the fading light of the vanishing candle, stretched out before her as she moved through the bedroom's entrance to the single window that would provide a view out the backside of the cabin. Shaking, but trying to muster her courage, she used the end of the gun to move the floral drapes away from the opening. She squinted into the darkness but could see nothing.

  Raven moved to her right, keeping the material swept back so she could see through the window and onto the back porch. Moonlight, glinting off the newly fallen snow, provided some contrast and it immediately became apparent to the shaken young woman that something had disturbed her groceries. Wrappers and partially ingested food items littered the ground but the culprit was nowhere in sight. Without warning, the door shook, almost giving way, as something pressed firmly against it. The author’s attention was drawn to the door, but only briefly, as seconds later, a couple of quick steps brought the creature directly in front of the window, where it stood inches away and growled at Raven’s image.

  Teetering on the edge of hysteria and with adrenalin coursing through her veins, Raven pulled back on both triggers, sending a hundred lead BB’s through the window and into the foraging black bear. It wailed and crashed a paw through the broken window before it dropped onto all fours and ambled away from the cabin. Raven peered through the shattered glass, a marked trail of blood that appeared black in the moonlight lead away from the porch. “Damn! What have I done,” she yelled.

  Taking a couple of deep breaths she tried to clear her head. What do I do? What can I do? she thought. “What if it comes back? Oh man, what if it comes back?” She hurried through the almost pitch black of the cabin to the bedroom where she felt for a box of shells she knew must be on the top of the armoire. Finding it, she pulled it down and extracted a couple of live rounds, which she used to reload the shotgun. She returned to the main room and stood near the broken window, holding the barrel in such a way as to deliver another blast, if need be. Twenty minutes passed, then an hour, before she had the courage to cover the window with some cardboard, duct taping it into place. She spent the remainder of the night clutching the gun and trying to stay warm. No sleep would come but anguish and fear helped her to stay alert.

  In the early morning hours she was relieved to see the first stray lights of morning filter through the air and into the cabin. The realization that she’d likely killed something in the night weighed heavily on her heart, but it would not be the last or the most difficult. Life, as she knew it, was over and kill or be killed would trump all, as sane men were driven to monstrous acts in an effort to save themselves and their families.

  Chapter 6

  The constant, droning hum of the Jeep’s tires on the asphalt had put Bobi and Hannah to sleep shortly after leaving Calgary’s city limit. They’d been fortunate as they exited the city in lock down. A single police cruiser, with lights flashing, had a minivan pulled to the side of the road and was reading them the ‘riot act’ when the girls made a number of hasty detours to bypass the officer and continue on Highway 1 West. The three had concocted a story in case they were stopped, not very believable but with the right delivery and a wink from Bobi, they hoped it would be enough to see them through. They were specialty lab workers who had been called to the Stoney Nakoda Reserve 50 kilometers west of the city to assist with testing the native population.

  Mick ran the mock scenario through her head a dozen times as she drove on, trying to make it sound somewhat plausible but she doubted it would. The highway was deserted but for the Jeep and its knifelike halogen headlights that stabbed through the darkness. In the rolling foothills, east of the great Canadian Rocky Mountains, wildlife zigzagged across the road helping to keep Mick awake at the wheel. In the seat next to her, Bob
i hugged her chest and leaned her head against the window while Hannah sprawled out on the seat behind, snoring lightly.

  Forty minutes into their journey, blue and red lights flickered ahead where a stationary RCMP unit was pulled to the side of the road. “Bobi, Hannah, wakeup – wakeup, we’ve got trouble.”

  “What is it? What’s going on?” Hannah asked, leaning her head over the front seat.

  “Cops, looks like a blockade,” Mick answered, slowing the vehicle to a crawl well before the stationary cruiser.

  “What do you think is going on?” Bobi asked, as she straightened up to see over the dash.

  In the road several meters beyond the police car with the flashing lights, two pickup trucks were blocking the highway, being parked nose-to-nose, their engines running and headlights on. Four men stood in the road, their long hair pulled back in braided ponytails; two held rifles while the others walked forward, their hands held up, motioning for the ladies to stop. The extreme glare from the Jeep’s lamps reached the men and they brought their hands up to shield their eyes, drawing a string of expletives from their lips.

  “I don’t see any cops,” Bobi offered, bringing her right leg underneath her to act as a boost.

  “Me either,” Mick noted, slowing even further, now 40 yards from the makeshift roadblock.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s a real patrol car though, but where is the officer?” Hannah questioned, pushing her head even further forward to get a better look.

  The three hurriedly talked, confirming that they would proceed with their previous plan and act the part of lab workers on special assignment.

  “Bobi, I’ll need you to do most of the talking if they start to get technical,” Mick confirmed to the only real lab tech.

  “K, I got your back.”

  Mick pressed the button on the side console, electronically lowering the window, allowing the morning’s fresh air to slap each of the women fully in the face.

  “Whew, a bit nippy out there this morning,” Bobi said, squaring herself in the seat and preparing to deliver the performance of a lifetime.

  The two native men split off, one on either side of the highway, as Mick brought the Jeep almost to a complete stop. Those with guns stood in the wide-angled beam of the headlights and pivoted their rifle barrels forward and in direct line with the girls’ ride.

  “What do they think they’re doing?” Mick asked, somewhat alarmed.

  From outside the Jeep, the young man on the driver’s side hollered, “Hold up there, STOP!” He emphasized his point by taking two quick steps toward the jeep and thrusting his hand up, palm flat. A black bandana pulled low across his brow did little to hide his facial features, which were fiercely intense. Rotating lights bathed him in alternating blue and red streaks, adding to the harshness of the scene. He was near twenty with sharp cheekbones, a prominent, jutting forehead and deep-set black eyes. On his hip, a long slender handgun was holstered and cradled tight against his thigh. The young native’s hand rested comfortably on the wooden grip, pivoting right and left as if scratching the center of his palm with the handle’s butt.

  As Mick brought her foot to bear on the brake, bringing them to a complete stop, Hannah yelled from the backseat with panic in her voice, “Don’t stop, don’t stop!” She had inspected the front seat of the RCMP vehicle as they’d slowly inched by and could see the officer pitched sideways in the car, blood splattered across the dash and half of his face blown away. “Mick, get us out of here. The cop is dead. Gun it!”

  Without hesitation, Mick slammed her right foot down on the accelerator and pulled the steering wheel hard to the left, sending them off the road and into the v-shaped median. The bandana-clad native bolted away, rolling to avoid being hit. He withdrew the sidearm and began yelling at the others, “Shoot ‘em, don’t let ‘em get away.” Suddenly a new world, unlike anything they’d ever experienced, opened up around them: heavy lead slugs ricocheted and whistled as the native men cycled through their magazines. Blasts and concussions filled the air while the men scrambled to take their prey before they could get away. The sound of gunfire and the screaming of the Jeep’s engine overshadowed vulgar, slang-filled commands, not unlike the howling that was taking place inside with the women.

  The spinning wheels bit into the sod between the east and westbound blacktops, throwing a rooster tail of rocks and dirt back at the assailants. The nose of the Jeep pitched down as they shot forward, and then hitting the bottom of the burrow pit, arched up, bouncing the women and throwing the contents of the vehicle into disarray. Mick kept her foot mashed to the gas pedal, practically pushing it through the floorboard. The back end whipped side-to-side as the tires tried to maintain traction, the act ultimately saving their lives, as most of the bullets sailed wide. Their getaway vehicle took some strikes, shattering a taillight and taking off the side mirror next to Bobi, but the friends remained unharmed.

  Hannah knelt on the backseat, her eyes just over the cushion, trying to see what was happening in their wake. “Keep going, Mick! Don’t slow down,” she shouted, a rising hysteria ripping at her vocal cords. Milliseconds after delivering the words of encouragement a spinning slug, fired from the leader’s pistol, crashed into the upper corner of the rear window, blowing it out and sending glass shards over the interior. Hannah’s forehead was peppered and sliced, tiny crystalline spears penetrating the flesh and releasing a steady stream of blood down her face and into her eyes. Once she’d recovered from the shock of the impact, she wiped at her eyes and lifted her head to see if their attackers were giving chase. “Those bastards are coming! Mick, they’re coming – faster, faster,” she bellowed.

  Driving down the wrong side of the highway, Mick kept the needle on the speedometer buried as much as she was able. Fear and the engine’s whine propelled them away from the scene and freedom, but only momentarily. Behind, two of the native offenders had mounted one of the pickups and were gaining ground. The small, four-cylinder engine of the Jeep was no match for the supercharged Hemi that was rocketing the truck forward and roaring to overtake them.

  “What do we do?” Bobi screamed, whipping her head around to gauge the distance between the vehicles. Hannah turned to meet her stare, blood running from her forehead and spilling down her face. “Oh no, Hannah, you’ve been shot!”

  “Where?” Hannah yipped, running her hands over her neck and chest.

  “No, your face. You’re bleeding like crazy.”

  “I’m okay. It’s glass from the window. Mick, keep going; I’ve got an idea. Bobi, climb back here and give me a hand.”

  Bobi slipped over the seat and brought her ear to Hannah’s mouth, making it possible for her to hear above the blaring engines.

  “Whatever you’re going to do, you better do it fast. They’ll be on us in a few seconds,” Mick yelled, alternating her gaze from the road to the rearview mirror. Behind her she could see her friends dragging a cooler from the cargo area to the backseat. They positioned the cooler near the right-hand door, forcing Bobi to climb back over and into the front seat.

  “Mick, when I say now, swerve hard to the left,” Bobi shouted into the confined space.

  “Why?”

  “Just do it!”

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Hannah had moved in the limited space, lying on her back with her head resting on the door handle and her feet braced against the cooler’s end. Bobi reached over the seat and grasped the door release while peering out the back of the Jeep. The souped-up truck had closed within meters and the armed passenger had climbed through the open window and was sitting on its frame, preparing to bring his gun to bear on the fleeing women.

  “Hannah, you ready?” Bobi hollered, looking down at the blood-soaked face of her friend.

  “Yeah, I can’t see so just give me a shout.”

  When the pursuing truck was one car-length back, Bobi shouted, “Now,” and pulled on the handle, releasing the door and prompting Hannah to shove the container out with one powerful thr
ust of her legs. Mick whipped the Jeep to the left just as the heavy, locked cooler slid from the backseat and into the path of the advancing truck. The driver swerved to avoid the obstacle but in the process sent his friend flying from the passenger window, the man landed badly, breaking his neck and killing him instantly. At approximately the same time, the left front tire collided with the cooler, startling the driver and careening the truck into the gravel between the highways, flipping it on its side.

  A cacophony of scraping metal and breaking glass filled the quickly retreating world, as Mick showed no signs of slowing. Uneasy shouts arose from her passengers as Bobi leaned over the seat and took Hannah’s hand in a tight clasp, pulled her upright and kissed her fully on the lips. A bit surprised, Hannah sat back, doe-eyed but glad to be alive.

  “Great idea, Hannah. I could kiss you again,” Bobi belted out, the excitement in her voice somewhat telling.

  Hannah recovered from the initial shock and responded to her friend, “Yeah, thanks, but I’m good.”

  Three miles down the road; Mick backed off on the gas pedal and slowed enough to pull back to the proper side of the highway. Their hearts continued to rebound off their chest walls, the cold from the broken window hardly evident as sweat continued to form on their exposed faces. Bobi crawled back over the seat with a handful of wet-wipes she’d pulled from the glove box, anxious to help Hannah and inspect her wounds.

  “Do you need me to stop?” Mick asked, as she maneuvered the Jeep through the ditch and up onto the blacktop.

  “Nope, get us out of here,” Hannah issued, taking one last look behind them before positioning herself for Bobi to clean her up. “Ouch, take it easy,” she pleaded; jerking her head away each time Bobi disturbed an imbedded shard.