by Terri Reed
She hung her head. “I only know I need to do something more meaningful than what I’m doing now. I want to make God happy, but He isn’t talking yet and all of the doors are still shut.”
Rick was quiet for a moment. She wished she could read his thoughts. “I’m sure your students would say your job is pretty meaningful,” he said. “My fifth-grade teacher got me through my parents’ divorce.” Then he dropped the subject and picked up one of the handguns off the blanket. “Well, Miss Future Missionary, are you ready to learn how to shoot this thing?”
“Ready,” she lied.
“I know you aren’t thrilled about this, but once you get familiar with shooting it won’t seem so scary. After you hit a few targets, you might even start to have fun.” He turned the gun over in his hand. “This .45 will be a good one to start with.”
Stephanie eyeballed the gun in his hand as if it were another bomb about to explode. “Tell me again why I need to do this? Even if I know how to shoot it, that doesn’t mean I could ever actually shoot someone.”
“Even someone bent on killing you or threatening someone you love?”
“I don’t know. It isn’t a moral dilemma I’ve wrestled much with before now.” She didn’t like the way that question made her squirm.
“What if Julian was about to harm Joash or Haddie?”
She didn’t answer so he went on. “I keep thinking about the other night at the Watkinses’ place. I keep seeing the kids sliding around the kitchen in their socks and how excited they were about eating their dessert in the living room.” Rick’s forehead scrunched up with emotion. Stephanie replayed the scene in her own mind as he spoke, her stomach twisting.
Rick stared at the gun in his hands. “Julian Hale lit a house on fire that he knew had innocent women and kids inside…” Rick looked into her eyes and said, “This guy is serious, Stephanie.” He held up the gun in his hand. “It makes me sick thinking that he might hurt you. I need to know you can defend yourself.”
When she nodded, he began, “Okay, lesson number one review… The gun is always loaded…”
*
Her stomach was Jell-O again, and her hands felt unnaturally light. Rick taught her how to slap in the magazine and how to chamber the bullet, then the gun was all hers. His arms encircled her from behind, showing her how to hold the gun properly. “Remember.” His mouth was so close she felt the air skim her ear as he spoke, but with the orange foam earplugs in, he had to shout for her to hear him. “Finger off the trigger until you are ready to shoot.”
She held the pistol straight out in front of her. Rick’s hands gripped her waist. “Relax. Bend your knees. Lean in to it.” She tried to remember all of the instructions he had rattled off about the different stances, the breathing, squeezing versus pulling the trigger, not trying to anticipate the noise.
Rick pointed at the orange disks sitting in metal stands against the cut bank. They looked like the bottoms of flower pots. “Line up your sights on the target. Good.” He leaned with her, talking her through the steps. “Okay. As soon as you’re ready, go ahead.” He let go of her and stepped away.
“Wait. I’m not ready.”
“Once you blow up one of those targets you’ll be hooked.” He crossed his arms and waited for her to squeeze the trigger. Squeeze, not pull. She remembered that much. Or was it the other way around?
“Any day now, Stephanie,” Rick teased. “It’s nothing more than target practice. Bend your knees. Don’t try to anticipate the—”
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
All five of the targets exploded, one after the other, orange fragments flying through the air.
“Whoa!” Rick was flabbergasted. His hands flew to the top of his head. He hopped around in excitement. “I can’t believe it. You hit every one of them.”
Stephanie still held her arms up, frozen in place. Then suddenly she fell prone in the dirt and screamed, “Rick, get down.”
He knelt beside her and asked, “Did you faint? That can happen…”
“Rick, get down!” She popped up and tackled him to the ground. She looked down into his confused face. “I never pulled the trigger.”
*
Bullets peppered the ground, preventing him from standing. Rick pushed Stephanie off him and grabbed the gun she still clutched in her hand. The shots came from somewhere behind them, on the other side of the river.
Rick rolled and fired, searching for cover. They were too exposed by the river, but the tree line was too far to run without getting shot. He spotted the log they had climbed over earlier. It was small, but some cover was better than none. “Follow me,” he shouted to her. Grabbing her hand, they bolted for the log.
Only a few paces away, the ground in front of the log exploded with rapid bullets splaying rocks, knocking them to the ground for the second time. Rick landed on top of Stephanie, shielding her body from the raining lead. “You’re okay, Steph. Hang on,” he shouted into her ear.
Lord, save us. Rick was praying for the first time in too long. It was true, the old saying about remembering God in foxholes. His prayer life had been nonexistent lately. I’ve been trying to fix this whole mess on my own, trying to keep Stephanie and everyone else safe in my own strength. A bullet hit to his left, spraying gravel into his eyes. Stephanie coughed underneath him.
You could hit us if you wanted to. Where are you, Hale?
Cliffs and plateaus surrounded the river on both sides, providing a number of perfect hiding spots for a sniper. The highway traffic masked the noise, and the shooter had the perfect vantage point to see their defenseless position below. They were sitting ducks. With the right scope and a regular hunting rifle, even an average shot could pick them off from three to four hundred yards away. It had to be Julian Hale. Wherever he was hiding, it was far enough to remain unseen, but close enough to completely destroy their targets with perfect aim.
Stephanie whimpered at each ping of a bullet. Rick winced, expecting pain.
Rick returned fire, shooting blind. His bullets sprayed rocks less than one hundred yards away. He couldn’t risk hitting a car on the highway. As he continued firing and praying for their safety, the bullets hit close but never struck them.
“He’s playing games with us again,” he yelled, hoping to somehow reassure Stephanie.
Then as quickly as they had begun falling, the bullets completely stopped. Rick counted ten seconds. Did he dare move? His body weight was surely crushing Stephanie underneath him.
Rick army-crawled to the blanket and grabbed the rifle, then crawled back to where Stephanie lay on the ground. He pulled the two-way radio off his belt and called for help.
Miller’s voice crackled. “We’re on the highway. We’ll find him.”
No more shots fired.
“Leave everything and run for the trees,” Rick told Stephanie. “Stay low and get inside the cabin.
“I’m right behind you all the way, okay? I’ll be firing the gun to cover us. You do not stop. No matter what you think is happening behind you, you do not stop until you are safe inside. Understand?”
Stephanie’s pupils dominated her irises, but she scrambled up and began to run. Rick moved to follow after her, but in his peripheral vision he spotted movement. A blur of brown fur burst from the tree line farther down the river.
“Axle, bleib! Bleib!” Rick screamed the command for stay over and over and over again, but the dog either couldn’t hear him or simply refused to obey.
*
Lord, help, Stephanie prayed. She couldn’t find any other words to string together. That would have to be enough.
Was this what war felt like? Feeling the futility of the situation, knowing the enemy was stronger than you? Waiting to be shot, wondering if each breath was the last before a bullet sliced through you?
When I’m shot, what will it feel like?
Rick had shoved her forward, shouting instructions at her, but her confused mind had jumbled them. Run. To the cabin. Don’t look back. Don’t
stop.
“Go! Go! Go!”
The running felt surreal, as though she were moving through the landscape of a vaguely familiar nightmare. Stephanie didn’t think, only ran. She remembered the foam earplugs were still in place. She popped them out and dropped them to the ground. She heard Rick’s gun firing behind her, she heard him screaming something, but she did not stop.
Each step and heartbeat brought a question. Step. Am I alive? Beat. Is Rick behind me? Step. How much farther? Step. Where is Axle? She reached the tree line and the path toward the cabin. She stopped. Wait, where is Axle?
Stephanie spun around, searching before she even knew what she was looking to find. Her eyes locked on Rick crouched behind the log for cover. Why wasn’t he following her? He promised he would be right behind her.
The desperation in the commands Rick screamed paralyzed her. A flash of brown drew her eye farther down the river’s bank. Axle sprinted toward Rick, the dog’s athleticism and heroic heart on display leaving her breathless. His determination to ignore Rick’s commands and to protect his master sent her to her knees. She heard the shots firing again, hating how helpless she was to stop what was about to happen. Axle flew at Rick, knocking him to the ground. She covered her ears, unable to accept that Axle had been shot, unable to stand the raw agony she heard in the dog’s wails of pain.
THIRTEEN
The bullets were silent again, leaving only Axle’s cries to compete with the river’s roar. Each of the dog’s painful yelps entered Rick’s heart like a knife.
“Oh, buddy. I’m so sorry.” Rick’s hands shook as they hovered over Axle’s writhing body. He was afraid to touch, but he needed to search for the wound. He gently worked through the fur, looking for where the bullet entered. He found a small hole in the back of his upper right shoulder and a larger exit wound on his front shoulder. He must have taken the bullet as he dived through the air for Rick.
“Hang in there, partner. You’re going to be okay.” Rick continued to croon words of comfort as he worked, trying to keep Axle still.
“You have to be okay.” Tears welled, threatening to fall. Not much could make Rick cry. When he was a kid, if his dad or his grandfathers ever caught him crying, they would insist he knock it off and act like a man. Grandpa Powell would smack Rick on the arm and tell him to cowboy up. The last time he had cried was during his parents’ divorce, in private, sitting inside his bedroom closet where no one could witness it. He hadn’t even allowed himself to cry over Allie’s leaving him.
With Axle quivering in pain before him, he was finding it difficult to cowboy up this time, but Axle needed him to be strong and to think clearly without letting the emotion take over. Rick willed away the tears. He would not lose Axle. He wouldn’t even allow himself to think it. They hadn’t battled this hard to survive these past months to have it end like this.
“You coward!” Rick screamed across the river in the direction he thought Hale was hiding, but his accusation echoed back to his own ears. Hale probably couldn’t hear him. Was he even still up there? The gutless cur had probably already run away.
Hale’s rifle remained silent, tempting Rick to make a run for it himself. He needed to get Axle to the truck and go for help, but what if moving Axle hurt him more? It was a risk he was going to have to take. But before Rick could scoop the dog into his arms, Stephanie stepped out from the tree line and started running toward him.
She was supposed to be in the cabin and safe by now. “What are you doing? Go back,” he hollered at her.
Ignoring him, she kept running, using a large flat piece of scrap metal as a shield.
He tried to wave her off, his voice hoarse from all of the yelling he had done. “Get back in the cabin. Are you insane?”
She slid to the ground next to them, spitting up pebbles as she landed. Fury at the ridiculous stunt she had just pulled pumped through his veins. “What were you thinking? Now I’ve got two of you to get out of here safely.”
“No, Rick, you don’t understand. It’s okay. I’ve figured something out.” She dropped the scrap metal on to the ground. “I found this by the cabin. We can use it to carry Axle, to keep him still in case he has any broken bones.”
He shook his head. “I told you no matter what was happening behind you, you were to get inside that cabin.”
“I know what you said,” she shouted. “But Axle needs help, and he wouldn’t be hurt at all if it weren’t for me. Besides, I’ve figured something out. When I was watching from the trail it occurred to me.” She looked at him as though her words should make perfect sense. Well, they didn’t make any sense at all to him.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you see?” She reached for him and gripped his upper arms. “I am Axle’s best shield.”
Rick’s jaw dropped at her absurd claim. Shield? Rick pulled from her grip and pointed to the other side of the river. “That man up there with the gun? Remember him, Stephanie? He is shooting at us in order to kill you. Have you forgotten that?”
“You don’t understand.” She crawled away from Rick across the gravel toward the blanket. Dragging it back, she covered the metal with it and made a bed for Axle.
There was no question. She had lost it, snapped somehow under the stress, but he didn’t have time to figure her out. He scooped Axle gently onto the makeshift gurney and wrapped the blanket tightly around the dog. He hoped its warmth would prevent Axle from going into shock. He didn’t like that Stephanie had put herself in so much danger to get it down here, but he had to admit he was thankful for the way to transport the sixty-five-pound dog without causing further injury.
“I’ll pick up the rear, you lead,” he told her.
“Rick, you aren’t listening to me.” She flung her hands in the air in frustration. “Keep me between you and Julian at all times.”
“I am not letting you turn suicidal on me, Stephanie.”
She grabbed his arm, looking desperate to make him understand her. “Trust me, Rick. Shooting me from a distance is not what Julian has in mind for me. I’m figuring out the way he operates. He won’t hesitate to shoot you or Axle to prove his power or to get to me, but he won’t shoot me.”
She bit her lip, and then she added in a voice so quiet he almost couldn’t hear it above the river, “I think he has other plans for me.”
Her crazy theory had some merit. Sniper fire was not Hale’s style. He strangled his victims, preferring a more up close and brutal method. Rick had seen files that Stephanie hadn’t. The photographs of the women Hale had murdered played like a slideshow across his mind.
Rick remembered how long it had taken for the bomb to detonate at the hotel. Hale had protected Stephanie then, preserving her for his future plans. The FBI profile had said he was motivated by a need for power and dominance. Stephanie might be right. This could be another display of strength so she wouldn’t forget who was in control. Even if he was willing to shoot Axle and Rick, Hale probably wouldn’t be satisfied with killing Stephanie from afar.
Finally he conceded, “All right. But move quickly and stay low.”
*
Rick’s foot pressed on the accelerator, his truck tires squealing around the corners on the steep mountain highway. With every curve, inertia pressed him hard against the driver’s side door. He was pushing the speed as far as he dared. He didn’t want to hurt Axle further with all of the bumps and sharp turns. Any faster and the next bend might send them soaring off a cliff.
Stephanie attempted to hold Axle still in the backseat with one hand and search Rick’s cell phone for the nearest vet office with her other hand. She read out loud the directions to the closest one she could find.
“It’s in Sedro-Woolley. Can we make it in time?”
“We have to make it in time,” he told her, or was he telling God how it was going to be?
Rick heard tears in Stephanie’s songlike words as she comforted Axle. “Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay. Hang in there, Axle. Not long now and we wil
l get you all fixed up, boy.”
“Axle’s a fighter,” Rick told Stephanie. The reassurance was for his own benefit as much as it was for hers. “He’ll make it.”
When Rick was still in the hospital after the stabbing, the city bigwigs had decided they couldn’t justify the huge vet bills for the surgeries Axle required. They concluded Axle was too badly injured to ever recover and that the most humane thing was to put him down. Rick had protested, begging from his hospital bed that they do all that was necessary to save Axle’s life and he would personally cover the bills. No matter what they all thought, he was Rick’s partner, and even if Axle never walked or ran or even worked again, he was Rick’s friend, and Rick had never regretted that decision. Axle had fought so hard and come back stronger than ever, proving everybody wrong.
Rick glanced over his shoulder to the backseat again. Axle was still, calmed by Stephanie’s soothing voice, breathing deeply through the pain. “You’re a fighter, buddy. Don’t forget that,” he commanded Axle. Rick knew in his gut that Axle would make it. He had to make it.
Rick thought back to the fancy ceremony he and Axle had attended after they’d recovered. They were both awarded the Medal of Valor. When the mayor handed Rick the box at the ceremony, he had felt like a hack accepting it. The intent of the award was to celebrate officers who go above and beyond the call of duty, showing great bravery or heroism without thought to their own safety in the face of extreme danger. Rick hadn’t done anything exceptionally brave that night. He walked into a trap and almost got himself killed is what he had done. He had expected a reprimand or an internal affairs investigation, not a medal. He had felt ridiculous accepting the praise, and as soon as he got home that night he hid the box in his underwear drawer.
Not Axle. Rick had never seen Axle prouder. When the mayor slipped that medal over the dog’s head, Axle’s chest puffed out and he sat up as tall as he could possibly stretch himself. Later that evening when Rick tried to lift the ribbon off Axle’s neck, Axle had growled at him and bared his teeth. It took two days before Rick could coax him into letting the medal go, and it was only after Rick showed him where the medal would be displayed.
