Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga

by Marcus Richardson

  A cry to the right of the man he was watching caused him to shift his view. When the next man came into focus, Chad nearly dropped his rifle. That guy was aiming right at him and actually fired. Chad saw a brief flash before he heard a sharp crack and a chunk of bark showered down on his shoulder. Falling backwards on reflex, Chad’s finger bumped the trigger on his rifle and it boomed into the storm, dwarfing the report from the military rifle.

  Chad heard some screaming and many excited voices. Now he was sure they weren’t American. A few more shots were fired in his direction, sending up puffs of snow and bits of bark all around him.

  “Oh, screw this!” he said and scrambled to his feet and took off north in a headlong dash through the storm. The realization that he had just shot a man drove him forward even after his lungs were screaming for rest. If they were chasing him before, they sure as hell were chasing him now. Over the din of the storm and the shouts from below, he heard the helicopter again.

  He was in some kind of nightmare. Had to be.

  CHAPTER 9

  Glacier National Park, Montana.

  CHAD KEPT UP HIS top pace as long as physically possible and only stopped when he stumbled and crashed into a snow covered log. He laid there in the cold snow, resting until the stars retreated from his vision. He rolled over on his side placing his back against the frozen log. Only then did he realize he was half buried in the snow and a hell of a lot colder than he had ever been before. Panting, his chest burned with the effort of his escape. His beard was coated in snow, making his face cold. His teeth began to chatter.

  “Not…not…good…man…” he told himself as he struggled to brush the snow off his watch. It was only 3:37pm. He glared south through squinted eyes, looking through a tunnel of snow swirling around and about him. The storm had fully enveloped the mountains in darkness. This was no normal early-season storm. It was a real blizzard. And he was about spent and still hours away from shelter.

  Chased by those soldiers, he now felt a sudden, terrible kinship with the animals that he had harvested for the CDC. Run to ground, exhausted, cornered. He had only to wait for a crack of a rifle and a bullet to end it all. He chuckled grimly. The Blue Flu couldn't touch him. The Black Death had no way to hurt him. But a little piece of lead will might very well finish him off right here, propped up against the snow-covered log.

  He knew they were out there somewhere. Full dark would be coming soon, since this time of year. That would be real bad news for him, stuck out here, freezing to death with no shelter, already exhausted. The prey had been run to ground.

  A new voice called out. Chad held his breath. Another shout.

  “Mr. Huntley! Chad Huntley!” The voice came from behind the log, to the north—the opposite direction in which he had last spotted his pursuers. It was calm, authoritative, and loud. Whoever was speaking was close. And clearly spoke English.

  “Sir, we’re here to help you! Can you hear my voice? Chad Huntley! Hell-looooooo!”

  Chad gave up. Whatever was going to happen, hopefully it would all be over soon. Maybe they would take him to jail for shooting one of those guys back there. He didn’t care anymore. He just wanted out of the damn storm. He feebly raised a gloved hand and tried to speak. His voice croaked out a reply but it was lost in the howling wind. He waved his arm over his head, back and forth. He stirred, trying to raise himself on one elbow and keep waving. Chad was shocked to see how fast his body succumbed to the elements once the initial adrenaline rush ended. He felt weak as a kitten.

  “Got movement over here!” shouted the voice, closer now.

  “There he is!” called out a second voice, almost on top of him.

  A shape appeared out of the snow as it slid over the top of the log and landed next to him with a muffled thump. Chad was expecting the woodland camouflage of his tormentors but was greeted with someone wearing white camouflage, and decked out as if he was going to war. The man was wearing a military helmet, snow goggles and a neoprene mask over his face—all white. The man was also wearing and a white vest with bulging pockets and a rucksack on his back. He also had a wicked looking machine gun.

  “Sir, are you Chad Huntley?” said the masked figure, bending low to speak clearly through the wind.

  “Yeah,” Chad replied hoarsely.

  “Are you okay? Are you injured?”

  “Cold…tired…”

  “Okay. Just relax, for me. I’m Staff Sergeant Garza. We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? I need you to put your rifle down first, though.”

  Two other forms appeared out of the snow like ghosts, dressed like Garza. They both knelt down next to Chad and looked him over. One soldier took Chad’s Henry rifle and looped its sling over his shoulder.

  The other turned to look around and called out into the air, “Anvil, this is Hammer 2, Actual.”

  Garza was trying to help Chad to a sitting position and he could hear over the soldier’s in-helmet headset the static-filled reply: “Hammer 2, Actual, this is Anvil, go ahead.”

  “We have the package—I say again: we have the package. The trees are too dense here, better call off our ride. We’ll head to the secondary LZ.”

  “Anvil copies all. You got twenty minutes. The storm is eatin’ the gas up, how copy?”

  “Shit,” the soldier said. Then louder, “Roger, Anvil—Actual copies all. We are Oscar Mike.”

  “Somebody help me get him up,” said Garza.

  “I’m…I’m sorry,” said Chad through clenched teeth. “I didn’t…mean to shoot him—”

  “Calm down, sir, you’re going to be fine,” the soldier replied. “Wait, shoot? Shoot who?”

  “Those g-guys back there,” Chad said, weakly pointing south. “Been chasing me since b-before noon…soldiers I think. Hunting me across the damn mountain.”

  “What kinda shit-show we just walk into, Cap?” came a gruff voice from the other side of the log.

  “Stow it, Donovan. Get your ass up that ridge up ahead and check it out.”

  “Hooah,” the man replied and climbed over the log with as much grace as an elephant. He carried a long gun with a large scope on it.

  “Who…who are you g-guys?” Chad was helped over the log by Garza and another man. He watched as the ghost he assumed was Donovan moved swiftly off into the storm in a crouch, without hesitation. Chad knew the man was walking into a trap. He struggled to get the attention of his…captors? Rescuers?

  “Sir, calm down, what is it?” asked Garza.

  “Trap!” said Chad hoarsely. “There’s a dozen guys following me—armed…soldiers I think,” he gasped and grabbed Garza’s arm in a desperate grip. “Heartbeat monitor…tracking me…shot at me!”

  “Shit,” said Garza through his facemask. He called out over the storm, “Sir!”

  The leader easily slid over the log and crouched next to Chad. “What is it, Garza? This guy okay?”

  “Yes sir, but he just informed me he’s being pursued by twelve armed men, he assumes they’re soldiers. Thinks they got a beater-scope—they’ve been tracking him.”

  “You serious?” the helmeted head tilted in Chad’s direction. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Hammer 2-1 to Hammer 2!” squawked Donovan’s voice. The sound was in stereo as Chad heard it over the headsets of the soldiers on either side of him.

  “Actual, here, go ahead, 2-1.”

  “I got 15-plus foreign foot-mobiles in front of me. From the looks of them, I’d say North Koreans.”

  “Get out of there on the double, 2-1. On me, NOW!” To the rest of the wraith-like soldiers gathered around the log, he said: “Deacon, Tuck, Zuka, you three secure the LZ, and take Mr. Huntley with you. Garza, you’re with on me. Bring that flyswatter. We’ll wait for Donovan and secure the retrograde.”

  Strong hands helped Chad to his feet and pulled him north into the storm. “Come on, sir, we got you,” said the soldier on his left.

  Chad figured he was getting delirious. He swore to himself he just heard that man
say to Garza to bring his flyswatter. But the huge machine gun the sergeant carried was anything but a flyswatter. Before he could ask any questions, he was forcibly turned around and half-pulled, half-marched north into the teeth of the storm.

  As they staggered along, the slope of the ridge finally gave way and started leading them down toward the Avalanche Creek valley. The going got easier, they lost altitude, and Chad could feel some strength returning to his cold limbs.

  “Who the hell are you guys?” he gasped as two soldiers lead the way with weapons up and pointed forward. The third disappeared into the blowing snow behind them.

  “Don’t worry, we’re the good guys,” the one on the right said. The one on the left chuckled softly.

  Distant popping sounds carried by the wind reached them. The two soldiers in front of Chad froze and dropped to a knee, looking around warily. The one on the right turned to Chad and held up a gloved hand in front of his face mask with the index finger pointing up. Chad nodded to indicate he understood the signal: be quiet.

  The soldier motioned again with his hand: he moved his hand slowly, palm-down facing the ground. Another message: get down. There were a few sharp cracks that Chad recognized as belonging to the rifles of his dogged pursuers who had been tracking him throughout the hellish snowstorm. There was a loud bam-bam-bam-bam in immediate response.

  Chad nervously watched the soldiers’ silent hand signals flash back and forth. He kept silent and listened, straining to hear anything else over the howl of the snowstorm. The wind gusted and the sounds of the firefight vanished. The soldier on the right tilted his head as if he was listening to something, then nodded and turned to the one on the left. They stood up and motioned Chad to follow.

  “Let’s go, sir, we gotta hustle, now.” Without waiting for a response, they took off at a jog.

  “Wait!” said Chad as he struggled to catch up. How the hell could those guys be running? They were carrying packs bigger than his and looked to be wearing body armor as well.

  “Don’t worry, sir, we’re not leaving you,” a voice said behind him.

  “Jesus!” Chad said, whirling in surprise and nearly stumbling headlong into a snow bank. “What the hell is going on?” he shrieked as the white clad ghost grabbed his arm and spun him forward again.

  “This way, sir. Move!” More popping and the bark of bigger guns flitted through the trees and snow. Someone was fighting back there and it was getting louder. Then, as they continued on, the only sounds he heard were his own ragged breathing, his heart pounding in his ears, the crunch of his boots in the ankle-deep snow, and the ever-present howling of the wind.

  Finally at the base of the ridge, Chad and his escort paused at the tree line, where a service road ran east-west. Chad looked with longing off to the right, down the road toward his cabin on the shores of Lake Avalanche. Just a few minutes by ATV, or an hour on foot. To the left, the road followed the MacDonald Creek valley between Little Matterhorn to the south and massive form of Mt. Vaught to the north. If they went that way, they’d be funneled right into Lake MacDonald.

  The three soldiers put their heads together and discussed something while Chad stood there looking at the road. Finally one of them turned to him and said, “Okay, sir, the LZ is just on the other side of those trees there, maybe two hundred yards. Looks like there’s a creek or river or something—“

  “That’s MacDonald Creek,” said Chad. If he strained his ears, he could just barely hear the noise of the swiftly flowing glacial creek as it rushed toward Lake MacDonald.

  “Right, okay. Well, we’re going to assume the enemy has a patrol out there—” the soldier said, pointing to the east. “And they’d be stupid not to have someone set up over there,” he said, pointing to the west. “That’s Mt. Vaught, due north, right?”

  “Yeah,” sighed Chad. Trapped again.

  “Then that’s where we’ll go. Did you see any vehicles with these men chasing you? Any aircraft?”

  “I saw at least two Jeeps when they first arrived,” offered Chad weakly. They were down that way, and were driving east,” he said first pointing to the right, then to the left, toward the lake. “I heard a helicopter later…”

  “Copy that, sir. That helo you heard could have been us, though.” He took a quick look left and right down the snow covered road. “Okay, we’re going to sprint across the road on my count, then regroup inside the tree line on the other side of that ditch over there. Got it? Don’t stop—”

  Some more gunfire, closer than ever, erupted behind them, up the ridgeline. The soldiers didn’t pay much attention to it but Chad ducked. He had heard that same sharp sound when the bark was blasted off the tree above his head a few hours ago.

  “It’s all right, sir, you’re fine. But remember: run, do not stop for anything until you reach the trees. Okay?” Without waiting for Chad to acknowledge, he turned to his comrades and said, “One, two, three—go, go, go!”

  Chad bolted and kept pace with the soldiers as they raced across the road kicking up snow in their wake. From his left, Chad heard a loud bang and a clump of snow flew up in front of his face. He screamed and ran through it, tripping off the edge of the road into the ditch as more shots rang out and blasted snow from the road.

  “Sniper!” someone called out.

  One of the soldiers cleared the ditch in a leap and disappeared into the snowbank on the other side. The soldier immediately pivoted in place and fired a three-round burst from his rifle toward the east into the darkness. The gunfire thundered in Chad’s ears and he screamed

  The other two dropped down in the ditch, oblivious to the shots fired at them and physically hauled Chad to the tree line a few yards away.

  Once within the safety of the trees, the soldiers all dropped to a knee and waited. Chad was panting from fright and exertion. He fell down on his hands and knees in a cloud of snow. He had never been so scared in all his life. Even when Blue Flu was killing everyone in his neighborhood, he hadn’t been really afraid. He remembered feeling…nothing. But now, with some sniper shooting at him, Chad came face-to-face with a deep-seated fear that he had never known before. He felt his bowels begin to liquefy.

  “All good?” asked one of the soldiers.

  “Hooah,” said one.

  “You know it,” replied the other in a cocky tone.

  “I think I’m gonna puke,” Chad muttered to the laughter of the others.

  “Aw, you did all right, sir. For a civilian. Not bad at all,” said the soldier next to Chad. He gave Chad’s shoulder a brotherly slap.

  The first soldier spoke again over his comrades’ laughter, “Hammer 2, Actual, this is Hammer 2-2: be advised, enemy sniper along the forest road, call it a hundred-fifty yards to the east, north side of the road. Repeat, enemy sniper north of your location. How copy?”

  “What the hell is going on…this is crazy…” muttered Chad, trying to hold himself together.

  “Actual copies all. Do not engage, repeat: do not engage the sniper—we have to make the LZ. Have engaged enemy foot-mobiles. Confirm on the NKors, there’s only a few left, though. Get to the LZ and secure, we’re coming in hot!”

  Chad could barely hear the words over the nearest soldier’s headset, but he could clearly hear the popping of gunfire in the background as the leader spoke.

  “Roger that, Actual.” The soldier turned to the others. “You heard the man, let’s go.” They all stood up. He looked at Chad. “Okay, sir, we’re almost to the LZ -”

  “The what?” asked Chad.

  “Landing Zone. Our ride is coming in to pick us up in a few minutes. We got to cross this creek.”

  Chad followed the three soldiers deeper into the woods a few steps and finally understood what the soldier had said. “You gotta be kidding me! A helicopter? In this storm? That’s crazy!”

  He could hear MacDonald Creek before he saw it—an icy-cold torrent of water, speckled with big rocks and boulders, perhaps ten yards wide. He stood on the south bank and watched first
one, then the other of the soldiers scamper across the creek using the bigger rocks as footrests. They waved at him from the far side. Muttered to himself about the impossibility of his situation, Chad followed and managed to make it across the cold rushing water with only one wet boot.

  “I don’t know how much farther I can go,” Chad said, bent over double.

  The three soldiers chuckled in response, weapons still at their shoulders as they walked, scanning everything to the front and sides of their position. They continued into the trees again, following the slope of the ground north toward Mt. Vaught.

  Chad paused and looked up at the massive flank of the mountain. They were deep within the forest now, the wind and snow had died down considerably.

  “You guys train for this kind of thing?” he asked, panting.

  “SSDD to us, sir,” said one.

  “Hooah!” replied the other with a laugh.

  “What?” said Chad, his world suddenly starting to spin out of control. Reality seemed to be taking a back seat today. He could feel his knees starting to get weak. He needed rest, food, and warmth, and he needed them now.

  “Same shit, different day.”

  One of the soldiers studied a map. “Come on, we still got about a hundred yards to go before we reach the LZ.” He turned upslope. “There’s a clearing up there somewhere, but it’ll be a bit of a steep hike.”

  Chad threw his hands up. “Wait a damn minute. Just wait! I’m not going any farther until someone tells me just what the fuck is going on here!” said Chad as he came to a stop. He leaned on a tree, panting. “I was out minding my own business, bringing down a cougar for a sample, the next thing I know these guys show up with guns and start tracking me. Then, next thing I know, they’re shooting at me…and…and I shoot one of them…”