Add to that the fact that the old man's behavior had become increasingly erratic. Then there was the argument this morning. As they went over the "battle plan" Boil and Mamba couldn't seem to agree on whose men would go first. The gang leader had accused Boil of wanting to use his men as bullet catchers… and Carter could see his point. Finally, near lunchtime the two men had agreed that the first wave would be comprised of both Boil's men and Mamba's hoods, with an even split between the two.
It had seemed like they might finally be on their way… when they spotted the federal agent. She had been observed by one of Boil's drivers, taking in lunch at the Wayside. He had thought, at the time, that she was still there. The old man had ordered the trucker to get his ass back to the diner, follow the agent when she left, and radio with a rundown of her activities.
Come mid-afternoon said report had been provided. The agent had spent several minutes at the local pharmacy, then driven to the Dreiling farm, where she appeared to be staying put. At least for the time being.
Why the Dreilings? Boil had wondered. Then yet another account was provided, this time via Joe Coolidge's CB. He had seen Celine's Jeep leave the old mill road… and had decided to follow. The Jeep, Coolidge confided, had turned off at the Dreilings' driveway.
Boil had broken out in a sweat. Celine was talking to the feds. How much did they know already? Maybe it wasn't too late, but they had to act fast. The boss man negotiated with Mamba to send four of his gang to the farm… where they were to kill the agent and retrieve Celine.
Meanwhile, the time had come at last for Carter, Boil's men, and the rest of Mamba's crew to descend on Speakers' Mill.
***
"Whoever they are, they're not exactly the sharpest tools in the shed." Bagby was dragging Father Dreiling's chair, with him in it, toward the front door. "Used to getting things done with brute force, I imagine…" the agent pinned the back of the pastor's chair under the front door knob. She walked back into the family room, checking her watch. "Don't worry, I know we're on a schedule here. I won't be a minute." She continued through the family room to the kitchen. A second later Celine heard a back door open and close.
Trish was still staring. Bethany's eyes begged Celine for help. There was a pounding on the door, followed by a shout of "Yo, open up!"
Ignoring the pain that blazed through her muscles as her body still fought the medicine, Celine pulled against the baluster. There wasn't enough leverage, and she didn't have the strength to break it, even though it was wood. If she hadn't taken that fucking drug…
No time to think about that now.
Putting all her weight on the cuffs—which hurt her wrists like a son of a bitch—Celine twisted and kicked her right foot onto the edge of one of the lower steps…
"Open up or we comin' in! And we comin' in hot!"
Her right arm was pinned tightly to her side as she swung her left foot up and tucked her right knee, sliding that foot to the next lowest baluster from the one she was chained to. She kicked as hard as she could— once, twice…
"Blast it!"
Gunfire sounded; bullets tore through the front door. Father Dreiling's body twitched and jerked with the impacts, his blood splattering the foyer in multiple gouts, aerosolizing among the dust and chunks of flying wood.
Celine focused all of her pent-up hatred into her right foot and kicked once more. This time the baluster split. One more kick in the same spot and her foot was through. She brought up the left, wriggled both legs onto the stair tread, twisting, and edged up over the broken base onto the stair until her whole body was on the steps. She only had one knee and shoulder just behind the baluster she was handcuffed to. With a desperate scream Celine kicked off of the wall and drove her shoulder forward, smashing the baluster, and ignoring the jagged spear of wood that raked her chest as she soared out and down. She landed with a thud on the hard wood floor just in front of Bethany's chair.
A voice from outside: "Somethin against the door…"
The air had been knocked out of Celine's lungs. She caught her breath, sprang up, and tilted Bethany's chair over. Jason's mom knocked her head on Becky's leg before sliding to the ground.
"Light this whole fucker up!"
More gunfire erupted as Celine wheeled Trish's chair into the kitchen. Glass shattered; wood splintered and for a few very long seconds it sounded as if the whole world was coming apart. Then the riot lessened, and as it did so Celine heard several loud pops. Within seconds the hail of bullets had ceased. There was no blood on Bethany that Celine could see as she dragged her chair to the kitchen. She then sprinted to the small table with the syringe and grabbed it, sparing a glance out to the front driveway where the bodies of four black men lay. Bagby was walking from one to the other, collecting their weapons.
"Okay, okay okay…" Celine rushed to Trish, nearly doubling over with the clenching cramps in her gut. With the girl's arms taped, Celine could at least get to get the veins without cutting the tape. If she cut the tape, she knew Trish (or the goddess controlling her) would put up a fight.
"Sorry sweetie, but you'll thank me later," Celine said as she spotted a vein, sank the needle in, and pressed the plunger. She dropped the needle, ran to a block of kitchen knives on the counter, and yanked out the biggest one. As quickly as she could Celine began cutting Trish's tape. Jason's sister moaned, and slumped in the chair. Celine was about to free Bethany when she heard Bagby's footsteps just outside the back door.
The door opened as Celine darted to the side hall that intersected the kitchen exit. She hid around the corner, out of sight. "Fuck," Bagby said. She walked to where she could see into the family room, then crossed back to Trish. The agent had three automatic weapons tucked under her left arm. She raised the weapon in her right hand toward Trish's head and said "Come out, Celine or I put a—"
Two things happened then, simultaneously, within the space of just a few seconds: Celine screamed and ran from the hallway… and Trish bent nearly in half, snatching up the syringe and lunging upward, burying the needle in Bagby's left eye.
Bagby's gun dropped from her hand as the rifles fell from under her arm. One of them fired, sending a bullet into the cabinet under the sink. Bagby was making a throaty kind of squealing noise, both hands pressed against her face, fingers on either side of the syringe as she stumbled backward. Celine charged forward, jumped over the rifles, and drove her knife into the agent's gut. She angled the blade upward and shoved it even further, pressing the woman against the kitchen side counter. Bagby tensed, stiffened, and let out one final groan. Her hands fell, and Celine saw the moment in the agent's good eye when the life left her body. Celine backed away as Bagby sank to the floor and slumped forward.
Bethany was wailing into her duct tape when Celine turned to see Trish with the heels of her hands pressing against her temples. Celine retrieved a second knife and cut through the tape on Bethany's arms and legs, then removed the tape from her mouth. She threw the knife into the sink and leaned down in front of Trish, whose head was bowed, long hair covering her face. "Trish…" she said, "Talk to me sweetie, how you doin'?"
The biggest wave of cramps yet hit Celine. She fell backward and this time she doubled over. Rolling onto her side, she spit up bile and waited for her body to turn itself inside out.
After what seemed like an eternity, the waves passed. Celine took several long breaths, got to her knees and faced Jason's sister once again, observing.
Is she going to turn?
Trish's face scrunched in pain. Her body stiffened and her limbs curled in as she contracted, then… her body relaxed. The pain left her face. She looked at Celine; her eyes were watery, red, and frightened, but they were Trish's eyes. She rubbed the tape off her mouth, and now made several noises that Celine took to mean "what the hell is going on?"
Kneeling before the chair and reaching out, Celine pulled Trish to her shoulder and let the poor girl weep. Bethany got away from her chair, knelt down, and embraced both Trish and Celine.
Thunder rumbled overhead.
Carter stood on the access road along with Boil, Coolidge, and half of their overall crew—twelve people, evenly split between Boil's employees and Mamba's Baggerz. Miles away, Mamba was standing with the other half on the old rail bed, just behind the abandoned RV Jason had stolen. Carter had noted when they left Boil's house that Mamba brought the same Rottweiler he had with him when they first met at the Haversaw property. The animal, Boil said, might come in handy if Ghost just decided to run off in the woods.
Joe Coolidge's pickup was positioned just behind Boil. Behind that was their mechanic's Bronco, and to the rear of that the boss man's Beamer. None of the vehicles currently had headlights on.
The old man clicked a button on his wristwatch that lit up the watch's face as well as his own, its glow reflected in the boss's black eyes. It wasn't full dark yet, but surrounded by the trees' thick foliage, visibility was quickly decreasing. Nevertheless Carter had the distinct notion that his vision in the twilight was keener than his comrades'. Of course, the enemy enjoyed the advantage of heightened senses as well. They were still a mile out from the sawmill's quarantine fence but their position was currently upwind of the site. Jason would most certainly know that they were here, even if he hadn't heard them.
The boss man hit the talk button on his radio and spoke so that everyone could hear:
"It's time. Move into position, just like we discussed. First group wait for my go. Remember I want that kid alive. Everybody else, fuck 'em."
Boil ended the transmission.
Carter waited as their group dispersed… all except for one. One of the thugs who had accompanied Mamba to that first meeting. He stayed behind, armed, and threw glances Carter's way. Boil slapped Carter on the shoulder, holding a gun of his own. "Let's see if this first bunch can't get it done. If not, you're up." The old man went and leaned on the front bumper of Coolidge's truck.
Though he didn't want to show it, Carter's guts were twisting. His gums and his muscles ached and his head throbbed. These, he took it, were all signs that the time of his change was drawing very near.
Thunder boomed once more and a light rain began falling.
From here on out, he thought, things were going to happen very fast.
***
It was time. Jason could hear them moving through the timber, approaching at a steady pace. They were coming from the north, west, and south. It was possible that they would use the woods to circle all the way around, taking up position in the east, but Jason didn't think so. The moon would be up soon, and he was betting that Boil wanted to rush in and grab the kid before Jason turned.
Ghost had decided to stay. He was in the boiler house, which they had secured as best they could— Ghost had even set up a booby trap just outside the door. When Jason heard the men approaching out by the RV, any thought of locking the kid in there had gone out the window. "Guess I'm gonna have to have a little faith of my own," the kid said. If the enemy got to him, Jason told the kid to just go quietly… something he figured Ghost would do anyway.
He had his father's hunting rifle, along with half the weapons CJ had brought. There was enough of the catwalk left leading from the upstairs file room where Ghost had been sleeping, to the upstairs of the old mill, with its window overlooking the rough shed and the western woods. Jason was at the window of the file room now, with a view north, to the quarantine fence and the access road. As the wind picked up through the light rain, he caught a stronger scent of the invaders: body odor, aftershave, gun oil, alcohol…
His stomach tightened. Pain had settled over the entirety of his body. The cool breeze ran though his long hair and the beard that seemed to thicken with every passing moment. Boil's men were cutting it close.
Judging by the sounds and unique smells, Jason estimated between eight and ten approaching, with two large groups still waiting—one group out beyond the RV on the railbed, and the other about a mile down the logging access road.
His gut wrenched again as Jason ran from the file room out onto the catwalk and over to the lookout above the old mill. The noises were closer here. Jason put his back to the wall next to the window, shut his eyes, and waited. He listened as footfalls reached the tree line, and then—more slowly, attempting to be quieter—sounded from the open field between the forest and the mill.
Not yet, not yet…
He didn't want to risk the others darting right back into the trees as soon as he dropped the first trespasser. So he waited just a moment longer, his insides clenching like a fist…
Then he was in the window, sighting the first enemy—a dark mass moving slowly against the lighter colored field. A strobe-flash of lightning turned night to day for a split second.
BOOM!
One down. Jason worked the bolt, chambering the next round. BOOM! Another. Three men left. Two of them began firing blindly at the mill. Jason hoped that Ghost did as he had told him and hid in the corner.
Thunder pounded overhead, followed by the sound of automatic gunfire, from the east. CJ shooting from the woods. Jason smiled. Return fire sounded as Jason caught the heavy scent of men coming closer from the north. He bolted across the catwalk to the file room and the window there.
Two men. They began blasting away at the structure.
Jason dropped one. As he attempted to chamber the next round, the slide stuck. He pulled back slightly then pushed the bolt forward. The round chambered but the remaining man was unloading with what must have been an Uzi into the file room. Bullets cut the air to Jason's left, and one of them seared through the outside of his shoulder. It hurt like a son of a bitch— burned like the hottest fire he had ever felt.
Rolling to his right side, Jason clenched his teeth, biting back the pain. It was possible a normal bullet would hurt that much, but… what if? What if the bullets they were using weren't normal?
His heart hammered in his chest. Chunks of wood just inches away from him blew inward.
If they do have silver bullets…
Then the wolf won't make a difference.
***
CJ had taken some of Jason's toilet paper and shit twice in the woods a half hour ago. As he stood at the tree line southwest of the mill waiting for Boil's men to appear, he thought he might shit again.
This was it. The real deal.
Sure he had pulled the trigger at Mamba's pad, put himself in the line of fire… but now there had been some time for CJ to really think. It had sunk in: this might be the end. Last stand. Just like one of those old westerns.
I can still run…
The thought crossed his mind, and he hated himself for it. No one would ever know.
Bullshit. Alice would know. CJ wasn't exactly a churchgoer, but he did believe in something. Something beyond this shitty life. Maybe… it sounded corny but maybe she'd be there, waiting. Proud. Because in the end, he tried to make up for a whole lot of terrible choices.
It was then that lightning flashed overhead, followed by the loud crack of a rifle. Which in turn was followed seconds later by another. CJ squinted around the trunk of the cedar that made up his cover, and through the light drizzle he could see dark blobs sneaking out from the south, crossing the open space toward the firewall and the winding narrow dock of the log pond. Six of them, as far as he could tell.
Go time.
Truth be told, CJ was excited as hell to fire the AK-47. Jason had to show him how it worked, had even made sure it was locked and loaded when he handed it over. All CJ had to do was pull the trigger.
Which he did.
The bastards were spread out, so he let off one burst which took down two of the men, and then he was on the move, slipping briefly on the newly-dampened earth, running through the tree line as the other four unleashed holy hell on the spot where he had just been standing.
Half the danger wasn't from the attackers, but from a concussion brought on by running face-first into a tree branch. He was breathing hard, racing through
the underbrush, thinking how stupid these dickheads were not to just wait and listen… and then of course they did just that.
He couldn't see them just yet. He had to maneuver around a thick fir. Someone was running. He could hear that. As he finally got a clear line of sight he wished that there was light, because the shadows were all starting to bleed together. Just then, his wish was granted.
Some sorry asshole had found Ghost's booby trap at the machine shop.
There was a heavy WHOOSH sound and the entire lot lit up. The kid had stuck a squat bottle of something up on top of the machine shop's main door, balanced between the door and the casing, so that when the door opened the glass would fall and break in a basin of some other stuff. Apparently, when these two things mixed it resulted in a lot of fire.
There was screaming like CJ had never heard in his life. He positioned himself further so he could see—a man ran toward his comrades, waving his arms, looking like that human torch guy from the comics. This fucker was seriously on fire, and the misty rain wasn't going to put him out. For just a split second, CJ thought about putting a bullet in him to end the pain.
Nah, let the bastard suffer.
Besides, the fire had thrown light on two more shitheads who were distracted by their finger-lickin' good buddy. CJ aimed and cut loose, mowing down the gawkers, one of whom had been a black guy. Not Mamba though. Someone else unloaded in CJ's direction, but he couldn't tell from where. Bullets cut through the brush, split fir needles, and punched through the meat between his ribs on the left side. CJ dropped on his ass and scooted away as the barrage continued. He wondered if the end would come before he had a chance to put that cocksucker Mamba down.
***
There wasn't much time left. Jason couldn't just wait for the gunman outside to run out of bullets. He leaped one landing, sending his leg straight through the rotting wood. Smashing the remainder of the plank, he hurried on, swinging around and down onto the open-sided main cutting floor, where he had a clear shot. He fired once, too hurried, and missed. He worked the bolt, took a breath and fired a second time—right on target. The shadow fell. There was a loud gushing sound like a giant taking a breath, and ambient firelight from the south bled into the structure, accompanied by automatic gunshots— someone shooting into the woods. At CJ.
Whisper Lake (The Turning Book 2) Page 31
