WALLY STOOD NEAR THE PERIMETER FENCE AND watched as anarchy unfolded in front of her. Partiers ran in every direction, most heading for the gate they had used to enter the compound. She saw a pack of Sweet’s security team hustle to a helicopter on the far side of the complex, and she felt sure that Sweet himself was in the middle of that pack, still alive and making his escape with seven or eight of his most trusted soldiers. The rest of his “men” gathered in groups and headed for the half dozen or so heavy vehicles that they had parked inside the compound fence.
Wally had succeeded in breaking up the rave, and she hoped she’d also prevented Tiger from making a suicidal assassination attempt on Sweet. Everything she had seen of her brother in action told her that if he had taken his shot, Sweet would not still be alive.
Now she had to find him. What would Tiger do next, now that his opportunity to kill Sweet had passed? He would find a way to get back to the Ranch and free Wally—Tiger had no reason to know that she had escaped. How would he reach the Ranch? In the fastest way possible. Wally imagined him “borrowing” one of the cars parked outside the complex and racing the forty miles or so east.
She heard a massive crashing sound and saw that Sweet’s remaining soldiers were escaping the site by plowing their vehicles straight into the cyclone fence, tearing it out of the ground and pulling it along with them as they raced away. Hundreds of kids saw the opening and headed in that direction also, away from the jammed gate on the other side of the grounds. As Wally watched the mass exodus, she caught sight of a figure moving quickly across the complex, sprinting through the horde of escaping teenagers and toward the opening in the fence, his long, dark hair flying free.
“TIGER!!!” Wally shouted as loud as she could, but with all the action going on, there was no chance of her voice reaching him. As he approached the fence, he headed north at full speed—the opposite direction from the service road that everyone else would be using. Where was he headed? Wally raced after him, hoping he couldn’t keep up his pace. She would never be able to catch up otherwise.
As she moved through the mass of fleeing teenagers, Wally only made it ten or twenty yards when one of the kids running beside her—a young girl wearing only cutoff shorts and a lacy black bra—suddenly spun around and fell to the dirt without a sound, a bullet hole in the side of her head. Wally instinctively ducked but continued running after Tiger, all the while trying to deduce where the bullet had come from.
The girl’s wound had been large, but Wally hadn’t heard a gunshot—it had to have been a sniper shot taken at long range—and it wasn’t hard to figure out who was doing the shooting. Now that his plan to kill Sweet had failed, Divine would want to erase all evidence of his plot, and that evidence included both Wally and Tiger. She hoped Tiger, far ahead of her still, would realize the danger and try to keep out of harm’s way.
Wally had dumped the assault rifle she’d used to shoot out the factory windows, but she still had the sentry’s automatic handgun in her belt. She pulled it out now and held it low to her side as she kept running, keeping her head on a swivel in case any of Divine’s men came to get her at close range.
More shots came—Wally sensed one bullet missing her by inches, and it struck a guy near her in the leg. He fell down screaming in fear and pain, gripping his gushing wound. Wally’s mind raced—it made her sick that others were taking the bullets meant for her. She ran on, hoping to separate herself from the pack of kids. She’d lost sight of Tiger but persevered in the same direction.
She spotted a black Jeep Cherokee ahead, the last in the line of Sweet’s vehicles that had torn through the fence. Progress off the grounds was stalled by the mass of other cars trying to get out of the valley, so the Cherokee was moving slowly. Wally caught up with the car, running alongside as she hunched down to use the vehicle as a shield from more sniper shots. She traveled a hundred yards that way until she noticed another vehicle coming straight at them, moving toward the factory at high speed.
It was a Humvee—just fifty yards away now—charging straight for her. The tanklike vehicle’s paint was charred and bubbled on one side, looking like it had just been set on fire—which it had been when Wally had ignited the gas fire at the Ranch. When the Humvee was just twenty yards away, she was able to see through the windshield and recognized the face behind the wheel.
Alabama wore a crazed look, and Kyle sat beside him, bloody and battered after his violent escape from the moving Escalade. Kyle looked as focused and angry as Alabama.
Wally jumped out of the way at the last second, and the Humvee blasted at full force into the Cherokee, demolishing the vehicle and all of Sweet’s security men inside. There was nothing for her to do but keep running. The service road she was running on curved away, but she was sure Tiger had been heading toward the hill at the south side of the valley. She peeled away from the road and ran in that direction.
A quick glance behind her revealed that the Humvee had separated from the destroyed Cherokee and was still tailing her. Wally continued on, her lungs burning as she reached the trees and climbed the steep hill out of the valley. She could hear the Humvee behind her still, its progress slowed by the dense forest in its path—there were crashing and ripping sounds as Alabama kept speeding forward, swerving to avoid trees when he could and plowing through those that he could not.
Finally there came the sound of a massive crash, and the engine noises from the Humvee stopped cold—probably sucked into a ditch or stopped behind trees that were too close together for the vehicle to pass through. Wally kept running even as autoblasts of gunfire came from behind, strafing the woods and ripping into tree trunks all around her. Alabama and Kyle were giving chase on foot now and blazing away with their weapons as they ran. Wally fired her handgun in their direction, hoping to slow them down.
She kept climbing, desperately exhausted now, and came within twenty feet of the top of the hill, where the trees disappeared and there was a very steep slope of loose rock, still damp and muddy from the rain the previous night. Wally stuck her gun under her belt and climbed up the cliff on all fours, struggling to gain purchase on the slope as the loose rocks dug into her hands. She could hear Alabama and Kyle ascending the slope too, gasping for breath as they came up close behind her.
Wally reached the top of the slope and tried to climb back up onto her feet, but a hand reached out and tripped her. She tumbled to the ground and turned, looking up to see that it was Kyle, his gun pointed directly at her. The chase had opened the wounds in his shoulder and neck again, and the blood seeped down his arm and the front of his shirt. His face appeared even more ghostly than it had been when they raced away from the Ranch together.
“You said you’d find me, Wally . . . ” Kyle said, gasping for breath and barely able to stand, yet still able to relish the moment. “But I found you.”
Wally was about to reach for the gun that was lodged under her belt, but it had slipped out when she’d fallen to the ground and she couldn’t find it. It didn’t matter. A huge hand grabbed Kyle from behind, powerful fingers digging into his wounded shoulder and sending him tumbling back down the cliff. It was Alabama. He was unwilling to let Kyle deprive him of his rightful kill. Alabama was a disgusting sight by now, the bandages on his facial burns dangling off him to reveal oozing, infected sores underneath.
“Hello again, bitch,” he said, still struggling for breath.
“Hello, asshole,” she said, a fatalistic calm overcoming her.
“I’m tired,” Alabama said.
“Yeah, well . . . you look like hell.”
He managed a grunt of a laugh.
“It’s a damn waste,” he said, “putting down a creature like you. No one ever beat me even once, and you did twice. A damn waste, I say.”
He raised his gun and pointed it at her chest, but before he could pull the trigger there came a shot from below, and Alabama’s chest explod
ed as a bullet blasted clear through him. He stood eerily still, then, looked down at the open wound for a moment as if baffled. He turned around slowly, facing the downward slope.
“You spoiled piece of shit,” he gurgled.
More shots rang out, ripping into him, but Alabama ignored them, leaping off the edge of the slope and disappearing from view. Wally climbed back to her feet and peered over the edge, where she saw Alabama battling Kyle hand to hand, going at it with everything they had left. She scanned the ground and finally found her gun in the dirt. She raised it up, but she was so drained of energy that she could barely hold it steady.
Looking down at the two men struggling, Wally was overcome by a feeling that things were just as they were meant to be, that she had no part in what was taking place between them. The burden of taking another life was something she could do without this time. Wally turned and staggered away, heading in a direction that she hoped would lead to Tiger.
34.
TIGER HEARD GUNSHOTS RIPPING THROUGH THE
trees behind him, but he couldn’t let himself get distracted. Divine’s route back to his helicopter was short, and he might be flying away at any moment. Tiger pushed himself, his muscles still burning after charging up the steep hillside. He finally emerged from the trees, open field stretching before him.
The helicopter sat at the far end of the field, a hundred yards away or more. The running lights were on and he could just barely hear the distinct clicking sound, one he associated with the start-up sequence of the turbine engine. Once the engines engaged, Divine could take off at any time. In a full sprint now, Tiger approached the chopper from behind, sticking to its blind spot and moving out to the side only when he came within reach of its back rotor. He could see the glow of the control-panel lights through the heavily tinted windows and knew he would have to make his move before the turbines were on and the rotor began to engage.
Tiger set aside his assault rifle and pulled out the Browning—the gun he was meant to use on Sweet. In one fluid motion, he flipped open the right side door of the chopper and jumped in, his gun raised.
But there was no one to aim at. Tiger was alone in the cabin of the chopper. He looked outside and saw two figures approaching it slowly, guns raised in his direction. As they moved in close, the running lights lit up their faces: Divine, of course, and the pilot, each covering one side of the helicopter.
“Ease on out here, kid,” Divine said.
Tiger felt like an idiot, lured in so easily, like a reckless amateur. He had let his concern for his sister cloud his judgment, and now he had doomed them both. Once he stepped outside, he’d be dead, and Wally would soon follow, no doubt. Nothing had gone according to plan, and it was time for Divine to clean house.
“Let’s go,” Divine barked. “No way around it—there’s reckoning to be done.”
Moving carefully in order to give every sign that he was following Divine’s directions, Tiger tossed his weapon out the door of the chopper, then slid the backpack off his shoulder. He eased out of the cabin and spread his arms wide in surrender, crouching down and ducking his head to clear the low doorway. Then he sprang outward and plowed shoulder-first into Divine.
Divine managed to squeeze off a shot, but it flew high. His gun fell to the ground as the two men struggled. Tiger was shocked at the strength of the older man as they wrestled for control, but he used Divine’s weight against him and flipped the man facedown in the dirt, landing on top of him with both knees and delivering a blow to the back of Divine’s head.
There wasn’t time to congratulate himself on gaining the advantage. Tiger heard steps behind him as the pilot rushed over from the opposite side of the helicopter. He dove away from Divine and reached to recover his handgun, grabbing the weapon and spinning around just as the pilot was raising his own. Tiger squeezed off a shot and the pilot fell, grasping at the gushing wound to his abdomen. Tiger kicked away the man’s gun and turned back to Divine, surprised to find that the old man had somehow staggered back onto his feet and had his gun in hand again.
Tiger and Divine stood facing each other, both their guns raised in a standoff. Tiger was winded from the fight and Divine looked unsteady, but the grim determination on their faces told the story: neither man would give ground, ever.
“Put it down,” came Rachel’s voice from behind Tiger.
“No, you put it down,” ordered Wally.
The four of them—Wally and Tiger, Divine and Rachel—faced each other, guns drawn. Tiger kept his eyes on Divine and Rachel, but was unable to hide the surprise and relief he felt at Wally’s appearance before him.
“You’re here,” he said.
She shrugged. “Obviously.”
Tiger thought for a moment, running the night’s scenario through in his mind.
“The generator?” he asked.
Wally nodded.
“Good idea,” Tiger said.
Wally almost laughed, wondering what exactly she would have to do to get more from Tiger. Some small measure of acknowledgment that they were brother and sister, that they were important to each other. This wasn’t the time for that anyway, she supposed. For now it was enough that they were together and alive.
“It’s over,” Divine barked, irate and frustrated that there was nothing he could do to change the situation.
Tiger nodded curtly. “Just go.”
“What the hell is this?” came another voice.
It was Kyle. He staggered toward the foursome, his gun held high but his body beaten and bloody. He had obviously survived the hand-to-hand combat with Alabama, just barely. As he moved in among the group, he kept his gun trained squarely on Wally. Tiger now held his gun on Kyle but never stopped clocking the movements of Rachel or Divine. Not that it mattered where all the guns were pointed, anymore—if any shooting started now, no one would walk away.
“I’m going to kill her,” Kyle said.
Wally looked Kyle up and down, not bothering to disguise her contempt. She wondered if she had made a mistake in refusing to take him out as he fought with Alabama.
“No, you’re not,” she informed him. “You’re lucky to be standing.”
“Don’t you—”
“Stop with your bullshit!” Rachel barked at her brother. “We give you one job off the Ranch—one goddamn job—and you fuck it up. Be careful, or you might lose your seat in the chopper.”
Kyle was outraged. He looked to his father for support, but the old man said nothing.
“Go,” Tiger said.
Divine gestured toward the helicopter, urging his children to climb aboard. Before she got into the cabin, Rachel looked back at Tiger.
“We have unfinished business,” she threatened.
Tiger shook his head.
Kyle was beside himself at how the confrontation was being diffused. His gun was still raised and pointed at Wally, as if he would rather die there than be forced to walk away. As a final gesture of defiance, he stepped to Wally and traced the muzzle of his gun down her cheek, smirking through his crusted, bloody mouth.
“I got you, though,” he said. “Didn’t I? Got the best of you, girl. Like a fish on a hook.”
Wally pressed her own weapon into Kyle’s gut, tempted to take him out no matter what the cost, but she managed to control herself.
“You’re just not worth it,” she said. “But you already know that, don’t you?”
“Now!” Divine commanded from the doorway of the chopper, and Kyle turned away, climbing aboard with his father and sister. Wally and Tiger stepped back from the rotors and watched as Divine piloted the chopper himself, pulling up off the ground and leaving a swirling cloud of dust in their wake.
35.
THE BLINKING LIGHTS OF THE HELICOPTER SOON
disappeared among the stars.
Wally mostly felt numb. Somewhere inside she was happy and relieved that she had saved Tiger, but there were other feelings at war: shame at how she had been taken in by Kyle, for one. He hadn’t been wrong when he described her as a “fish on a hook,” and the humiliation of it burned.
“What am I supposed to feel?” she asked nobody in particular.
Tiger took a moment, struggling with the question. Introspection wasn’t his thing.
“That’s the problem with Americans,” he said. “It’s never enough just to be alive.”
“Oh, really?”
Tiger nodded.
“So they get to walk away, and you’re okay with that?” she asked, facing him now and starting to feel angry at the Zen vibe he was putting out.
“Yes.”
“How can we let it end like this? Not to mention, they’ll be coming for us, again. They’ll never feel safe with us out in the world—with everything we know about what they tried to do. That’s okay with you?”
“Everything will be fine,” Tiger said calmly, infuriating her further.
“How, exactly?”
Tiger thought for a moment. “What would you say to them?”
“To who? Divine? Kyle?”
“Yes. Right now.”
Wally thought about it.
“I’d tell them, don’t bother looking for us,” she said. “We’ll find you.”
“Okay,” Tiger nodded, pulling a cell phone out of his pocket and passing it to her.
Wally stared at the phone, confused. “What?”
“Type it,” Tiger said.
It seemed like a pathetic exercise—a waste of her righteous rage—but Tiger seemed completely serious. Wally took the phone and typed the message into the texting app.
Don’t bother looking for us. We’ll find you.
Tiger looked over her shoulder at the message, and nodded in approval.
Tiger Page 23
