Hunted

by William W. Johnstone

  “Yes,” the doctor replied. “I’ve still got a knot on the back of my head where one of them struck me.”

  Carol Murphy looked and nodded her head. “He took a hard lick, Hank. No doubt about that.”

  The inspector sighed heavily. “I apologize for that, Doctor. I know that doesn’t help much, but I want you to know the Bureau is not in the habit of assaulting innocent people.”

  Ray held up a hand. “I don’t know if these people were from the FBI. They were all wearing camouflage and ski masks. I thought they were outlaws.”

  Carol shifted her gaze over to the doctor’s son. She did not like the look in the young man’s eyes. He was obviously angry clear through and clearly was capable of doing something very foolish if the rogue agents returned. She looked at the doctor. “Do you have any weapons in camp, Doctor Collier?”

  “What business is that of yours?” Karen snapped the question.

  “None, Mrs. Collier,” Carol quickly assured her. “None at all. I was just curious.”

  “We don’t own any type of firearm,” Dr. Collier stepped in.

  “But all that is probably about to change,” Karen said.

  The doctor cut his eyes to his wife, not quite sure what to make of that.

  But Henry knew. He’d seen it before . . . too many times of late. Another law-abiding citizen getting ready to arm himself because of the excesses of the federal government. “Might I make a suggestion, Doctor?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Move your camp on several miles. Get out of this area for safety’s sake.”

  “I think that is a very good idea,” Dr. Collier said.

  “I don’t,” Karen said. “I like it right here.”

  “Me, too,” Paul said. “Why should we move? We haven’t done anything.”

  “There is a manhunt going on in this area,” Carol pointed out. “It just isn’t safe to stay here.”

  “I’ve already discovered that,” the doctor said drily. “Rather painfully. But we’ll consider your suggestion.”

  “Please do,” Hank said. “If at all possible, we’ll be checking on you from time to time, Doctor. Tell me, since you’ve been here, have you seen the owner of that cabin set back from the bluffs?”

  The doctor shook his head. “No. Since the, ah, incident, we’ve seen no one.”

  “Be careful,” Carol warned the family. “Very careful.”

  And keep your powder dry, young Paul thought, remembering a line from an old western movie.

  * * *

  Kathy found the agent, she’d been trailing. He was lying dead, having bled to death from the neck wounds she’d inflicted with her 9mm. She did not know the man, and as she looked down at him, she felt nothing. She searched the body looking for ID, and found it. BATF. She tossed the ID by the side of the body and stood up, trying to get her bearings. With a sigh, Kathy realized she was as lost as she could be. She had absolutely no idea where she was.

  She looked up at the leaden-colored and cloudy sky. She could not see the sun. She took the dead agent’s canteen and water purification pills and walked on. She didn’t realize it, but she was heading deeper into the wilderness, straight toward George Eagle Dancer, who was less than a half mile away.

  Johnny McBroon, Pete Cooper, Lew Waters, and Jay Gilmore had found a secluded spot to make camp and stay put. A small spring was close by and all four men had had the forethought to carry emergency rations that would last them for a couple of days. They planned to sit this one out until the shooting stopped.

  * * *

  Jack Speed moaned and stirred and tried to sit up. He could not manage it. He had taken a bullet graze on the side of his head that had bled copiously and left him with a terrible headache, and another bullet had hit and gone through the meaty part of his wounded shoulder, exiting out his back, just under the collar bone.

  Jack managed to claw and crawl his way to the top of the small knoll and was shocked to discover the bodies of two cammie-clad men. He did not know who he was, where he was, or what the hell had happened to him. He passed out between the bodies of the dead agents.

  * * *

  The mercenaries gathered up all the weapons and ammo of the dead agents, took their transceivers, and then buried the body of Al Jenkins. They left the bodies of the agents for the varmints and moved on. Their original mission was forgotten. This was personal now. They had been first accosted and then attacked, and one of their own was dead.

  The ten highly skilled warriors moved out.

  The war was on.

  * * *

  Rick Battle suited up in uniform and Smokey Bear ranger hat, provisioned up, made sure he had plenty of ammo for his side arm and rifle, and saddled up, over the protestations of several of the federal agents.

  “Ranger, it’s a war zone out there!” one said.

  “By God, the people who live here didn’t start it, now did they?”

  The agent had no come-back to that.

  Rick lifted the reins and rode out, his packhorse trailing on a lead rope.

  * * *

  George Eagle Dancer saw Kathy approaching and hit the ground. Several moments later she passed within only a few yards of him and was oblivious to his presence. George lay still and watched as a man seemed to spring out of nowhere and shout to the woman. The shape-shifter! he thought. He was one with the earth and I did not sense his closeness.

  Kathy lifted her M-16.

  “I’m friendly!” Darry shouted. “I mean you no harm. I am not armed. I have Stormy and Ki with me. They are as confused as to what is going on as I am.”

  Through the pain in her head (she still had a headache from the bullet graze), Kathy recognized Darry and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Has the whole damned world gone crazy?” she asked, walking toward him.

  “I’ve seen it a lot crazier,” Darry offered, with that strange, almost mystical smile.

  “I don’t know what that means, but we can pursue it later.” She walked up to him. “Stormy and Ki with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jack is dead.”

  He stared at her until she grew uncomfortable under his gaze. She got the strangest feeling that he was looking into her soul. But that was a crazy thought. She shook her head. “What is it?” she finally asked.

  “Where did it happen?”

  “With Jack?”

  “Yes.”

  She pointed. “Over there. I have to admit, I’m lost.”

  “Easy to do out here. I knew the other agent was wounded, but I didn’t know how seriously.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I was there not too many hours ago, looking at the both of you. Come on. Let’s get you settled. And your friend.”

  “My . . . friend? You were over there . . . looking at us?”

  “Yes. Your friend is the Indian who is hiding in the rock and brush over there,” Darry said, pointing.

  “I don’t know any Indians!”

  George Eagle Dancer stood up. “I come as a friend,” he called. “It was not that way originally, but I left the others. I want you to believe that.”

  “I believe you. But if I find you are lying, I’ll kill you.”

  “I believe that, too, shape-shifter.”

  Kathy looked at Darry. “So you are . . .”

  “We can talk about that later,” Darry cut her off.

  “He is immortal,” George said. “My grandfather was a great medicine man. The last of his kind. When I returned to live on the reservation, he would tell me about the shape-shifter, the immortal who led many lives. The man who came from the east. The first white man to come to us. He was a mountain man, scout, gunfighter, soldier, and he was a good friend to the Indian. He has been called by many names. So many names that no one can remember them all.”

  Darry turned without replying, and the FBI agent and the mercenary looked at one another and then followed him up the hill.

  In the cave, Darry did the introductions and then said
, “I’ll go see about your friend, Jack.”

  “I just told you, he’s dead.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. We’ll see.” He looked at George. “See that nothing happens to the ladies.”

  “I will do that.” He smiled. “I almost said, ‘be careful.’ But what could harm you?”

  Darry did not reply. He left the cave without another word.

  Several miles away, Kevin Carmouche stood with his friends and looked down at the body of Vince Clayderman’s wife, Anna. She had been shot in the back by a long-range shooter and managed to stagger on for several hundred yards before collapsing. Their fifteen-year-old son, Jerry, was fighting back tears as he stood beside his father.

  “Go on,” Kevin told the others. “I’ll bury her.”

  “We can’t take the time for that,” Vince said. “The feds will be here any moment. They’ll body-bag her. Anna would understand. We’ve got to get these kids clear and safe. Then we’ll map out some tactics.”

  Still, no one made the first move to leave the body of Anna Clayderman.

  “When we’re sure the kids are safe, we’ll take the fight to them,” Todd said.

  “Yeah,” Vince said, his voice choked with emotion. “Those federal bastards want a war, we’ll give them one.”

  But no federal agent had killed Anna. The shot had come from a member of Sam Parish’s CDL.

  The three young people could not hold back their tears, finally allowing their emotions to flow freely.

  The Vietnam vets and what was left of their families turned away from the cooling body and slipped into the thick brush. Kevin took the drag, erasing all signs of their passing. The group was only about a half mile from the river and the camp of the Collier family.

  “Tell Sam I got me one of them federal bastards!” Sid Dalton said. “It was a bitch agent.”

  “That was a damn good shot, Sid,” a friend complimented him. “Had to be at least four hundred yards.”

  “I can’t believe it,” another CDL member said. “The war is really on. It’s really on.”

  “Sam always said the day would come when we’d have to fight the government,” Sid replied. “Now it’s here.” He slung his rifle. “Come on. God, guts, and guns took this country from the savages two hundred and fifty years ago. Now let’s go take it back from the feds.”

  14

  Rick Battle left the saddle a micro-second after the slug passed by his head, coming so close he could feel the heat from the lead. On the ground, he yelled, “Hold your fire, you trigger-happy hot dogs! I’m Ranger Battle. Doesn’t this hat tell you anything? Who do you think I am, the reincarnation of Sergeant York?”

  “Sorry,” came the call. “We thought you were one of them.”

  “Who the hell is them?” Rick said, getting off the ground and brushing at his clothing. He began rounding up his spooked horses.

  A man stepped out of the brush and walked up to him. “We just got in from the Los Angeles area last night. We were told this entire area is infested with armed radicals and survivalists and dopers.” A dozen more agents left the brush to join him.

  Rick was angry to the core. “You people better go easy with those triggers. There are a lot of good people living out here. There are campers and white water rafters. Jesus Christ! Are you going to shoot everybody you see?”

  “Hey, Ranger!” the team leader of this particular bunch of feds flared. “We’ve lost half a dozen agents, at least, during this op. Anyone carrying a gun is suspect.”

  “You’re crazy,” Rick said bluntly. “Just plain nuts. Most of the people out here are armed. There is no law against it. The boundaries here are ill-defined. Some of this land is private; some is government-owned. A lot of it is leased to timber groups. Other parcels are under a ninety-nine-year lease to private citizens.”

  “We’ve ordered everybody out,” the TL said. “If they don’t go, that’s their problem.”

  “The government’s gone crazy,” Rick muttered, swinging into the saddle. He looked at the knot of heavily armed agents. “Let me tell you something, people. A lot of the men and women who live out here year-round are tough as wang leather. You point a gun at them, and they’ll kill you. There are paths and trails leading into this area from three directions that you people couldn’t cover if there were five hundred times your number in here. This is Thursday; starting late this afternoon, there’ll be people from towns all around this area coming in here to fish and camp and boat and relax. And they won’t be using the roads you’ve got blocked. They’ll be backpacking and floating in. This is a wilderness area, people. Some of those coming in will be armed for self-protection. You shoot some private citizen, and I will personally come after you.”

  “Are you threatening us, Ranger?”

  “No. I’m just telling you how the cow ate the cabbage, that’s all. Now get out of my way, you assholes!”

  Rick rode on, leaving behind him some angry and rather confused federal agents, who really did not know exactly what the hell was going on.

  Just following orders.

  * * *

  Darry took his time getting to where he’d seen Jack and Kathy in the ravine, moving swiftly but carefully, utilizing every bit of cover he could find. He counted a dozen big transport helicopters circling to land as he made his way to the ravine. He was correct as he thought, Some of these agents are going to be shooting each other before this is over.

  As the sun dropped to signal mid-afternoon, there were now more than six hundred federal agents in the area, with more coming in.

  All of them just following orders.

  * * *

  “Hello the camp!” Kevin called to the Collier family camped on the riverbank. “Don’t be afraid, we’re friendly.”

  “That would be a novel experience,” Dr. Collier called, his eyes taking in the young people with the group. “Come on down. We don’t have much, but we’ll share.”

  The remnants of the old hippie commune climbed down and introduced themselves. Kevin said, “We’re not going to stay here. You’d be in serious trouble if we were found here. But you people better clear out of this area. The damn feds have gone crazy.”

  Ray pointed to a log. “Sit down, have some coffee and tell us what’s going on.”

  “I’m an attorney,” Karen said. “And I have seen just enough to know that our government is out of control. Consider yourselves represented.”

  “You might not want to do that once you’ve heard our story,” Todd said.

  “They killed my mother!” Jerry blurted out, once more close to tears.

  “That settles it,” Karen said. “Terri, get some cups and pour us coffee.”

  * * *

  Darry found Jack and the dead agents. He found a pulse and then picked up the man and carried him about a quarter of a mile from the site before stretching him out on the ground and seeing to his wounds. Over the endless decades, Darry had seen and tended to all sorts of wounds, and he did not believe these to be serious; but they did need immediate care. He had a first aid kit back among his supplies, but out here, he more often than not used natural medicines to aid and promote healing.

  Darry found a small spring and soaked his handkerchief and the one he’d removed from Jack’s pocket in the cold water, then bathed the agent’s face, removing all the dried and caked blood. The bullet had cut a groove in the man’s head, but Darry could find no bone movement. He would certainly have a raging headache when he did come out of it.

  Darry did not want to sling the man over his shoulder to carry him, for fear that would reopen the two shoulder wounds. He took Jack’s canteen to the spring, emptied out the tepid water and filled it up with cold spring water, then poured it over Jack’s face. Jack moaned and opened his eyes.

  “Easy now,” Darry cautioned. “Just lie still while I go refill the canteen. You’ve lost blood and need water to drink. You also need food in you.”

  “Where . . . ?”

  “Be quiet. I’ll be right back.”<
br />
  Darry lifted Jack’s head so he could drink and then gave him a piece of jerky to chew on. “Don’t try to swallow the meat, just chew on it. It isn’t much, but it’ll give you some nourishment.”

  Jack chewed on the jerky and drank some more water. “In my jumpsuit side pocket. A high-energy bar.”

  Darry found the chocolate bar and removed the wrapper. Jack carefully took the jerky from his mouth, laid it aside, and bit off a hunk of the high-energy bar.

  “It’s dried venison.” Darry anticipated the question. He smiled at the man. “You like it?”

  “It’s . . . interesting,” Jack said, his voice growing stronger. “But I wouldn’t want a steady diet of it.”

  “You think you can walk?”

  “I can damn sure try. What the hell is going on?”

  “It’s a long story, Jack.”

  * * *

  Dr. Ray Collier had never seen his wife so angry. She was livid with rage. After Kevin had related all that had taken place, she paced up and down on the riverbank, visibly calming herself down. She returned to the group and sat down on the ground.

  “Now tell me the truth, all of you,” Karen said, looking at each member of the old hippie commune. “Do you grow or sell marijuana?”

  To a person, they shook their heads. Kevin said, “No, ma’am. None of us. Not in years. When we got out of the service and moved out here, we used to smoke. We all had our little patches of grass. But when the kids were born, we quit. I’ll bet you it’s been a good fifteen years since any of us toked on a joint. And Jody Hinds, to my knowledge, never used drugs of any kind. Tom Sessions—he used to be the ranger around here, before he became head of the district—he checked us all out. Then when he was promoted and Rick Battle took over the station, he checked us out.”

  “We never minded that,” Todd said. “We know we live a lifestyle that is very different from what others live. But we’ve never bothered a living soul. All of us were shot up pretty bad in ’Nam, and we all draw disability checks. Out there”—he jerked a thumb—“it wouldn’t be enough to live on. But it’s plenty in here. We grow a lot of our food, and we all hunt and fish. Our wives are college graduates and have teaching certificates . . . that’s how we could get by teaching our kids at home. And they’ve received a good, balanced education. The older ones have all gone to college and graduated.” He smiled as he looked at his wife. Betsy picked it up.