Big Sky Showdown

by Sharon Dunn

  Willis lifted his chin. “Heard the old man died.” His voice took on a mocking tone. “Too bad.”

  The remark was meant to sting, to put Zane on the defensive about the man who had meant so much to him. Though his heart ached at the mention of Stephan’s death, Zane gave nothing away in his expression.

  “I suppose you’re wondering what all this cat-and-mouse stuff has been about.” Willis flicked away debris on his shirtsleeve.

  “You never play a game just to play a game.”

  “True.” Willis rose to his feet and stared down at Zane. Nothing Willis did was an accident. The change in position was meant to dominate Zane. “It seems we need your expertise.”

  Zane was sure the expertise referenced was not his ability as an outfitter. Willis knew this mountain better than anyone.

  “The man who trained you to build thermite bombs has to serve a lengthy prison sentence,” Willis said.

  A bomb. One of Willis’s plans had always been robbing banks using explosives—usually on commission to acquire an item someone wanted. An enemy to any authority other than his own, Willis enjoyed making the bank employees and customers feel threatened and exposed by breaking down the security they took for granted, and the money he made from acquiring the item for his own customer helped keep his ragtag group in supplies.

  Zane had been in training to help with that goal when he left the group. Thermite bombs were designed to melt metal at high temperatures. Willis must have either been hired or gotten wind of a low-security bank that had something of value in it. A thermite bomb would melt a vault door. “You know I won’t build something that destructive.”

  The robberies took place after-hours, and the instructions were always to disable any security guards rather than kill—Willis knew better than to provoke the kind of manhunt that killing indiscriminately would cause—but there was still a chance of people getting seriously hurt. It had happened before.

  Willis shook his head. “How did I know that would be your response?” He lifted his chin toward the guard by the door, who immediately left the cave.

  A moment later, the guard returned with Heather in tow. Zane’s chest went tight. She had a gag in her mouth, and her eyes held a haunted quality. Rage rose up inside of him. If they had hurt her...

  Willis continued to talk as though he didn’t even see Heather. “Now we have gone to some trouble to gather all the materials for you, and you will comply.”

  Willis didn’t have to say “or else” to get his message across. If Zane didn’t build the bomb, Heather would die and probably be tortured first.

  “What did you do to her?”

  “Relax. We just made her run a little. You know hurting women is not my thing.” Willis’s tone remained casual, as though they were two men exchanging fishing stories.

  Willis lifted his chin toward the guard, who picked Heather up and dragged her to the cave entrance. The look of fear in Heather’s eyes as she gave Zane a backward glance cut him to the bone.

  Willis leaned close to Zane’s ear. “I trust you’ll want to get started right away.”

  Zane resisted the urge to hurt Willis. Rage coursed through him like hot lava, but he kept his expression neutral as Willis straightened.

  “Take him to where he needs to be.” Willis turned his back.

  The second guard sprang into action. Resolve formed inside Zane. He wasn’t going to build the bomb, but he had to find a way to escape and get Heather free, too.

  As they walked out of the cave and through forested areas, Zane could pick out several camouflaged tents. Was Heather in one of those? He had to find out where they were keeping her.

  Whatever it took, he was going to get Heather and himself out of this compound. And he would do everything in his power to prevent the attack Willis had planned.

  * * *

  The guard pulled Heather through the brush until he came to a hole similar to the one she’d fallen into days ago.

  “I’ll undo your hands. You lower yourself down by that rope.” The young man pointed toward a mud-soaked climber’s rope.

  A weariness had set into Heather’s bones. Though the guard looked to be barely out of his teens, she knew trying to escape would be an act of futility. If he didn’t catch her, one of the other men she saw wandering around would. Her hands gripped the rope, and she slid down to the bottom of the pit. A layer of straw covered the mud floor. The guard threw a dirty backpack down to her, pulled up the rope and covered the hole with a lid woven from sticks and tree boughs. A little moonlight filtered through the tiny holes.

  Heather collapsed on the straw and opened the backpack, which contained a canteen, jerky and dried fruit. She ate the fruit and had a sip of water. She rose and wandered around the deep pit. It was a good twenty feet to the top, and there was no place on the slick muddy walls to get a grip. She took her boot off and used it as a trowel to try to dig a foothold in the wall. Her hands became muddy from the effort, but eventually she made some progress. She stood back to catch her breath.

  By the time she had started on the second foothold, the sky had grown darker. Voices and footsteps alerted her to someone approaching. She dived back down on the straw, slipping her foot without the boot under her leg and hiding the boot under the backpack. The lid to the hole was drawn back. She shielded her eyes as a flashlight beam shone in her face. Her heartbeat kicked into high gear. If they saw the holes, she’d be dead.

  The man shining the light on her appeared in silhouette. Finally he pulled back, taking the light off her and then placing the cover on the hole again. How many times in the night would they check on her? She waited until she heard fading footsteps before jumping up. She felt along the wall to where she’d been digging. After some time, she was muddy and out of breath, but the second foothold was in place.

  Loud rock music played in the distance. She heard voices shouting and guns being shot.

  She shoved her foot that still had a boot on it in the first foothold and placed her hand in the second hole in order to dig the third one. Her bare foot grew cold as she reached up and dug into the muddy wall. The task would take forever. She had to keep jumping down to rest from the strain on her muscles.

  Approaching footsteps made her resume her position on the ground by the backpack. The lid slid back and a rope came down.

  “Climb up. We need you,” a disembodied voice said.

  She hurried to put her boot on. “Can you give me a second? I was sleeping.” She wiped her muddy hands on the backpack, rose to her feet and gripped the rope. “Okay, I’m ready.” She tried to climb, but her arms felt weak. “Can you help me a little?”

  Even her body had its limits. Two days of running with little food and sleep was taking a toll.

  She felt a tug on the rope as she held on and was pulled up. She reached out for solid ground, climbed to the surface and let go of the rope. A hand gripped the back of her shirt and lifted her up.

  Off in the distance, a huge fire had been built. Men danced around, shooting guns and playing loud music. She saw the glow of lanterns in several tents.

  The man behind her pushed on her upper back. “Get moving.”

  They walked away from the camp into the darkness of the forest. Her heart seized up. Was this man going to shoot her?

  She slowed down. He punched her shoulder blade.

  “Where are we going?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Her chest squeezed even tighter.

  She took several more steps deeper into the forest.

  “Stop here.” His voice was devoid of emotion.

  Heather swallowed to try to produce some moisture in her mouth. She couldn’t get a deep breath.

  “Put your hands behind your back.” He poked her with the hard barrel of a gun.

  She did as he said and the ma
n wrapped rope around her hands and jerked it tight.

  “Don’t try anything.” The man stepped out in front of her, got down on all fours and proceeded to pat the ground.

  Her heart raged against her rib cage. It felt like her chest had been wrapped with a tight bandage. What was going on here?

  The man swung open a door on the forest floor. Light flooded out.

  He turned to face her. “Go down those stairs.”

  She took a step toward what looked like some kind of underground bunker. She placed her foot on the first wooden step.

  “Don’t even think about running. I have a gun pointed at you,” said the man.

  She stepped down the remainder of the stairs. The door above her closed. Glancing around, she saw that the bunker had concrete walls lined with stacks of food, cots and a machine that was probably a generator. A guard stood in a corner. Zane sat at a table, pieces of metal, wire and containers in front of him. The hand that had been shot was wrapped in a fresh bandage.

  A look of shock filled Zane’s features when he saw her.

  She must be a muddy mess. “I’m okay. They didn’t hurt me.”

  The guard stalked toward her. “Shut up.” He grabbed her shirt at the shoulder and dragged her toward a chair.

  “Don’t treat her that way.” Zane lurched toward her, but was stopped by the chain around his foot.

  The guard pushed her down into the chair and then took his position back against the wall.

  She raised her head to meet Zane’s gaze.

  “No talking,” said the guard as his hand brushed over the gun holstered on his waist.

  Zane raised his eyebrows and attempted a smile as if to lift her spirits. The gesture in such dire circumstances warmed her heart. She lifted her chin, trying to give him a positive message back.

  Between them was a large wooden box holding a revolver. The guard remained in the corner, his hand hovering over his own gun.

  The only sound in the room was a clock ticking away the seconds.

  Zane stared at her, and she kept her gaze on Zane. She saw compassion in his eyes. The clock kept ticking. The room felt unusually warm. Sweat poured past her temples. She fixated on the gun in the box.

  Clearly someone was playing some sort of sick psychological game. She pulled her gaze away from the gun and stared at Zane. Looking into his eyes was the only thing that made her feel safe.

  A door scraped open to the side of her. She turned her head. No one stepped out. Minutes passed. More game playing. Trying to increase her fear.

  She turned again to look at Zane. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, a gesture that was meant to reassure her, but she saw the fear behind his eyes.

  She heard footsteps and the door opened farther. Finally, the lean older man with a short buzz cut she’d seen earlier in the cave stepped into the concrete room. He crossed his arms over his muscular chest. His smile sent chills down Heather’s spine. His eyes were an icy blue. When she had first seen him, the arrogance and the air of authority he gave off told her the man must be Willis.

  He signaled to the guard, who walked across the room, picked up the revolver and spun the cylinder around before locking it in place. He put the gun back down on the table.

  “It seems Mr. Scofield here thinks it’s okay to try to trick me.” Willis shifted his weight and crossed his arms over his chest. “By hiding some of the chemicals needed to make this bomb work.” Willis took a few steps toward Zane, combat boots pounding on the concrete. “There is always a price to pay for betrayal.”

  A long moment of tense silence was followed by the tapping of footsteps. Someone else was coming into the room. The door creaked open even wider and Jordan entered.

  He stepped toward Heather. Her whole body stiffened. She glanced at Zane, who had gone completely white.

  Jordan looked over at Willis, who gave him a nod. Then Jordan picked up the gun on the table and pressed it against her temple. The room seemed to be spinning. She tried to focus on Zane. Her vision blurred. She couldn’t tell what he was trying to communicate with his expression. Her breath caught in her throat.

  Jordan pulled the hammer back and placed his finger against the trigger. She squeezed her eyes shut and the trigger clicked.

  Nothing happened.

  Her whole body was shaking as her eyes blinked back open.

  Jordan pulled the gun away from her head, turning slightly toward Willis.

  Heather glanced toward Willis, who nodded. “Again,” he said.

  “No, please.” She looked over at Zane, expecting to see rage for what was happening to her. Instead, he offered her a small shake of her head. He was trying to tell her something. How could she feel reassurance with a gun pointed toward her head?

  Jordan placed the gun on her temple again. She gulped in air as tears streamed down her face. Was she going to die here? She lifted her head, locking onto Zane’s gaze. Now she saw the warmth and compassion she’d searched for. His eyes seemed to be almost pleading with her.

  It must be tearing him up to know that his brother was this brainwashed.

  Again Jordan pulled the hammer back. A long moment passed before he placed his finger against the trigger.

  Heather bit her lower lip and held her breath. The trigger clicked. She cringed, expecting a blast and then darkness.

  She opened her eyes to the concrete room and took in a sharp breath. Zane was still there staring at her, trying to communicate something with his eyes.

  It felt as though an elephant was sitting on her chest.

  Willis’s voice pelted her. “That’s probably enough for now. I’m sure Mr. Scofield finally sees the error of his ways.”

  The guard lifted Heather off the chair. Her knees buckled, and she struggled to stand up. Her legs were as limp as cooked noodles.

  The guard half dragged, half carried her to the door. He knocked on the door with his gun. The door swung open, metal hinges creaking. Another guard peered down.

  “Take her back.” The guard pushed Heather toward the stairs. It took all her strength to walk up them.

  The second guard grabbed her shoulder and pulled her up. She took a few steps and fell on the ground. Her knees pressed into the snowy earth. She was still shaking from the emotional torture she’d endured.

  “Get up.”

  She stared at the ground. “Please give me just a moment.” She tried to get to her feet but collapsed.

  “Fine, I’ll take you to medical.” The guard lifted her up and roughly carried her to a tent. He dropped her on the tent floor. “Get in there and wait.”

  With her hands still tied behind her back, she scooted inside the tent. Through the open tent door, she could see the guard pacing outside.

  The revelry by the fire had died down, though she still heard occasional shouts and gunfire. Willis’s army was finally settling down for the night.

  A man poked his head inside the tent. He studied Heather for a moment and then crawled inside. He carried a backpack with him that had a red cross on it.

  “Anything broken?”

  She shook her head.

  He unzipped a pocket on the backpack and pulled a flashlight out. “I need to check your eyes.”

  She recoiled.

  “I’m not here to hurt you in any way. That is somebody else’s job.”

  He turned the light up on the lantern that sat in the middle of the tent. Heather thought she detected a hint of compassion in his voice. Something she had witnessed in none of Willis’s other followers.

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “Combat medic. Iraq. Three tours.”

  He shone the light in both her eyes. The man seemed almost normal. “Why are you here with Willis?” she asked.

  “I have PTSD that led to episodes of vi
olence. I don’t fit into polite society anymore. When everyone I knew turned their back on me, Willis took me in.”

  “My name is Heather.”

  He stopped rummaging through his bag and met her gaze. “I’m Nathan. You look pretty shook up. Do you want a sedative?”

  The last thing she needed was to be sedated. “No.”

  “Then I’ll just recommend that you be sent back to wherever they’re keeping you.”

  She leaned toward him, wishing she could make a connection with him by touching his arm, but her hands were bound behind her. “Please, I need your help.”

  He pulled away. “Forget it, lady. I never want to get on the wrong side of Willis. The guy gives me three squares a day, and all I have to do is stitch men up when they bleed.” His raised his voice as though he wanted whoever was listening outside to hear. Then he leaned closer to Heather. “I’m bugging out. Willis is planning on robbing the bank in Fort Madison. He got word that some rich guy just put a bunch of valuables in the safety deposit boxes. The other guys are acting like it’s totally normal, just another day on the job. I didn’t know they were like that when I joined up. I can’t be a party to the things they’re willing to do.”

  “Can you go down and warn the bank?”

  “I’ve got my own legal troubles that keep me out of town. I’ll take my chances living on my own in the wilderness.”

  Before she could react, Nathan moved toward the door of the tent and shouted, “She’s ready to go.”

  He dug into his pocket and threw an object by her hands before leaving the tent.

  She scooted on her bottom a little to grab the object. Her hand wrapped around cold metal. Nathan had thrown her a pocketknife. A guard stuck his head into the tent. She gripped the knife in her fist to hide it.

  “Let’s get moving,” said the guard.

  She worked her way toward the tent door while he stood outside waiting. Strength had returned to her legs. She gripped the pocketknife, hoping the guard wouldn’t notice. He pushed her in a different direction than the pit she’d been left in before.