The Hunters Series Box Set

by Glenn Trust

  “I’m sure. Saw plenty of them from the air in Vietnam, over the Ia Drang.” He paused, his mind pushing away the unpleasant memory of what those flashes had meant then. “They’re gun flashes, boys,” he said with finality. “Where you at?”

  “Not too far, but hard to be sure in the dark.” Andy released the mike key and looked at George who studied the road ahead intently as he poured all the speed he dared into the pickup. “What do you think, George?”

  “Fifteen minutes, maybe less.” His eyes never left the road.

  “Call it fifteen minutes, Rince,” Andy said into the radio mike.

  There was a pause. When Rince finally spoke, he said calmly. “I’ll see what I can do to take care of things until you get here. Won’t be on the radio for a while, just keep coming…and hurry.”

  Putting the portable radio down, Rince circled high, angled away from the cabin. As he climbed, he turned on the plane’s landing light. The bright spotlight beamed out into space as he finished his climb and started in a dive towards the cabin in the clearing.

  Angling down, the light caught the light colored, sandy ground of the clearing and gave off a ghostly luminescence. He began leveling out of the dive and somehow managed to avoid burying the plane’s nose in the surrounding swamp. Roaring over the cabin and clearing at eighty feet, he felt the shudder as the top branches and foliage of the taller trees scraped the Cessna’s belly.

  Pulling up steeply, Rince tested the plane’s limits as he climbed again to make another diving pass at the cabin. He would have given a year’s pay for some flares and a couple of wing mounted rockets right about now. He nosed the plane again towards the clearing.

  After the brief firefight with Wright and his son, Thompson regrouped in the woods with Puckett. Exchanging a few words in the dark, the two men separated. They circled the clearing from opposite directions, scouting the best place to approach the cabin without taking a face full of shotgun pellets.

  Thompson moved slowly. The wound in his leg was painful but not serious. Puckett had suggested that he could sit still and wait for his return, but Big Bud would hold up his end and see this job through. Yes, he wanted the big-ass boat, the cabin by the lake, the condo in Buckhead. He wanted all of it, but there was something more now. The bitch had shot him, taken him down and disarmed him. His professional pride required that some penalty be exacted from those in the cabin. He would not be satisfied until that penalty was paid.

  Completing their survey, the two met in the woods and crouched behind a tree.

  “Looks like the side where that little shed attaches to the cabin is the best way in.”

  Thompson nodded. There were no windows on that side, and they knew that Lee was confined inside the shed somehow, probably handcuffed.

  “Okay, you cover me with the rifle. I’ll see about getting Lee out and finding some gas or oil, diesel or something we can use to burn them out. There’s a generator out back. Must be something in a can around here to run it. Probably in the shed.”

  Another nod from Thompson. Puckett peered closely at him in the dark.

  “How’s the leg? You gonna make it?”

  “Leg’s fine.” The big man replied. “I’ll make it. Let’s get it done.”

  Puckett nodded. He knew men like Thompson. They would not stop until the job was done. Add to that the indignity of being taken down by the woman with the gun, and Bud Thompson had become more dangerous than a bear cornered in a cave. He would have his revenge, and it would be best to stay out of his way until he did.

  Turning, Puckett started running in a crouch towards the shed, while Thompson watched from the woods, rifle at the ready. The sudden roar of the plane passing overhead caused Puckett to throw himself face down in the dirt. He could hear the snapping of twigs and leaves as the plane passed low, brushing the trees.

  As it climbed away from the clearing, he stood and ran to the shed. Cracking the door open, he peered inside. Sim Lee knelt, arms extended and wrists handcuffed around a pipe that passed through the wall into the cabin. Puckett put his fingers to his lips and moved closer.

  “Shit, man. Am I glad to see you.” The relief in Lee’s voice was evident even in a whisper.

  Eyes scanning the dark interior of the shed, Puckett made no reply.

  “What’s the plan, man? You got to get me out of here.” The relief started to fade slightly from Lee’s voice. “You are gonna get me outta here, Rodney, right?”

  He nodded a yes to Lee and moved close. “Gonna get you out, Sim. Just don’t make any sound until we’re ready to make our move, okay?”

  Lee nodded, but the look of relief in his eyes held a tinge of doubt. He knew Puckett, and he knew that Puckett would get the job done. What happened to Lee along the way was secondary. Being secondary was not a comfortable feeling, chained to a pipe in a shed that was likely to go up in flames in the next half hour.

  Puckett cracked the door to the shed and then closed it as the plane dropped over the clearing with a rush, its landing light turning the black trees green for a moment as it thundered past. Shit. This was not a chance visit by some private pilot having a joy ride. Someone knew they were here and was keeping an eye on things. He listened as the plane circled for another pass and then ran to the woods.

  Crouching behind the tree, he spoke softly. “We got problems.”

  Bud gave him a hard stare. “What kind of problems?”

  In the dark, Puckett shook his head. Yeah, he knew men like Thompson. This was not going to be easy.

  “The plane,” he said in a reasoning voice. “They…someone…knows we’re here. We can’t stay.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “Bud, we can’t stay.” He stopped speaking to let the words sink in. “You know that. Plane’s overhead. It’s got a radio. Someone is on the way. We can’t get caught here on the ground. We’d be trapped with no way out but the way we came in.”

  The words were reasonable. They made sense. It did not matter. “I’m not leaving.”

  The plane’s engine roared overhead again. Thompson stood up beside the tree, lifted the rifle, and fired a round as it soared away into the dark.

  “Listen, we’re not giving up on the job. Look at me.” He waited for Bud to turn his head from the disappearing plane. “We are not giving up. We just have to pull back for now and come back when we have a better plan. When the heat dies down a little.”

  Considering Puckett’s words, Thompson looked at the shed across the clearing.

  “What about Lee?”

  Puckett shrugged. “He’ll have to take his chances. He knew the risks. Knew what he was getting into. This isn’t his first show.”

  Thompson nodded, thinking it through. The thinking ended with the roar of the Pickham County pickup sliding into the clearing from the dirt road and stopping in a cloud of dust in front of the cabin’s door.

  The issue was settled. The two men moved further back into the woods and began making their way to the road and their vehicle. It was time to leave…for now.

  Careening around the curve in the road, George had slammed the brakes and slid nearly off the left side of the road to avoid ramming the rear of the Chevy SUV. Recovering and straightening the pickup out on the road, he moved forward more carefully. Around the bend, they observed Ronnie Kupman’s Ford parked neatly behind the big blue Dodge.

  “What’s this, a fucking parking lot in the middle of the swamp?” Andy said as he reached for his sidearm, holding it ready by the door.

  Ahead they heard Rince passing over the clearing in the Cessna accompanied by the crack of a rifle. George’s foot plunged down on the accelerator, and the truck lurched forward, throwing them back in their seats. Covering the last half mile to the cabin quickly, the pickup came fishtailing into the clearing. Jerking the wheel violently to the left, George avoided the body lying in the dirt and stopped the truck in front of the cabin.

  Moving quickly out of the pickup’s cab where they would be an easy target for the r
ifle, Mackey and Barnes drew their weapons and crouched behind the truck, scanning the trees.

  “Who is it?” George motioned his head towards the rear of the truck where the body on the ground lay.

  Staying below the side of the truck, Andy moved towards the rear. Stopping where he could see the body closely from a few feet, he said only one word. “Shit.”

  “What?” George asked, tense and worried about the response. “Who is it, Andy? Damn it, speak up.”

  “It’s Ronnie Kupman, George.” He watched the big deputy’s shoulders sag and his head go down. There was no noise, just a rocking motion of his body. George Mackey tried to absorb the fact that his friend, maybe his best friend, lay dead in the dirt a few feet away, and George had not been in time to prevent it.

  Andy turned his eyes back out to the woods, wondering where the killers were and where the others in the cabin were. The answer came a second later.

  “George! In here!” Porter Wright stood in the darkened cabin door, shotgun at the ready. “Quick George, it’s Sharon.”

  Standing and spinning, George lunged through the door and then skidded to a stop. Sharon lay on the floor just inside. Naomi Wright had wrapped a piece of sheet tightly around Sharon’s torso trying to stop the bleeding from her wounds. The effort was ineffective, and the sheet was saturated with blood that continued to seep from the wounds. Kneeling beside Sharon, Naomi stroked her face softly. Her eyes rose to meet George’s.

  George Mackey sank to his knees on the other side of Sharon. Reaching down, he lifted her hand and held it to his lips, wetting her blood stained fingers with his tears.

  Sharon’s eyes fluttered open. She smiled.

  “George,” she whispered. He felt a slight movement of her fingers as if she was trying to squeeze his hand. Her eyes closed.

  Grabbing Ronnie’s portable radio from the floor beside Sharon, George spoke. “Rince! Come in, Rince!”

  “Stop shouting, George. I’m here. What’s up?”

  “Sharon’s down. We need to get her out of here now.”

  “Roger.” Rince became all business, all professional. “Calling for life flight air ambulance now. Can she be moved?”

  “I don’t know…” George looked down trying to assess her wounds. “I don’t know. She lost a lot of blood. I can’t tell how bad the internal injuries might be.” His voice took on a pleading tone. “We have to help her, Rince.”

  “George, you’re going to have to move her. Put her in your truck and get her to the clearing at the junction with the county road. It’s about fifteen miles from the cabin. You remember it on the way in?”

  George nodded, then spoke. “I know where it is.”

  “Get her there, George. Quick. It’s the closest place for the ambulance chopper to set down. Get moving. I’ll get them enroute.”

  Standing at the door watching the tree line, Andy turned his head for a moment to look at the two on the floor. A week ago, he hadn’t known them. Now they were…what? Friends? Yes, friends, but something more. He watched the deputy slide a blanket under Sharon’s body so that they could lift her as gently as possible and carry her to the truck. His own eyes watered when he saw George brush a tear from his as he worked over Sharon.

  Rince changed radio channels, made the call for the ambulance and went back to the TAC channel. Banking back towards the cabin, he saw something and lifted the mike to report.

  “I got headlights moving.”

  Picking up the radio, Andy asked, “Towards us, or away?”

  “Looks like away, Andy. Headed out.”

  “That’s them.” He turned towards George who had also heard the radio traffic. A hard look came across the deputy’s face for a second, and then shaking it off, he turned back to Sharon and prepared to lift her.

  Porter Wright spoke up. “George, put her in our SUV. The back seats fold down. We can make her more comfortable there.”

  George paused, overwhelmed by emotion and the events whirling around him. He could only focus on the woman on the floor before him, the woman who had opened something in him the night before. And now…what? Gone, lost, destroyed in less than a day?

  “Do what he says, George. Let’s get her in the SUV.” Andy’s voice was calm and firm. “You get her to the clearing. Meet the chopper, George.” The deputy nodded his understanding and stood. “I’m going after them,” Andy added, looking George in the eye.

  George started to say something. The look in Andy’s eye stopped him. It was a look he knew. Staring deeply into the detective’s eyes, he could only nod once more that he understood.

  “I got this, George.” Andy said in a solemn way, making his pact with the deputy.

  87. Alone in the Dark

  George watched the county pickup as it went spinning out of the clearing and back onto the dirt road, disappearing into the darkness of the tree-shrouded road. Then, he, Porter and Naomi Wright and their son, Roger, lifted the corners of the blanket and gently moved Sharon to the back of the SUV.

  “I’ll go with you, George. I’ll drive.”

  George looked at Wright. “No, Porter you stay here and take care of your family.”

  Porter Wright knew that was the right thing to do, to protect his family and watch over them. But watching George seat himself behind the wheel of the vehicle, it felt somehow wrong, as if they were abandoning their protectors, the ones who had risked their lives for his family.

  Wright disappeared into the cabin for a minute and came back out with a bedspread that he placed gently over and around Ronnie Kupman. He would stand guard there all night with his shotgun. No one and nothing would disturb the body of his friend that night.

  George accelerated the SUV along the dirt road, fast enough to slide slightly around corners but still maintain control. Once, he dared look over his shoulder at Sharon lying on the blanket in the back. There was no movement. He couldn’t tell if she was still alive or not. Turning his head back to the road, he focused on his driving, ignoring the tears that fell from his watery eyes across his cheeks.

  Sliding around a final bend in the road, the pickup came out into the clearing around the junction with the county road. He heard Rince on the radio guiding the helicopter in. Opening the back door, he climbed into the SUV and knelt beside Sharon. Lowering his head to her face, he rested his cheek against her forehead. More tears fell from his eyes across her face.

  Bright light and a whirring roar filled the clearing. Dust kicked high into the air. A minute later, two paramedics raced across the clearing to the SUV. A third followed carrying a stretcher. George backed out of the vehicle so that they could reach Sharon.

  They worked quickly. An IV was started, vital signs checked, recorded and reported by radio back to the trauma center in Jacksonville. It was clear that Sharon’s grasp on life was a thin, quickly unraveling string.

  Using the blanket the Wright’s had provided, they slid Sharon from the vehicle and gently laid her on the stretcher, placing the IV tubes and saline and plasma bags on her chest for the short trip across the clearing. The three paramedics, assisted by George, moved quickly across the rough ground and low undergrowth.

  Loading her into the chopper, the paramedics jumped in. George knew there would not be room inside for him and didn’t ask. The door slid shut with a thump, and the pilots throttled the engines up. Through the window in the door, he could see two medics working over Sharon. One was on a radio calling in more information and vital signs from the chart in her hands.

  When the engines were at full throttle, the pilots changed the pitch on the rotors, and the helicopter lifted suddenly into the air. It climbed rapidly for a few seconds, gaining a couple of hundred feet in altitude, then banked sharply, turning to the southeast.

  Watching, George kept his eyes on the flashing red light as it disappeared into the dark with a roar, taking what was left of his heart with it. Slowly the dust from the helicopter’s downwash settled around him to the ground. George stood alone in the dark.

>   88. It Smelled of Life

  “Speak to me, Rince.”

  “Hang on, Andy, had to direct the life flight chopper to George.” Rince watched the helicopter lift and move to the southeast. Turning his attention back to the dark landscape below, he quickly picked up the two sets of headlights. Andy’s lights and, further to the northeast, the lights of the vehicle the killers were in. “Okay, have them in sight. They look to be about two miles, maybe less, ahead of you.”

  “Good. Watch them and let me know what they do.”

  “Will do, Andy, but you need to catch them before they get back to main roads. I’ll lose them in traffic if they make it that far. Called for the state patrol and county, but don’t know if they can block off the road before the vehicle disappears into traffic.”

  Andy nodded and pushed the accelerator down. “Okay. I’m working on it, Rince. Keep me advised.”

  Rince watched the drama below, the two vehicles, unseen by each other racing through the night. Only he could see them. Shit, that’s it, he thought.

  He bumped the throttle forward so that the Cessna quickly pulled ahead of the vehicles below in the dark. From a couple of miles out, he banked and turned in a shallow dive. The road below had straightened once they had hit the county road and passed the clearing where George had met the helicopter. It ran along a causeway through a large open marsh area covered by sawgrass, winding creeks, and quiet pools.

  Approaching from the northeast, Rince allowed the plane to drop slowly towards the road. When he hit the landing lights, the SUV was about a half mile ahead. It swerved towards the edge of the causeway bank as the plane barreled forward, its wheels actually touching the road surface before Rince pulled back on the yoke and the nose lifted, sailing the small plane twenty feet over the SUV as it climbed for the sky.

  “Son of a bitch!” Rodney Puckett swerved the SUV towards the bank on the right to avoid the plane coming directly at them. The bright landing lights were blinding, and as the plane passed low overhead, he sat blinking, trying to recover his night vision.