Downward Cycle

by JK Franks

  This had been a good man. He’d deserved so much better than this. He had stayed on the job when nearly everyone else had fled. Scott wanted to mourn the man and give thought to his sacrifice, but Kaylie’s own desperate situation called him back to the moment. He took Buck’s service pistol, the tactical gear and other weapons in the trunk and was on his way again within minutes.

  The tears stung his eyes. How had it come to this? A few months ago, he had been a computer programmer living a life of peaceful solitude. Today he was fighting a war. He had killed, he had lost friends and he was probably about to die himself. This newest series of events—men out for the blood of seemingly everyone he cared about—scared him on a very primal level.

  But he would put Hansbrough down. And every other one like him he came across. Scott spat out the broken window. Put them all down, he vowed, the rage inside him ready to unleash. His hands gripped the steering wheel hard, his eyes unblinking now. He was not a hero, but he was determined he would not go quietly.

  He was nearing the turn-off for the road to the cottage when he heard the chirp of one of the radios. The voice coming from the other end sent chills down his spine. He pulled to the side of the road and stopped. Picking up the radio with trembling hands, Scott looked off into the distance as he keyed the microphone. He could see smoke rising from the direction of his house. “Kaylie, is that you?”

  It took several long seconds before the whispered reply came, “Yes, Uncle Scott.”

  She was alive. Relief flooded his body just knowing that fact. Another voice cut in then, a man’s voice.

  “Scott, where are you?”

  “Bartos? Holy shit,” he exhaled as relief flooded through him. “You’re alive! And you have Kaylie. Jeeze, I—I’m at the turn off above the cottage. I’m in your truck. Are you safe?”

  The response came back as Scott heard weapons fire, both on the radio and from out the window. “Safe is a relative term right now,” Bartos said. “We need your help, though, if we’re going to get through this.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Bartos relayed the numbers and positions of their attackers. Scott wanted Kaylie out of the way, but none of them could come up with a safe way of doing that, and Kaylie was having none of it. Bartos had already made that connection to Hansbrough. And apparently, Tyrell had been there but just left in a car with someone.

  Scott grabbed the bag of weapons that Bartos had asked for from behind the rear seat. He ran them down a side road about a hundred yards, to an old logger’s bridge over the swamp’s edge. Bartos, Solo and Kaylie were waiting in the pirogue below. Their relief at seeing each other was tempered by the fact that there was no way to reach each other here.

  "Bartos, I owe you so much.”

  The Cajun shrugged it off. “She pretty much saved herself.”

  They talked quietly, and Scott lowered the heavy bag the fifteen feet down to the boat on a length of paracord. Bartos was sitting oddly in the boat, obviously in pain. He looked up at Scott grinning.

  “It’s a shame your pretty little cycling suit isn’t camo patterned.” Scott looked down at his black, white and blood covered bike jersey and smiled ironically.

  “It will do fine,” he said. “By the way,” he added, smiling, “I shot up your Bronco.”

  Bartos looked up. “You better be kidding, or you’ll be the next one I kill.” Laughing, he said, “You know what to do?”

  Scott nodded and looked down at his niece, relieved to see her muddy go-bag and her holstered pistol at her waist. “I love you, Kaylie. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

  “I won’t,” she promised, a reassuring smile fighting through the concern on her face. “I know the plan. Please be careful, Uncle Scott.”

  “Solo, please take care of her, okay?” Scott called. The beautiful but muddy dog’s tail began to wag enthusiastically.

  Gruff as ever, Bartos wrapped it up. “Make sure you don’t shoot the dog, and let’s get this done quickly, I'm hungry.”

  Smiling, Scott went to put the plan in motion.

  Kaylie had told her uncle she was pretty sure they had set the cottage on fire—which had made him even angrier, if that were possible. The anger, plus seeing his three loved ones, had re-energized Scott, and although he was still exhausted, he was more than ready for what came next.

  If the thugs had set the cottage on fire, they had destroyed their only defensible position, and the smoke would work in Scott’s favor. The plan they had come up with was to lure several out into the open using the Bronco as bait. Scott and the H&K would unleash as many rounds into them as possible. Bartos would be using a scoped and suppressed SR-15 sniper rifle to take out anyone else as they came out. Kaylie would watch the perimeter, and Solo would then be turned loose to wreak havoc on anyone left. Solo was the most eager looking one of the group for the battle about to start. The plan was not sophisticated, but they were up against thugs, not military strategists. Tyrell’s gang mainly counted on numbers and intimidation, not intelligence.

  Scott took his bike out of the back and placed it in the overgrowth on the side of the road. Silly, he knew, but he loved that bike. He reached into Buck’s tactical bag for several items he would need as the radio squawked twice to signal that Bartos and Kaylie were in position.

  He turned the key to start the Bronco. He gassed it, and the throaty headers rattled loudly throughout the wetlands. Drawing so much attention to himself seemed crazy, but he put the truck in gear and began rolling toward his home. The smoke was thick, hugging the ground, and he completely missed his now well-hidden driveway. He backed up toward the gate and managed to block in all the various motorcycles and four wheelers the gang had used to get there. Quickly grabbing the gear bag, Scott slipped down and out the far door and stalked into the thick brush lining his drive. He could see movement in the front windows as bodies came out to see who was in the idling truck.

  The unmistakable noise of the sound suppressed 7.62x51mm NATO round striking flesh somewhere behind the cloud of smoke was the signal Scott had been waiting on. He carefully flipped the selector on the H&K and used the three- shot burst option to unleash hell on each of the four figures now heading toward the truck. Several of them got shots off, but none seemed to register that Scott was firing from their side and not from the direction of the truck. The four of them fell, all mortally wounded. He heard several more of Bartos’ rounds followed by more than one agonizing scream. Then, a shadow leapt into Scott's peripheral vision and disappeared again into the smoke.

  Screams and shots rang out as Solo took care of the remaining combatants inside. Scott had dropped the H&K and unslung the more accurate M4 carbine. He began working his way toward the smoking cottage. Two figures came running out of what had been his garage door. He clipped the one on the right, and another shot took the legs out from under another one wearing a hoodie. Solo’s vicious, hungry growls had taken on an otherworldly quality, and Scott felt a moment of fear at what the beast was capable of. He heard more firing from Kaylie’s position and watched as another man went down.

  The smoke and smell of burning wood was thick in the yard. Scott saw Bartos come into view, limping around the side of the cottage, assault rifle in one hand, pistol in the other. The Cajun raised three fingers on the hand clutching the pistol, Scott assumed that meant the numbers of combatants were more balanced now. A movement off to the right caught Scott's eye, and he was firing before it even registered. The figure dropped, but Scott was not positive it had been a good hit. Bartos fired at multiple targets that Scott couldn’t even see, but he heard the screams of the dying men. He and Bartos used what cover there was and approached from different angles. Bartos cautiously approached one of the fallen men and gave two quick headshots just as the man began to reach for his weapon. The sounds of the dog briefly went silent, and Bartos turned gingerly and paced up to the wall of the cottage before dropping flat to the ground and cautiously peeking around the corner. Moments later, a man turned that same cor
ner just above Bartos who was already firing straight up. Bullets ripped into the man’s groin and exited higher up the body with spectacular gore.

  Scott was watching the action ahead and did not notice the figure behind and to his right getting back up to his knees in the smoke-shrouded cover. He saw another enormous black man come charging around the house with Solo right on his tail. Solo trailed blood from a knife wound in his hind leg. The dog leaped toward the man, and his fangs sank deep into the side of his neck, dragging him to the ground. The large man continued to fight until the dog ripped free a large chunk of his throat. The gurgling sounds were accompanied by geyser spurts of blood as the man’s body began to die.

  Scott was mesmerized by the horrific sight of Solo ripping into his victim. He glanced over to see Bartos looking past him with a curious look on his face, as if he knew something that Scott didn’t. As Scott turned to look in the same direction, he felt the sudden impact of the round hitting him in his chest. The lights went out all over again for Scott Montgomery in a thunderous, agonizing blow. Sadly, Scott did not see his assailant die a moment later, or his niece holding the gun that had killed him.

  Chapter Sixty

  Bartos walked up as Kaylie knelt over Scott’s body. A wounded and bloody Solo swept the perimeter, finding no threats. Bartos looked at his friend then felt for a pulse, and to his surprise, found one beating strong and steady. Lifting up the ruined and bloodied cycling jersey he began laughing. Scott had a Kevlar vest on underneath, the county sheriff insignia emblazoned on the lapel.

  He was out cold and likely badly bruised, possibly a cracked rib or two, but he was alive. Kaylie’s tears came in waves as she realized he was alive and well. She leaned in and hugged her uncle, causing him to groan and cough in pain. “Damn, girl, why do you smell so bad?” No longer realizing his own stench. Bartos stood, and hobbling badly now, went to check on the dog and to turn off the still idling and much beloved truck.

  It took Scott half an hour to fully come to, and then he really wished he hadn’t. He managed to roll to one side before vomiting from the pain. He was looking up at one smoking but still standing wall of the cottage. Kaylie’s chestnut hair framed a muddy face that was still beautiful but no longer innocent. It would be days before she talked about what she had done, but Scott could guess just by looking at her.

  He turned his head to see Bartos and Solo heading over. “All clear, partner,” Bartos said with a smile.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Scott said, leaning up woozily. “Thanks for asking.”

  “Shut up, you pussy. You were wearing a vest. Oh, sorry, Kaylie. Didn’t mean to curse in front of a lady,” Bartos said chivalrously.

  Kaylie shrugged.

  Scott took them all in. “We all look like shit… the walking wounded,” he said.

  “To be accurate,” Bartos said, “only we are walking, you’ve mostly just been lying there napping.”

  Scott struggled to get up. He was in so much pain and felt like he could only get partial breaths of air, but he was alive, and so were Kaylie, Bartos and Solo. In fact, the dog looks happy as shit, Scott thought.

  More seriously, Bartos reported: “We got nine bodies, but I don’t think any of them is Tyrell, and by the way, you owe me a windshield.” Looking back over at his Bronco he added, “Clean-up, too. And a paint job. It was a classic, Scott—you know, a collectible.”

  Scott grinned, “I guess you didn’t notice the shotgun blast on the passenger’s side floor, and it shimmies a bit when you’re over ninety.”

  “Oh, you miserable fuck,” Bartos toyed. “This is why I don't let people borrow my truck. You just don’t fuck with a man’s truck.”

  “Well, you let them burn my house down,” Scott said in defense.

  “Yeah, and saved your niece,” responded Bartos.

  “Oh yeah, thanks for doing that,” Scott said, winking at Kaylie, who was rolling her eyes as she stroked the bloody dog.

  “And they didn’t burn all of your house, just…most of it. Besides, now you can upgrade to a nice beach condo. Houses are plentiful, man, trucks that run are pretty scarce.”

  Scott finally got to his feet, and the three of them gathered up all the weapons and stowed them in the Bronco. Then they used the four wheelers to take their previous owners’ bodies to a field further down the road. “Let the scavengers feast for a few days,” Bartos had said. They hid the rest of the ATVs and motorcycles in the woods.

  While they worked, they discussed Hansbrough and Tyrell. Over one of the captured radios they had heard someone, a frantic Ronald it sounded like, giving orders to raise all the bridges. They didn’t think the news that Bartos and Scott were still alive would have gotten to him yet, nor that Tyrell’s men were all dead—no way would they have expected them to have defeated Tyrell’s guys. For now, they had that going for them. They considered riding two motorcycles in as decoys, but they had no helmets to disguise them.

  “Well, fuck, they are cutting us off from the island.” Scott sucked in a painful breath of air. The rage was just as strong, but he was having trouble concentrating. “Bartos, you and Buck went over defense plans for the bridges. Contingency plans on possible breaching maneuvers others might try to cross when the bridges are raised. What did you guys come up with?” Scott asked.

  “Boats. The only way—the water in the canal is deep, really deep. It gets dredged every few years for the shipyards over in Pascagoula to use for pulling ship hulls over to the bay. Alligators are also pretty common, and the tides make for a swift current. The island the town is on is a really good, defensible location.”

  The pirogue was pretty badly shot up and couldn’t hold them and the gear they needed. Bobby’s old boat in the boathouse had become part of the burned wreckage.

  “Where’s your Jeep?” asked Kaylie, realizing she hadn’t seen it.

  Scott hesitated several minutes, remembering Bobby’s advice on secrecy. “It’s…it’s at our primary bug-out location. I took it and the trailer full of supplies down this morning before going riding. I was planning to stop back there and retrieve it on my way home. Which reminds me, I have to go back up the road and pick up my bike,” Scott said. Kaylie laughed and hugged her uncle causing him to wince in pain.

  “That damn bike. You aren't going to be riding for a while with your chest caved in and all,” Bartos said smiling.

  “Hey, that bike saved my life and probably helped save yours, too.” Scott had relayed the story of the pursuit earlier, to Bartos’ great amusement.

  “It’s just like that Spielberg movie. You know, the one with Dennis Weaver trying to get away from the psycho in the big rig truck. Only in your case, it was simply a retard in a girl's swimsuit riding a bicycle trying to get away from two sadistic idiots in a gorgeous classic Ford Bronco.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Scott said smiling,” And, it was three idiots after me to be specific.”

  Trying to come up with a workable plan, Scott continued, “What if we went to the ocean and came about from that way?”

  “Won’t work. You’d have to either drive to the far side of the wetlands or navigate through them. They extend for forty miles to the west and nearly all the way back to Mobile Bay to the east. Then you have to come back either on the beach or by the sea with the gear you need. That would take several days.”

  Scott rubbed his aching chest. “Shit, we picked a good spot to operate out of, shame we aren’t the ones over there using it.”

  Bartos agreed.

  Kaylie said, “Wait a minute, guys. One of the houses we went into near here had a boat in the garage. It’s not far, if we can attach it to the Bronco, could be in business.”

  Scott smiled, that’s my girl. “Is there a place we can launch it on the Intercostal?”

  Bartos was nodding his head, “Yeah, yeah, fuck yeah. It wouldn’t even have to run… we could even paddle it across. Let’s go!”

  The three of them grabbed their bags and loaded them into the abused Ford, Solo settling in b
efore they’d even begun. Scott picked up his bike on the way out.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Tyrell was fully aware that Hansbrough had mostly lost it before this day had even started. He had been giving orders and was so red-faced that Tyrell thought he was going to pop something. Now he, too, was just as angry; his guys had failed, he’d lost not just his brother, but now a cousin last night at the swamp rat’s campsite, and today, what should have been an easy grab on the white guy with the bike, had apparently turned into a bloody mess. Worst of all was that that son of a bitch, Bartos, was apparently still fucking alive. He was like a goddamn cockroach, why the fuck wouldn’t he die?

  When Tyrell had last heard from the boys at the cottage, everything seemed fine. He’d left to go and calm Ron down before the shooting had started. Coming back into town, Hansbrough had him take out the deputies manning the bridges and raise them all himself. As he got into town, he’d seen several bodies lying in the street, buildings on fire and that idiot Hansbrough running around town with a fucking gun.

  The plan today had been to snatch this Scott guy and wipe out any remaining law enforcement. Now, that fucking red-faced idiot was just shooting random people in his path. Tyrell knew he should put the stupid bastard down, but he was too busy trying to figure out how to get his own revenge. He owned this town, not the fucking former rich boy drug-addict who even now was still trying to give him orders.

  Bartos unlocked the county service road gate, and Scott backed the Sea Ray Inboard down the cement pad and into the deep, green waterway.

  “We boosted a really nice boat,” Bartos said cheerily.

  For real, thought Scott.

  They had gotten into the garage, hooked up the boat easily and even found a full fuel tank and a fully charged battery. They hadn’t been planning on using the motor to get across but knew they might need it to get away if things went sideways. Bartos checked to make sure the drain plugs were inserted, and Scott dropped the dependable Bronco into reverse and submerged the trailer until the beautiful boat was afloat. Kaylie was already transferring gear bags from one to the other, so Scott pulled the Bronco back up out of sight and came down the bank followed closely by a bloody Solo.