by Sam Sisavath
“I dunno. You’ve been awfully quiet. Plus, I’m naturally the suspicious type.”
“Hey, whatever helps you stay alive.”
“Why Winding Creek?” Keo asked as he piled the blanket, pillow, and assault vest on the floor and unslung the AR, before relieving himself of its spare magazines, then did the same to the Colt. He definitely wasn’t going to need all that extra weight for what he had planned.
“Why Winding Creek what?” Buck said from down the hallway.
Keo removed all the bulky gear from the vest, then slipped it on and pushed the clasps into place, careful to do it slowly to minimize the clicking sound of the pieces locking.
“Why did you attack Winding Creek?” he called out.
“Because it’s here,” Buck said.
“Come again?”
“Because it’s here. Because they had what we wanted. Because it was easy. Because.”
Keo didn’t know why he was even the slightest bit surprised. He’d seen what happened to Winding Creek repeated in a dozen places ever since he went off on his own. Towns like this had something someone else wanted, and they were willing to do whatever it took to take it. He remembered telling Emma that they couldn’t hide from the world forever, that sooner or later someone who wasn’t interested in trading would stumble across them. He had even told Jim once or twice. They hadn’t listened. And he didn’t really blame them, either. Besides the fact that he was no one—a stranger, even now—they had been isolated for so long—years—that there was no reason to believe they couldn’t keep doing it.
But nothing lasts forever, Emma. I told you that.
“Hey, EB,” Buck shouted from down the hallway.
Keo picked up the pillow. It was big and fluffy and actually felt pretty good despite the heavy sweat stains. “Yeah?”
“You still with me?”
“What are we, friends now? Fuck off.”
Buck chuckled. “Don’t be that way. Look, I got a proposition for you. And no, I’m not going to ask you to be my Demi Moore.”
“Your what?”
“Demi Moore.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“From that movie with Robert Redford?”
“I don’t watch a lot of movies.”
“You knew who Chuck Norris was.”
“Everyone knows Chuck Norris. I was in Kathmandu doing this thing a few years back, and they knew who Chuck Norris was. Kathmandu, Buckaroo. Kath, you dig it?”
“My point is, I have a deal for you.”
“So, let’s hear it.”
“Give up your weapons and surrender.”
Not bloody likely, Keo thought, but said anyway because he needed the extra time, “And then what?”
“I promise you’ll get a fair hearing.”
Keo wanted to laugh but didn’t. “A fair hearing, huh? For what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. How about killing five of my men?”
Six, actually, Keo thought, but said, “Your men? You in charge of these scumbags, Buck?”
“I guess I am.”
“You don’t sound so sure. Are you or aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“King Alpha, huh?”
“Of these boys? You bet.”
Keo pushed the pillow against his chest, then picked up the blanket and slipped it around him. He slung the MP5SD, using the strap to further fasten the fabric against the pillow and his body. It felt good, but he wouldn’t know if it was enough until he walked away from this. If he walked away from it.
“How about a counter proposal?” he shouted into the hallway.
“I’m listening,” Buck said.
“You and your men surrender your weapons to me, and I promise to only shoot ten of you in the balls.”
Buck laughed, and he was still laughing when Keo burst out of the open doorway and turned right and ran.
He ran as fast as he could and kept running even when he heard Buck shouting, clearly startled, “Fuck!”
Haha, sucker!
He made the first five meters before Buck noticed and got another five in before the first bullet zipped! past his head.
Keo added another five meters, his breath hammering away in his throat, then managed two more when the walls to the left and right of him began exploding, chunks of it flying all around his head. He couldn’t tell how many were shooting—it could have been one or two or all of them, including his new best friend Buck—because at that very second all he could hear was his heartbeat crashing against his ears, pushing just about everything into the background as a slight buzzing noise.
Lights splashed in from the window (Don’t run into the light! Keo thought, and might have even laughed out loud), like a beacon calling to him.
I’m coming, window, I’m coming!
He was almost there, almost home free, when there was a stab of pain from his right thigh and he thought, So close. So close!
He would have screamed if he wasn’t too busy grunting and gasping for breath as he continued to pour on the speed, knowing that the split second after he stopped moving he was a dead man and one (or two or a dozen) bullets slamming into the walls and floor and ceiling around him at the moment would finally locate their real target.
So he kept running.
Faster, faster, FASTER!
And hit the window with everything he had, and it disintegrated like cardboard.
Suddenly there was nothing but open, chilly air, and then he was in free fall.
SEVEN
THIS IS SUCH A BAD IDEA. Such a bad, bad idea.
Of course, it was too late to do anything about it because he was currently plummeting out of the air like a bird with its wings clipped, and there was just one second before—
He slammed chest first into the ground below.
He was wondering if that had been a six meter (give or take) drop or more like fifty as he rolled onto his back and let the blanket unwind. Every part of his body was screaming, but at least he was in one piece. Or mostly in one piece. But the alternative was worse—broken and dead. He wasn’t sure how much the blanket and pillow had spared him by absorbing some of the fall and if the padding in the assault vest had even done anything.
But he was alive!
The only part of him that wasn’t aching was his right thigh, and that was only because it was too busy bleeding. He would have spent twenty or so seconds making sure he didn’t bleed to death if he’d had them to spare. The truth was he probably had less time than that before Buck and his boys made it across the hallway and—
A head, sticking out of the window directly above him.
Keo drew the P220 from his waistband and squeezed off two rounds, but the head—with a nice thick bush of brown hair—jerked back into the building as soon as its owner saw Keo taking aim. But the shots did what he needed them to—momentarily keeping the people up there from raining gunfire down on his helpless form.
He rectified his vulnerable position by scrambling up, did everything he could to ignore the stabbing pain from his leg, and took off running toward the woods. Thank God there was nothing between him and the trees except the same open field he’d crossed a few hundred times before.
Not that Keo thought he was going to make it to cover without having to dodge gunfire, and he was right. (Dammit, couldn’t you be wrong for once in your life?) He was only halfway across when they started shooting, bullets punching into the ground around him and zip-zip-zipping! over his head. Even though he knew it wasn’t going to do a lick of good, Keo still instinctively raised both hands over his head like a shield.
His other instinct—to run in a series of random zigzag patterns—was probably what saved his life, but even then one round came dangerously close to detaching his left ear from the rest of his head. The round had gotten so close he swore he felt the heat of the bullet’s trajectory as it went past his earlobe.
Christ!
The tree line in front of him was disintegrating branch by branch, leaf b
y leaf, chunks of the gnarled trunks flickering into the air like mini missiles. Keo wasn’t sure if there was going to be anything left by the time he reached it—
Yes!
He didn’t so much as jump into the woods as he lunged violently inside, crashing into a tree and bouncing off it like a ping-pong ball. He didn’t care about the immensely inelegant entry and righted himself (or as much as he could, anyway) and kept going, because the only direction left was farther into the thick shadows underneath the sea of heavy oak tree crowns.
He could already hear them coming behind him—the shouts and screaming of very, very angry men. A few of them were still shooting, but Keo was so deep into the woods now that he didn’t even care branches were snapping in half around him.
Save your ammo, boys! he wanted to shout back but didn’t, just in case he was overestimating just how safe he was. All it would take was one stray bullet and he was done. He could see himself going a good distance with one leg wound—
Shit. The leg wound.
He shifted down into a brisk walk so he could glance back.
Yup, he was leaving behind small drops of blood. Not a lot, but enough to track him if all the trampled grass and broken branches he’d left haphazardly in his wake weren’t enough. Keo put one hand over the small wound—it wasn’t much, just a bullet graze (Thank God for small wounds)—to stop the bleeding.
He upshifted until he was once again running. He was picking his way through the woods at a fairly decent speed until he realized he was going in the wrong direction and righted himself. He’d made the trek back and forth between the cabin and Winding Creek so many times that he knew the area circling the town like the back of his hand.
He couldn’t hear them behind him, but he knew they were coming. Sooner or later—
The thump-thump-thump of rhythmic movement on the dirt ground broke through his thoughts, confirming what he had been dreading—the ones on horseback had taken up the pursuit.
Keo could see himself outrunning his pursuers on foot even with one slightly gimpy leg (hell, he’d done it before, and in far worse conditions), but men on horses were a different story. He could even imagine a few scenarios where he could outmaneuver vehicles, but horses could go under, around, and through things that cars or ATVs couldn’t.
So Keo slowed down and used the opportunity to catch his breath. He wiped his bloody palm on his pants. The area around the small crease in his right thigh was still soaked with blood, but it wasn’t dripping anymore. Still, he was going to have to tend to it. From experience, he knew that the only thing more dangerous than bullets to a man’s health was unchecked infection.
He’d been running at full speed for a good two to three (five?) minutes, and every breath he continued to take echoed slightly in his ears. The fact that he could still detect the thump-thump-thump of horseshoes pounding the dirt ground at all was a good clue the adrenaline wasn’t completely overpowering his senses, but it also meant his pursuers were close. Too close.
Keo didn’t stop completely until he had reached a big tree that stood out from the rest. The trunk was a good five feet across and plenty big enough to hide his entire body as he leaned against it, pushing his back up against the ancient bark.
He continued to slow down his breathing as he waited. The upside to running for his life was that he didn’t have time to stop and acknowledge the aches. Even the slight throbbing pain from his right thigh had started to ebb into the background.
Keo closed his eyes and listened, the MP5SD gripped loosely in front of him. The trigger felt heavier than usual when he tested the pull with his forefinger, but maybe that was probably because he was a little weaker.
You’re bleeding, remember? Not to mention that second-story fall. You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck. What the hell were you thinking?
He wasn’t thinking was the answer.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He was thinking—he just didn’t have any choice, just like now.
He pushed off the tree and spun to his right, into the bigger space between oaks because it made sense that was the direction the closest horseman would also take—the wider and easier route.
It was the correct choice, because as soon as Keo showed himself, the horseman jerked on his reins and the horse pulled up, the reins digging so tightly into its skin that Keo thought the animal was on the verge of rearing up on its hind legs. But it didn’t, and instead turned around sixty degrees to present its rider to Keo.
Just like Christmas! Keo thought, when the man shouted, “Wait!”
Keo almost laughed. “Wait?” Why the hell would he “wait?”
He squeezed the trigger—and missed from five meters away!
Impossible. How the hell…?
The round sailed high and snapped off a branch behind its intended target. The rider actually ducked even as he groped for his sidearm, but his mount was moving so erratically he was struggling to maintain his balance in the saddle at the same time.
I missed! I actually missed! How did I miss?
He was still thinking about that (he blamed it on the adrenaline, on firing too fast, on everything including the pain) when he shot the man again, and this time hit his target in the throat even though he was going for the face. (Beggars can’t be choosers!) The man made a gagging sound, immediately forgot his gun, and seemed to slide off his saddle and fell, landing with a loud thwump! on the slightly damp ground. Blood sprayed from his neck even as he rolled around, splashing autumn leaves.
But Keo didn’t have any chance to wallow in his success before the second horseman appeared in the background. The man already had a pistol in his hand, and he pulled his ride to a stop twenty meters away and fired. Like the first horseman, this one had his rifle slung over his back, but unslinging it would have taken more time than just drawing the sidearm at his hip.
The first round from Buck’s man hit the trunk of the tree Keo had been hiding behind. Bark flicked at Keo’s face, and he swore a few shards had pierced one of his eyeballs, but that was impossible because something like that would have definitely killed him. Or, at least, blinded him.
Except he could still see just fine out of both eyes as he took a quick step to his left even as the man got off a second shot. Unlike Keo’s own gunshot, both of the man’s exploded like thunder in the crisp air.
The second round came closer, but it still missed Keo by a good foot or two.
Keo didn’t give the man a third chance. He spent a second aiming (Don’t miss again! You might only get one shot!), lining his target in his red dot sight before squeezing the trigger. The man jerked back in his saddle but didn’t fall. Instead, he somehow still remained upright when Keo put another round into him, and this time knocked the man off the horse—but not entirely. One of his boots got caught in the stirrups, prompting the animal to turn and flee, dragging its dead rider on the ground with him.
The first horseman was still on the ground, but he had stopped moving and now lay crumpled against a tree trunk. Keo was looking at the man, trying to decide whether to waste a bullet to make sure he was really dead or not, when he heard shouting coming from the direction where the horse and its rider had disappeared. Either someone was trying to stop the runaway horse or giving orders.
Oh, who the hell cares!
Keo turned to go—and almost walked right into the horse that had lost its rider.
The animal stood in front of Keo, staring at him with large brown eyes that matched its skin. Its legs were big enough that if it wanted to, Keo had no doubt it could crush his head under its hooves. The fact that it hadn’t bolted like the other one either meant the horse was used to gunfire or it was too stubborn to be scared by it.
More shouting from behind him, and the voices were definitely getting closer.
Keo turned back around.
The horse was still there and didn’t look as if it had even moved an inch.
“You got a problem?” Keo asked.
The horse stared
back at him. Keo couldn’t decide if that was annoyance or boredom in its eyes. Did horses get annoyed or bored?
“Scram.”
It didn’t.
“Whatever,” Keo said, and slid past the horse.
He waited for it to spook and run off—or worse, attack him—but it remained calm and let him pass.
He had gotten in a dozen steps before Keo glanced back.
The horse was still looking, large brown eyes trained on him as if it didn’t completely trust him to keep walking.
Weird horse, Keo thought, before turning around and picking up his pace until he was jogging through the woods again. He would have launched into a full sprint if the slightly buzzing pain from his right thigh didn’t remind him that it wasn’t a good idea. Keo reached down and put his bloodied palm over the wound to stanch further bleeding.
Even as he ducked under a branch, Keo wondered if the riderless brown horse was thinking the same thing as it watched him run off.
“Now what, genius? You should have stayed away from town, but you didn’t. So now what?”
Good question, horse. Really good question…
EIGHT
MARK and his daughter Angel weren’t at the cabin, though there was plenty of evidence they had found it just fine if the half-empty pantries were any indication. Ol’ Mark had run off with as many goods and nonperishables as father and daughter could carry, but he had either generously left the bug-out bag or he never bothered to check the bedroom.
Keo didn’t blame the guy, not after what he’d seen at Winding Creek. The baker was looking out for his daughter, and Keo was still just a guy who lived outside of town who Mark traded bread with once a week.
After taking quick stock of what was left in his kitchen, Keo’s first priority was taking care of the bullet graze on his right thigh. Mark also hadn’t taken the first aid kit in the drawer under the sink counter, and Keo went to work cleaning then dressing the wound, with his pants huddled around his ankles. Not the prettiest sight if someone were to walk in on him, but it was better than lying dead on the floor from an infection.
