Valley of Vengeance: Book Five in The Borrowed World Series

by Franklin Horton

  He heard someone returning fire, caught a glimpse of a handgun hooked around the corner of a column, and firing blindly toward him. Jim focused his fire there, pumping rounds, and chewing up the drywall covering the column. The column had a steel core that he couldn’t shoot through, but he could make it pretty damn uncomfortable to be standing there.

  When he reached the back door, he had no idea if he was backing out into a friendly or someone who just had a grudge against the cops at the shopping center. His hackles rose and he gritted his teeth against the blast that could be the last sound he ever heard on this earth. When he hit daylight, he moved to the east side of the door, behind the protection of the outside block wall.

  Across from him, he saw Alice. He was stunned for a moment, forgetting where he was, and what he was doing. At least until a round sailed out the door between them. Alice stuck her shotgun back around the corner and fired into the room. She tried to pull the trigger again but the gun was dry. There was nothing but a dull click.

  “Hunting shotgun!” he yelled. “Just three rounds!”

  “Fuck!” she yelled, throwing the gun down. Apparently, she had no more rounds with her. She drew her revolver.

  “We have to run,” he said. “Over the bank, into the cornfield. I’ll be behind you.”

  Alice wasted no time, she ran for the edge of the pavement. There was about forty feet of open asphalt before it dropped away to a steep embankment. She was nearly to the drop-off when a gunshot snapped her head sideways and she fell.

  “ALICE!” Jim screamed.

  He saw the shooter come off the loading dock at the superstore. The man was fifty feet to Jim’s right and carrying a rifle. Jim aimed two rounds center-mass, then fired two more back into the open doorway, hoping it would force Barnes and his men back into cover. Then he ran like hell.

  As he ran, he fired behind him, only getting off one round before the slide locked open.

  “Shit!” He dropped the empty weapon, snagged Alice by the belt, and tugged her toward the looming edge of the parking lot.

  One foot.

  Two feet.

  A round sang by his head. Then they were rolling down the steep embankment at the edge of the property. Jim tried to protect his face but his hand was tangled in Alice’s belt. His face caught the exposed end of a drainpipe, stunning him with a wave of pain.

  When they reached the bottom, Jim staggered to his feet, finding Alice’s belt again, and dragging her into the concealment of the dense cornfield. He tried to move between rows and not displace any more corn than he had to. He didn’t want to leave an obvious trail.

  “JIM!”

  He froze. He was having trouble thinking clearly but he knew that voice.

  “Randi?” he choked, breathless from dragging Alice. He still couldn’t breathe through his nose and blood was running down his throat, constantly choking him.

  She lunged through the corn at him, then spotted Alice at his feet. Randi handed her shotgun to Jim and dropped to her knees, the nurse kicking in.

  Jim backed out of the way, crouched, and watched their back. He could hear shouting at the superstore, women screaming, kids crying. He kept the shotgun raised in that direction, scanning back and forth. He couldn’t see the back of the store for the mature corn, only the parapet wall at the top. He knew men were looking in their direction, preparing to come after them. They didn’t have much time.

  “We’ve got to go,” Jim said, his speech garbled. “Can you stabilize her?”

  There was no answer.

  He turned and found Randi biting her lip. “I said I wasn’t fucking crying again,” she hissed. “And no I can’t stabilize her.”

  Jim looked down at Alice’s face. Her head was covered in gore, a gaping entry wound where her ear used to be, her eyes open and dirt-encrusted. She was lifeless. Dead.

  Jim groaned in frustration, wanting to roar and scream but not wanting to give their position away. She had saved his life.

  Randi stood. “We’ve got to go. I hear an engine. Somebody’s coming.”

  Jim ducked and struggled to pull the lifeless body onto his shoulders.

  Randi had to help him, then she picked her shotgun up. She watched Jim struggle to balance the weight. “You could leave her.”

  He shot Randi a look. His grim determination and the rage burning in his eyes gave her his answer.

  “Then let’s go,” she said.

  Jim staggered forward across the uneven soil of the field, hauling Alice’s body on his shoulders. “She died for me, Randi. After everything we went through.”

  Randi fell in behind Jim, turning every other step to watch their back. All she could think of was the boy she’d sent on with Buddy. The boy who’d just lost his mother.

  Chapter 46

  Hugh

  The sniper set his backpack on a rooftop air conditioning unit next to the back wall. He climbed onto the unit, rested his rifle on the pack, and began glassing the area through his scope.

  “See anything?” Hugh asked.

  The sniper moved his scope picture in a methodical grid across the field, watching for any signs of movement.

  “Got ‘em,” he whispered.

  “What do you see?”

  “I got a man carrying a body over his shoulder. A woman behind him. She’s armed,” the sniper replied.

  “And you’re positive they’re not our people?” Hugh asked. He was standing right beside the sniper and could see a vague disturbance in the cornfield, but couldn’t make out any details.

  “They’re fucking running away,” the sniper said. “What do you think?” His voice was full of sarcasm.

  Hugh hated sarcasm, especially directed at him. This would make his decision easier.

  “Call Barnes on the radio,” the sniper said. “Tell him what I told you. Confirm I’m clear to take the target.”

  Hugh slipped two of the razor-sharp kiridashi from the sheaths on his arms.

  The sniper didn’t remove his eye from the scope, didn’t want to take a chance on losing his prey in the vast sea of green stalks. “Did you hear me?” he said. “Call it in before I lose them.”

  Hugh held one of the sharp, thick blades in each hand. He had to act before the sniper turned to see why he wasn’t making the radio call. He leaned over and struck, burying one in each side of the sniper’s neck. He hit both windpipe and carotid artery. The sniper jerked away from his weapon, clutching his neck and trying to speak. He kicked violently, knocking the rifle from the air conditioner unit as he struggled. He would have fallen off himself but Hugh didn’t let go of the knives, holding the man pinned in place like an insect specimen.

  Hugh twisted the knife that lay buried in the man’s carotid, reaming the hole larger, and expediting the blood loss. Soon the man was no longer able to struggle. Shortly after, he was no longer breathing. Hugh extracted the knives, wiped them on the sniper’s shirt, and placed them back in their sheaths.

  Realizing that he was now fighting against discovery, he went into action. He picked up the sniper’s pack and slung it over his shoulders, then did the same with the rifle sling. He stepped to the edge of the roof and looked over. He heard an engine start and saw two men shooting off into the field in an ATV. Hugh assumed Barnes to be one of the men but he couldn’t tell which of the two.

  He unslung the rifle and tried to spot the ATV in the scope. The machine was bobbing over the irregular terrain of the cornfield. Heavy ears of ripe corn flew in all directions as the machine plowed a wide swath. It didn’t help that Hugh’s adrenaline was surging and he couldn’t keep the rifle still.

  He flipped the safety off and aimed for the driver. He centered the crosshairs on what he could see of the man’s neck. The vehicle jostled and he struggled to keep his intended point of impact in sight. Then the vehicle seemed to hit a smooth stretch of field. He held his breath and pulled the gun tight against him, trying to still the movement. He squeezed the trigger and took his shot.

  The rifle boo
med and Hugh’s target flinched. The man stiffened and sagged over. The ATV took a rapid swerve to the left and the tire caught a rut. The machine flipped, then rolled violently. Hugh watched it for a moment and saw no movement. Maybe the passenger had been killed or at least trapped beneath the machine. He cycled the bolt and flipped the safety back on, then headed for the roof hatch. It was time to make his escape.

  When he reached the open hatch, he slung his legs over, and carefully placed them on the round steel rungs. He made his way down, hoping that no one noticed he was carrying the sniper’s rifle.

  The room below was chaos. Children were screaming and their hysterical mothers were trying to restrain them. Women were screaming for their husbands. Hugh couldn’t see any of the men. He assumed they were all outside, all in the fight.

  He trotted to his radio table and grabbed his pack. With one pack and the rifle over his back already, he put his personal pack on his chest and threaded an arm through each shoulder strap. It was awkward but this was about time, not comfort. He would try to come back for the radios if he could but now was not the time to worry about them.

  He heard shooting from the back door and knew that was not the direction to go in. He bolted for the automotive section, knowing there was a fire exit he could leave through. Hugh slammed into the panic bar and forced his way through the door, struggling as his packs snagged on the frames. He had not considered that the alarm mounted on the emergency exit was battery-operated and fully functional without electricity. The ear-splitting alarm sounded, its trill only adding to the chaos. If he hadn’t attracted attention before, he certainly would now.

  Hugh stumbled out into the parking lot and quickly scanned for threats. He had no idea how many of the men were left but none were here. He ran across the back parking lot, bounded over a ditch, and took off into the weeds.

  Chapter 47

  Pete

  Pete ran from the barn as fast as he could. His brain was firing messages with a machine-like efficiency.

  Dad is in danger.

  I have to get to him.

  I can get to him before anyone else.

  Don’t trip in that rut.

  It’s shorter to cross the hill than run for the farm road.

  Don’t run straight up the hill. Angling up it will conserve energy.

  Despite the urgency of his mission, despite his fear, he realized he was not the scared child he’d been when he killed that man on his parents’ porch two months or so ago. While others may have seen the changes in him, he had not noticed them himself. He saw it now. He was acting like a man. He was on a mission to save his dad. This was not about being scared. This was about something more.

  His lungs were soon burning and his legs weren’t far behind. He stumbled a few times, then forced himself to concentrate and pay attention. He had to focus. There was no choice. If he were injured and out of the game, his dad might die.

  From his observation post, he’d had time to study the lay of the land. He’d figured out where various local landmarks were as part of learning where to watch for possible trespassers. He’d figured out where the superstore was, where the various roads snaked close to their valley, and what hills were between him and town. He memorized the proximity of local subdivisions and housing complexes. He used all of that knowledge now, cutting through fields and climbing short hills.

  When his legs began to fail him, he told himself that he would walk fifty steps to give his lungs a moment to recover. He made it only twenty steps before he was running again, knowing that he’d never forgive himself if he got there too late. He soon found his second wind, hit his pace, and was making good time. He intersected the farm road, his feet raising puffs of dust on the grassless path. Then he was at the creek crossing and hit the water full speed.

  The slimy rocks were treacherous and he wiped out before he’d made it halfway across. He barely managed to hold onto the rifle. He was not concerned about it getting wet – the ammo would be fine, but he didn’t want to bang the scope. That might impair the accuracy of the rifle and cause him to miss a critical shot. He couldn’t afford that. He only had the eight rounds of .30-06 that were in the rifle. He’d brought nothing else with him.

  By choosing to hold onto the rifle he had one fewer hand with which to catch himself and he hit hard. There was a blinding pain in his tailbone as he caught the sharp corner of a rock. His eyes watered from the pain but he fought back to the urge to lay there a moment and recover. Before he knew it, he was on his feet again, wading across the water a little more carefully. When he reached the opposite shore, he sloshed up the bank, his shoes making a squishing sound as they squeezed out the creek water.

  Then he was on the pavement.

  Then he heard the shooting begin.

  Chapter 48

  Jim

  Jim staggered blindly through the corn. He’d driven by this field often enough to know that it pitched downhill toward the road. If he could reach the road, it would just be a matter of making it the quarter-mile to the creek crossing. Then he’d be able to take the farm road back to the valley.

  If he made it that far.

  Right now, he wasn’t so sure. Sweat poured into his eyes and no amount of blinking cleared the burning. He tried to move a hand to his shirttail. He wanted to pull it up and wipe the sweat away from his face but the body on his shoulders began to slip. He nearly dropped her and made a quick move to try to stabilize himself but it was too late. In trying to move her weight back into the best position, he staggered and fell. Her body ground his face into the dirt, flattening his already crushed nose.

  He shoved the body off him, then choked back a scream of rage, emitting a roar that scared Randi. He wanted to brush the dirt from his blood-encrusted face but didn’t dare touch it.

  “We’re almost there,” Randi said. “I don’t hear the ATV anymore. Maybe they gave up. Maybe they’re going back to the store.”

  Jim got to his feet. Somehow he doubted it was over. He was wobbly and panting.

  “Just leave her,” Randi pleaded. “We can come back for her.”

  “No fucking way!” he growled.

  They maneuvered Alice’s body onto his shoulders, then they were moving again. Jim got into a pattern of sucking air through his mouth, then trying to blow out slowly, hoping to force more oxygen into his bloodstream. He tried to breathe out his nose but it was completely swollen shut and the effort made him feel like the top of his head was going to blow off.

  “We still…good?” Jim panted. “You…hear…anyone?”

  He was blind again from the sweat and needed the reassurance. He was lost in a tunnel of pain and focus. His senses were useless. Then he pushed through a row of dense, leafy stalks and caught a glimpse of something he couldn’t process through his stinging eyes. It was a burst of black movement.

  Had he disturbed crows feeding in the corn?

  By the time he realized that it wasn’t crows, Barnes was already swinging the rifle like a baseball bat and caught Jim in the face.

  Jim didn’t even have time to process the pain. He twisted, dropped like a rock, and nearly lost consciousness.

  Randi was about ten feet behind Jim and her attention was directed to the rear, hoping to catch anyone running up behind them. She didn’t realize that Jim had been taken out until she heard the command.

  “Drop the fucking gun!” Barnes shouted. “Drop it or I’ll shoot!”

  Then Randi saw Jim on the ground. She thought he was dead at first but saw his fingers curling and uncurling. One leg tried to straighten. He was alive but out of action. Above him was a man she’d never seen before and he had a rifle aimed in her direction.

  Randi immediately knew she was in no position to fire at the man. Her shotgun was aimed completely in the wrong direction. By the time she spun on this man, he could put five rounds in her.

  “DROP THE GUN!” he demanded.

  She dropped her shotgun before she even knew she was doing it.

  “Hands
above your head!” Barnes demanded. “Do it!”

  Randi complied. The man came up behind her and put his rifle barrel against the base of her skull. The sensation gave her a cold chill, knowing she was a finger twitch away from dying. The man quickly searched her with his free hand. He found her pistol and tossed it to the side. She was awaiting his next command when there was a vicious kick to the small of her back that sent her sprawling. She flew across several rows of cornstalks and fell in a heap, stunned.

  “Was it you or the dead bitch that killed my men?” Barnes asked.

  Randi groaned in pain and tried to think.

  Barnes stomped over to Jim, who still lay semi-conscious in the dirt. He planted a foot on Jim’s neck, applying pressure. Jim’s face reddened and he choked, the struggle to breathe forcing him into consciousness. He raised his hands to the foot on his neck but he was too weak to pull it away.

  Barnes lowered his rifle barrel to Jim’s head. “I’ll fucking kill him,” he said. “I asked you a simple question. Was it you or her?”

  “I came up afterward,” Randi said, her voice wracked with pain. She turned her head toward him, resting her cheek back on the dirt. Her back hurt so badly. “She was already dead when I found them. What does it matter?”

  “Because if it was you, I was going to kill you. Since it was her, I’m going to shoot this bastard and then I’m going to trade you for the tanker.”

  Randi’s mind raced. She could not let this happen. Jim had saved her life. He had gotten her home. She did not want to watch him die. She did not want to have to tell his family that he was dead.

  “I’m not from that valley,” Randi said. “They’re not going to trade to get me back. I mean nothing to those people.”

  Barnes looked her in the eye and she saw the gears turning. She realized too late that she had played the wrong cards.

  “Then you’re going to die,” he said.

  He raised his rifle in her direction and sighted on her head. Randi closed her eyes and was saying a quick prayer for her children and grandchildren when she heard a wet smack. It was quickly followed by the delayed report of a gunshot.