Hard Trauma

by Franklin Horton

  “Yeah, I know where that is,” Barger said. “Why don’t they come here and pick him up? I’ve been driving all damn day and the last thing I want to do is run all the way out there.”

  There was a low response, more murmuring that Ty couldn’t make out.

  Barger let out a long sigh. “Yes, I do want you to deal with this,” he conceded. “I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”

  Ty heard the clatter of a phone being tossed onto the table.

  “Fuck!” Barger bellowed, slamming his fist down.

  Ty waited for that rage to be directed at him in the form of a kick or punch but it didn’t happen. Barger continued to mumble curses. He made threats he’d not had the stones to make when he was actually on the phone with whoever he was talking to. When he had it out of his system, he squeezed out of the tight booth and stood. Ty sensed the man staring at him. He continued to breathe slowly, not moving, trying to give the impression he was out for the count.

  Apparently coming to the conclusion that Ty needed to be secured further, Barger drew another zip tie from a drawer. Ty forced his body to relax as Barger looped the zip tie through his restraints, then through a cabinet door handle, yanking the zip tie tight with a ratcheting sound. Ty considered whether he should take this opportunity to launch an attack. Barger put himself in an extremely vulnerable position when he was crouched over Ty. Had his hands been bound in front of him, Ty might have been able to pull it off. With his hands behind his back, however, it was a losing proposition no matter how tough someone claimed to be. He might threaten he could kick someone’s ass with his hands tied behind his back, but could he really? He’d be reduced to footwork. No grappling, no punching, and no blocking.

  Satisfied that Ty was wasn’t going anywhere, Barger went to the cab area. He cursed and grumbled a few more times before starting the RV. He let the engine run for a little bit before putting it in reverse and backing out of the Barger Properties parking lot.

  While Barger drove the large vehicle out of the neighborhood, Ty realized he had no idea what lay ahead of him. Strangely, there was no fear. Instead, he experienced the exhilaration of redemption. He’d been right. Of course, that did him no good if he ended up dead. No one would know where Gretchen was and his sister would probably assume he’d committed suicide somewhere in the desert. Being right wasn’t enough. He had to turn this around. He had to survive.

  From his time in the military, Ty was SERE obsessed. SERE stood for Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape. It was the art of trying to avoid capture or escaping if you were unfortunate enough to be captured. That obsession with SERE training did not leave him in civilian life. While the odds of someone abducting him at this point in his life were pretty slim, they were obviously not zero because there he was, bound and abducted.

  As part of his paranoid fixation, Ty carried a SERE kit integrated into his everyday clothing. The Levi’s jeans he wore had a distinctive leather patch on the back with the Levi Strauss logo. Ty had unstitched that logo when he first bought the jeans and replaced the patch using Velcro instead of stitching. He could remove it if he needed access to the area underneath, where he stored a ceramic razor blade, a handcuff key, and a short section of jigsaw blade. He had a section of abrasive Kevlar cord threaded through the hem of his jeans along with a second non-metallic handcuff key.

  With Barger distracted by driving and the sound of the engine covering his actions, Ty slipped a thumb under the patch and raised one end of it. He probed beneath it and discovered the saw blade, careful not to lose the remaining items. He pinched the thin blade between his thumb and finger, then began sawing through the zip ties. The blade’s teeth were coarse and it required a lot of force to cut the thick plastic. His fingers cramped and he was terrified of dropping the blade. He held onto it, though, and soon the plastic ties sprang free.

  He laid there considering his next course of action. Should he subdue Barger and then call the cops? After all, he’d found evidence of Gretchen’s presence in the RV now. Surely the cops would listen to him. He was no closer to the woman, though. Had that been her on the phone? If he took out Barger and called the cops, would they find the woman? Would there be some thread that led them to Gretchen? He had no way of knowing.

  On the other hand, they were headed toward a meetup with someone. That woman might be there. Gretchen might even be there. Certainly someone with deeper involvement than Barger would be there. He said over the phone that he’d done his part. Was he simply the driver? What did it make this other person?

  Ty decided he needed to wait this out. As hard as it was to sit there, he needed to see who was at the end of the line. He wrapped the zip ties back around his wrists, making it appear as if his hands were bound. When the time came, if the right opportunity presented itself, he could free them and attack.

  30

  Ty lost track of time, but at some point they turned onto a dirt road. The sound of the terrain beneath their tires changed from the hypnotic hum of asphalt, and gravel pinged off the undercarriage. Ty heard Barger grumbling about chipped paint and tire alignment. After ten minutes on the rough road, the RV eased to a stop. Barger sat idling for a moment before turning the vehicle to face the way they’d come in. Once that was done, he killed the engine and they sat there in the dark.

  “You awake back there?” Barger asked, breaking the silence.

  Ty didn’t respond, feeling that nothing good would come from responding. It would invite Barger to begin interrogating him.

  “Hope I didn’t kill you,” Barger mumbled.

  They sat there in the dark for a long time. Barger complained, wondering if he’d been stood up. At one point, when he stepped outside to take a leak, Ty resisted the urge to take action and subdue him then. Whoever was coming would be expecting Barger. If he failed to greet them, they might leave without even getting out of their vehicle. That wouldn’t help Ty at all. When Barger came back inside, he sat in a leather recliner and stretched out. Ty wondered if he was going to sleep.

  The first indication they had company came in the form of a low rumble from a powerful engine. As it got closer, Ty recognized it as the distinctive sound of a modified diesel pickup, probably a Dodge. He could hear the whine of a powerful turbo and the growl of the oversized exhaust. As it got closer, Barger got up from the recliner and moved to the window, nervously watching the vehicle approach through a gap in the curtains.

  The vehicle did not pull alongside them but stopped a short distance away. The driver killed the engine but left the headlights on, spotlighting the RV. With the engine off, Ty could hear the thump of music. It got louder for a moment when the truck doors swung open, then someone turned it off. Ty heard two doors shut. At least two men.

  Barger opened the side door and clambered out of the RV. He called a greeting to the men. The tone of his voice was different. He was trying to sound loud and authoritative but Ty could hear the undercurrent of fear. These people scared him.

  The men addressed him in Spanish.

  “He’s inside,” Barger responded. “Got him tied up on the floor. The sooner you get him, the sooner I can get the hell out of here, so let’s vamanos.”

  The response came in the form of three rapid gunshots. Ty sat bolt upright. Was this what the men had in mind for him? If so, it was time for a new strategy.

  He yanked himself loose from his severed zip ties and rolled smoothly to his feet. He stepped to the nearest window, trying not to make any noise. Outside, he saw a man nudging Barger’s body with his toe to confirm he was out of the fight. The interior of the RV was illuminated by the pickup’s headlights shining through the open door and gaps in the curtains. Ty frantically looked around for his missing Glock but didn’t see it. Barger probably had it on him, not that it did him any good. Ty checked the window again and spotted one of the men headed toward the RV. He had seconds before the guy was inside with him.

  He stepped toward the side door and pulled it shut, locking it. It wasn’t going
to buy him much time since he’d broken the window out at Barger’s shop. One of the men spotted the swinging door and called out. They knew something was up now. Ty had lost any element of surprise.

  Two gunshots punched through the door, one through the bottom half and a second through the empty window opening. There was no way he was escaping out that door. Ty knew that most RVs this size had escape hatches in the roof in case they turned over in an accident. He scanned the ceiling and spotted the escape hatch in the kitchen area. He checked his shirt pocket and found the small flashlight he carried there. He played it over the hatch and found the crank that opened it.

  The men cut loose with a barrage of random gunfire. Rounds punched through the side wall of the RV. With each new hole, a tiny beam of headlights carved through the interior like a laser beam. Dust and tufts of insulation floated in the shafts of light. Ty scrambled onto the countertop and furiously cranked open the hatch. He got it partially open but couldn’t find the release to swing the hatch door completely out of the way.

  A round shattered a cabinet door beside him and splinters sprayed the leg of his jeans. Two rounds punched through the refrigerator. Ty heard a carbonated drink give up the ghost and start spewing as it rolled around.

  In a panic, he wrenched the entire hatch assembly loose, shoving it through onto the roof. He hooked a hand over the lip and started pulling himself out. The RV door swung open, banging against the exterior wall. Someone was shouting in Spanish. Ty placed his feet on the cabinets, desperate for traction, and forced his body through the opening.

  Then he was out in the cool night air. He got to his knees and laid the hatch lid back in place. Ty figured he had less than thirty seconds before the gunmen searched the RV and realized he wasn’t inside. If they trapped him on the roof, it would be like shooting fish in a barrel. He couldn’t let that happen.

  He sprang to his feet and peered over the edge. In the harsh glare of headlights, he could make out one gunman outside, perhaps eight feet from the RV. His attention was focused on the door opening, a pistol held ready in two hands. Ty launched himself into the air, coming down across the man like a wrestler jumping from the top rope. He must have had a finger hooked around the trigger because the impact caused him to send a round into the RV.

  Ty heard yelling in response, cursing in Spanish directed toward the fucking pendejo who’d fired the shot. The man beneath Ty was too stunned to cry out, the wind knocked from him by the impact. Ty didn’t waste the opportunity, raining powerful elbows onto the man’s head and face, one after another. The man quit moving and Ty spotted his chrome 1911 laying in the dirt beside him. He swept it up, got to his feet, and paced backwards, aiming at the door. He didn’t know how many rounds remained in the magazine and had no time to check. He wanted to put some distance between himself and the remaining gunmen.

  There was another yell from inside, then loud steps. The man stomped out the door, ready to curse his partner for the errant round. Blinded by the headlights, he didn’t notice the body on the ground until it was too late.

  Ty halted his retreat, aiming at the gunman spotlighted against the RV. “Drop your fucking gun! Do it now!”

  He didn’t listen. His face crunched in a tight ball of hate, he swung his lowered gun toward Ty, but he was not fast enough. Ty sent a .45 slug into the man’s body then his slide locked open.

  Empty.

  The gunman twisted and took a single, lurching step. He tried to raise his gun but his arm wasn’t cooperating.

  Ty launched himself toward Barger’s body, hoping that was where he’d find his Glock. He yanked the man’s jacket up to his chest and spotted the familiar grip protruding from his waistband. He yanked the gun free and leveled it on his attacker.

  Ty hesitated, not wanting to kill the man if he didn’t have to. He could have information they needed. He could know where Gretchen was. The gunman shifted his pistol to his offhand and swung it upward. The barrel wavered as he searched for Ty in the darkness.

  “Drop it!” Ty barked.

  The gunman zeroed in on Ty’s voice and left him no options. Ty fired and the round punched the man in the sternum, staggering him. He arched backward, the gun dropping from his hand. Ty rushed toward him and kicked the gun away. The man was conscious, his eyes open, but the fight gone.

  Ty shoved him back against the RV and searched him for weapons. He found a backup .380, some spare mags, and a fixed blade knife, which he tossed off into the darkness. Ty lowered the man to the ground, then climbed into the RV, and found the drawer where Barger kept the zip ties. He grabbed the entire pack and hurried outside.

  He secured the man he’d knocked unconscious, binding his hands and ankles tightly. The man with two bullets in him had rolled onto his belly and was trying to crawl away on his elbows. There was no surrender in that one.

  Ty hauled him backwards, zip tying his ankles together and securing his hands. He rolled him onto his back and examined his wounds. The round from the .45 had ripped out a chunk of the man’s left pectoral. It was an ugly wound but probably not fatal if he could control the bleeding. The second wound, from Ty’s Glock, had created a sucking chest wound. That was serious.

  Ty raced back inside and started pawing through cabinets. He found a stack of dishtowels in a drawer and tucked them under his arm. He looked for something to seal the chest wound with, praying for some saran wrap or something, but turned up empty. Then he recalled something he’d seen in the drawer with the zip ties. He grabbed it and returned to the injured man.

  He tore open the gunman’s shirt, exposing the wounds, and packed the bicep wound with two towels, using duct tape to secure it. He used another to wipe down the man’s chest, removing all the blood and fluid from the area around the lung shot.

  He held the glue trap in the beam of the headlights and opened it. It was a square of paper approximately five inches by seven inches and coated with a powerful adhesive. It was used to catch mice, rats, and spiders. When they walked across it, they became stuck, and couldn’t free themselves. Ty had read about them being used as chest seals in extreme conditions. It wasn’t optimal but it was what he had. He placed it over the man’s wound and pressed down hard, gluing it to his flesh. The man gave a cough, a spray of blood flecking his lips and cheeks. He was breathing for now.

  Ty was shaking, the aftereffects of the adrenaline dump. Sweat soaked his clothing and his heart raced. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. He needed to get his head together. What the hell was he supposed to do now? The responsible voice inside warned that he’d pursued this thread as far as he could chase it alone. He was in deep now and he was going to need help.

  He got to his feet and searched the RV, finding his phone in the driver’s cup holder. He sat down at the kitchen dinette. A stray bullet had shredded one of the cushions and foam rubber chunks were everywhere. Ty brushed them to the side with his forearm and unlocked his phone, pleased to see that he had signal. He scrolled through his recent calls and punched the last number he expected to be calling.

  Only as it was ringing did he notice the hour. Back in Virginia it would be the middle of the night. He hoped she answered, and on the third ring she did so.

  “Lieutenant Whitt.” It was a sleepy voice trying to sound alert and official but failing.

  “Lieutenant Whitt, this is Tyler Stone and I need your help. I’m in trouble.”

  There was a sleepy sigh on the other end. “Mr. Stone, if this is about those assault allegations, I suggest you get an attorney. There’s nothing I can do for you.”

  “Please listen carefully. I’m outside of Tucson, Arizona. I have no idea exactly where I am but I have two men in custody and another dead. I found that RV that I told you about.”

  “I told you that we weren’t interested in that fucking RV! What have you gone and done?”

  He did not let her outburst deter him. “And I found a garbage bag with Gretchen Wells’ clothing inside it.”

  Her silence told him th
at she was suddenly a lot more interested in that fucking RV.

  31

  Ty was aware that his current situation was outside of Lieutenant Whitt’s jurisdiction. He’d considered calling 9-1-1 himself but was concerned about how the scene would be handled. If he told the dispatcher, then the officers on the scene, about a kidnapping in Virginia would they even believe him? They would probably think this was a drug deal gone bad. He’d end up in jail and they’d lose even more precious time. Evidence would be mishandled.

  He knew he was going to be treated like a suspect either way, but he didn’t want evidence of Gretchen’s abduction to be lost. He determined that the only way he could assure they’d take him seriously was to have Lieutenant Whitt make the call. He could only hope she’d been able to get through to a detective on duty so they would take charge of the scene. Presumably the FBI would also show up, if the crap he saw on crime shows was at all accurate.

  In this flat terrain, he saw the flashing lights of emergency vehicles approaching from a long way off. He had no clue where he was in relation to the city but the GPS app on the phone had given him coordinates for his location, which he’d provided to Lieutenant Whitt. Sirens cut through the night, echoing off the hard surfaces of the cool, rocky desert. Although the truck headlights were on, Ty waved his flashlight in their direction like he was directing aircraft to the runway. When they were closing in on him, he turned his back to them. He spread his feet and laced his fingers together behind his head. He would wait on them in that manner until they instructed him to do otherwise.