The Minotaur's Hit List (Doc Minus Two Book I)

by Glenn Roug

we're going to make is for animals, not people. It's more humane."

  It took us a while to get to the wood just behind Doc Minus Two's cabin. Nat knew his way around the woods, but he took his time about it. He insisted on pushing his seeder, on which he leaned for support, and did not put the artificial leg on. I never saw him with it attached. On the way he stopped somewhere that looked like any other spot in the wood to me and pulled on a rope that was hidden in the grass and opened a door in the ground. He brought out a net and some equipment from the now-exposed cavity and put it in his seeder. Everything was covered with mud. We continued to walk.

  "Did Doc make it for you?" I asked, gesturing at his artificial leg and hoping I was not crossing a line I should not be crossing.

  Nat did not seem to mind the question. "No. Doc, he amputates. He doesn't make peglegs. Not a skill he has."

  I was glad he did not mind this topic of conversation. "So, he saved your life with that amputation?"

  He let out a suppressed chuckle. "Any surgeon with a saw would of saved my life that day. It takes a special kind of idiot to cut above the knee when below the knee was all the leg needed."

  "You're not saying he botched it?"

  He gave a sharp nod with his head. "He sure did. Misdiagnosed. Even the other surgeons in the base gave him a hard time about it."

  "I thought he was a good surgeon."

  "Minus Two? Not him. Ain't got the talent for it and ain't got the bedside manner for it, neither. That's why he ain't touching the scalpel no more. Lousy doctor if I ever seen one."

  "And yet you consider him a friend?"

  "Not for the amputation. If that was all he'd done for me I'd of shot him. It was the mental institution thing. Some people thought I belonged there on the count of some of the things I done. They signed papers and committed me one week after the operation. Minus Two, he tried to stop it. He failed. No one listened to him on the count of him being such a lousy surgeon. So one day before they came to take me away, maybe for life, he done gone to the place they held me — I wasn't at the hospital no more — and showed 'em a fake ID making him a colonel or somptin'. They didn't know him from Adam there so it worked. He took me with him and gave me some false papers so I could go stateside. Without him I'd of been some zombie today with holes over here." He pointed to the top of his forehead with two fingers spread apart.

  Nat's story did not surprise me, but it was hard to picture Doc Minus Two as an incompetent bumpkin. As if he had read my thoughts, Nat suddenly said, "Minus Two is good at everything he does except for being a doctor and that of all things he wanted to be. Life's tragic that way."

  "How did he lose his fingers, anyway?"

  Nat shrugged. "I never knowed him with more than eight fingers. Every time I ask him how he came to lose 'em I get a different story. One time it was that he put his hand through a lion's cage on a dare; in another story somebody took a shot at him and missed all of him except these two fingers; and last year he told me it was because he lifted his arm once to signal a chopper that was fixin' to land and didn't put it down in time. God only knows. Stop, don't take another step."

  I stopped, alarmed. I looked around me but could see nothing but trees. "What happened?"

  "We're here," he said in a half whisper. "He pointed somewhere between the trees, but I could still see nothing.

  "Are you sure?"

  He nodded. "His cabin's thirty yards away. This is where we need to set this up."

  I advanced slowly in the direction he pointed in. "Careful," he said. "Don’t let 'em see you."

  After about ten yards I could see the chipping paint on the cabin's wall through a gap in the trees. I retreated carefully, making no sound. Nat had been able to navigate to within a few feet of the target without seeing anything but trees and without ever looking at a GPS device. "How did you do it?" I whispered.

  "You got to tell one tree from another, that's how. Trees are as different as people. This here tree, two opposite branches go up in an arc, almost like the frame of a harp. There is only one tree like that and that's it right there. And down yonder where we came from, there's a little clearing and a puddle that's always there round this time of year. Between 'em I knowed where to turn and where to stop. Get it?"

  "You spend a lot of time in the woods I see."

  "I must know it better than the VC. The day they know it better than me is the day I die. Got to keep sharp."

  He began to work on the trap. He searched for a good spot by looking not down at the ground but up, at the tree tops. When he was satisfied with what he saw he spread the net on the ground and then covered it with earth and leaves. Next he built a strange wooden device that looked like a triangle with sticks going through it. He tied it with a rope to another tree, across the net, and buried the rope in the leaves as well. His agility astounded me. He hovered over the ground as if he had two legs, sometimes using his hands for balance, lightly touching the earth. When he was done he signaled that he needed my help. Together we bent down a young tree that stood nearby, and which Nat referred to as a sapling even though it was twenty feet high, and brought its top almost to ground level. We used a rope and a manual winch to do that, and then Nat tied the top of the now-arched tree to the triangle. He made sure everything was covered again and moved away slowly, admiring his own work. "No one could see that," he said. "Except a highly trained VC, and I don't think your guys are VC. VC's don't go after amateurs, no disrespect."

  "None taken. Now what?"

  "Now we have to make sure someone is there before we try to attract their attention." He began to pull on lower hanging branches, removing leaves and twigs and shoving them into his clothes. He gestured for me to do the same. He handed me some tape to secure the camouflage with. He himself did not need any; the leaves and twigs attached themselves to him magically, as if he was covered with sticky goo. When he thought we were ready he led me crawling slowly on the ground until the cabin came into view again. "Now comes the hard part," he said. "The long wait. I got enough food and drink for two days, and even some toilette paper, for you. I want you to feel right at home."

   

   

   

  XII.

   

   It was twelve hours before anything happened. There was nothing to do but watch and wait. Nat did not seem to mind it. He remained silent throughout the entire time and would not let me speak or make any kind of noise, either. Retreating from position in order to relieve myself or eat was a protracted process that left my muscles stiff as I crawled backwards inch by inch for fifteen minutes at a time. I wondered how often in his life Nat had ambushed people in this way, and what happened to them, but did not dare to ask. He never escaped those he hunted; that much I did know without having to ask. They were always lurking in his mind, waiting for the right moment to pounce. He needed to stay focused on the task ahead, whether it was watching Doc's cabin or looking for things to sell to tourists. Living in the moment was the only way for Nat to survive those images that made up the fabrics of his mind.

  Finally we saw a man approaching the cabin. We could not hear any car pulling into the driveway, and so assumed that he left it somewhere to retain the element of surprise. Through the uneven mesh of leaves that separated us from him we caught glimpses of his white shirt and brown shoes. He was stooping along the wall of the cabin, avoiding the windows. He made no sound. Then we saw one of his hands. He gripped a gun in it. I stopped breathing. The man reached for the door and then swung it open violently and disappeared inside the cabin.

  "Quick," Nat whispered. "He'll be out in a minute when he sees there ain't no one in there. Go round the trap and stand behind that tree. Make sure you'll be positioning the trap between you and the cabin. Pretend you done been caught in a bear trap like we talked. I'll raise an arm when he comes out."

  I got up slowly, though much quicker than the crawl I had been getting used to in the past twelve hours. I stood behind a tree so that one leg was hidden from anyone c
oming from the direction of the cabin.

  Nat raised an arm. I bent down and gripped the leg I hid behind the tree and let out a panicky bawl. "Oh, God I'm caught in a trap! Help, I'm caught in a bear trap!"

  At first there was no sound. I looked in the direction of the cabin. A few leaves were moving. Nat kept waving his arm. I kept crying for help. Now two branches moved apart and I could see a man's head peering inside the wood slowly. Upon seeing me the head froze for a moment, trying to ascertain what it was looking at. I buried my face behind the tree trunk. If he recognized me, he would shoot first and only then come closer. Only now as I was standing there waiting for him to approach did it occur to me that he might choose to shoot me anyway, just to be on the safe side. I did not think this through.

  But he did not fire his gun. He approached slowly. "Do you live over there?" he called out. With my face behind the tree trunk I could not see him, but I assumed he was pointing to the cabin. I ignored the question.

  "Help me please!" I cried. "It hurts, it hurts like hell!" I wriggled back and forth to give him the full flavor of my made-up anguish. Now I could hear his footsteps approaching at a steady pace. I knew that if the trap did not work I would be shot in under a minute. I noticed I was sweating, and barely breathing. I put one hand on the revolver. Maybe if I'm quick enough.

  But he never