Max Ryker- The End Begins

by David Wayne

  I shined my light in there, making sure I wasn’t barging in on a sleeping grizzly. The little cave was about six feet deep. It would have to do. I grabbed the remaining rabbit jerky from my backpack, took a deep breath, and crawled in. Besides being claustrophobic, I’m also a snake-a-phobic and a bug-a-phobic, hating all things slimy and creepy. But this had to be done.

  The cave got smaller farther in, where the massive black slab sloped into the ground. Small amounts of water oozed from its pores, dripping droplets on my neck. I felt something scamper across my bare leg, just above the ankle, where my pants had bunched up above my shoes. I stifled a scream. I laid my flashlight on the ground, pointing it where the boulder entered the ground in the back. I could barely breathe, the small area causing me to freak out, the fear threatening to overcome me. I gritted my teeth—I had to finish this.

  I grabbed as many small stones as I could manage and made a pile in the shape of a volcano, leaving the middle and top open. I poured most of the jerky inside and capped it off with several more rocks. I stuck a few sticks of the meat into its crevices, letting them hang halfway out. As I snaked my way backward, I dropped several more pieces in breadcrumb fashion. I could now feel the night air on my back, and I slithered in reverse as fast as my body allowed. My adrenaline was really pumping, and I was ready to scream. I had to get out of this tiny cave.

  I sat for a minute, gulping in the crisp, damp air and wiping sweat from my forehead. I was horrified and almost panic stricken, the realization making me feel stupid and childish. I’m prepared to kill three men tonight. Just please, God, keep the cockroaches off me. Foolish? Yes. True? Very.

  I hunted around, trying to locate a decent dig stick. It took me two hours to dig a three-by-three, two-foot-deep hole in the ground—just outside the cave entrance. Digging a hole with a stick isn’t easy, as the blisters forming on my hands could attest to. I was perspiring like crazy, but at least this time it was caused from exertion, not fear of bugs. I filled half the hole with leaves and small twigs and then pushed loose dirt back over it, humping it up to appear like a small grave. I grabbed my bag of food and began pushing canned goods down into the soft dirt. After planting about ten cans, I left one protruding out of the mound.

  Now came the hard part—how to bring their attention to my trap without making it too obvious. If I left a trail of cans, that would be transparent, causing them to become suspicious and on guard. If I scattered a can here and there, they might miss the bait and walk right by. That would be devastating. This had to work; I had no other options. I sat and pondered my predicament for a moment, resting against the outer edge of the cave. Then it dawned on me. Instead of leaving a trail of cans to lure them to the cave, I should set something up that would catch their eye, something they couldn’t miss, but what?

  I pulled my dark blue tent from its carrying case and spread it out over the ground, halfway between the trail and the cave. I set it up properly yet hastily and went searching for a prop. I found a large branch and heaved the bulky tree limb over the tent—smashing most of it. Several of the poles were still partially standing, bent and damaged yet moderately erect.

  I walked out to the trail, shining my flashlight toward the cave. The blue fabric would surely be visible as they walked the trail in broad daylight. As they approached, they would see what appeared to be an abandoned tent, damaged by a fallen tree branch. Hopefully, they would then notice the cans scattered about. Food, the new money of the day, should catch their attention and lead them over to the buried food.

  I checked my watch—five thirty a.m. It had taken me all night to get this set up, and I was overwhelmed with fatigue and hunger. I opened a can of bean and bacon soup and ate hungrily. I surveyed the layout, running through the plan in my mind, looking for weaknesses, and making contingencies to the ones I found. It would have to do. If it didn’t work, I’d be dead and the sister would remain the prisoner of those rotten bastards. No, I would get that scum, even at the expense of my own life. That was a commitment I made right then. Under no circumstances would I leave this world before freeing her from that horror. Was this how the cowboys felt at the Alamo? Yeah, they went down as heroes in the history books, but like nasty cough syrup, it sure didn’t taste good going down.

  I stepped back through the process one last time. I had laid three decent digging sticks randomly around, close enough for them to find. I also poured two cans of beans just inside the mouth of the cave, to catch the canines’ sense of smell and lead them inside. My backpack and other belongings were stashed farther back in the woods. I was locked, loaded, and ready.

  I unrolled my green sleeping bag, leaving the last twelve inches zipped, forming a hood. I cut out two small peep holes and pulled the hood over my head. I wrapped the rest around me poncho style, cutting two large arm holes.

  I climbed a large tree just left of, but behind, the dirt heap. The weak link in the plan was getting spotted in the tree as the group approached. Climbing higher would lessen those odds but would increase the chances of getting hurt or knocked off balance when I dropped down. I could not afford getting stunned during the descent, even briefly, as surprise was my only advantage. I was outnumbered, so it had to be over before they knew it had begun. Otherwise, bang—I’m dead. I found a resting spot on a thick limb and held both handguns in my lap. Then, I closed my burning eyeballs, settling in to wait.

  Chapter 19

  The snap of a large branch jolted me awake, like church bells bursting in my ears. I had been in a dead sleep. Even though I was jostled awake, I only opened my eyes; my body did not move, not one single inch. Adrenaline was racing through my veins, my senses on high alert. I could smell things, hear things, feel things that were not noticeable during normalcy. I called this the zone, and right now, I was completely emerged in it. In this state, the outside world seemed to move in slow motion. While my surroundings and adversaries were stuck in low gear, my mind and body moved in high gear. That’s how it felt anyway, and at this moment, I was thankful for the gift.

  I sensed they were at least one hundred yards up the trail. The loud bursting noise that seemed to pierce my eardrums was in reality a very slight noise a good distance away. Such was the state of my heightened awareness. I was trained for just this type of confrontation. One man against bigger odds, who laid out a detailed plan and then plunged in at full force—betting his life on his wits.

  I sat in total silence, hiding in the makeshift camouflage poncho. I was very calm, my heart beating at a normal rate, no trace of apprehension or fear anywhere in my veins or mind. Everything up until this point had been an uphill fight, and to my disadvantage. I was out of my element here in the woods, but that part didn’t matter now. It was time to do. Planning had always been a personal strength but implementation, especially lethal action, was my strongest suit. I would move swiftly, deliberately, and with great focus and intensity. I was calmed by this fact.

  I could hear, but not make out, their conversation as they approached. I sat up, adjusting positions—getting ready for the jump. I prayed the green sleeping bag was providing the intended camouflage. I watched through the peepholes as they came down the sloped path, which I hoped was to their death and not mine.

  “I don’t give a fuck, Walt. I’m tired of—”

  “Wait, shut up,” Monster Man hissed, holding one large arm in front of the other two men, his other giant hand grasping the sister firmly by the wrist.

  “What is it, Jake?” the skinny one asked.

  “I said, shut the fuck up. Now!” Monster Man hissed. He was looking toward the mangled tent, bending and weaving his body, trying to peep through the branches and trees. “I see something over there. Looks like a tent. You see it?” He pointed to the clearing. I watched silently from the treetop.

  “Yes,” Pudgy Boy said. “Want me to check it out?”

  “Yeah, take Spud Dog with ya. Dewayne, go with 'im but be careful. Someone may be hiding over there, trying to ambush us.” Monster Man le
t the sister go. “You run away, missy, and I’ll send Luke here after ya." He laughed, patting the pit bull on the head before returning a very serious stare toward his boys. “Now, git on over there to that tent, and see what we got.” He reached into his mouth and grabbed a big wad of black gunk, chewing tobacco I assumed, and threw it on the ground.

  I watched with a bird’s-eye view as the two men slowly approached the tent, tiptoeing, not making any noise. Both carried rifles, which would prove hard for them to manage in a close-up fight, particularly against a guy using handguns. That was good news for me.

  Skinny Kid was poking the flap with his rifle and peering inside when the other one found the first can of food.

  “Lookie what I found!” Pudgy Boy yelled, pushing his red baseball cap up, exposing a bald forehead. The sudden outburst freaked Skinny out, and he swung his gun at his friend.

  “You stupid sumbitch, I almost shot yer frickin’ head off,” he yelled, but then walked over to see what Pudgy Boy had found. “Whatcha got, man?”

  “I done found me some beanie weenies, dude, and I’m fucking-A hungry.” They were both very excited but got interrupted when the Monster Man came bursting into the opening, dragging the sister roughly by the arm. She was bopping along behind him, like a dishrag flapping in the breeze.

  Monster Man eyed the crushed tent, surmised it was empty, and returned his gaze to Pudgy. “Whatcha got there, boy?” he asked, snatching the can from his grasp.

  Skinny Kid said, “Look over here. There’s more."

  I watched him pick up two more cans while Pudgy caught sight of the dirt mound. So far so good. Plan was moving on as expected, or at least as hoped for.

  “Hey, I just found me a food stash. Someone’s buried some treasure over here,” Pudgy said excitedly and actually started to do a little moonwalk, like he was Michael Jackson. This made me smile, watching the idiot dance his final dance—in this world anyway. Pudgy poked his hands down into the soft dirt and produced two more cans of food. “Yo, dude!” he yelled to no one in particular. “Bingo! It’s full of cans under here.”

  “All righty, this here’s whatcha call divine intervention,” Monster Man said. “I told you finding this angel would bring us female luck, didn’t I?” he asked, not waiting for them to answer. “Now, you boys dig up that food while I go get me a piece of Missy’s ass behind that knoll over yonder,” he said, pointing with his head. He pulled the sister in close, a big shit-eating grin on his face. He bent to kiss her, but she turned at the last moment, causing his pucker to land on her cheek. He slapped her hard on the ass, leaving his hand there for a firm buttock squeeze. He started laughing heartily while she stood rigid.

  This was a big problem. My plan counted on all three guys staying together in a group. I watched Monster Man all but drag the sister away, separating himself from the other two men. To my further chagrin, I watched the enormous black wolf dog get up and trot after them. Great, problem number two. My plan assumed the dogs stayed with the men. Things were going south fast.

  I returned my gaze to the numb nuts directly below and realized I now faced problem number three. While I was watching the Monster Man perform his caveman act, the other two men were busy unfolding their portable shovels. Not part of the plan. I assumed they’d use dig sticks, which would be slow going and buy me time. With real shovels, they would uncover the shallow pit very quickly, thus pushing my window of opportunity down substantially. This was exacerbated by problem number four—the stupid pit bull had not picked up the food scent in the cave and was instead lollygagging around the two men, who had already started digging.

  Four major problems were enough to completely ruin the whole deal. I’d expected all three to start digging immediately, guns set aside, while the dogs were distracted by the food sprinkled around the cave. That didn’t happen.

  It didn’t matter now—they were almost to the bottom of the empty decoy hole, which meant I was out of time. As I prepared to drop, the pit bull suddenly caught wind of the food, and like a rocket, he disappeared inside the cave, whimpering in excitement.

  I removed my arms from the poncho holes and pushed the hood off my head. This would allow the blanket to float off during my jump. Without hesitation or additional thought, I eased off the branch and dropped silently through the air, landing perfectly on my feet. During the fall, I raised my guns to the ready position, outstretched and pointed toward the bad guys. I ignored the jolt of hitting the ground, allowing my knees to absorb the shock. It took less than a second to adjust my aim and place two bullets at center mass.

  Bam, bam.

  Before the assholes even hit the ground, I switched my aim to the mouth of the cave, waiting for the dog to react to the noise. Everything was moving in slow-mo for me. Within a blink of an eye, an angry pit bull head emerged from the cave entrance, ready to attack. The twin handguns were like lovers to me. Their handles fit perfectly, like winter gloves. The triggers were as familiar as old drinking buddies. Nothing made me feel more invincible than brandishing the twins. The snarling pit bull immediately met that confidence.

  Bam, bam.

  Before the gunfire echo dissipated, I sensed, rather than heard, impending danger. Without conscious thought, I spun around, just in time to see a huge black beast hurtling through the air, directly at me. Just before it landed squarely on my chest, I kicked my legs straight outward, falling flat on my back. I barely ducked the dog, who soared through the air overtop and past me.

  I rolled quickly onto my belly and saw the wolf dog skittering through the leaves as he landed, turning his body around and kicking his legs hard at the same time. Thankfully, he couldn’t immediately get his balance, providing a crucial few seconds for me to adjust and aim.

  Without hesitation, the enraged dog lunged forward, eyes a fiery red, foam dripping from its fangs, but it didn’t quite make the distance—the .357 round I introduced him to shut his lights off—permanently.

  I didn’t lie and reminisce; I was on my feet and running with fury to find Monster Man. God save your soul, you bastard, because I’m giving you a one-way ticket straight to hell. I was aware of nothing else as I raced toward the knoll, consumed with a vehement desire for vengeance. The thought of that man ravishing such an innocent flower was more than I could bear. I burst through the Laurel Oak bushes like a rabid dog, ready for the kill. I almost tripped over the lifeless body lying in the path. A large bowie knife was gushing blood, protruding from the lower back of the motionless figure. Was I too late?

  Chapter 20

  It took me a second to get my bearings. I’d expected to bust through the shrubs and attack the ape. Instead, I’d almost tripped over a dead body. I looked desperately from side to side, trying to take in what had happened, the adrenaline not allowing my brain to stop and assess. It was clouded with the desire for revenge. Then I saw her sitting on a rock, her back toward me. The dead body was Monster Man, not Susan. The forest became eerily silent, the only noise the heaving of my chest. I stood there, unsure of what to do.

  “I killed him,” she whispered.

  I was great at saving a damsel in distress but not so good at consoling one. She swiveled around, her gaze full of pain. I ran over, covering her shaking body with mine. We sat that way until I heard her softly snoring. I built a fire and then retrieved the canned foods I’d scattered around the cave. I found some Smirnoff in the caveman’s backpack. When I returned, Sister was heating up vegetable soup and sliced spam. We ate in silence. Suddenly, speaking like a zombie, she told me everything, every detail, alternating between monotone descriptions and borderline emotional breakdown. They had tied her to a tree, taunting and poking at her. Finally, Monster Man drug her to his tent, intending to rape her, but was unable to consummate—a victim of whiskey dick. He’d eventually passed out in a drunken stupor.

  As he dragged her behind the bushes this morning, he’d tripped on some roots, falling face first into the dirt. That exposed a knife sheath on his belt. The sister grabbed the h
unting knife and shoved it square into his back. I couldn’t help but think, Well, he wanted to stick something in. I said nothing, wrapping my arms around her, listening as the story poured out. When it came to comforting a woman, I was a rank amateur, but I did the best I could.

  When she was fully spent, it was late. She kissed me on the cheek and said I had cleansed her soul, helped her purge the devil from her heart. I hadn’t the faintest idea of what I’d contributed; I’d simply sat in silence the entire time. Without speaking, she stood and walked toward the tent. When she turned, I saw the tears. “Thank you, Max.”

  I was thankful for the vodka and drank the clear liquid liberally, knowing nothing gives a worse hangover than cheap liquor. But the pressure in my head was unbearable. Gulping the booze brought a quick and intense buzz. But the rage didn’t subside. The switch had to be flipped off. I started chanting in my head, Go to the zone, go to the zone. But that didn’t work. I grabbed a pen and pad and started writing my thoughts. Thirty minutes later I’d written three pages. It read like the diary of a thirteen-year-old girl who was experiencing hormones for the first time. I reread the text and became embarrassed. Not because I’d just journaled like an emotional teenager but because it made all the pressure and anguish vanish. It was gone.

  Chapter 21

  I lay silently in the dark morning, reflecting on yesterday and last night. It had been brutal, heartbreaking really, the emotional strain almost unbearable. I felt strongly I must rise and approach her appropriately; I just needed to figure out how that was. I ran through my options—strong guy, caring guy, talkative, quiet, sad… shit! Which one? If it was my decision, I’d pick pretending nothing ever happened and forget the whole mess, but I was sure that wasn’t the answer. Usually, whatever my gut preference was, hers was the opposite.