by Nathan Jones
Moving targets, half seen while ducking from cover to cover, and difficult to see even with the scope. Not to mention having to account for wind, bullet drop, and the fact that his scope might not be perfectly calibrated. Although that last was less of a worry, since Tom knew his weapon well and maintained it carefully.
This time Mer was the first to open fire, while Tom was still lining up his first shot. It missed, less due to his own poor aim and more to the man dodging at the last second, probably after hearing Mer's shot. He bit back a curse and fired again, hitting another man in the torso. In the body armor, although at least it stunned the soldier and temporarily took him out of commission.
Tom kept up his shooting for longer than was strictly safe, confident that his cover protected him from the nearer two groups of enemies, while the bloodies he was aiming for were far enough away that they'd have trouble matching his accuracy. He also shifted a couple feet to the side halfway through emptying his magazine, just to be safe.
Mer also kept up her shooting, at least until she suddenly yelped in shock, then began cursing frantically. Tom whipped his head around, then scooted backwards enough that he could see the young woman. She was clutching her upper arm, face pale as she watched the bright scarlet blood streaming from between her fingers.
He cursed as well and abandoned his firing position, helping drag the young woman back to safety. As she hissed panicked breaths from between teeth clenched in pain he pulled off his belt to yank tight around her arm above the wound, hoping it wasn't too high up for a tourniquet.
It wasn't; the stream slowed to a trickle, and he hastily yanked a roll of clean bandaging from his belt pouch and began wrapping it tight around the wound over her sleeve. Mer whimpered in pain as he worked, looking even younger than her seventeen years with her huge, frightened eyes looking up at him in search of reassurance.
“You should be fine,” he said gently. “Let's get out of here, get some distance from the bloodies so we have time to properly care for this. Can you ride?” From her uncertain look it was obvious she wasn't sure, but she nodded grimly and let him help her to her feet.
Tom got her up in Mary's saddle, then scrambled over to Horse and hauled himself up. He led the way off the high vantage point, pushing due south; his last view of Brandon had been of the young man leading his group with all speed south along the ridge, pulling ahead of their pursuers as Tom and Mer slowed them down.
They weren't out of the woods yet, but as long as the fresher group of bloodies wasn't recklessly aggressive in their pursuit, Tom was confident he could meet up with the skirmishers and get them to safety.
He hoped.
Chapter Five
Headstrong
It was all his fault.
Brandon had played with fire, spending that long luring the bloodies to follow his skirmishers. He should've known he was asking for trouble, that it was only a matter of time before the enemy did something to make him regret his reckless overconfidence. Especially when they'd eased up their pursuit to just dogging his heels, not trying to surround or catch his skirmishers or do anything but keep them moving in a predictable direction.
What had he been thinking? Sangue had all the advantages here, between numbers and radios and literally holding every square inch of land outside the mountains with their vehicles, and probably a healthy chunk of the mountains along dirt roads. Trapper had gotten the volunteers to take out the roads near Camptown when it first seemed like Sangue might become a threat, but they were still there up to the point they'd been taken out.
And easily fixable, for that matter; the enemy had plenty of slaves to make it happen, if they were so inclined. And given how ticked they must be about the raid on Emery, it was safe to say at this point they were.
Brandon had underestimated Sangue, in spite of all the evidence of how dangerous they were. Thanks to that Mason was dead, confirmed by Ray when the older man's group caught up to them. Reina was either critically injured or dead judging by Neal's cry of grief, and the other two teams were missing and possibly in even worse condition than his group.
Assuming he survived to the end of the day, he was going to have to live with his mistake for the rest of his life. Same as the friends he'd lost on that disastrous trip to take out Highway 29, also because of a mistake he was solely responsible for.
If there was a small silver lining to their current situation, it was that the ridge they were on was easier to traverse than the terrain their pursuers were struggling across. That, plus the unexpected aid of a couple shooters up on that high hill to the northeast, made all the difference; over the next half hour or so of stumbling, nightmarish running, struggling to keep rubbery legs moving beneath them while bullets flew all around, they finally got enough of a lead that the pursuing bloodies stopped firing.
Miraculously, none of them had been hit in that frantic pursuit. Even so, Brandon didn't allow his people to slow down in spite of the fact that it finally seemed over. If they did, it would only be a matter of time before the bullets started flying again.
On the other hand, they might drop dead if they kept this pace up for too much longer.
Still, they labored on, tripping over rocks and slamming into trees and bushes, panting like bellows. Ray, face ashen, even dropped to his hands and knees and emptied his guts, and Brandon had to practically drag him back to his feet and carry him under one arm for a dozen stumbling steps.
It was only a few minutes after that when their benefactors caught up with them, riding familiar horses. Brandon had been expecting it to be Toni, back from ferrying Evan to Camptown for medical treatment with Mer in tow, but he should've realized the siblings wouldn't have been that quick about things.
Mer was there, but it was Trapper she was with. And a more welcome face under the circumstances Brandon couldn't think of. Although he was alarmed to see his returned skirmisher's face was ashen and she had a bloody bandage wrapped around her upper right arm.
“You showed up just in time,” Andy called as the two rode up. “Really pulled our bacon out of the fire back there.”
The mountain man's expression was grim. “Still pretty hot from where I'm standing.” He nodded to Brandon. “This ridge peters off in another mile or so. We'll need to break due east, get away from the fresher group of bloodies who jumped you guys back there.”
He grit his teeth. He'd known that, although it was good to get confirmation of his analysis of the situation. “Did you see what happened to the others?”
Mer's expression was grim at the question, although that might've just been her wound. That faint hope was dashed when Trapper shook his head. “We headed south on a hunch as soon as we heard the gunshots. Weren't even in a position to see what happened to the rest of the skirmishers.”
Brandon cursed bitterly, sagging against a nearby tree as exhaustion finally overwhelmed him. The three remaining members of his squad had also dropped, in spite of the urgency of their situation. They just couldn't keep going any longer.
The mountain man sighed and slipped out of his saddle. He looked like death warmed over, but still fresher than the skirmishers. “Ray, Derrick, up. Brandon, you good to keep going?” Brandon wasn't, but he nodded grimly. “Then you're up on Mary with Mer, Andy. Let's get while the getting's good.”
Brandon looked dubiously up at the two horses. They looked almost as exhausted as their riders; riding double would be brutal on the faithful mounts. Still, getting caught by a bunch of Sangue who were more rested than any of them would be worse.
He wearily pushed back to his feet as his skirmishers mounted, Ray needing help from Trapper. Then the mountain man got a shoulder under Brandon's arm to help him, and he was ashamed to admit he needed it.
They got moving again, the horses setting a steady and determined pace. Andy was looking at Mer's arm as they rode, doing what he could for her in the saddle. Judging by Trapper's tense expression Brandon thought the man was worried about the young woman, and he motioned limply her w
ay. “What happened?”
His friend blinked, as if his mind had been far away. “Took a bullet while we were covering you,” he said absently. “Doesn't seem serious, although you probably want to get back to Camptown sooner rather than later.”
That was the clear move here, not only because his group was in no condition to keep skirmishing but because it would give the rest of his people a chance to rejoin them.
The only question was, even if they found everyone they'd been separated from safe and sound back home, could he bring himself to head back out after this disaster? The threat hadn't disappeared just because he and his people had taken a beating, but the idea of finding more fighters to recruit as skirmishers and leading them out for more of this made him sick.
After a minute or so of stumbling along the mountain man passed Brandon a full canteen. He took a cautious sip between panting breaths, then tossed it back to Derrick. “What brought you to us, Trapper?” he asked. “Timely as your arrival was, I doubt you came because you knew we needed help.” A sudden fear hit him. “Is everything okay back in Camptown? Fi and the baby safe?”
“They're fine,” the older man replied with a wan smile. Then his smile faded. “I'm looking for Skyler. Judging by the fact that you didn't mention him, and you would've, I can only hope he wasn't involved in this fight.” He sighed, features slumping with concern and weariness. “But I was also hoping he would've come to you first. Have you seen him?”
Brandon shook his head. “I'm sorry, I haven't.” He glanced back at Andy, who also shook his head, then to the back of the group at Ray and Derrick, who both also just shrugged listlessly.
The mountain man cursed, looking suddenly older than Brandon had ever seen him, even back when he'd had his hair and beard long and unkempt in his mountain man getup, before he'd met Kristy. “He said he was joining the skirmishers. Or at least, he said he was going skirmishing. Where else would he go but to join you?”
He shook his head; he worried for the kid, of course, but faced with his worry about his skirmishers it seemed like a small problem. Although he could understand that to Trapper it would be foremost in his thoughts, since Skyler was family. “I don't know, but I can promise you we haven't seen any sign of him.” He hesitated, debating, then decided he was too tired to care. “I can tell you he approached me before we even headed out to start skirmishing, wanting to join us.”
Trapper gave him a sharp look. “And you didn't tell me?”
Brandon shifted guiltily. “I sent him packing, and he seemed to accept that. No sense stirring up trouble for him just for asking.” He rubbed his face wearily. “Although he might've, um, mentioned going off on his own if I didn't let him come.”
The older man cursed again.
“That was before we raided Emery,” he hastened to add. “Seeing how aggressively Sangue's been coming after us since then, he probably decided the best thing he could do to help out was go off on his own to cause trouble for the bloodies.”
“That's what the note he left said, more or less,” Trapper agreed. He looked off into the distance, gray eyes narrowed as if he could see every inch of these mountains in his mind's eye. “I'll need to find him before he gets himself killed.”
An uncomfortable silence settled. “Hey, I wouldn't count the kid out,” Andy said with forced cheer. “Never seen anyone ghost through these mountains like him . . . even you have trouble finding him if he doesn't want to be found, Trapper, and you're the best tracker in the Southwest.”
The mountain man didn't seem comforted. “I really, really wish he'd showed up here,” he said quietly.
Brandon laboriously leaned over to pat his shoulder. “He still might.”
“If he does, I'd be obliged if you'd truss him up and drag him back to Camptown with you. You can keep the horses.” The mountain man straightened slightly under Brandon's arm, expression determined. “I'm going to head off. I'll start hitting those fresh bloodies, keep them from catching up to you. Then I suppose I'll have to start looking for my son.”
Much as he would've liked for Trapper to stay and help them, Brandon could understand where he was coming from; if he'd heard Thomas was missing, he'd move heaven and earth to find him again. “I'd recommend looking far from any skirmishers. Skyler's not stupid, he won't try to join up with a group when he knows they'll just force him to head back home.”
“That's what I'm afraid of,” his friend replied, staring off into the distance again. “Lot of ground to cover out there. I've got a general idea of where Gray sent his skirmishers, so I'll avoid those areas for now.”
“We'll do what we can to find him when we get back to Camptown,” Andy offered. He chuckled. “Heck, for all we know we might find out the headstrong little skunk's given up this insane idea and come home before us.”
The mountain man snorted in disbelief. Without a word he gently disentangled himself from supporting Brandon and walked off, disappearing down the slope to the northwest to cover their escape.
Brandon couldn't blame him for being pessimistic; whatever Skyler might decide to do, he somehow doubted the kid giving up and going home was going to happen.
* * * * *
Perched atop a rise halfway up the slope of the peak overlooking Joes Valley Reservoir to the north, Skyler held his rifle rock steady with the scope's crosshairs trained on the chest of the Sangue soldier below. The man seemed to be in charge of the half-squad making their way along the shore of the lake a couple hundred yards away, on patrol from the nearby enemy camp.
None of them showed any sign they were aware of Skyler in his hidden position.
In the back of his mind he heard Brandon's voice again. This is going to be the ugliest sort of fighting. And he couldn't argue with that; killing people who couldn't fight back, who didn't even know he was there, then slinking away to safety to do it again, and again.
The idea nauseated him. But what made his gut churn even more was the thought that these monsters who were swarming the area since the attack on Emery might find Camptown. He knew what they did to the people they caught, and he had no intention of letting them come anywhere near his mom or sister or anyone else he cared about.
That was why he was here, around three days of hard travel away from the bowl valley and well outside the range of any of Camptown's scouts or even the skirmishers. Sangue had a camp here, and attacking the soldiers lurking around it would draw more attention to this area and away from his family to the southwest.
Besides, he didn't mind the idea of taking potshots at the soldiers in the camp who'd done such terrible things to Jenny and Mer and Keri and the other women he'd rescued.
So he let out his breath, held it, and after a final pause delicately squeezed the trigger.
The sharp report of his AK-47 dissipated across the lake, barely echoing, and his target went down with a cry. The other soldiers yelled in alarm and dove into the undergrowth along the lakeshore, their movements cringing as if they expected a bullet to hit them at any moment.
Skyler didn't shoot. He didn't try to slink away behind the cover of the rise, either. None of the bloodies had been looking his way when he fired, it was a bright day so the muzzle flash would've been nearly invisible, and a stiff breeze and the foliage he was hidden within would've dissipated the smoke from the shot.
It was almost impossible they knew where he was, and they certainly showed no sign of it; trying to run now would only give them clues. Besides, this spot was well protected from gunfire from below, unless an enemy got incredibly lucky and fired practically up the barrel of his rifle. He could withdraw as invisible and silent as a ghost if he wanted, but that wasn't the plan.
Taking any more shots at the moment also wasn't the plan, now that they were alert and would be looking for where those shots came from. The plan was to wait and see what they did.
At first, of course, they'd stay hidden. Their leader was probably dead, or at least dying, and none of them wanted to join him. But after a while, with no mor
e shots coming at them, they'd have to decide what to do. If they split off and scattered to search for him, moving from cover to cover on the hillside below, Skyler really would sneak away, since the danger of staying would increase by the minute and he couldn't easily keep track of nine people trying to hide and move around at the same time.
On the other hand, if they decided this had been a hit and run attack, reformed their unit, and continued moving, maybe a bit more warily and with more haste, he'd risk another shot.
For a long time it didn't seem like they'd do anything at all. Minutes crept past agonizingly, almost no motion from the hidden soldiers below. Brandon had never mentioned during their training that the most difficult part of skirmishing would be remaining patient, even when his instincts were screaming at him that the enemy was lining up a shot on him and he either needed to start spraying fire to keep them ducking or get out of there.
Most likely, his friend hadn't considered that part of things himself. In fact, Skyler should've been the one to bring it up during training, since his own experience hunting so often involved just that sort of patience, waiting for the right moment to act.
That experience came to his aid now as he did his best to remain perfectly still, even ignoring a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face; all his focus was on what he saw through the scope of his rifle.
He might've been tempted to worry the enemy had somehow snuck away without him noticing, but he had his rifle trained on the back of a soldier whose cover didn't protect him from the right angle. The man below was also keeping perfectly still, aside from occasionally moving his head slowly from side to side as if searching for the hidden attacker who'd shot his leader.
If the tension of this situation was crushing Skyler, when he had the initiative and was largely in control of this encounter, he could only imagine how the man below felt. Then he regretted contemplating the panic and sick dread the soldier must be feeling; the man was an enemy guilty of atrocities who threatened Skyler's loved ones.
