Final Stand: Last Ditch (Mountain Man Book 5)

by Nathan Jones

  Within minutes, Tom and Skyler had the valley to themselves.

  He stared at the peaceful slopes, wondering if his frantic fear for his son had caused some sort of mental breakdown that was just showing him what he wanted to see. It wasn't nearly hot enough for heatstroke, but maybe he was hallucinating?

  His son's pursuers were gone. Not just the new squad, but the one that had been chasing him relentlessly night and day for days now, running themselves ragged right along with Skyler to catch him once and for all.

  What the blazes? They'd been just minutes from running their quarry into the ground, and they had to know it. What could possibly stop a bunch of murderous bandits right at the end of the chase? Make them turn around before they could exact whatever horrific vengeance they'd planned for his son? Skyler was exhausted, wounded, pinned down, alone; what could be a more tempting target tha-

  Tom felt the blood drain from his face as a horrible realization dawned.

  Hundreds of vulnerable women and children the bloodies had just discovered the location of. The only thing that would've turned Skyler's pursuers away from him was if they'd gotten word they'd finally found Camptown.

  Found his wife, and Molly, and the baby that was due any day now, if he or she hadn't already been born.

  He bolted back up the slope, exhaustion forgotten, to where he'd left Horse. The stallion looked up, startled, when Tom tore into the tiny clearing, stuffed his feed bag and the cookpot he'd been using to water him back into the saddlebags, and snatched the reins from the branch they'd been tied around.

  “Come on, old friend,” he said grimly as he hauled himself up into the saddle. “No time to drag out this reunion with my son . . . we need to get home yesterday.”

  Unfortunately, he meant that literally.

  * * * * *

  Skyler's arm holding his pistol shook. His vision swam. The initial surge of adrenaline of his impending last stand had faded to a sick dizzy feeling, although his heartbeat still thundered in his ears. It drowned out every other noise, even his panting breaths, so he was afraid he wouldn't hear the enemy sneaking up on him.

  He tried to compensate by looking around constantly, hyper vigilant, and fought to calm his breathing and steady his aim as the minutes passed with agonizing slowness, to what could've been a half hour or even longer. At any moment he expected to see the shapes of enemy soldiers in their cheap uniforms of coarse tan cloth appear down the cut in front of him, splashing upstream through the shallow water.

  His instincts were screaming for him to abandon this position and run, try to find a way to scramble up the steep, crumbly walls of the cut or around the blockage in the stream. To keep running, or find a better hiding place where the dozens of men chasing him wouldn't be able to find him.

  But the remaining glimmers of his rationality, peeking through his panic, knew it was pointless. He was trapped, and even if he wasn't he couldn't outrun a squad of fresh troops. If he tried he'd probably just end up getting shot in the back.

  Better to go down in a defended spot like this, taking as many of them with him as he could.

  Skyler didn't want to die. Even in this grim situation a part of him didn't quite believe he could die. Trapper had always cautioned him that teenagers felt a sort of phony immortality that made them take insane risks, and he needed to recognize that so he wouldn't make stupid decisions that could get him killed. This seemed like a pretty darn good example of just that sort of recklessness.

  Well, if the mountain man might've had some brilliant way out of this, he wasn't seeing it. In the meantime the best he could do was kill a few of the bloodies searching for family and make sure they'd never be a threat again.

  Sweat streamed down his face, from heat and exhaustion and the tenseness of the situation. He had to blink it out of his eyes a few times, and once risked hastily wiping his face against his shoulder, which was also more damp with sweat than he would've liked. At least it did something. His wounded arm throbbed with a horrible numb sensation.

  His finger trembled near the trigger, his eyes darted between the bushes overhead searching for movement in the impenetrable growth, and his ears strained to hear something besides the bellows sound of his heaving breaths.

  Skyler was so thirsty he could barely swallow, and the trickling sound of water passing by beneath his feet, soaking through his boots, made him want to cry. He was tempted to drop flat on his face and suck in huge swallows of the cool liquid, something that would horrify his mom and Trapper with the thought of waterborne diseases and contaminants.

  Did it really matter, though, when he'd be dead any minute now? At least he wouldn't die thirsty.

  The bloodies were certainly taking their time. In fact, now that he thought of it, he hadn't seen or heard anything so far. His pursuers hadn't been that far behind. It was possible they knew exactly where he was, and were moving extra slow and cautious to sneak up on him. But he didn't think dozens of men could creep that quietly without at least one giving away his position.

  What was going on?

  Whatever it was, he couldn't complain at the precious extra minutes of life. He shifted to a more comfortable position against the dirt wall at his back, making a few minor adjustments to go from anticipating an immediate threat to extended vigilance.

  Then Skyler abruptly froze, slowly turning to face upstream almost before he was aware of doing so. He held his breath and looked around, senses straining.

  Something had caught his notice. Nothing he could consciously see or hear or smell, but he'd been hunting in these mountains, not to mention fighting for his life against Sangue, for long enough to know not to ignore what his subconscious mind picked up from his senses.

  Were the bloodies finally closing in?

  He cautiously backed towards better cover from upstream, still gazing around warily and pistol ready to aim on a target. His intuition was screaming that at any moment he was going to feel a bullet between his shoulder blades, and in spite of himself he practically dove behind a root stretching down into the stream, wounded arm screaming as water soaked his already bloody clothes.

  No gunshots. His panting breaths drowned out all other senses, thundering heartbeat in time with the throbbing in his arm.

  Then the noises faded as his focus asserted itself. There it was again. This time Skyler's head snapped up and to the bushes on left bank above him. He couldn't see any flashes of movement or hear anything, but he would've bet good money someone was there, watching him.

  Knowing that, he rolled onto his back huddling against the base of the dirt wall, water flowing through his filthy hair as he raised his trembling arm holding the pistol directly overhead. Then he waited, ready and aiming for where he thought the hidden enemy might be.

  A few seconds later, he heard a noise. No subtle thing that set off warning bells in his subconscious this time, but the clear crack of a breaking stick. Almost as if it was on purpose.

  Something about those previous, barely audible noises had been familiar. As familiar as his own careful patterns as he eased through this mountainous terrain on a hunt. And how many times had he heard a loud, obvious noise right next to him, Trapper's teasing way of letting him know that as far as he'd come in his training, he still had a ways to go to get the better of the mountain man?

  Could it be possible that this wasn't bloodies come to murder him? They had taken their precious time getting to him, and not even the squad that had chased him for days was this good. Was there even a chance, unimaginable as it seemed, that this might be who he thought it was?

  In spite of the situation, Skyler felt himself relax slightly as he shifted his aim a bit to one side. He raised his voice. “The bullets aren't flying yet, so you might be friendly. Who are you?”

  A familiar voice drifted back, disconcertingly close. “I got within a few yards of you, and you have to ask?”

  Relief surged through him, such an unexpected flood that he felt tears prick his eyes. “Trapper!” he shouted, tr
ying and failing to sound angry. “Why didn't you signal before now, whistle or something? I could've shot you!”

  “Sure you could've,” Trapper called back, amusement mixed with urgency. “For one thing, I kept quiet because you've had two squads of bloodies on your tail up until half an hour ago. Whistling doesn't seem like a great idea.”

  “Fair enough,” Skyler mumbled, letting his upraised arm drop into the stream at his side with a splash.

  With his adoptive dad here, the sense of despair that had gripped him was fading. With it came a giddy sort of peace, the knowledge that somehow everything was going to turn out all right after all. It was the same peace he'd felt with his dad, his real dad Miles, back when he'd been frightened as a little kid. When his dad's mere presence had been enough to make that fear go away.

  No. Trapper was his dad, too. He might not've been his biological parent, and he might've only been in Skyler's life for the last five years, but that didn't matter. Skyler would always love Miles, always revere him for everything he'd done, but that didn't change the fact that right now, he felt as safe as he ever had.

  Thanks to Trapper. His dad.

  He didn't know why the mountain man was there, how he'd managed to appear from nowhere at the last moment and magically make the bloodies disappear without a shot fired. For all he knew this might just be a hallucination brought on by exhaustion and blood loss, a manifestation of his last glimmers of hope as his end drew near.

  If so, it was a great one, although he would've liked to see his mom and sister one last time too. And Tabby. Or no . . . Lisa. That's who he . . .

  Whether it was really Trapper or just a hallucination, he finally let himself succumb to exhaustion and injury and passed out.

  * * * * *

  Skyler jerked awake with a gasp to the familiar jolting, swaying sensation of being in the saddle, accompanied by the placid clop of horseshoes on dirt and the occasional strike of metal on stone.

  He couldn't ever remember feeling worse than he did at that moment. Every muscle was a mass of screaming agony, his stomach was a churning sea of agonized nausea, and his arm was horribly numb aside from an intolerable tingling in his fingers. Not to mention his head was killing him.

  But for all that, he was alive.

  He opened his eyes to find himself tied securely to the saddle, staring down at the horse's neck below. No, Horse's neck. He lifted his head, stiff from hanging forward for who knew how long, with a slight groan of pain, confirming that Trapper was leading the stallion, dressed in his familiar buckskins and with a rifle slung across his back.

  His dad heard the noise and immediately pulled Horse to a stop, then hurried back to put a canteen of water to his lips. Skyler swallowed with a grateful gurgle, forcing back a choke to not waste a single drop of the precious liquid. The moment the canteen was pulled back he coughed and took a deep breath, then ducked his head back towards the water for another drink.

  Instead, Trapper reached up with a white pill in his hand, forcing it past Skyler's unprotesting lips. “Antibiotics from our Emery raid,” he explained. Then the canteen was back to wash it down. “Want to make sure that bullet wound doesn't get infected.”

  Skyler glanced down at his arm, which was snugly tied against his chest in a sling. The sleeve had been cut away and a fresh bandage was in place, the wound beneath presumably cleaned and possibly even stitched; the mountain man knew his way around basic medicine like that, if need be, although Skyler's mom had usually been the one to take care of that sort of thing.

  He looked down at his dad's gray eyes. “How does it look?” he asked as bravely as he could, dreading the answer; he knew how useless it had felt after taking the bullet.

  The mountain man looked back gravely. “No wound's a good one, but this could've been worse . . . a through and through on the outside. Hit your tricep, so you won't be getting much use out of it for a little while, at least not without feeling it. But I've seen plenty of people bounce back from far worse.” He gave him a slight smile. “You and Mer can compare scars when you get back, since she's doing just fine from a wound not too different from this.”

  That was a relief. Although the reminder of their friends back home led to an obvious question. “What the blazes are you doing here, Trapper?”

  His dad laughed, although there was as light hitch to it, and those steady eyes filled with tears. He awkwardly reached up to hug Skyler in the saddle, his reply gruff. “Doing? The same thing I've been doing since practically the moment you left, kiddo. Roaming all over these mountains trying to find my son.”

  Skyler hugged him back with his good arm, although he had to look away in shame. “Mom was probably worried sick about me, wasn't she?”

  Trapper pulled away, looking hesitant to spoil the mood. “Almost literally, I'd say,” he replied grimly. “Not a great time for it, either.” He gave a forced smile. “But she'll be over the moon when she sees you safe and sound, and that'll make up for a lot.”

  Grimacing, Skyler glanced down at his arm. “Mostly, at least.” His attempt at humor didn't produce the desired result, and he shook his head. “On a scale of one to ten, just how much trouble am I in?”

  His dad chuckled and pulled him into another brief hug. “Well, let's just put it this way . . . if she ever stops hugging you, you're probably grounded for life.”

  He couldn't help but snort bitterly. “Grounded? I went off and waged a one man war against the vilest people on Earth! I'd say that's letting me off easy.”

  “Maybe.” Trapper shrugged, looking embarrassed. “You think I'm an expert on disciplining teenagers? Molly's way less of a handful, and she smears her own poop all over the walls. Somehow manages to look adorable while doing it, too.”

  “Yeah, well I'm sure Mom will think up something bad enough to make sure I never pull a stunt like this again.”

  His dad stared at him intently. “I hope you don't, Sky,” he said quietly. “I'm not sure we could handle you disappearing for almost a month like this again. Especially knowing the kind of danger you put yourself in.”

  In spite of his guilt, Skyler felt that same surge of emotions that had led him to go out skirmishing in the first place. “I had to.”

  Trapper sighed. “That's the problem, isn't it?” He shook his head. “After the stunt you pulled I've only got two options, don't I? Either I keep treating you like a kid and get out my belt, whip some obedience and good sense into you . . . assuming that's even possible. Keep at it until you finally stop running off and worrying your mother sick.” Skyler tensed, but didn't say anything as his dad kept going. “Wouldn't work, I suspect. Just make you hate me. Probably make you decide to run off again, only this time never come back.”

  Well, that was a pretty poor option, although thankfully Trapper really didn't seem inclined to go with it. “What's the other one?”

  “That I accept that you've grown up sooner than you've a right to. That you're your own man, capable of making your own choices, and it's not my place to try to force you to any other path.” The mountain man sighed again. “Your mom will probably never forgive me for it. But at least she'll still have her son close by, where she can scold him to her heart's content until she's finally willing to accept she can't force him to any other path, either.”

  It was pretty obvious which side Trapper was leaning towards. What side he'd always leaned towards, worry for Skyler's safety aside. He felt his eyes tear up in spite of himself. “Seems like you get the short end of the stick either way. How's that fair, when this is all my doing?”

  His dad rested a hand on his arm, voice solemn. “That's part of being a father, son. There's pain in it, but more than enough joy and pride to make up for it. Much more. A lesson I hope you'll get a chance to learn for yourself one day.”

  Sniffling, Skyler turned his head away so he could surreptitiously wipe at his eyes. Here he was, leaving his mom on the verge of having a baby to worry herself sick over him for a month, without even a word to let her kno
w he was okay. Leaving his dad to spend all that time searching fruitlessly for him, willing to leave his responsibilities protecting the valley behind without a second thought to find him.

  “So from now on, at least give me a chance to fight beside you with the Camptown fighters,” Trapper finished. “I hate to think of you putting yourself in danger, but that I could stomach. Especially considering the alternative.” He shook his head. “I'll even find a way to make your mother see that. Somehow.”

  Skyler swallowed. “You know I would've been happy to, right from the start.”

  His dad snorted. “It's been a long road to get here,” he agreed. “But here we are. Let's look out for each other like we should've been all along.”

  “We will. I promise.” Skyler shifted his wounded arm, then winced at the sharp stab of pain. “The second I'm fit enough to hold a rifle again, I'll help defend Camptown with you.”

  Trapper's expression abruptly sagged with worry and urgency. “I'm not sure we'll be defending the valley anymore.”

  Something in his tone made Skyler's hairs stand on end. “What do you mean?”

  The glow of their reunion was gone now, and his dad's expression was deadly serious. “You might've been wondering why the better part of two squads of bloodies who had you dead to rights just up and stopped chasing you. Well, last I saw they were headed straight for the bowl valley. With a fire under their keisters too, as if they knew where they were going and were awful eager to get there.”

  Sudden dread churned in Skyler's gut. His mom. Molly. Tabby. Fiona and little Thomas and all the women he'd rescued. Everyone he knew and cared about, aside from Lisa and her family who were hopefully safe up north.

  “How?” he said, throat dry.

  Trapper shook his head grimly as he moved forward to grab Horse's reins and begin walking again, moving at a quicker pace than before. “No idea. But we knew it was only a matter of time, and frankly I expected it before now.”

  So all of Skyler's efforts had been for nothing. Which just left him responsible for everything he'd put his family through, especially his mom, who he knew wouldn't have taken his decision to go out and fight well.