Chapter 55
In the ATV, I followed a nearly dry trickle of a creek. Jake said it would take me to my destination. There was enough light now that I could see the terrain well. And I could scan ahead for any of the enemy. I pushed hard, nearly at full throttle, rushing between trees and through bushes, skidding around rocks, bouncing over downed limbs, and jolting in and out of depressions in the ground. It was a rough gradual climb.
I tried to get help in town. That failed. All I needed was a simple phone to call for help outside of Willow Run. That failed. I needed a more reliable signal, a bigger signal, something that would attract the help I sought.
I also needed some luck to avoid detection by Jeff and his armed cronies. The noise of the ATV was a concern, since it would draw attention. But it was much faster than I could walk or run, and I needed the fast pace it provided. And Jake had to get Allison some medical care soon. I needed to provide the distraction to let him do that. Speed was the key.
As I drove, I recalled reading somewhere that death comes in the morning to many. It had something to do with the surge in blood pressure and heart rate increase when people wake up. That leads to a high rate of heart attacks, strokes, and death. In my brief time in Willow Run, death came in the morning to a lot of people, but it came by other means. More people were probably going to die this morning, but it would not be by heart attack. And I was not going to be one of them. I was done with being a victim, done being litter. I was ending it. Today.
In about 20 minutes, I arrived at the single strand of barbed wire at the bottom of the slope. I parked the ATV there and slung the pack from Jake over my left shoulder, wincing from the pain shooting up through that wounded arm. With my good right hand, I grabbed the spare can of gas from the vehicle, stepped over the triple strand of barbed wire, and started up the slope. I was returning to that hell hole of a valley, but I didn’t intend to stay long this time.
The climb up the hill had been a difficult scramble previously when my only load was a small backpack. It was proving to be much more difficult now. The sack of gear thumped against my back. The gas can was heavy. And I had a nearly useless left arm. But this hill and I were getting to be old acquaintances. And I was highly motivated. I knew I’d reach the top in spite of these obstacles.
I worried about the unintended noise from the metallic echoing of the gas can as it banged against the ground. Would a guard still be patrolling the perimeter fence and hear it? It was something I couldn’t worry about seriously. All I needed were a few more minutes.
Then I heard the buzzing of a dirt bike near the bottom of the slope. It was running along the barbed wire and coming fast. I hoped it was just someone out for an early morning ride, but I feared the worst. It could be one of the guards checking for the ATV. Surely Jeff had broadcast to them that I had stolen it and was headed this general direction.
I pushed harder to get up the slope. I was over half way to the top when I saw the dirt bike. The sun was now clearly peeking over the hills to the east, and the long shadows in the forest were melting away. Since I could see the bike, its rider would be able to see me. If not, once its engine was killed, then the rider would hear the hollow thump of the gas can as I continued pushing upward.
The bike braked to a stop next to the ATV, spraying dirt and pine needles in a wide arc. This was not a casual rider. It was not a guard. It was Jeff. And he pulled a walkie-talkie off his belt.
“He’s here in the forest on the south end of the perimeter,” he barked. “Get your patrols over here now.”
He pulled his gun and headed up the slope. “Parker, you’re a dead man,” he shouted as he climbed.
As more daylight flooded into the woods, it would not be long before he spotted me clearly. The boom of his gun signaled that moment. Bark from a tree just upslope from me exploded in a shower that rained down on my head, and the shot echoed through the forest. I veered to be shielded by a thick trunk and kept on climbing. Two more shots rang out, hitting just to my left, kicking up pine needles. He was adjusting his position to get a better angle on me, moving left as I had. And he was gaining ground on me. I could hear his churning movement getting closer behind me. Even though I was just yards from the chain-link fence, I wasn’t going to reach that target ahead of him.
I was breathing hard. My throat and lungs felt like they were on fire, and I thought my pounding heart might explode in my chest. I had to turn and fight.
I slammed the can and pack to the ground, wedging them up against a tree to prevent them from tumbling back down the hill. Facing downhill now, I moved left, the opposite direction I had been going, and plopped down behind a broad pine.
As tired as I was, I could see now that Jeff was doing worse. He had been gaining on me, but now I could hear him wheezing terribly. He was a big strong man who in a street fight would pound me into mincemeat. But he was handicapped. Like me, he was wounded in the left arm. But his was worse. I could see a large ring of red over the entire front of his shirt where the old wound had re-opened and bled freely. And Allison must have hit him in the right side of the neck with one of her shots since his collar on that side was soaked in blood. Jeff had also probably spent too much time in his cruiser patrolling the county. He was out of shape for this kind of wilderness trek.
In matters of life and death, so-called fair fights are out the window. I was going to take full advantage of my position above him, shoot him down if I had to. And I would have to. He wasn’t going to stop. He was not going to show me any mercy. Allison had started to plead with me to not kill him, but she knew this was going to end badly. He had killed innocent people. He shot at Allison, his own sister, and tried to kill me. So, yes, I could kill him, without remorse, regardless of the consequences.
He looked up toward me, his face red with fatigue. He was only ten yards away. He raised his gun, hand unsteady as it bounced with his heavy breathing. He fired three shots in my direction, all of them well off the mark. He kept pulling the trigger, bullets flying randomly around me, until the clip was empty. He leaned up against a tree for support and reached to his belt for another clip to reload.
“Jeff, we don’t have to do this. Just give it up, walk away. If you don’t, I will shoot you.”
At Jake’s cabin, I had inspected the Sheriff’s weapon and found I had only one bullet left. The only gun Jake had was his hunting rifle, and I left that with him. He might yet need it on his run to get Allison to the hospital. So I had to get a clean shot. I wanted to continue panting like a dog, but forced myself to slow my breathing. I steadied the pistol on a low branch and sighted down the slope. Jeff’s breathing was now more controlled, and he was steadily raising his arm with the reloaded gun. The fierce rage in his eyes burned through me. His finger tightened on the trigger, and I squeezed mine. In unison, the guns jumped and recoiled in our hands.
I missed. Jeff was still firing his gun at me, one shot burning a streak across my right arm, leaving a trail of blood oozing from under my shirt. And another shot grazed my right cheek. But then the shots stopped.
I looked down the slope. Jeff still leaned against the tree, but the gun dangled at his side. He was slowly sagging to the ground. He croaked, “You’re a dead man, Parker.” Then I saw a rapidly expanding red stain on the front of his shirt. His breaths came in bubbly reddish gurgles, and he showed more surprise than pain in his facial expression. I knew he wouldn’t be chasing me uphill any more.
Sliding downhill the short distance to Jeff, I grabbed his gun. It was still clutched in his fingers, and he wouldn’t let go, even as life left his body. His grip finally went slack, and I retrieved the weapon. There was still a chance I might need it this morning.
I returned to my task, picking up the can and pack, now wincing at the pain in both arms. I aimed my trek uphill for a spot where there was a small break in the trees. That would give me a clearer path to get past the f
ence. Now, I was just yards from my target.
There was a small nearly level spot just outside the fence. I plopped down there. From the pack, I removed some old rags. Since my left arm was painful, I used my teeth and right hand to tear them into strips, wrapping them around the tips of Jake’s arrows. I opened the wide-mouthed gas can and dipped the wrapped tip of each arrow into the can. I stuck one arrow feather end down vertically into the soil and lit it with a match to make a torch. I then strung an arrow on Jake’s bow, ignoring the pain in my left arm. I lit the gasoline-soaked tip with my improvised torch, pulled the bow back as far as it would go, and fired the arrow over the fence, through the opening in the trees, and into the valley.
I knew nothing about archery. I probably couldn’t hit a proper target even from close range. But the valley was a different matter. It was huge. That was a target I could not miss. I was going to hit it with every one of my shots. And there would be many shots. Jake had given me a large bundle of arrows. I ignored the pain in my damaged left arm and fired several more of these flaming torches over the fence.
I heard guards approaching fast from both my right and left, running between the two parallel rows of fencing. They were shouting into their walkie-talkies and at each other. They could easily find me and finish me off.
But I wasn’t worried about them any longer. Their attention was elsewhere. They were watching their fortune go up in flames. They scrambled back into the valley through the gates in the inner fence. They might be going to fight the fire before it ignited all the camouflage netting, its supporting posts, and the plants underneath. Soon they would see how impossible fighting it was. Panic and confusion in the ranks would set in. Gates’ military discipline would break down. Orders would go unobeyed. The rats would grab the drugs and the money and run, getting as far away from here as they could.
One set of pounding footsteps, though, kept coming in my direction. He screamed, “No!” in a panicked voice. “Stop!”
It was Matthew Gates. The arrogant confidence was gone. His troops were abandoning the cause to save their own skins, and he was on his own to continue the mission. He fired his weapon as he ran. The bullets sprayed randomly around me, thwacking into trees and pinging off the fence. It’s impossible to fire accurately while running over uneven ground, and he was proving it. He continued shooting until his weapon was empty. Then he stopped about 20 yards from me to reach into his pocket for another clip to reload.
There was no time for me to retrieve Jeff’s pistol from the ground where I had laid it, even though it was not far away. I was no archer, but I had a flaming arrow already strung on the bow. I poked it through the fence, pulled back the string, and let the arrow fly.
Gates was just bringing his gun up to fire when the streaking flame struck him in the chest, embedding itself deeply in its target. The impact sent him backward against the inner fence. He bounced back toward me as if sprung off a trampoline. For a few moments, he stayed upright. His shirt was on fire, engulfing his face in flame. He screamed and waved his arms wildly, as if trying to brush the flames away. Then he suddenly stopped and plopped face down on the pine needles.
I continued firing arrows over the fence, spraying them left and right, until they were all gone. Then I stuck a long rag into the gas can, lightly screwed the cap on, lit the rag, grabbed the can with both hands, and heaved the flaming object over the fence. It cleared both fences, bounced twice, hung on the rim of the ridge for a second, and then rolled down into the valley.
It left a trail of flame from spilled gasoline, igniting some dried pine needles into a smoky crackling blaze. Then all was quiet for a second, before a loud whoosh echoed through the forest. A ball of flame and smoke shot upward, pushing a wall of heat outward that singed my skin. The blast of hot air pushed me backward. But the fingers of my right hand were dug into the chain link fence, so I stayed upright. I stood there, admiring the early morning sky over the valley. It was filled with thick black smoke. I needed a bigger signal and got it. The blast would be heard and felt a long distance from here, and the smoke would be seen for miles.
I watched in awe for several more seconds and then turned downhill. I slid to a stop next to Jeff. He was in a seated position, a bubbly trail of glistening blood drying on his lifeless lips and chin. He had stopped breathing. His eyes stared at me unblinking. He wasn’t angry about his sister dating an unemployed drifter any longer.
I noticed a bulge in his shirt pocket. I reached in and pulled out a bloodstained cell phone. It had plenty of battery life. Finally a working phone. If I had known, I could have just taken it from Jeff after shooting him and simply made the call. Maybe I didn’t have to light up the valley. But it seemed fitting to end it with fire, just as it had all started with fire.