Ever Onward (62 page)

“Hey, Gut. What the f...”

Cobb’s second shot took the corporal
in his skinny chest, passing clean through the heart and exiting
just below the seventh vertebrae. The tumbling slug, its momentum
spent, thudded into Scar’s Kelvar vest with all the force of a
skinny grandmother and fell at the one-eyed man’s muddy boots.
Private Dutch Muller, dead on his feet, sagged slowly down to lay
atop the bullet that had killed him.

Roy Heller, cowering behind a
house-sized boulder, watched as Scar casually wiped Dutch’s blood
from his ruined face. “These buggers are starting to piss me off.”
The look in his good eye made Roy flinch. Scar turned and strode
back down the trail, bellowing for his radio-man. “Givens! Haul
your sorry black ass up here!”

Corporal Phil Givens, radio strapped
to his back, hastened to obey. He’d heard that tone in Scar’s voice
before and knew it usually meant someone wound up bloody. Seeing
Dutch Muller a crumpled heap only deepened his conviction.
Slack-jawed, he looked at the one-eyed man.

“Get me Jocco. I want that
air support and I want it NOW!”

“As I’ve already told you, Major, for
the next few hours there is no air support to give you.” Despite
the roar of the copter’s rotor, Jocco’s voice was deceptively low.
Only the throbbing of his left temple showed the rage that
smoldered within. “Even you should be able to grasp the fact that a
plane needs gas to fly. Until they return from refueling at
Bakersfield, I’m afraid you’ll just have to make do with
me.”

“Ya?”, Scar growled into the mike.
“Well, where the fuck are you?” Static crackled and Scar punched
Givens hard on the shoulder. The radio-man winced and fumbled with
a dial.

“... approaching ...’s Gate. We should
be... minutes. When you... a flair. Ace will try to....” The voice
was drowned by a rising tide of white noise.

Scar drew his .357 and pressed the
long barrel into Givens' ear. “Fix it.” The clicking of the hammer
being pulled back was the loudest sound Phil the Wiz had ever
heard.

A home boy from Frisco’s Needle Park,
Givens had gotten into electronics by boosting CB’s and car phones
from the yuppies in the posh Bay Area. He’d learned the hard way
that fences tended to pay more if you knew what the fuck you were
selling. Now, with Scar’s Desert Wind about to blow his brains out,
Phil ‘the Wiz’ Givens found himself suddenly preying to a God that
only his mother had believed in. Long fingers danced over the
dials. Snap. Crackle. Pop! Jocco’s voice was suddenly crystal
clear. Hallelujah!

“
--- read me? Scar!
Heller! Answer me!”

Scar lowered the gun and thumbed the
mike. “Loud and clear, Your Kingship. We had a little trouble, but
my man Givens here saved the day. He’s black you know.”

“I don’t give a shit if he’s black and
blue, just shoot up a goddamned flair when you see us! Ace says we
can’t land, but we’ll lower a harness for you. Since you’re so
eager to face the good Professor, I’ve decided to give you a lift
up to Devil’s Gate. There you can settle things one way or the
other. I’ll even send down an old friend of yours to help out. Now,
did you get that, Captain Shithead, or did I go too fast for
you?”

Scar chuckled, a wry smile twisting
his already twisted features. “Ya, I got it. Demoted back to
Captain. Like I give a fuck. But Jocco, does this mean the
honeymoon’s over?”

Jocco’s velvet laughter came from the
mike. “Believe it or not, Captain, I still intend to send you back
east. You have certain skills that I need. So either kill Williams
or drive him to me, I don’t care which. But be warned, Scar, the
good professor may still have a few things yet to teach
you.”

“Maybe, Jocco,” Scar said arrogantly,
“but don’t bet on it.”

“I only bet on sure things, Captain,
and either way I win. Now, put Heller on the line.”

As Scar handed Roy the
mike, he saw a helicopter come over a rocky peak several miles to
the south. While Heller yelled for a flair to be shot up and
listened to Jocco’s instructions, Scar readied himself for this
final confrontation --- a confrontation that he’d been running from
for over a year.

“But you can’t!”, Walter Pinkton
screamed.

“Oh, but I can,” Jocco grinned,
stuffing a snub-nosed .38 into the front of his advisor’s pants,
then offering him a leather harness. “I can do any fucking thing I
want. Now, I suggest you to put that on, for one way or the other,
you are going out that door.”

Eva Madeau pressed an Uzi into
Walter’s crotch. “Oh, Lord Walter!”, she said with mock surprise.
“Is that a gun you’ve got there or are you just glad to see
me?”

Reluctantly Walter stepped
into the harness. A hundred feet below him Scar was already being
lowered to a wooden platform built alongside a roaring waterfall.
Spray dripped from a large sign at the back of the
platform.

DEVIL’S GATE

Second largest waterfall

in the State of California

Please
stay behind the railing
!

Scar’s boots slipped on the
spray-slick wood as he unsnapped the umbilical cord holding him to
the chopper. Looking up he saw another form dangling high above
him. The man’s mouth was open and he was obviously screaming, but
the thunder of the falls tore his words away.

Scar’s old boss, Lord Walter the
Wicked, came kicking and screaming into a world of pain. Scar went
over and freed the cable and the copter sped away.

“Well,” scowled the one-eyed man, “my
daddy always said Life sucked. So far he ain’t been wrong. What the
fuck are you doing here?”

Walter scrambled to his feet, his
glasses misted, his long hair plastered to his skull. “Reaping what
I’ve sown, Captain, just as we all do.”

Scar shrugged and pointed at the .38
sticking out of Walter’s belt. “You know how to use
that?”

“If I have to.” The voice was a
defiant whine.

“Sure. And I’m Prince Fucking
Charming. Here, try this.” Scar handed Walter his 12 gage with the
pistol grip, showing how to work the pump and where the safety was.
“Now listen up, good buddy. I don’t give a shit what’s going down
between you and Jocco. What you’ve got to remember is you’re down
here with me now, and if you want to get out of this alive, you do
exactly what I say when I say it. You got that?”

Walter nodded, clutching the shotgun
to him like a holy relic. Scar unslung his H & K Battle Rifle
and checked the 50 round banana clip. His Colt at his side and the
Desert Wind in his shoulder holster, Scar and his unlikely sidekick
were loaded for bear.

“What...what do we do now?”, Walter
asked, his teeth chattering.

“Well, for starters, we get the fuck
off this platform. Find a place warm and dry and wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“Judgment Day, good buddy.
Now, move your skinny ass down that hill. And Lord Walter, point
that scatter gun anywhere near me and I’ll blow your fucking head
off.”

“They getting any closer?”, Cobb
asked.

Josh shook his head. “No. Ever since
that chopper passed over they’ve been hanging back.” Josh swung the
binoculars around, focusing on the notch in the mountains less than
a half mile away. A long white line of tumbling water filled his
sight, making the dancing spray seem almost close enough to touch.
A steep set of steps snaked their way up the right side of the
falls. In some places there was even a handrail.

“What about up there?”

Josh lowered the glasses and looked at
his quiet but deadly friend. “I don’t like it. That chopper buzzing
back and forth. Smells like a trap.”

Cobb shrugged. “Jocco’s a sly bugger
and this is his game, so he’ll know that gap is the only way
through these mountains. If I was him, I’d be up there.”

Josh sucked in air and glowered, the
simplicity of it striking him like a fist. “Just like a bloody
tiger hunt! The peasants beat the bushes and drive the tiger right
into the king’s sights!”

Cobb’s weathered face broke into a sly
smile of his own. “Well, how about these two tigers try a little
creative thinking? If we can find another way up those falls, we
could catch King Jocco at his own game.”

Josh quickly scanned the steep trail
ahead. To the right the stone steps dipped and climbed over rough
but passable rock. To the left sheer, spray-slick cliffs dropped
almost straight down from the top of the notch, a good hundred feet
higher than the platform on the right.

“It’d be one hell of a climb,” Josh
grunted.

Cobb’s grin widened. “Only a fool
would try it.”

“Or a pair of fools,” Josh
quipped.

Cobb fingered the braided climbing
rope strapped to his pack. “You ready?”

Josh’s grin matched his friend’s, the
tired old cliché somehow fitting. “Born ready.”

Twenty minutes later they had made
their way to the base of the waterfall. Over the ages, the force of
the 200 foot cataract had gouged out a large pool at its base.
Spray filled the air and mist made the far shore a ghostly outline.
The roar was deafening. Above them the left hand side went up like
a wet wall.

“You ever do any climbing?”, Cobb
asked, untying the rope and pulling two harnesses out of his
pack.

“A bit. Jessie got into it at camp
when he was thirteen. We took a beginners course together. Nothing
like this, though.”

Cobb’s eyes flashed. “Well, teach,
looks like you’re about to take an advanced course. I’ll go first.
All you have to do is follow.”

It sounded easy, and for the first
fifty feet or so it was --- as long as you didn’t look down. Cracks
and splits offered places for hands and feet. Cobb led the way,
seeking out the easiest route. Half way up they found a narrow
ledge and took a breather. Wind-blown mist shrouded them, blocking
out any view of the far side of the cascading water.

“Stay put!”, Cobb yelled in Josh’s
ear. “It get’s a little tricky from here on. I’ll drive in a few
rock clamps and tug on the rope for you to come.”

Josh gave Cobb the thumbs-up sign and
played out the rope as the younger man scrambled up the slick
surface. While waiting, Josh looked back down the trail they had
come. Beyond the swirling mist, the sun was shining. Josh though he
caught the glint of light on metal far below, but couldn’t be sure.
Zipping up his vest he’d taken from the ranger’s cabin, he felt a
tug on the line. Cobb was beyond his view, so, trusting in a fate
he had never truly believed in, he started up. To still his racing
heart he thought

about his son, waiting for him
somewhere on the other side of this mountain. Flame’s face floated
before him as well, her long red hair streaming in the wind, her
green eyes smoldering and mocking at the same time.

Did he love her? Even now he wasn’t
sure. He cared for her, but nothing like he had for his wife.
Flame, like her name, somehow seemed burn too bright for such a
tender concept as love. Lust then? Perhaps at the start, but he
wasn’t a kid anymore and such feelings soon cooled. He was sure of
one thing; he did trust her, trusted her with his life. In a world
suddenly gone mad perhaps trust might just be the rarest feeling of
all. But, regardless of what he felt for her, he’d save both her
and his son --- or die trying.

Just then his foot slipped and he slid
back twenty feet before the rope went tight. Heart pounding, knees
and finger scraped, he hung sideways. Swallowing an unvoiced
scream, he righted himself and searched for a handhold. Cobb’s
voice floated down to him; the content torn by the wind, the
concern intact. Tugging twice on the rope, he began to climb. Cobb
pulled from above, and when Josh came at last to where the other
was waiting, both men collapsed on a wide ledge spongy with wet
moss.

“Thought you’d bought it that time!”,
Cobb panted.

Josh, too spent to reply,
merely rolled on his back. It was then that he saw the helicopter.
The noise of its rotors drowned out by the falls, it hovered
several hundred feet above them like some giant dragonfly. Through
the swirling mist he saw the rotating barrels of the 50. caliber
canon swing out the open bay door; then the heavy gun began to
speak.

“See anything?” Sitting in a crack on
the right side of the falls, Walter was cold, wet and thoroughly
miserable. Just above him, Scar was watching the lower trail
through the scope of his rifle.

“I said, do you see anything?”
Walter’s wining voice held more than a touch of impatience. Over
the last year he had grown accustomed to having his every whim
granted. People jumped when Walter the Wicked spoke. People showed
him respect!

When “Shut the fuck up!”, drifted down
to him, Walter’s grip on the .38 tightened. He’d fix Jocco for
this; fix him good! But first there was Captain Scarface to deal
with! Then, through the roar of the falls, a new sound reached his
ears --- the rapid staccato of a heavy machine gun. Turning, he saw
a helicopter hanging several hundred feet above the falls, smoke
and fire spitting out its side door.

From his position higher up, Scar was
fumbling with his walkie-talkie. Holding it to his ear, the sound
of gunfire undercut Jocco’s message.