Ever Onward (67 page)

Up on the ridge, Jocco chose that
exact moment to open fire. Soft-nosed slugs worked their way down
the pine, across Pam’s unconscious body and into the needles
carpeting the base of the tree. On full rock n’ roll, Jocco had
emptied half his clip before he saw that his red-head target was no
longer there.

Now sheltered behind the large tree,
Flame let go two blasts from the Defender, neither of which came
anywhere near reaching the distant ridge. Several more slugs from
Jocco’s M-16 tore at the gnarled trunk.

“Christ!”, she swore, seeing the
muzzle flashes and knowing they were too far away for the riotgun.
Then she spotted the .38 still in Pam’s hand. Making a grab for it
brought on another hail of bullets from Jocco, but she regained the
relative safety of the tree clutching the chrome plated weapon.
Looking down at it, she smiled. Blade had once owned a gun just
like it, but the asshole had traded it for a kilo of grass. ‘Why
die when you can get high?’ he used to say. Guns had never been
Blade’s bag anyway. Flame however, just loved them. Though it only
had a two inch barrel, Pam’s piece was a Ruger SP101, chambered for
the heavier high velocity loads. It would kick like a bastard but
it would get there. She snapped open the cylinder and her smile
widened. Six fresh rounds.

Laying down, she sighted on
the ridge. “Eat shit and die, mother-fucker!” A split second after
the next muzzle-flash from the M-16, she squeezed off a
round.

Josh was running frantically through
the trees. He’d almost made it to the far end of the clearing when
the shooting started. Now, from a rocky outcropping, he stopped
long enough to look down on the moonlit glade. Flame was crouching
behind the large pine. The slumped over body of the blonde lay at
her feet. The distinctive sound of a revolver boomed once. From
high on the ridge to the right the chatter of an M-16 answered. The
muzzle flashes were coming from the rocks his son had gone to check
out.

“Jessie!”, he hissed,
instinctively raising his Browning, then lowering it. The ridge was
in the shadows and over a hundred and fifty yards away. Even if he
could see Jocco, he’d never hit him from here. Josh needed to get a
hell of a lot closer --- and that suited him just fine. Silently he
slipped away into the shadows.

Despite the cool, night breeze, Jocco
was sweating. He’d used up his first magazine and was halfway
through his second. When that was gone he’d only have his Colt
Double Eagle. Though the .45 was a powerful weapon, it only held
eight rounds and he didn’t have a spare clip. Cursing under his
breath, he switched the M-16 to single shot, knelt down and waited
for either Williams or the red-headed bitch to show
themselves.

Behind him Jessie began to moan.
Whirling around, he moved towards the semi-conscious youth. As he
stood up, the wine from Flame’s second slug swished by his ear to
ricochet off the granite wall. Rockchips flew and Jocco dove to his
knees, tearing both pants and flesh in the process.

“Jesus-Fucking-Christ!”, he hissed.
Still snarling, he grabbed Jessie by the scruff of his neck and
hauled him towards the edge of the rocks. The ledge fell away at
their feet. Flame, unseen behind her tree, was over fifty yards
away.

Jocco leaned the M-16 against the rock
wall, drew his Colt and pressed it into Jessie’s cheek. “Call out
to them, kid! Let your papa and that red headed cunt know you’re
still alive!”

Jessie, blood running down the back of
his head, squeezed his eyes tight and willed the dizziness away.
Despite his efforts, his knees buckled and Jocco had to shove him
against the large boulder to hold him up.

“Don’t wimp out on me now, kid! Stand
up like a man!”

Jessie stiffened. The last thing in
the world he wanted was to show this bag of shit any sign of
weakness.

“That’s better,” Jocco crooned in his
ear, using Jessie’s body as a shield. “The only pussy round here is
down there under that tree. Who knows? When this is all over, I
might let you take your pick, but for now, sing out to your dear
daddy. I want him to know his baby boy is up here with his Uncle
Jocco.”

“Tell him yourself, shit-for-brains!
He’ll be here any minute!”

“Oh, I know he’s coming, kid. I’m
counting on it!”

Jessie snorted, mockery joining the
defiance in his blue eyes. “You think my father’s going to walk up
and hand you his guns just because you’re holding me hostage?
Christ, man, you’re dumber than I thought.”

“If he wants you to live he will!”,
Jocco growled.

This time Jessie actually chuckled,
drops of blood flying as he shook his head. “Not a chance, asswipe.
My father loves me, but he’s a very practical man. He knows you’ll
kill me right after you shoot him, so he won’t come out. But you
can be
damned
sure he’ll get his revenge. You see, he’s also
a very
patient
man.”

While Jocco was digesting all this,
Jessie lashed out with his foot; not at Jocco, but at the M-16. His
hiking boot caught the weapon under the trigger guard and sent it
sailing out into space. When it hit the bottom it discharged once
and lay there silent and broken.

“You little shit!”, Jocco screamed,
yanking Jessie back by the hair and cocking the Golden
Eagle.

“Go ahead, you gutless wonder!”,
Jessie hissed. “Shoot! Then my father will
really
have a
reason to track you down! You remember Rambo don’t you? Called
himself Scar? Well, we spent the last year chasing that one-eyed
bastard. Tracked him all across a dead continent! At times the rest
of us wanted to give up, but not my old man! And do you want to
know
why
he wouldn’t quit? Because Scar killed his nephew.
Now just
think
about how much
more
determined he’ll
be if you kill his
son
. Hell", Jessie smirked, "You're
already a dead man!”

Jocco was taken back. The kid’s words
had struck a nerve, a big mother-fucking nerve! He remembered how
Scar had been haunted by the farmers chasing him. At the time he’d
thought it a quaint little tale --- now it seemed more like a
fucking nightmare! Shit! All his grand plans were suddenly going
down the toilet! How had it all gone so fucking wrong?!

Yet in his heart he knew the answer
--- all because of some hard-headed teacher called Josh Williams!
Since meeting Williams and his little family everything had hit the
fucking fan! The
‘great hunt’
had backfired. Now Scar was
dead, along with Pussbag, Bobby-Joe and everyone else he could
count on. A bunch of fucking Indians had ambushed his men, his
pilot was lying back at the burnt-out lodge in a pool of his own
blood and he was trapped out here with a backwoods madman on his
tail!

Then, as it had all his wayward life,
inspiration stuck. Jocco grinned and pulled Jessie to his feet.
“What if I don’t kill you, kid? What if I only shoot off your
kneecap instead? That way your practical loving father will have to
hang around to help his crippled son! How about
both
kneecaps? That way Mr. Practical can’t send you hobbling back
leaning on the red head while he comes after me.” By now Jocco was
feeling very smug.

Too smug to be prepared for what
happened next.

Jessie, his eyes wild, flung his head
back, connecting hard with Jocco’s nose. Even as the bone crunched,
Jessie swung his left elbow around, slamming it into Jocco’s ear.
Cobb had repeatedly drilled into each of them the vulnerable spots
on the human body.

“Eyes, ears, nose and throat, lads and
lassies,” Cobb would say over and over. “Only a macho smuck goes
for the jaw. Break your hand that way.”

“What about the balls?”, Flame had
once asked, trying her best to keep a poker-face. The other women
in the group had started to giggle. Cobb, however, had handled it
like a pro. Without missing a step he had pointed out that the
groin was indeed a very vulnerable spot, and that women especially
should go for it every chance they got.

Jessie had learned his lessons well.
Not only had he broken Jocco’s nose, but he’d burst his eardrum as
well. Turning, Jessie drove his foot at the clincher. Instinct
saved Jocco a crushed scrotum. Shoving his hand protectively in
front of his groin, Jocco managed to deflect the crippling blow. He
also managed to drop his gun. Jessie, still dizzy from the head
wound, lost his balance and fell. The Colt lay near the edge of the
cliff. Jessie scrambled for it while Jocco, his nose streaming
blood, pounced on him from behind. The air exploded from Jessie’s
lungs. Jocco’s weight shifted, his hand clawing for the lost
automatic. Locked in a lethal embrace, both of them rolled
dangerously close to the edge. Jocco, outweighing the lad by a good
fifty pounds, was slowly getting the upper hand. Suddenly a shot
rang out, the loud sound rebounding off the surrounding
mountains.

“Get off him, NOW!” Josh Williams
stood behind them, his Browning trained on the tangled
forms.

“Dad!”, Jessie, momentarily loosening
his grip on Jocco’s arm, rose to his knees. It was all the time the
would-be king needed. From his boot he pulled a small but wicked
blade. Still using the boy as a shield, he pressed it to Jessie’s
throat.

“Now kid, we’ll see just how practical
your old man
really
is! Drop the gun, Daddy, or I’ll cut
your son’s throat!”

For several heartbeats they held each
others gaze. Josh’s hand tightened on the Browning. Jocco saw it
and sneered. “Go on, Daddy, try it! Even if you do hit me and not
him, I’ll still have time to off the little bastard!”

Josh’s hand wavered, then he slowly
began to lower his gun.

“NOOOO!”, Jessie screamed as he
twisted suddenly in towards Jocco. The small blade grazed the base
of his neck and on across his right shoulder. At the same time
Jessie clamped his teeth onto Jocco’s left ear and held. Screaming,
maddened with pain, Jocco pushed himself back, savagely thrusting
Jessie away from him. Spitting blood and bits of carteledge, Jessie
rolled towards his father while Jocco teetered on the edge. The
Browning in Josh’s hand barked twice, followed by a blast from a
shotgun. Jocco spun around, hit from both the front and the back. A
surprised look came over his face. The small knife dropped and he
followed it. Both hit the base of the cliff seconds
later.

Josh rushed to his son and together
they peered down the ledge. There, some twenty odd feet below, lay
Jocco’s crumpled body. Flame stood off to one side, the Defender’s
perforated barrel still smoking.

“You two alright up there?”, she
called.

Josh hugged his son. “We are now,
Lover. Let’s go home.”

Jessie looked at his father. “You mean
back to Hawthorn?!” Despite his wounds, his voice was
ecstatic.

Josh hugged him again.
“Where else?”

The End

******

A note f
rom the author

Hi
there!

Thank you so
much for reading my novel.

I hope you enjoyed it!

Winton Churchill once said
that :

'A
good book is like a good friend,

someo
ne who is always there when you need
them.'

I hope
, in some small way, I have been there for
you.

Wayne
Mee,

Montreal,
Canada

***