Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 (35 page)

The sound faded quickly, and Wiggins waited a couple of minutes before he turned to Tex.

“What do you think?”

“The guidebook shows it as steep downhill for another mile or so, through Snicker’s Gap and across State Route 7. At the rate they’re moving, I’d say we can maintain a good walking pace without too much fear of running into them.”

Wiggins nodded and they moved back toward the trail. They were almost there when he felt something wrong. “Damn!” he said, staring down at his foot. “My lace broke.”

“Can you tie it back together?”

“It’ll probably just break again. Levi put some paracord in our packs, I’ll just use some of that.” Wiggins shucked off his pack and sat on a fallen log.

“I’ll wait for you on the trail,” Tex said. “I’ve given the ticks enough opportunity to crawl aboard, brushing through all this foliage.”

Wiggins nodded absently, digging through the pack in search of the paracord, as Tex moved back on to the trail. He was pulling his improvised lace tight when a sharp command pierced the foliage.

“Freeze! And keep your hands where I can see them.”

He dropped off the log onto his knees and crawled toward the trail, slowly separating foliage with his hand. Tex was facing one of the uniformed men and staring into the muzzle of an M4. Where the hell did that assault rifle come from and how’d they get back up the hill without us hearing? he wondered.

“Very slowly, turn and then drop the pack, put your hands on the back of your head, and get down on your knees,” the man said.

Tex moved to comply. As the pack slid down her back and to the side, it tugged her shirttail over, exposing the Glock.

“Gun!” screamed the man, rushing forward with his M4 trained on Tex to kick her hard in the back, driving her face down on the path. He squatted and thrust his gun to the side of her head. Rage boiled up in Wiggins as another man rushed into sight, his own rifle slung, and quickly tossed Tex’s Glock to the side. Wiggins heard Tex gasping for breath as the second man patted her down none too gently.

“Clean,” said the second uniform, and the first man nodded. They dragged Tex to her feet.

“We’re looking for two men dressed like us. Have you seen them?” the first uniform asked.

Tex nodded, unable to speak.

“When?”

“A … a few minutes … they ran by …”

“What did they say to you?”

Tex shook her head. “No … nothing … I … I hid in the woods.”

“Why are you armed?”

“Pr … protection,” Tex gasped.

The first uniform ran out of questions.

“What the hell we gonna do with her?” the second man asked. The man’s face was heavily bruised, as if he’d been beaten.

“She saw them, you know the orders.”

“Yeah, I know the orders, but I’m not doing it on the strength of a verbal.”

The first man seemed ready to explode. “Look, asshole, it’s your fault we’re on the shit list for letting Tremble and the kid escape, so don’t get us in even deeper by questioning orders! I had to do some fast talking to get them to let us head out first, and if we don’t get ‘em back, we’ll probably both be in a ‘fugee camp this time tomorrow.”

“All right, then call it in for confirmation, and we can update Control at the same time. If they stay on the AT, they have to cross Highway 7. They can chopper a team there and we’ll drive them right into their arms.”

The first uniform shook his head. “You just don’t get it, do you, Anderson? We do it that way and we’ll get no credit at all. If we make the collar ourselves, it’ll wipe out our screwup and we have a chance of redeeming ourselves and maybe hanging around a while—”

“But—”

“STOW IT! Cuff her arms around that tree over there and let’s get on with it. We’ll deal with her later.”

Wiggins crept backwards and eased the little survival rifle out of his pack, moving soundlessly as he assembled it. He didn’t like his chances, but he sure as hell wasn’t letting them harm Tex without a fight. He slipped a magazine into the rifle and crept back through the foliage just as the two uniforms set off down the trail. He let them get out of sight then crossed the trail.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Just peachy, except for being kicked in the middle of the back by a two-hundred-pound asshole. How are you at picking handcuff locks?”

“Not in my skill set, I’m afraid. But we’ll figure out something. Did they take your gun?”

She shook her head. “I think they threw it over there where they put my pack.”

Wiggins walked over and found the Glock. He shoved it in his waistband, then came back and studied the handcuffs.

“There’s a wire saw in the pack, maybe I could cut through the tree,” he said.

“This damn tree is almost a foot thick, Bill. It’ll take you forever, and besides, even if you do my hands are still cuffed together.”

“But we can find a place to hide and figure out a way to get them off. Besides, from what I overheard, it didn’t sound like having seen those mystery guys was very healthy. You can’t be here when those assholes get back.”

Tex nodded, but Wiggins was already in the woods fishing in his pack for the wire saw. He shook it out of the little Altoids tin Levi stored it in and uncoiled it to cut a length of a one-inch-diameter branch from a nearby tree, then bent the branch and used paracord to secure the wire saw to both ends, improvising a bow saw.

“Sit on the ground and straddle the trunk,” he said. “If I can cut it low, maybe when I weaken it enough I can push against it and snap it off.”

Tex did as instructed, and Wiggins began sawing about six inches above the top of her head. The little saw ripped into the bark and the first inch of the tree as sawdust drifted down on Tex. Each stroke widened the cut and friction increased. Progress slowed exponentially.

Sweat dripped from Wiggins’ forehead and his arm was already burning, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on.

“This might take a while,” he said between labored breaths.

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere,” Tex replied.

***

In the end, their ambush site was chosen for them. Keith hurtled down the trail and landed on a loose rock, twisting his ankle to tumble head over heels down the steep slope. His father was several yards back, hard-pressed to keep up with Keith’s youthful athleticism. He pulled up, trying to halt his own headlong rush, and managed a controlled fall back on his ass in preference to a face-plant down the hill. His forward progress stopped, he scrambled over to where his son sprawled on the trail, shaken and moaning.

“Keith, are you all right?”

“I twisted my right ankle. It hurts like hell.”

Tremble raised the boy’s pant leg and pulled down his sock, eliciting a soft moan. The ankle was starting to discolor and swell, but everything looked to be lined up correctly.

“I don’t think it’s broken, but you won’t be running on that,” Tremble said.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I screwed up big time.”

Tremble forced a smile and patted his son’s good leg. “No problem. We needed to set up an ambush anyway, and I guess this is as good a site as any.” He pointed to large boulders on either side of the trail. “We’ve got good cover. If we take them down fast, we can still get away.”

Keith shook his head. “You know even if we do, there’ll be others, and we can’t move fast enough to lose them now. It’s better if I hold them off so you can build up a lead and get away. You have to let people know what’s going on.”

“Not happening, son. If I escape, you’re just a liability. I doubt they’d even bother to take you back to Mount Weather.”

“But, Dad—”

“No buts. Give me your hand and I’ll get you set up behind one of these boulders. I don’t know how many of them there are, but I’ll take the left side and you take the right. Don’t fire until I do, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Keith said and gave his father his hand.

***

Tremble was beginning to hope their pursuers had somehow missed the trail, when he heard muffled grunts of exertion uphill through the foliage. Keith nodded—he’d heard it as well. Tremble’s heart sank when he caught glimpses of their adversaries through the foliage; both were wearing body armor and carrying long guns. That meant head shots, hard enough with a rifle, much less a handgun. He took in a deep breath and exhaled, then steadied himself, his pistol in a two-handed grip, arms resting on the flat top of the boulder—and waited.

Both men came into view and Tremble aimed at the man in the lead, firing as soon as he had a shot. He was gratified to see the man fall as Keith opened up beside him, sending a fusillade uphill and driving the second man to cover.

“Easy, son,” Tremble called softly. “Conserve your ammo.”

“You got one!” Keith whispered back, an elation in his voice Tremble didn’t feel, knowing the fight was far from over.

***

‘Sam’ crawled through the foliage to where ‘Pete’ was kneeling behind a large rock, blood dripping from his right ear.

“You’re hit!”

“The asshole took off a piece of my earlobe. I’ll live.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“I’m gonna stay here and keep their attention. You go into the woods on the right and work your way downhill off the trail. When you get in position below them with a good field of fire, fire a warning shot to let them know you can take them out at any time. If they don’t surrender, shoot them both in the legs. Got it?”

Sam nodded and slipped quietly away through the foliage as his partner yelled downhill.

“IT’S ALL OVER, TREMBLE. YOU AND THE BOY LAY DOWN YOUR GUNS AND COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM.”

“THAT YOU, PETE? HOW’S SAM? SORRY I HAD TO HIT HIM.”

“YEAH, IT’S ME. AND YOU CAN ASK HIM YOURSELF AS SOON AS YOU SURRENDER, BUT HE’S NOT TALKING TOO GOOD NOW ON ACCOUNT OF HOW YOU ALMOST BROKE HIS JAW. NOW DO AS I SAY AND NO ONE WILL GET HURT.”

“WHY WOULD I DO THAT?”

“OH, I DON’T KNOW. MAYBE BECAUSE YOU’RE CUT OFF AND ANOTHER TEAM IS COMING UP THE TRAIL ON YOUR SIX EVEN AS WE SPEAK. ALSO BECAUSE OUR ORDERS ARE TO TAKE YOU ALIVE IF POSSIBLE BUT NOT TO RISK CASUALTIES DOING IT, BUT SINCE YOU’VE ALREADY SHOT AT US, WE CAN KILL YOU RIGHT NOW, NO QUESTIONS ASKED. YOU’RE NOT GETTING AWAY, SO THE ONLY QUESTION IS WHETHER YOU AND SONNY BOY LEAVE THESE WOODS ON YOUR OWN TWO FEET OR IN BODY BAGS. YOUR CALL, TREMBLE. I’M GOOD EITHER WAY.”

“WELL, LET ME JUST THINK ABOUT THAT, PETE.”

“SURE, TAKE YOUR TIME, ANYTIME WITHIN THE NEXT TEN SECONDS WILL BE FINE.”

There was no response for several minutes and the man’s impatience grew. Then there was the crack of a gunshot followed by the whine of a ricocheting round. The man smiled.

“AND THAT WOULD BE THE FIRE TEAM I TOLD YOU ABOUT, TREMBLE. THAT WAS A WARNING SHOT. YOU HAVE THREE SECONDS TO THROW OUT YOUR WEAPONS AND SURRENDER OR THEIR ORDERS ARE SHOOT TO KILL. ONE … TWO …”

The man’s smile widened as he saw two pistols fly over the boulders and clatter on the rocks of the trail, followed by Tremble rising with his hands in the air.

“DON’T SHOOT! WE SURRENDER! KEITH CAN’T STAND BECAUSE HE HAS A SPRAINED ANKLE.”

***

Tremble stood motionless, hands in the air as the two men converged on him from opposite directions. He nodded at Sam and got a glare in return. He wasn’t surprised the ‘fire team’ turned out to be only Sam—it was the obvious maneuver and what he’d have done in a similar situation. He’d known their position was untenable from the moment Keith went down, but harbored the slim hope they might take down their pursuers on first contact. The outcome of the fight was a forgone conclusion when their first rounds failed to take out their opponents.

Pete held them at gunpoint while Sam frisked them. He also examined Keith, and Tremble clinched his teeth at his son’s stifled moans.

“It’s sprained all right, maybe even broken,” Sam said. “He’s definitely not making it back uphill without help.”

“Then the friggin’ hero here can carry him,” Pete said.

“He’s a big boy,” Tremble said. “I’ll need help.”

“Not happening,” Pete said. “You carry him, or we leave him here with a bullet in the head.”

“I can make it, Dad,” Keith said, “and you don’t have to carry me. Just let me lean on you.”

Tremble nodded and began to help his son to his feet under Sam’s watchful gaze as Pete reached for his radio and raised it to his lips.

“Central, this is Unit Twelve, do you copy? Over.”

He repeated the call with no response. “Crappy reception down in this holler. I’ll try again closer to the top,” he said to Sam.

His partner nodded, and they began the uphill trek, prodding their struggling captives before them.

***

Wiggins redoubled his efforts at the sound of the distant gunfire, his arm numb. He was a third of the way through the tree, and Tex sat below him, a pile of sawdust covering her head and shoulders. She stared at the ground to keep the sawdust out of her eyes.

“How much longer?”

“We’re getting close,” Wiggins said.

“You friggin’ liar, how close really?”

Wiggins sighed. “A little over a third of the way. When I get halfway, I’ll try to push it over.”

“What do you make of the gunfire?”

“I’m worried it stopped. As long as they’re shooting at each other, they can’t be headed back. Now, who knows?”

“I agree … wait! Stop sawing a second!”

Wiggins did; then he heard it too. Sounds from downhill. He pulled the saw from the notch and set it down. Tex looked up and gave him a frightened nod, the action dislodging sawdust from her hair and causing her to squeeze her eyes shut again. He moved downhill and squatted behind a thick tree trunk to study the trail.

A minute passed and the sounds grew louder, low conversation punctuated by muffled groans. Then the tops of heads came into view followed by torsos. It was the two fugitives they’d seen earlier. He could see now one was considerably older and there was no mistaking the family resemblance. The older man was half carrying a man who could only be his son. The older guy looked familiar, and the memory of the earlier overheard exchange came flooding back. ‘… let Tremble and his son escape …’

Wiggins’ blood ran cold. He had no idea what was going on, but knew without a doubt any witnesses had a very limited lifespan. He crouched, immobilized by fear as Tex’s captors came into view behind their prisoners. Tremble stumbled and almost fell, and Wiggins could see he was struggling with the weight of his son.