Blood and Ashes

Chapter 25

A hollow in the lee of an ancient fir tree offered concealment. The boughs hung so low they were like widows’ fingers digging at the soil as if trying to reclaim their lost husbands. Shadows cloaked me. The words coming from my pocket had a stereo effect now that I was so near to one of those talking, but the little bird-like man had no idea of how close to death he was.

I’d caught the gist of the radio-chatter. Discounting the young greaser, there were only two of the bastards left alive: Gant and this man called Darley. A well-placed shot, and then Gant would be seriously outnumbered if not outgunned, yet I was loath to pull the trigger. There were still so many questions unanswered that I thought about sparing the little skinhead for a minute or two while I beat some of the answers out of him.

Take the shot.

Do not underestimate this man. He may be small, but he’s armed and intent on harming the kids. Slip up and you’ll be one sorry bastard.

I raised my SIG, aiming through the branches, zeroing in on the man’s chest. A head shot would be better, but the way it jerked about like a hen scratching for worms made for a poor target. I caressed the trigger, the progression on it smooth and easy. I was a hair’s-breadth away from punching a cavity all the way through Darley when there was a flicker of movement which caused me to relax the pressure on the trigger, and watch as Don Griffiths came out from behind a cabin on the far side of the camp. The old man loped across the clearing, favouring one leg. But it wasn’t my friend’s appearance that caused me to spare Darley an immediate death, it was the fact that another man followed close on Don’s heels.

Not Gant as I first feared, but the young man whose floppy quiff bounced with each jolting step.

Don glanced back at the young man, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t even flinch, just said something that I’d no way of hearing. The young man nodded, and they both headed directly for the cabin where Millie and the kids were hiding.

Shit, they’ve caught Don, was my immediate thought. The next was, Don’s got a gun but the greaser’s unarmed. What the hell is going on here?

When I glanced back at Darley, the little man had moved, squatting down behind the minivan so that neither Don nor his new companion could see him. I’d lost my shot.

‘I bloody knew it,’ I grunted.

From my pocket a voice hissed. I slipped the radio out so that I could hear clearly.

‘Gant, you ain’t gonna believe what I’m looking at…’

‘I see them, Dar,’ Gant replied in a voice close to a whisper. ‘So that turncoat bastard’s consorting with the enemy now?’

‘How do you want to play things? I’ve got them both in my sights.’

‘Hold it, Dar. I want Vince-fucking-Everett all to myself.’

‘I can still pop Griffiths,’ Darley said. In line with his words, the man leaned his rifle over the roof of the minivan. I half rose, lifting my SIG: it looked like I was going to have to go for a head shot after all.

‘No, you could hit Vince.’ Gant’s warning made Darley dip back down again. ‘I’m closer, I’ll get Griffiths first.’

The tattooed man’s words made me jerk upright.

Over seven years ago my failure to take a shot had caused repercussions to crash like a wave of destruction down through time. Many had died as a consequence and I’d almost perished before taking out the professional contract killer named Luke Rickard. Now, by missing the opportunity to take out Darley it looked like Don was going to die.

Don and the young man were out of my line of sight now, but they weren’t deaf.

‘Don! Get down!’ I roared at the top of my voice.

Then I crashed out from below the fir tree, drawing Darley’s attention. Little good it would do to throw off Gant’s aim, and I could only hope that my warning was heard and acted upon.

There was the staccato rattle of a machine-gun, and I added a backbeat, firing as I ran at Darley.

The bullets struck the roof of the minivan, smashed a window, cut grooves out of the metalwork, but not one of them found flesh.

So much for conserving rounds, but that wasn’t a consideration now. It was all about causing enough confusion to draw Gant away from Don. I fired again, swerving round the back of the minivan. If Darley was standing his ground, the move would be both reckless and suicidal, but the little man was still ducking and diving to escape the barrage of bullets. I was on him before he could swing the rifle round.

I don’t like bullies, and felt a bit like the jock beating down on the nerd in the playground, but in the circumstances it was justified. I slammed a kick into Darley’s chest and the man went down on his back. My next kick was aimed at the gun and knocked it out of his hands.

‘You bastard,’ Darley hissed between clenched teeth. His eyes were rolling in his skull as he sought to grapple with my legs. I sidestepped and jabbed his ribs with the toe of my boot.

Just finish the little shit, I thought, you haven’t got time for this.

Ordinarily I would do so, but I was still experiencing a twinge of guilt, not liking the thought of killing the small man when he was already overwhelmed.

Remember the two in the parking lot, Hunter: did you give them a second chance?

I was still trying to put those two to the back of my mind, and now this?

Darley grabbed at his belt and came out with a knife.

That had an immediate and devastating result for Darley.

I avoided the slash of the knife, and Darley took the opportunity to swing up on to one knee. That put him directly in line with the knee that I rammed under his jaw. Darley’s head snapped back, flecks of blood marking the saliva that flew from his mouth. His eyes were already rolling up into his skull, so he didn’t feel the whack of the SIG’s barrel as it slammed the side of his head.

Darley flopped to the floor, and a rattling exhalation spattered more blood on his chin.

I was already moving away, shoving the SIG in my belt as I stopped to snatch up Darley’s rifle.

There was another rattle of gunfire.

Gant’s first volley had missed Don, then? Either that or the tattooed man had now turned his anger on the young man. Worse than that was if he’d got both first time and this new sound was of Gant murdering Millie and the children.

Letting out a wordless shout I dashed from behind the minivan, heedless of the fact I might be in Gant’s crosshairs. The cabin where the woman and kids were secreted was only two over. There was a new addition on the front boardwalk that hadn’t been there when I’d last left them. The bundle proved to be the form of a man, and by the white hair and beard it could only be one person.

Dear God! No!

Gant had brought down Don Griffiths and he wasn’t moving.

I spurred myself on, senses fighting to stay focused against the rush of self-loathing that assailed me like a suffocating cloak. It was bad enough that Don had been hit, but now the screams of the terrified children rang clear. The door to the cabin had been kicked in. Gant was already inside and terrorising the kids.

Stay in the red zone.

The thought struck at the same time as bullets singed the air around me. Caught off-guard, I stumbled and fell, rolling to avoid another volley of rounds churning the mud next to my body. A bullet struck the rifle and knocked it out of my hands. I let it lie and scrambled away, then came to my feet again and threw myself across the boardwalk and against the wall of the cabin, looking for targets as I snatched out my SIG. Movement flickered across the way and Gant rushed out from his hiding place in the cabin opposite. Gant fired as he ran causing me to jump for my life away from the bullets cutting into the wall beside me.

I fired in return.

One bullet was all I had left and it had to count.

Too many variables affected my aim, primarily the fact that Gant was moving while I was flinching from the bullets scoring the cabin wall next to my body. The bullet went wide and didn’t even slow Gant’s charge.

Well, this is it, Hunter. The thought echoed through my mind. This was the place I was going to die, a muddy, stinking hole in the middle of nowhere, just like I’d always imagined it would be.

My next thought: you’re not dead yet.

With my left hand I tugged out the 12-gauge and swung it on the advancing man, giving him both barrels.

The shotgun boomed like a canon.

Gant’s legs were thrown from under him and he went spread-eagled in the mud, his gun sliding away from him in the filth. In the mist above him I could see a distinct red haze.

Go to him. Finish the bastard once and for all.

I heard Beth howl.

Then another voice, feeble but close by.

Glancing at Don Griffiths, I saw him roll over on to his back. There was a large red stain on the front of his coat, another near his left hip. Don craned up so that he could see me, and his face was white.

‘The little ones, Hunter, check that my grandchildren are OK.’

Without further debate I raced to the cabin door and into the gloomy interior. Across the way Millie was shielding the two children, their eyes and mouths wide ovals. That was all I’d time to take in before something looped over my head, encircled my throat and was drawn tight. Blackness edged my vision immediately, followed a second later by the agony of savagely twisting flesh. A knee jammed into the small of my back.

Absurdly I thought: at least I’m not going to die in the mud.

Both my guns clattered on the floorboards. Empty, they were a hindrance, but that wasn’t why I dropped them; I simply lacked the strength to hold on to them any longer. I lifted my fingers to the loop around my throat, tried to dig my fingers under the constricting coil, but had no hope of that. My killer knew exactly what he was doing.

I sagged, strength failing completely as pressure built within my skull. This was how the rooster-crowing man must have felt as I throttled him to death in the Seven-Eleven car park.

My mind was a scarlet sea now, waves crashing against the insides of my skull. The scarlet darkened to black.

Suddenly I was face down on the floor with no memory of drifting from one place to the other. No transition occurred between space and time, just as if my body had been jumped to this new position by the click of a magician’s fingers. Gagging and retching, I sucked in life-giving oxygen. My throat was a circle of fire. I coughed and spluttered then heaved in a great gust of air.

Instinct made me grope for the KA-BAR, my only remaining weapon, but my fingers were crushed to the boards by the sole of a boot. I still didn’t have the strength, let alone the presence of mind, to fight back, and could only growl out in pain as the bones of my recently broken hand were ground under the pressure. A hand groped at my clothing and snatched the KA-BAR out of my grasp. Thankfully the pressure on my hand was relieved and finally I rolled over on to my back to blink up at my captor.

My eyes were streaming with tears, but even so I recognised the pompadour sticking out from the top of the young man’s head.

He gave me a lopsided grin. Then he said, ‘You, my friend, are under arrest.’