Dead of Winter

CHAPTER 40

Louis could smell the burning wood before he saw the cabin’s lights. The scent drifted to him, faint but definite, and he stopped.

“Smoke,” Gibralter said softly behind him.

They moved on slowly, quietly. Finally, Louis saw a glimmer of light in the distant trees. The snow had stopped and a silver moon was out, bathing the forest in a sickly glow. Off in the distance was a small boxy shape — a cabin.

Louis stared at it in disbelief. They had found it. The whole scheme with Cole, the tracking device, it had actually worked. He felt a rush of adrenaline. It was replaced quickly with dread. Now what?

“Son of a bitch, there it is,” Gibralter said, his voice closer now. “Switch off your light.”

As they crept nearer, they saw it was not a cabin but a small rough-hewn hut. It listed slightly under the weight of the snow, a tendril of smoke curling from a pipe in the dilapidated roof. The place was probably a deserted storage hut left over from the long-dead logging trade. No wonder they had not been able to find Lacey.

As they came up to the small clearing, Louis’s eyes went to the red pickup parked in front. His pulse quickened. Lacey was here.

They had approached the hut from the front but the two front windows were boarded shut, the door closed. The light they had seen through the trees had come from a small window on the side.

Gibralter moved around to Louis’s left, standing about five feet away. He was surveying the hut and the truck.

“Let’s go. Stay in front of me,” he said softly.

They crept up to the truck. From his position near the front wheel, Louis could make out the outline of a shotgun in the rack. Gibralter peered inside the open bed and carefully lifted a tarp.

“He’s got an arsenal here,” he whispered, nodding toward the boxes. “Probably more inside.”

“Give me back my bullets,” Louis said.

“Forget it.”

“You’re going to need my help. Lacey’s dangerous and the kid knows guns,” Louis said. “You go alone, you’re going to lose.”

“This way,” Gibralter whispered, swinging his gun back over his shoulder toward the trees.

Louis had no choice but to obey. Gibralter followed him back to the cover of the trees. He seemed to be looking for something in them.

“Stop here,” he said. “Toss me your gun.”

Louis didn’t move. What was this? What was he doing now?

“Gun,” Gibralter hissed.

Louis pulled the empty gun from his belt and flung it at Gibralter. He caught it and stuck it in his parka.

“Get out your cuffs,” Gibralter ordered.

Louis stuck his flashlight into his waistband and retrieved his cuffs. Despite the cold he felt a hot flush of terror spread over him as he realized what Gibralter was going to do.

“Do it,” Gibralter said, pointing the gun at him.

Louis didn’t move.

“Do it! Now!”

With trembling hands, Louis slapped a cuff on his right wrist.

“Other one, over that limb,” Gibralter ordered, pointing with his gun.

Louis looked up at the bare limb. It was about three inches in diameter, sturdy but just big enough for the cuff. With a look at Gibralter, he snapped it on.

“Key.”

With his free left hand, Louis dug in his pocket for the key and threw it at Gibralter. It bounced off his chest and Gibralter knelt to pick it up from the snow.

Gibralter slipped it into his pocket then smiled at Louis. “Scared?”

Angela Lacey flashed into Louis’s mind. “Fuck you,” he whispered.

For a second, Louis thought Gibralter was going to laugh. Then, incredibly, Gibralter brought a finger to his lips, like a child signaling another to be quiet. He turned and headed back to the pickup truck.

Louis watched him as he crept around the back of the truck and toward the hut. He was moving toward the open window on the side and Louis knew he was going to try to take Duane Lacey and Cole by surprise, gun them down in cold blood.

Do something! Yell! Warn them! No! They’ll panic and end up dead.

He twisted the cuff against the limb, pulling it, but it wouldn’t move. He glanced back at Gibralter. He was nearly to the window.

With his left hand, he pulled the flashlight from his jeans. Reaching up, he placed it over the limb and grabbed each end. Using himself as dead weight, he swung his legs back and forth, trying to break the limb. It swayed but held. He edged the cuff out on the branch and tried again, his breath coming hard and fast as he bounced.

A loud snap split the quiet. He fell to the snow.

He scrambled quickly for the cover of the trees. From his position near the hut Gibralter looked back, scanning the darkness.

Louis’s eyes darted to the pickup. The shotgun, he needed to get the shotgun. He started toward the truck but a sudden light made him duck back.

The door of the hut opened. A figure came out onto the porch. It was Lacey. He was holding a shotgun ready at his side, surveying the trees. He waited for a moment then started toward the pickup.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye Louis saw movement. Gibralter, moving into firing position, raising his gun.

Move! Now!

Louis darted from the tree to the truck. Lacey had opened the truck’s door and started to turn, his ears picking up a rush of sound. Louis tackled Lacey, slamming him against the open door. Lacey let out a grunt but kept a tight grip on the shotgun.

Louis threw his full weight against Lacey, grappling for the shotgun as Lacey tried desperately to swing it down into position to fire.

“Get off me!” Lacey yelled.

“Shut up, goddammit, shut up!” Louis said.

A shot rang out. Louis wrenched Lacey into a neck hold and scuttled back for the cover of the open truck door. Louis slammed Lacey against the door and Lacey’s grip on the shotgun loosened just long enough for Louis to grab the barrel and twist it out of Lacey’s grasp. Louis tightened his arm around Lacey’s neck, pulling his back against his own chest. Frantically, he scanned the trees but there was no sign of Gibralter.

Lacey’s fingers tore at Louis’s arm around his neck. “You’re gonna die, motherfucker!” he yelled.

“Shut up! I’m trying to save you!” Louis hissed in his ear.

But that only drove Lacey into a greater fury. Louis swung the butt of the shotgun into Lacey’s face. Lacey stopped struggling, momentarily stunned.

A flash of silver caught Louis’s eye and he squinted into the darkness, trying to make out Gibralter’s outline in the faint illumination given off by the truck’s dome light. Gibralter’s badge glinted a second time as he emerged from the shadows in front of the truck.

His gun was drawn, pointed at Lacey’s head. Louis tightened his grip on Lacey’s neck, his heart jumping to his throat. He knew he couldn’t rotate the shotgun up quickly enough to use it against Gibralter.

Lacey was coming alive again. Then suddenly he froze and Louis knew he had seen Gibralter standing just four feet away.

“Say good-bye, asshole,” Gibralter said.

Louis tried to spin but was caught between the door and truck. He braced for the bullet he knew would rip through Lacey and into his own chest.

Gibralter’s gun exploded and Louis was pushed into the door. He felt a dampness trickle down his face as Lacey went limp in his arm. Louis forced his eyes open.

Lacey was deadweight. Louis let him slip to the ground. He reached up to his face and his fingers came away wet with Lacey’s blood and brains.

Louis glared at Gibralter. “You bastard!” he yelled, lunging at him, shotgun raised over his head.

He slammed the shotgun down, catching Gbiralter on the right shoulder. Louis drew it back again, this time with both hands and aiming for Gibralter’s head. Gibralter threw up his arm and ducked away.

Another blast exploded, shattering the truck’s window and showering them with glass.

Louis dropped to the ground and crawled around the back of the truck, away from the porch. He crouched by the front wheel and drew in several quick breaths, his fingers iced to the shotgun barrel. His eyes frantically searched the darkness for the source of the shot and for Gibralter.

“Kincaid.”

Louis spun to his left. Gibralter was crouched by the back wheel, holding his shoulder with his left hand, his right hand still gripping his revolver.

Louis swung to aim the shotgun at him.

Gibralter looked at it then laughed softly. His eyes drifted up to the porch.

Louis followed his gaze. The front door was open a crack, letting out a trickle of light from inside. Louis could make out the outline of a woodpile on the porch. But he couldn’t see Cole. He had fired on them. Had he gone back inside?

“Cole!” Louis called.

“Stay back or I’ll shoot again.”

He was still out on the porch, probably crouched down behind the woodpile.

“Cole! Put the gun down!”

“Fuck you! I’m not crazy.” The voice sounded small.

“Cole! This isn’t the way to end this!”

Louis glanced at Gibralter but he was watching the porch.

“Cole, you don’t have to die!” Louis called out. “You can give up right now. Nothing will happen to you.”

Cole’s laugh came out as a cry. “Tell that to Johnny and Angela!”

Louis shook his head. The kid had seen what had happened at the raid. “Cole, listen to me,” Louis said. “I know what happened to your brother and sister. I can help you make things right.”

Cole didn’t answer.

“I have proof, Cole! I have evidence you can use to prove what you saw!”

“Fuck you!”

Louis heard a low chuckle and looked over to see Gibralter shaking his head.

“Cole! Listen to me! The men who killed your brother and sister, they’ll pay, I swear! But you have to stay alive to tell the truth!”

The sound of shuffling feet came from the porch followed by the thud of a log falling.

“Cole? Are you listening? You have to trust me!”

“You’re one of them, man!”

“No! No, I’m not!” Louis glanced at Gibralter. He could see the contempt in his eyes. “Cole, think about Johnny! He wouldn’t want you to die like he did! I can protect you!”

Louis heard Gbiralter laugh again. “Right, Kincaid, you keep feeding him that bullshit. Go ahead, draw him out. Give me a clear shot.”

A second gunshot split the quiet, peppering the front of the truck and making Louis duck back.

Louis swung the shotgun at Gibralter. “Shut up! He can hear you!”

Gbiralter shook his head and looked back at the porch. Louis lifted his head again, straining to hear something on the porch. Nothing, except the crack of a shotgun opening. Cole was reloading. There was a small thump, then the sound of something rolling across the wood porch.

“Cole?”

“Fuck…fuck,” Cole whispered.

“Cole, that was a shotgun shell. You dropped it.”

“I have more!”

“I don’t hear them going into that gun.”

Cole was silent but then came more shuffling and another log falling. He heard Cole curse softly.

“Cole, you’re out of shells,” Louis said. “And if you try for the door I’ll have to shoot you. I don’t want to do that.”

Louis waited. He saw Gibralter rise slowly, one hand on the bed of the truck, the other holding the revolver.

“Cole, throw the gun out,” Louis yelled. “I’ll come up there and get you.”

“No! Stay back! He’ll kill me!”

“I can protect you.”

“Like you protected my dad? You held him while he killed him!”

“I was trying to save him. You’ve got to believe me.”

“Fuck you, fuck both of you,” Cole said hoarsely, his voice dying to a whisper. “Fuck everyone.”

Louis stood up. “Cole, I’m coming up.”

With a look at Gibralter, he started slowly around the front of the truck. He knew Gibralter wouldn’t shoot him in the back with his own gun but he prayed he was right about Cole being out of shells.

“Don’t, don’t…” Cole’s words were more plea than threat.

“Cole, I’m in front of the truck,” Louis said calmly, glancing back at Gibralter. Gibralter had rounded the back of the truck. Louis leveled the shotgun at him.

“Stay there,” he said. “You’re not touching this kid.”

Gibralter stared at him. Louis braced the shotgun against his side, his finger on the trigger. With his left hand, he pulled the flashlight out of his belt and shined it up on the porch.

The beam fell across logs. Louis swung it back to Gibralter. He hadn’t moved.

Slowly, Louis sidestepped up to the hut, his eyes darting between Gibralter and the porch. He reached the step.

“Cole, I’m coming up.”

A whimper from behind the logs.

Gibralter took a step forward. Louis swung the flashlight to shine in his face.

“You lift that gun, you’re dead,” Louis said.

“There is no dishonor in death, Kincaid,” Gibralter said softly. “Seppuku…”

Louis shined the light back to the porch and it picked up a spot of blue, Cole’s denim shirt. He was crouched behind the woodpile.

“Cole?”

Easy, easy…

Louis heard a sound and swung his light back to Gibralter. His gun was moving.

Louis spun to the porch and his flashlight caught Cole’s face only for an instant, just long enough to give Gibralter a target. Louis swung the beam away.

He saw the flash of Gibralter’s gun go off. His own hand jerked back on the trigger of the shotgun and it bucked violently against his ribs.

An explosion of noise, followed by echoes that seemed to pound in his head. Then it was quiet.

Gibralter was lying on the ground, his body dark against the snow. His palm was up, the revolver inches away in the snow.

Louis stared at him, his chest heaving.

Cole moaned.

Louis swung the flashlight beam around, picking up Cole lying on the porch.

No, check Gibralter first. Eliminate the threat.

He fell to his knees next to Gibralter and pressed a finger to his throat. Nothing. He tried the wrist. Nothing. There was a large black hole in the blue nylon of the parka.

Gibralter was dead.