Minutes to Burn

Chapter 6

23 Dec 07

Water was dripping somewhere nearby. The window didn't cast enough light through Savage's cell for him to see the water dripping, but he heard it. He glanced up at the small square of blue, split three times with steel bars, and saw that there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Probably a busted pipe somewhere, he thought, some faulty plumbing. Probably did it on purpose, those bastards. Chinese water torture.

He walked to the front of his cell, resisting the urge to grip the bars like some yahoo criminal in a Western. He was still missing one of his boots, and the ground felt moist through his sock. He'd been arrested on a Friday, and they'd taken their time processing him, ensuring he'd have to wait through the weekend for a Monday arraignment. It had been a peaceful two days.

Across the way, a pale, fleshy prisoner was sitting on the floor, legs kicked wide like a child's. Across the chest of his shirt, FIN was written with a black marker. Probably got hauled in drunk and naked last night. He was rubbing himself through his jail-issue pants.

"Lovely," Savage said.

"Hey, buddy, you trying to steal a free peek?"

Savage went back to his bed and flipped it over, dumping the thin stained mattress on the moldy floor. He leaned the narrow frame up against the wall, hooking two of the legs on the ledge of the window. He climbed on top of the frame, threading his legs through the aluminum bed slats, and leaned back down the incline. Some of his reddish-brown hair fell loose from the bandanna.

Fin was on his feet, staring across the dim corridor into Savage's cell. "You trying to break out, buddy? You think you're goin' somewhere?" He laughed, a high-pitched cackle. "I'm in the big leagues, you know. Got me a little girl, cut her up like a paper doll."

Savage tuned him out and began his incline sit-ups, trying to move his shoulders directly toward the ceiling to increase the strain through his stomach. Once he was well into his set, he began grunting slightly with the exertion.

Fin started grunting along with him, drawing the grunts out into moans. When Savage finished his set and rolled back over his shoulders to the ground, Fin continued his moaning, elevating to yells and hip thrusts. He squealed loudly through a fat grin and shuddered, as if he'd come. When he finished, he bounced on his toes and laughed a flat, atonal laugh.

Savage stared at him, unimpressed. He leaned forward into a hand-stand, placing his legs barely against the wall. He started doing push-ups, moving his body directly up and down. The cell was so cold he could see his breath.

"I wish I was over there, buddy," Fin called out. "You bouncin' up and down like that, it's givin' me a little tingle in the tummy. Make me wanna-"

Savage could hear him making some kind of furious gesture, but he ignored him, straining through his final push-ups. The strain in his triceps intensified, and he lowered himself from the wall and extended his arms straight out before him to loosen the knots.

"Bet you'd like to think that, huh, buddy? That I wanna fuck you? Well, I ain't no faggot. Have me a lady on the outside. I don't go in for no backdoor action, if you catch my drift. I ain't no queer." Fin slapped his chest with a fist, and it sent a ripple clear down to his stomach. "I don't want no piece of you. No sir."

Savage glanced up at him. "I don't remember making you an offer."

Fin ran a hand along the sallow skin under his chin, pushing it to one side. "I saw you lookin' at me. When I had my hands on myself. I know that look. I broke people's faces for less. Got in a brawl one time down south, outside of Ciudad Juarez…"

Savage ignored the drone from the other cell and crawled back up on the bed frame, beginning another set of sit-ups. He was not surprised, halfway through his set, to hear Fin mimicking his grunts again. Not a broad range of material. He finished his sit-ups and regarded Fin blank-faced as he enacted another orgasm, this time accompanied by screams and bar rattling.

"Thanks, buddy," Fin said through a beefy grin. "I liked that one even better."

The door down the corridor opened and two guards approached, flanking a young, clean-shaven law officer. Savage noticed the khaki uniform as the officer drew nearer and realized he was a Montana Park Ranger. The three men paused outside Savage's cell.

"William Savage?" the park ranger asked. Savage stared back at him.

"Yup, that's him," Fin shouted. "That's him I bet."

"I'm Ranger Walters. You're coming with me."

Savage studied the stains on the ceiling. "Where to?"

"You let me worry about that." Walters signaled one of the guards to unlock the door. He started to slide it open, but Savage pulled it shut with a bang.

"Thanks," Savage said. "But I prefer to do my own worrying."

"Oh man, buddy!" Fin groaned. "You gonna take that? You gonna take that from this shitty-ass bastard?"

Walters tried to appear calm, but Savage saw the corners of his jaw flex out. "All right, fine. We can just leave you in there." He stepped back and crossed his arms, evidently quite pleased with himself.

Savage raised his hand, formed a gun, and aimed it at the empty air of his cell. "Bam!" he said. "I just killed your hostage." He spread his arms and turned around once, slowly. "I like it in here. Got my three squares a day, john in the corner, view of the sky. You gonna threaten me with something, you'd better make it something good. And until then…" Savage sat on the floor, Indian-style. He raised his eyebrows until they almost disappeared beneath the line of his bandanna.

Walters opened his mouth, then closed it. He uncrossed his arms.

Fin burst into a wheezing laugh, spraying the floor with saliva. "Oh fuck, buddy. Oh man, this guy's askin' for it. For a good beatin', like the kind-"

"Shut up!" Walters barked.

Fin covered his mouth with a hand, his face turning red as he theatrically held in his laughter.

Walters turned to one of the guards. "Shut him up. Now."

The guard banged his baton against the bars of Fin's cell, and Fin held out his arms, spreading his hands. "Hey buddy, no problem. You want quiet, all you gotta do is-"

The guard drew back his baton again as if to strike, and Fin shut up. He pretended to zip up his mouth. He crossed his cell and threw the imaginary key in the toilet. He flushed the toilet. He busted a fat grin like this was the funniest thing he'd ever seen.

Walters turned back to Savage, a pulse beating in his temple.

"Now," Savage said calmly. "Like I said. Where to?"

No sound save the dripping water somewhere down the dim moldy corridor. Walters pulled his head to one side, as if to relieve a kink in his neck. "Sacramento."

Savage still refused to rise. "Why?"

Walters's jaw flexed again. Savage leaned back on his hands, kicking his legs out in front of him. With effort, Walters relaxed his face. He didn't raise his voice, but he still conveyed anger by shaping his words into hard, compact syllables. "Briefing on a mission. The details are confidential."

"There now," Savage said, standing up. "That wasn't so hard."

The guard slid the door open, and Savage stepped into the corridor, brushing the dirt from his sleeves.

"That's it?" Fin shrieked. "You're gonna let him go? Whaddaya mean a mission? I could fight a mission. I could fight a mission better than this weasel. You should hear him moan during push-ups. Like a bitch. Just like a-"

As Savage passed Fin's cell, he reached through the bars, bunching Fin's shirt in his fist. With a sudden sharp movement, he recoiled his arm, jerking Fin's head forward into the bars. Fin buckled and went limp in his grasp. Savage released him and stood facing both guards and Walters obediently before the clang had finished echoing up the corridor. Fin slumped to the ground, bent awkwardly over his legs. The two guards glanced at each other, then back at Savage, but Savage remained perfectly still, his arms at his sides, wearing an expression of total compliance.

Behind him, Fin's body shifted, his torso tilting over onto the floor. He began to draw air in slow, rasping breaths.

"Well," Savage said, gesturing down the narrow corridor. "Shall we?"

"Confidential, huh?" Savage rolled a cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other, leaning back out of the open door of the camouflage Blackhawk so he could feel the cold wind whipping across his face.

His foot rested on one of the skids, still covered only with a sock. "Must be important for them to pull me out of the clink."

Walters snickered. "Yeah, they only use felons on missions of the utmost importance."

"I can imagine I'm probably a distant second to someone with real military training. Like, say, a park ranger."

Walters didn't reply.

Savage toed the small mound of supplies Walters had loaded in the back of the helicopter-rope, canteens, climbing gear. "We've been heading northwest for a while now. Last I remembered, Sacramento was due south of Billings."

"Your briefing's not until tomorrow A.M. I'm just in charge of picking you up and dropping you off. I have a mission of my own here in the meantime."

"Helo shortage?"

Walters nodded. "And everything else. The chopper's due in Sac end of the day. They weren't exactly gonna make a special outing to pick up a jailbird. Since I was headed out anyway, I landed the lucky task of transporting you. But first, we're making a detour. You get to wait."

Savage nodded ever so slightly. He glanced down and wiggled his big toe, protruding from a hole in his sock. "Any way you could see about getting me a boot?"

"Like I said, you get to wait."

The helicopter pulled in tight to the land, running along the top of an elongated gorge. Below, rivulets trickled along icy banks. Through the thick forest, Savage could make out only occasional spots of ground, white splotches showing through the patchwork of trees.

Walters scanned the forest with a pair of high-tech binoculars. They whirred, electronically focusing as he swung them back and forth. "Glacier National Park. We had three campers killed here last week by a grizzly sow. One guy survived the attack, staggered back to a logging camp. Severe head wounds. Said he was batted around like a soccer ball. He did the smart thing though-curled up, covered his vitals, refused to panic." Walters lowered the binoculars, and Savage was surprised by the intensity in his eyes. "Said he could hear the grizzly's teeth clinking against his skull." His top lip pulled up in the start of a sneer. "Park ranger stuff."

Savage feigned a shudder, though his face kept its sardonic cast. "Bad news bear."

"It's a different kind of death," Walters said. "Wild animal. At least in a war, you know what you're getting. Bullet to the head, grenade in the gut-you go down and out. Not like this. Not like being eaten."

Savage looked at the rifle across Walters's lap. A. 300 Win Mag, single action, equipped with a 10x scope; the weapon was a punisher-one of the few that had the stopping power to drop a full-grown grizzly. "Fought a lot of wars, have you?"

Walters ignored him, leaning forward to set the rifle on the deck by his feet. "The governor of Montana personally sent two trackers into the woods to hunt down the problem bear last week. One returned after four days with no sighting. We lost contact with the other. Presumed dead." He formed a fist and tightened the fingers of his other hand around it. "They needed it handled. Call went in to me. I booked the chopper, even promised I'd drop you off in Sac personally to make sure I got it." He ran his tongue across his teeth. "Figured we'd use the last place the second tracker established radio contact as the center point, then sweep the area in an expanding spiral."

Savage took a long drag off his cigarette and flicked it out the open door. He watched it fall, a red glowing dot twirling in the wind. "Good thinking," he said, just the right amount of sarcasm easing its way into his voice.

Below, a river fought its way around bends and over boulders, finally cascading down a twenty-foot drop. Savage couldn't hear the noise of the waterfall over the rotors of the Blackhawk, but he imagined it perfectly, sensing the pulsing water as if it were running through his veins.

Just a few hours ago, the guards had signed him out in full. Battery, cruelty to animals, assault with a deadly weapon, possession of illegal firearms-they'd all vanish if he agreed to participate in the mission, whatever it was. He had known that there was a shortage of U.S. troops with all the trouble down south, but until now, he'd had no idea how serious it was. He'd been in the Gulf, but the last war he'd seen action in was Nam. He hoped that he'd been targeted for his record; if they were trolling county jails indiscriminately for anyone with military training, then they were in a lot more trouble than he'd imagined.

The pilot swooped the helicopter so sharply Savage had to grab the rifle to keep it from sliding out the door. He handed it back to Walters silently, noticing the pilot's smirk in the reflection off the windscreen. The helo plunged again.

"Picked her up," the pilot said, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. "She's heading south."

Walters raised his binoculars and located the grizzly sow. She was loping along the ridge about twenty yards back from the gorge. Her legs as thick as cannon barrels, she moved with astounding quickness, hammering over fallen trees and crashing through underbrush.

"Goddamnit, don't lose her," Walters said. He leaned forward, his hands clutching the pilot's seat.

"She hears us and she's hauling ass," the pilot yelled, his hands fisting the control stick, desperately trying to keep the bear in sight.

Walters pushed Savage aside and peered out the open door. He took aim, the rifle bobbing as the helicopter swooped and turned. He fired once and cursed, then struggled to unbolt the rifle.

Savage calmly leaned back against the side of the helicopter, spotting a distinctive gray patch on the bear's flank. Walters wobbled in his shooter's stance and fired another shot, reeling from the kick.

Savage sighed. "You planning on doing this thing anytime soon?"

"I can't get a clear shot through the fucking canopy!" Walters yelled.

"There's nowhere to set down," the pilot said.

Savage picked up a SPIE rig harness and went to work on it, pulling his large knife from the ambidextrous pouch sheath he kept laced over his right calf.

Chambering another round, Walters turned back to face Savage, who was slipping the harness over his shoulders. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted. Catching another glimpse of the sow, he hastily raised the rifle and fired.

Savage tied the harness to a thick, braided rope that was coiled on the floor beside him. The other end of the rope was secured to a carabiner, which he clipped to the helo rigging. Pausing to light another cigarette, he looked at Walters. "To kill a grizzly, you gotta hit it the right way. Face, lungs, or heart. Even the top of the head won't cut it. Got a skull like plate armor. You need a clear shot, and it ain't gonna happen with meat-stick up there swooping like a kite and the bear in full sprint beneath the tree cover."

"You heard the pilot-we can't set down anywhere. This is the best angle I'm gonna get. "

The Blackhawk pulled to a midair halt, quivering beneath the whirring rotors. "I lost her," the pilot said. "Fuck. I lost her." A blast of wind hit the helo, wobbling it.

"Do I have to do everything here?" Walters yelled. "You people only give me a twelve-hour window on the Blackhawk and now I'm supposed to navigate the thing too?" He threw the rifle down on the floor. Savage picked it up and angled it, eyeing the scope.

"Keep going south," Savage said softly.

The pilot looked over at Walters, unsure if he should obey the order. "What the fuck are you talking about, Savage?" Walters said. "We need to circle in and find her."

Savage dragged deep and dragoned twin streams of smoke through his nostrils. "We have about three minutes to head south to where that gorge ends in a cliff. That's the direction she was heading, and she's gonna follow the ridge. Now you can sit here like the pencil-pushing cocksucker that you are, or you can act like the man you wish you were. Just try to make up your mind sometime in the next ten seconds so I have at least a small chance of getting in position."

Walters bit the inside of his lip, staring at Savage. Savage returned the glare. "All right," Walters finally said. He waved a hand at the pilot and settled back in his seat. "Give the felon a go at it."

Savage set the rifle down and pulled himself up to a crouch. "I want you to trace the line of this gorge until it falls away at the cliff face. Pull about twenty yards off the lip when we hit it and hold steady."

"All right," the pilot said. "I'm not dipping lower than the top of the tree line, though. We're gonna have problems with the wind against the cliff, and there's nowhere to land down there if we need to back down."

"Just let me worry about that," Savage said.

The helicopter tilted forward and thundered down the gorge. Walters searched the woods for the bear but saw nothing except the waving firs. "I hope you know what you're doing, Savage," he said.

Savage tightened the modified harness around his shoulders and slid one arm loophole down over his waist as the helicopter shot along the ridge.

They passed the cliff and were suddenly out several hundred yards above a stone basin cut by a rushing river. The pilot swung the helicopter to face the line of trees at the edge of the cliff. Nothing was visible but foliage.

"How the fuck are you gonna get a shot here?" Walters said, his anger intensifying. "It's all foliage from this angle and we can't drop the helo any lower!"

Savage smiled around his cigarette and leaned backward out of the helicopter, grabbing the Win Mag with one hand. His tattered sock was the last thing to disappear over the side of the Blackhawk. Until the carabiner pulled tight on the rigging, it seemed from the helicopter that he'd gone over in a suicide dive.

Falling the twenty-foot length of the rope, Savage snapped to a halt. Flat on his stomach, he floated in a sniper's stance. Below him, the drop stretched for an eternity to the snow-dusted boulders. The rifle was positioned on his shoulder before he even completed the fall, his left eye on the scope.

The lower vantage opened up his line of vision tremendously; he could see a good distance into the forest between the trunks of the trees. The light was magnificent, filtering through the needles in thin, twinkling shafts.

He didn't doubt the Blackhawk; he knew from the Gulf that it could pull eight thousand pounds' suspension. He and the. 300 were child's play.

The crosshairs waited patiently, lined just above the peak of a small hill on which the sow should appear. It was a little over a quarter mile away from him.

Savage counted under his breath."Five…four…three…"The head of the grizzly appeared, and she looked ahead, rearing up to her full seven feet when she saw the helicopter. Savage spit the cigarette out the side of his mouth. "You're early," he growled, pulling the trigger.

The bullet caught her right through the roaring mouth, but Savage couldn't see the impact because the kick from the rifle sent him swinging back beneath the Blackhawk. He kept his eye on the scope though, checking for the slumped body on his backswing.

He dropped the rifle, bearing its weight on the sling around his neck, and started climbing hand over hand up the rope. He got a leg on the skid, then pulled himself into the helicopter. Walters and the pilot stared at him, speechless.

Savage lit another cigarette, snapped his lighter closed, and made it disappear into one of his many pockets. "Well," he said, raising his head. "What the fuck're we waiting for?"