Nowhere to Run

31

Out of earshot of the brothers, Nate said, “This isn’t what I signed up for, Joe.”

Joe said, “I know it isn’t.”

“We have a couple of options.”

Joe said, “I’m not sure we do.”

Nate had stood and backed slowly away from where the brothers and Dave Farkus sat by the fire. As he did, Caleb never took his eyes off him, and conspicuously tightened his fingers around the handgrip of the automatic rifle on his lap. Likewise, Nate didn’t turn his back on Caleb and he held the.454, muzzle down, near his side. Joe knew how fast Nate was with the revolver, and he guessed Caleb knew it, too. Joe had stood and joined his friend. The eastern sky was rose-colored, and the trees within the dark forest began to define themselves. It was less than an hour before sunrise.

Nate said, “We could get on our horses and ride away. Let the locals and the state boys and the feds finish this. We’re sort of signing the death warrants on these guys, but they know that and we won’t have blood on our hands. Of course, there’s the possibility these boys will make a stand. And who knows, they could win. Or maybe they’ll just fade into the timber if we leave. They’ve done a pretty good job at surviving up here so far. Maybe they’ll head north along the Continental Divide.”

Joe’s insides were on fire. He clamped his shotgun to his side with his arm and thrust his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking.

Joe said, “I can’t ride away. As long as they’re up here, they’ll keep breaking laws. You know that. We rode by three dead bodies earlier tonight. Maybe you can say they deserved it, but that’s not for us to decide. More people will get hurt and die, and some of them will be innocent. Think of the traps these guys set. If we leave, they won’t stop.”

Nate said, “Nope, they won’t. But that doesn’t have to be our problem. This isn’t right, Joe. Let me put this as clearly as I can: We’re on the wrong side.”

Joe winced.

“Maybe we can make a deal with them,” Nate said. “If they agree to dismantle the traps and promise to lay low, we’ll ride away. I think they’d let us go under those conditions.”

“Maybe,” Joe said, “but I am what I am, Nate. I took an oath. I can’t just ride away.”

“That’s how you got tangled up with them in the first place,” Nate said. “They all but begged you to just leave them be. But you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t.”

Nate didn’t turn his head. He kept his eyes on Caleb and Camish. But to Joe, it felt like his friend was glaring at him with puzzled contempt.

Joe said, “Maybe you should go, Nate. I know how you feel and I understand. Believe me, I do. You don’t need to be any part of this. There’d be no hard feelings on my part if you rode away.”

Nate said, “They’ll kill you, Joe.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m sorry.”

Joe stepped forward toward the fire, narrowing the distance between them but not really feeling his boots walk across the grass. Caleb, Camish, and Farkus watched him.

Joe said, “Put down your weapons, get Diane Shober, and come with me. We can get to the trailhead before they get organized enough to come up after you. There will be dozens of law enforcement personnel-maybe hundreds. If we all get down there before they get assembled and get their blood up, I promise you I’ll do all I can to get you secured away so you’ve got a chance.”

Caleb and Camish looked at him without a change in their expressions. Farkus narrowed his eyes, again glancing between Joe and the brothers, obviously trying to read in advance what was going to happen, and which side he would choose to support.

Joe said, “I’ll tell the locals, the state, and the feds how you cooperated. I’ll ask Governor Rulon to get involved-we’re pretty close. Look, you’ve got a story to tell. There are a lot of folks out there who will support you.

“I know of a lawyer,” Joe continued, trying to keep his voice even. “His name is Marcus Hand. You may have heard of him. Big guy, long white hair, wears buckskins in the courtroom. He specializes in getting guilty people off. Believe me, I know. I have a feeling he’d find you guys sympathetic. Who knows-he might be able to get you what you want.”

He waited.

The brothers didn’t ask for a moment to discuss the option. Camish said, “The only way we’re going off this mountain is feetfirst. And I don’t think that’s likely to happen.”

Even without turning around and seeing for himself, Joe knew Nate was gone.

Then, deep in the trees to the east, he heard Nate’s horse whinny.

“Tell you what,” Camish said, standing almost casually. “Unlike your government, we believe in freedom and opportunity. We’ll give you the opportunity to ride away. Just don’t ever come back on our mountain.”

Joe stood silent.

“We’ll give you ten minutes to pack up and ride away,” Camish said. “We won’t interfere and we won’t put you down. And if you ride on out of here, we won’t follow you. I just hope we don’t ever see you up here again.”

He turned toward the fire. “Dave, you can go with him. No offense, but you’re kind of useless. And if the game warden is correct, there will be a battle coming. You might get caught in the crossfire.”

Farkus hopped to his feet, nodding. “Okay,” he said. “Thank you, Camish.”

Camish smirked and looked back to Joe. “You’re still here,” he said.

Joe felt himself nod once.

“You shouldn’t still be here.”

Farkus started to walk toward Joe but hesitated.

“Look,” Camish said. “My brother and I are going to walk away and give you some space. Maybe then you’ll think about what you’re doing and take old Dave here and be gone. But if for some damned reason you want to force the issue, we’ll meet you in that clearing over there,” he gestured toward a small meadow to the west. The morning sun was building behind the trees, ready to launch and flood the meadow with light.

“We’ll finish it there, I guess,” Camish said, shaking his head. He seemed almost sad, Joe thought.

As they backed away from the fire, Camish said, “I think on some level you know we’re right, game warden. But you sure are stubborn.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Joe said. “It’s your government, too. You can work to change it.”

“Too late for that,” Camish said. “This is Rampart Mountain. This is where we turn you people back or we quit trying.”

Joe said, “This is the wrong fight at the wrong time.”

“Got to start somewhere,” Camish said, turning away.

And they were gone.

Farkus looked from Joe, toward where the brothers had melded into the trees, and back. He said, “Let’s get out of here, Joe.”

Joe said, “Go ahead.”

The temperature dropped fifteen degrees as the cold morning air started to move through the timber in anticipation of the sun. Joe felt a long shiver start in his boots and roll through his body until his teeth chattered.

He stood on the side of his gelding, keeping the horse between himself and the meadow. The brothers couldn’t be seen. Neither could Farkus, who’d dumped the panniers from the packhorse, mounted the animal bareback, and headed east in a hurry. He hadn’t looked back.

Joe found the satellite phone, powered it up, and punched in the numbers. He woke her up, and sleep clogged her voice for a moment.

Joe said, “We found them.”

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Not yet.”

“What does that mean, Joe?”

“I’m going to try to bring them in,” he said. “They don’t want to come.”

“Oh, no. Oh, my. Please be careful.”

“I will.”

“Did you find Diane?”

“No, but I know where she is. She’s okay, they say.”

“Thank God. Her mother will be so happy.”

“Yup. I’m not so sure about her dad, though.” Thinking: How do we know the Michigan boys were going to bring her down? How do we know they weren’t going to silence her, too?

“Joe, are you okay? There’s something in your voice. Are you all right?”

“Sure,” he said.

“Is there anything I can do? Anyone I can call?”

“No.”

Joe looked across the meadow as two yellow spear bars of sun shot through a break in the trees. Instantly, the clearing lightened up. In the shadows of the pine tree wall on the far side of the clearing, he could see Camish and Caleb. They were about fifty yards apart, still in the shadows of the trees but about to enter the meadow. Caleb held his rifle across his chest. Camish worked the pump on Joe’s old shotgun.

“I’ve got to go,” Joe said.

“Call me when you can,” Marybeth said.

“I want you to know how much I love you,” he said. “I want you to know I think I’m doing the right thing for you and the girls.”

She was silent for a moment. Then he heard a sob.

“I’ll call,” he said, and punched off. It felt like a lie.

He couldn’t feel his feet or his legs, and his heartbeat whumped in his ears as he walked out into the clearing with his shotgun. Camish and Caleb emerged from the trees. Joe guessed they were seventy-five yards away. Out of range for his shotgun or.40 Glock. He wondered when Caleb would simply raise the rifle and start firing.

Joe thought: They look silly, the Grim Brothers, dressed in the same clothes, identical except for the bandage on Caleb’s jaw. They’re such losers. From another place and another era, and their ideas of the way things ought to be are old and out of date. They know, he thought, if they come down from this mountain they’ll be eaten alive. The poor bastards.

He thought: This is their mountain. It’s where they feel safe. It’s the only place they feel free.

He thought: He might give up his life for an argument he didn’t think he agreed with.

Camish said something, but Joe didn’t catch it due to the roaring in his head.

“What’s that?” Joe called out.

“I said it’s still not too late to leave,” Camish said. “I admire your courage, but I question your judgment.”

Joe thought, Me too.

The brothers were within fifty yards.

Joe thought, Camish first. Shoot Camish first. He was the leader, the spokesman. Taking out Camish might stun Caleb for a split second-in time for Joe to jack in another shell and fire.

Shoot, then run to the side, he thought. Make himself a moving target. Duck and roll. Come up firing. Run right at Caleb, confuse him. Caleb wouldn’t expect Joe to come right at him.

Forty yards.

When Joe was growing up, he’d read everything he could find about Old West outlaws and gunfights. He’d found himself disappointed. In real life, showdowns like the ones portrayed in movies and myths were almost nonexistent. Men rarely faced off against each other on a dusty cow town street at high noon, with the fastest gun winning. Much more likely was an ambush, with one man firing a rifle or a shotgun at his enemy before the victim could draw his weapon, or a gunman sneaking up on someone and putting a bullet in the back of his head from a foot away. Men didn’t face off if they could help it.

He remembered what Nate had told him: It’s about who can look up without any mist in their eyes or doubts in their heart, aim, and pull the trigger without thinking twice. It’s about killing. It’s always worked that way.

Thirty yards.

Not optimum for his shotgun, but close enough.

Without warning, he dropped to one knee, raised his weapon, and shot at Camish.

Camish was hit with a spray of double-ought pellets, but he didn’t fall. Joe caught a glimpse of Camish’s puzzled face, dotted with fresh new holes. He was hurt but the wounds weren’t lethal. He seemed as surprised at what Joe had done as Joe did.

From the trees to Joe’s left, there was a deep-throated boom and Caleb’s throat exploded. A second shot blew his hat off and it dropped heavily to the grass because it was weighted by the top of Caleb’s skull. Caleb spun on his heel and fell, dead before he hit the ground. The AR-15 caught the sun as it flew through the air.

Camish opened his mouth to call something out but a third.454 round punctured the body armor over his heart like a missile through tissue paper and dropped him like a bag of rocks.

Joe rose unsteadily, his ears ringing from the gunshots. He was stunned by what had just happened and amazed by the fact that he wasn’t hurt, that the brothers hadn’t fired back.

From the trees, Nate walked out into the clearing and the morning sun lit him up. He ejected three smoking spent cartridges from the cylinder and replaced them with fresh rounds. He said, “That may have been the worst thing we’ve ever done, Joe.”

Joe dropped his shotgun, turned away, bent over with his hands on his knees, and threw up in the dew-sparkled grass.

The sharp smell of gunpowder held in place a few feet above the meadow, the result of a morning low pressure. Gradually, it dissipated. The odor of spilled blood, however, got stronger as it flowed from the bodies of Caleb and Camish until the soil around them was muddy with it.

Nate found a downed log at the edge of the timber and sat down on it, his.454 held loosely in his fist, his head down as if studying the grass between his boots. Joe walked aimlessly toward the timber from where the brothers had emerged. He doubted the woman had been hiding there, but he wanted to check. His shotgun was still in the grass.

He stopped near to where Caleb had come out, noting a dull, unnatural glint on the edge of a shadow pool in the trees. Stepping closer, he took a deep breath. The glint came from a substantial pile of loose rifle cartridges in the pine needles, and something dark and square. He was puzzled.

Joe dropped and counted thirty.223 cartridges on the ground. A lot, he thought. More than Caleb would have dropped casually. In fact, Joe thought with a growing sense of dark unease, it was the entire quantity of a combat AR-15 magazine.

Short of breath, Joe lurched from tree to tree clutching a rifle bullet and the journal he recognized from the first time he’d encountered Caleb in the lake. It didn’t take long to find the place a few yards away where Camish had unloaded his shotgun shells. Four of them, bright with their red plastic sleeves and high brass, lay in a single pile as if dropped from beneath the weapon like metal scat.

He opened the journal and thumbed through it as his eyes swam. The first three-quarters of the book were devoted to daily journal entries. The last quarter appeared to be an antigovernment screed. Joe thought, Their manifesto. Hundreds of words that could be summed up as Don’t Tread on Me.

The last of Caleb’s entries was a spidery scrawl that read, “Please take good care of Diane. It ain’t her fault. She done nothing wrong. She just wanted to be free of you people.”

Nate had entered the trees with his gun drawn. Joe watched Nate as his eyes moved from the.223 bullets to the shotgun shells. His friend’s upper lip curled into a frightening grimace.

Joe said, “No wonder they didn’t shoot. They unloaded before they walked out there.”

“Oh, man,” Nate whispered. “It was bad before. It just got worse.”

Joe called Marybeth. She picked it up on the first ring. He said, “I’m not hurt. Nate’s not hurt. We’re done here.”

She said, “Joe, what’s wrong?”

He took in a long breath of cool mountain air that tasted like pine, and he looked out on the meadow as the sun lit up the grass so green it hurt his eyes. “I don’t even know where to start.”