Radio crackle. Don’t know when I was ever so glad to hear that. The sound of intervention, of calm in a firefight, the sound of tactical mastery. Bangley.
Okay listen, Hig. Breathe and listen. Stretch again. You got no clue, not a single inkling those fuckers are behind you. Wouldn’t hurt to sing.
Sing?
Yeah, sing. Or whistle. Nothing more goddamn lulling than a whistle. Now listen, listen to me, Hig. When they come over the edge of that draw you wait. Plan your shots. You are going to be moving right to left. That’s easier for you. Got that?
Yes.
Say it.
Right to left. 10-4.
Okay. Even if you aren’t having your best goddamn morning you will drop two probably three. At least. You will also be firing from concealment. Those first shots will be a total fucking surprise, believe me. Total shock. They thought they had you. They thought you were some poor exhausted deer hunting bastard on his clueless stroll home. Did not know they were walking into our fucking perimeter.
He was giving me a pep talk. It was working. Goddamn Bangley.
Hig?
Yuh?
You with me?
Okay. What the hell are they doing now?
Don’t worry about them. They got all day, remember? Long as you’re stopped, taking a break, they don’t move. Okay, Hig, you drop two or three first go. Maybe four if it’s your goddamn birthday. Now the rest are diving for cover and trying to locate you. They haven’t had time to locate you. Now you have your ammo handy. Not all in your hand, you might drop the bullets. Line em out onetwothreefour five. Line out ten. Twelve is better if you’re feeling generous. Right there on the sled. Ten.
Ten.
Good. You have a side load magazine. Never understood that fucking lever action hunk of nostalgia .308 of yours. What is that? Savage 99?
He knew exactly what it was.
Savage fucking 99. Goddamn Hig. Well I’m glad. Now I’m glad.
You are?
Fucking A. Side load magazine. That’ll be a lot quicker than turning it over. Just thumb em in. One at a time, no hurry. If you have time lever it slow and quiet and feed in the sixth. Quiet cuz you don’t want em to locate you if they haven’t. And they haven’t. Got it?
I took a deep breath. I was exhausted. I was suddenly really really happy to have Bangley as backup. Never been happier.
Got it. 10 motherfucking 4.
That’s my Hig. Now there will be anywhere from seven to five left. You are in cover, concealed, and if they think it’s worth their own worthless hide to keep coming, after you just dropped their buddies, they are more serious than I think they are. They probably won’t. But they might be pissed, too. The pissed factor. Gotta give that some weight. The totally-apeshit you-just-killed-my-retarded-twin-brother factor. Which case you really got the edge.
I started laughing. Right there with the sun on my face, and the breeze coming off the mountains, carrying, probably, the scent eau de marauder, and my dog dead, I started laughing.
You laughing or crying?
He sounded seriously concerned.
Laughing, I’m laughing. Jasper died. In his sleep.
Sorry, Hig. I am. Now pull yourself together. Hig!
Okay okay. The totally-apeshit-retarded-brother factor. I’m with you, Bangley.
On task Hig. Stay on task. You got four to seven left. If they do charge you in anger just pot a couple more, we’re all done here. Rest will back off, guaranteed. If they are smarter than they look, they will spread out first. They will try to flank you. That’d be serious but I have a good angle. Remember when you wanted to build the tower twenty feet high? Stop at twenty? And I said thirty and made you cranky for two weeks? Remember? And the porch? My double joisted reinforced porch? This is why. I can see em. Every one. They are gone to ground now, but when they move, even in a crouch, I got em. So stay put. If they spread out, just reload and I’ll call em. You face the needle rock, due west, that’s twelve o’clock and I’ll call em from there. Direction and distance. Be like sporting clays.
Hig? You got that?
Sporting clays. Needle rock is twelve o’clock.
Good boy. You actually sound composed, Hig. Just thought of something. You packing your backup? Your Glock?
Yes.
In like Flynn. We do everything like I just said. All else fails, one gets too close, just draw that sucker and plug him. Make sure it’s racked. Wait til you get down out of sight and make sure it’s racked. Got it?
Got—10-4.
Now pack up your water bottle, start whistling, pick up the rope and move.
That’s what I did. I whistled. I put the harness over my forehead like a tump line, which was a way to relieve my shoulders, and I began to walk again. Real slow. I was suddenly tired to the bone, more tired than I could remember being. There was part of me that just wanted to lie down and sleep in the warm early sun, let them take the meat, the gun, my life. Get it all over with. But then another part wanted to work with Bangley. I mean I could tell he was excited by this challenge and I could tell the fucker actually believed in me. That I could pull this off. Weird, but I wanted to do it partly for him. Why I guess a team is usually stronger than the sum of individuals. I bent forward and dug in and tugged like a mule in harness and got the sled moving on the smooth trail which, once it was, it was easy to keep going. I got to the lip of the shallow draw and gathered the bridle in one hand, and backed up and picked up the sawed off kayak by the bow handle, and eased it over the edge. I controlled it by hand on the way down the little slope. At the bottom, while it was still sledding, I tugged as hard as I could and ran across. Sandy there, open in the bottom. Went as fast as I could. Once I had dropped out of sight they would be making up ground behind me, running themselves. I hustled the sled into the thick sage on the far side and levered it sideways to the trail. Almost the same movement I reached for the big Buck knife and started cutting thick branches. In less than a minute I had the sled well covered. Had been a green kayak, forest green, and I was suddenly very frigging glad I had had the foresight to pick something almost camo rather than something like bright fuchsia.
Fifty yards Hig. Fifty yards to the draw.
I worked the rifle out of its binding on the sled, the one box of shells, and lay down, lay the rifle over the flat hard hide of a hind quarter. Always quartered the animals hide-on, skinned them later which was more difficult but preserved the meat much better in transport. Glad I did now. The short fur made a good solid rest for the barrel of the .308.
Thirty yards. Thirty Hig.
Whispering now, close to it.
Slowing down. Single file on the easy trail. They don’t have a clue, Hig. Got that? Advantage Hig. Just stay calm, wait for the bulk of em to come down into the bottom, and take em right to left, front to back. Reload. Do it again. You’ll be fine. Gonna shut up now. Have fun.
He was out. Bangley. Such a weird thing to say: Have fun. But the fucker meant it, that was the thing. It did something to my head. I was amped. Balanced the rifle on the deer hide, took the Glock out of the paddle holster on my belt and racked it, lay it on the fur to the right. Two feet over. Shook the red plastic bullet holders out of the box and worked each bullet out and lay it on the fur to the right of the rifle point forward, so I could thumb them in without changing their direction. My hands were shaking a little. Just a little. Have fun.
