When he heard something rustle the underbrush behind him, he whipped around. He stood frozen, listening and looking. His uncle had told him there were plenty of deer. He?d also seen foxes and some kind of game bird. Once, about ten years ago, his uncle had seen a coyote in the yard.
Andrew didn?t mind a deer or a bird but found the idea of a coyote a little spooky. He stood another second, holding his breath and scanning the trees. When he didn?t see anything, he moved on down the hill. He hit the floor of the shallow valley, flipped a mental coin, and turned left. He followed flat ground until he came to the groove of plowed ground that ended at the blackened husk of the helicopter wedged against a scorched tree.
A thick canopy of branches hung over the chopper. Andrew looked at the sky, back down at the helicopter. When it crashed deep in the narrow valley, it had slid into thick stuff. The army could search for a thousand years and never find it.
He approached slowly, taking in the sight. His morbid curiosity had brought him this far. Might as well go all the way. He came to within a foot of the chopper. A layer of soot almost completely obscured the US Army insignia. A series of questions spun through Andrew?s brain. How long did it take to learn to fly one of these things? How often did they crash? How high could they fly? How fast?
What he really wondered was why somebody would go to such trouble to make him dead. He didn?t hold his breath expecting answers to any of these questions.
Also he was stalling. He wanted to see what was in the cockpit, yet he didn?t want to see.
He stepped up next to the door and looked. It took him a moment to get used to what he was looking at. The body looked like a movie prop, like something from
He reached out to touch the body but jerked his hand back at the last second. He wasn?t quite willing to go that far.
?Who are you, lady?? Andrew said out loud.
?She was my sister,? said a sudden voice.
?Oh, fucking shit!? Andrew jumped, grabbed his chest, and fell back against the helicopter.
?Didn?t mean to startle you.? The girl in the orange T-shirt lit a cigarette, puffed.
?Where did you come from??
?I followed you.? She was somewhere between plain and pretty, glossy black hair not quite to her shoulders. Jeans and combat boots.
?Are you here to kill me??
A smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. ?That?s a funny question. Is there a lot of that going around? People trying to kill you, I mean.?
?You?d be surprised.?
* * *
Enrique Mars had hiked in circles, his throat dry with thirst. He was hungry, too, and getting pissed. Where the hell was civilization? Since waking up to darkness with a thin layer of rocks and dirt and leaves over him, he?d wandered confused and lost. Somebody was going to pay for this. He touched the back of his head near the base of the skull. It still hurt, but at least the blood had dried.
During Mars?s career as a hired killer, he?d been shot, stabbed, and beaten numerous times. He?d even, on occasion, been left for dead. He was a tough bastard. This was the first time he?d actually been buried. He hadn?t enjoyed it.
Ahead he saw a clearing. He jogged for it. The trees parted, and he sighed with relief. He didn?t know where he was but he saw a truck and a?building
The buildings had been burned. He recognized the grapevine rows even though half were destroyed. This was the Foley place. But what the hell had happened?
No time to wonder. Enrique?s need for water and food took priority over his curiosity. The pickup truck had two flat tires, and there was no sign of his Cadillac.
His gaze lifted, and he saw the house up the hill. This place hadn?t burned. There would be food and water and maybe even a hot shower. And he needed rest. He was dead on his feet. Then he would convince the owners that he should borrow their car. He patted his pockets. Somewhere he?d lost his guns. He didn?t even have a knife. It
