She went prone and wound her left forearm around the weapon’s sling, “Do the best you can,” before inching forward on her elbows and getting closer to the open door.
Faith eyed her sister. “What are you doing, Jess?”
“Buying him,” she lined up the lead rider through the red dot scope, released half the breath she had taken, and let loose with a single shot, “some time.”
The bullet struck the leader’s right thigh.
Taking his right hand off the throttle to clutch the wound, he inadvertently wrenched backward on the handlebar with his other hand.
The machine lurched left, bucked its rider, rolled several times, tumbled end over end, and smashed into a pine tree.
Bits and pieces of machinery, snow, and tree limbs flew into the air.
“Dang.” Her mouth agape, Faith squinted at the wreckage. “I always knew you were a good shot, but...” her words hung in the air inside the fast-moving helicopter as it flew over the treetops.
*******
Zigging and zagging around tree trunks, Randall had not seen the crash, but had heard the uproar and knew Devlin had played a part.
Emerging from the trees, he pinned the throttle to the handlebar.
The Yamaha’s engine wailed.
Fifty yards later, he stole a glance behind him.
Two snowmobiles shot out of the forest.
He faced forward. Son-of-a-pup. They just keep coming.
Flying in the same direction as Randall was going, the helicopter raced by him.
Bullets whizzed by his ride.
Using his left hand, he drew the Walther PPQ45 from its holster on his right thigh, pivoted his upper body counterclockwise, and fired.
The lead craft slowed when projectiles ricocheted off its housing.
Randall turned back.
Its search light on, the Bell 412EP hovered five hundred yards ahead of him. Leaning out of the side door, the hoist operator worked the winch.
After giving his pursuers another backward look, and a few more rounds from his Walther, Randall headed straight for the descending harness.
*******
Devlin peered through her scope at the three snowmobiles, all of them lined-up perfectly and closing fast on her. She grimaced, “I don’t have a shot,” before facing the pilot. “Swing out.”
“Negative, ma’am. This is as close to those mountains as I dare to get.”
Hoist Operator: “That’s all the cable we have.”
Devlin looked down at the harness twenty feet from the snow. “He’ll never reach it. We have to go lower.”
Pilot: “Too much turbulence.”
She peeped through the red dot scope, Still no shot, and tapped her earbud. “King, this is Raven. Do you copy?”
No reply.
“King, if you can hear me, we can’t get any closer. The mountains are screwing with the chopper.”
*******
“Raven, bring the harness down lower.”
No reply.
“Raven, you copy?”
Nothing.
Randall surveyed the area. The winds. They can’t go any lower.
Bullets zipped by his ear and sent puffs of snow into the air ahead of him.
Hunching his shoulders to make himself a smaller target, he eyed the steady slope on his port side. If they can’t go lower, then, he turned the handlebars to the left, I’ll go higher.
*******
Devlin made a fist and pounded the aircraft’s deck. “Something’s interfering with communications. He can’t hear me.”
Faith jutted out a finger. “He’s turning, Jess. Your shooting lane just opened up.”
Devlin flicked the MP5’s selector switch to three-shot burst and acquired the first snow machine in her scope.
*******
Standing on the running boards, listing hard toward the mountain, the snowmobile following the forty-five-degree angle of the slope, Randall looked behind him at the sleds that had cut the distance to thirty yards. They’ll be on me in no time.
Snow flew up all around the machines. Sparks came from the first one’s right ski, as the sleds slowed their pace.
Turning and spying the Bell, now less than a hundred yards in front of him, he spotted Devlin lying on the deck, hunched over her rifle. Let ’em have it, Jessica. He noticed a mound of snow ahead with a steep incline facing him. Then, he pointed his ride toward the incline, swing on over and come get me.
*******
Running her weapon dry, Devlin pulled back the charging handle and dropped the empty magazine while scowling at Randall’s snowmobile. Her eyes going back and forth from him to the topography directly in his path, she rammed home a full magazine and released the charging handle.
Faith wrinkled her brow. “Where’s he going?”
Devlin zeroed in on a hill that looked like a ski mogul. No. She shook her head. “You can’t be serious, Noah.”
Faith faced her sibling. “Serious about what? What’s he doing?”
“Trying to break his neck.” Rolling onto her right side, Devlin motioned toward the mogul while shouting at the pilot. “Hard right. Hard right. Get over there now.”
*******
Watching the helicopter bank to its right, Randall focused on the mogul fifty yards ahead.
The Bell leveled off and hovered just beyond the mini mountain.
Ignoring the danger coming from his six o’clock—incoming fire from his hunters had resumed—Randall alternated his steely gaze between the natural ramp and the swaying harness above. He shot a quick look at his snowmobile. I hope you have the juice to do this.
The slope evened out.
Randall jammed the throttle down and lowered his butt to an inch from the seat.
The mechanical beast groaned.
Ten yards from the mound of snow, he saw clouds of the white stuff exploding from the mogul’s surface as a constant barrage of reports came from behind him.
Its skis hitting the incline, the Yahama took the rise with all the power it had to give.
Feeling the sudden change in direction, his leg muscles straining, Randall squinted at the harness.
The harness hesitated before swaying back to the left.
He aimed the Yahama further left of his dangling lifeline.
The snowmobile went airborne.
Randall pushed off from the running boards and threw up his arms.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.
Chapter 31
You’re Nuts
Either Randall had misjudged the height of the harness, or the Yamaha had been more powerful than he had thought. The padded loop smacked him in the chest, forcing him to grab the steel cable.
His legs whipping outward, his gloved hands slid down the wire until they hit the start of the harness. With bullets flying
