* * * *
“He’s on!” one man shouted. “Shhh! Shhh! It’s Colonel Baker on the radio!”
Three men helped Mike hobble over to the radio. There was some background noise and talking on both ends before he came on.
“They call you Mike. Is that right?”
“That is correct, sir. And you are Colonel Baker?”
There was a pause without a response…long enough for Mike’s captors to think they had lost the signal.
“What do you know about the Great Battle for the Valley?” Baker asked.
Mike had planned for this question all day—at least his conscious hours. He played up the pain, in case he said something wrong.
“I know people who are headed there, a group who clashed with some of your people not long ago.”
“We have clashes, as you say, every day. They don’t last more than a few minutes.”
“How many have dynamite, fireworks, fire, and the Military involved?” Mike asked.
“Raton Pass—are you part of the militia group up there?”
“No. My old group just passed through.”
“And you spilled our blood. Is that right?”
“Sir, I am a soldier, like you,” Mike replied. He held his tongue, knowing full well the man on the other end of the line was not a Colonel or a soldier but a zealous fanatic, preaching his distorted religion to the most vulnerable.
“I am a soldier, like you,” he repeated. “I fight for the side I am on.”
“Where is your group now?” Baker asked.
“Deep in the mountains, I guess. When they kicked me out, they took my guns and my boy.”
“Your guns and your boy, huh? But not your bike?”
“It’s mine, and I took it back is all. They didn’t chase me down, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“So, how can you help me, Mike?”
“I know their plans and I want revenge, plus my boy back.”
Mike decided to leave Sheila out altogether, knowing how the Baker guy felt about women anyway.
“Just a man and his boy wanting revenge—all that’s missing is the pet dog.” There was another long pause.
“I hear that you fought three men at once in a pit and won. Is that true?”
“Yes, sir, you have heard right.”
“I could use a man like you on my team, but how do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t!”
Baker laughed, saying something inaudible to those around him.
“Mike, you may just be the first honest man I’ve met. Tell me what you know about the Valley.”
“Yes, sir. I can do that, but only in person.”
Those around Mike looked at him like he had defied a commandment from God Himself.
“I’m not sure you know who you’re speaking with here,” said Baker.
“I understand completely,” replied Mike, not wanting to come off rude but realizing a meeting with him was the only way to get close.
“Should we kill him, Colonel?” asked the guy with less fingers now.
“I didn’t save him just to have him killed,” said Max, joining in the conversation.
“Who’s that?” asked Baker.
“His name is Maximillian, or something like that, and he says he is a medical something or other.”
“You kept Mike alive?” Baker asked Max.
“Yes, I did, and I won’t stand by and see him killed on my watch.”
“You two—Mike and Max, Max and Mike. I like you. Can you ride, Mike?”
“Sure…I mean, probably.”
“That’s a no,” said Max. “Not for a while, at least.”
“How long?” asked Baker.
“A week or two, maybe three.”
“Hold on,” said Baker, as he shouted orders to his men. “We have your location. Our helicopters are not ready yet, so we will send a truck. Expect them in a day or two.”
“A truck for all of us?” asked one of the men.
Baker didn’t answer, only adding, “If any harm comes to either of those two, you all will deal with me. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” they all mumbled.
“I said Understood?!” he screamed.
“Yes, Colonel!” they all said loudly.
The call was disconnected on Baker’s end, and soon after, the negotiations began.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Eighteen
Mike
North of Lake Pueblo, Colorado
Mike and Max were wooed over the next few hours by most of the other men in camp, asking for a good word so they too could catch a ride on the “Salvation Truck,” as they now called it. Max stayed close to Mike, talking about their backgrounds as much as either one would share with someone they had just met. Mike told him about these men and what they had done, knowing it was common knowledge now, and he did feel a sense of immunity waiting for transport.
“This Baker guy… You like him?” asked Max. “Maybe you trust him or are looking to protect him from harm?”
“I have a sense about people,” said Mike, without directly answering the question. “I’ve fine-tuned it over the years, and it’s pretty spot-on. So, I’ll ask you the same. Do you like him? Do you trust him? Do you want to protect him?”
Max paused, taking a deep breath before telling a melted-down story of the last month in his life.
“I was a medic in the Navy. Served four years and saved more than a few guys. Later, I worked as a paramedic and saved a few more. It’s what I do. I help people. I’ve even delivered two babies—a boy on a ship and a girl right on a city bus. My pops worked three jobs to put my siblings and me through school. He worked construction, did some landscaping, and was a part-time bookkeeper for several small businesses. He used his hands and his head.
“When Baker and his group came through our town, they took everything they saw: men, women and children. The dogs ran free or were shot for sport by his men, ours included. I was at the hospital when my father was killed trying to save our dog from some pointless game they called mutt cuts. They cut them down and took bets on how far out the shot was. They
