Sam grabbed a rain poncho, then blew out the flame in the lamp near the door before exiting the cabin. The sky was overcast; their moonlight was gone. The dirtbike stood in the dark near the cabin wall, it started and the engine smoothed out after half a minute. Brodie wrapped both rifles in a thick blanket and bungeed them tightly to the handlebar. “Take that trail going to your truck but be prepared to turn west in a few hundred yards.” Sam flipped on the headlight, eased the clutch, and headed out. They rode in silence except for Brodie occasionally giving directions. Smokey trotted along behind like a silent ghost with fangs.
Soon a nagging mist filled the air. Quickly the mist turned to light rain and the bike slipped and slid in hard turns and steep climbs as a layer of slimy mud covered the trails. Twice they slid off the animal trails and almost fell over. Sam thought Brodie couldn’t have picked a more hazardous trail if he tried.
Brodie leaned forward. “Hooper’s place is a mile, mile and a half ahead. Park the bike at that bend ahead. We’ll walk from there.” Sam let Brodie dismount and take the rifles before he drove the bike off the trail and laid it down.
They walked in darkness until they crested a ridge, then laid flat to the ground on a layer of wet leaves. Sam’s watch showed 05:32. Dawn was two hours off, about 07:45 he guessed. An old two-story, once-white frame house sat amid junk cars extending out beside and behind several buildings and dilapidated sheds. A large building to the left of the house had two tall garage doors that appeared to be twelve feet high. The left door was raised halfway. Probably a shop. No lights showed in either building. Several smaller outbuildings were scattered indiscriminately. Most likely storage sheds. Several pickups—most looked new—sat parked haphazardly on gravel near the front of the house. The remaining several acres behind the buildings were covered helter-skelter with rows of wrecked cars and trucks. In the dark they looked like piles of boulders. A huge, tall pile of scrapped metal parts rose in a clearing toward the middle of the storage area. A skinny crane boom with a flat steel magnet on the end of the steel cable pointed to the sky. The scrap pile would likely rust completely away over the next several hundred years. A covered porch ran the length of the front of the house setting at a slight angle to their position.
Brodie whispered, “I’d bet a million to one Riley has guards outside, especially if he’s sure you’re coming for your women He’s a no-good, obnoxious asshole, but he’s not stupid. Watch for movement to learn where they’re hiding.” Smokey lay between them in the light drizzle the rain had morphed into. Sam reached to his backpack beside him and removed a bag of jerky. He took three, gave Smokey one and passed the bag to Brodie. “You’ve already dealt with part of his gang,” Brodie said, “are you sure you’re ready to kill the rest? Otherwise there’s no need for us being here. If you aren’t up to wiping them out, they’ll come at you again and be wary and prepared the next time.” He bit off a length of jerky and stuffed it in his mouth and chewed.
“Ready?” Sam whispered, “If they were lined up unarmed with their hands raised to surrender, I’d shoot each one in the head including their sluts. There’s no turning back; and I’ll not chicken out and let you down if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Brodie nodded grimly in the moonless dark.
Several minutes passed before Brodie whispered, “That white box truck to the right of the house and out about fifty feet; the rear overhead door is raised; there’s a guy standing just inside out of the rain; he just stepped to the back and lit a cigarette. If there’s a second guard, he’ll be on the other side of the house and likely in that corrugated metal shop building where the overhead door is up.”
Sam checked the time at 06:13, then looked up. “A second guy stepped out from that building to piss against the wall. Now he’s going back inside.”
“Yeah, I saw that too. Stay here. I’m going down to take care of them quietly. No matter what happens, you don’t leave this spot till I get back.”
Brodie stood. “I’m leaving my rifle here.” Then he was gone.
Sam watched both guard’s positions. Finally, he barely noticed slight movement outside the box truck. The sky had gone from near black to a dark blue-gray haze in the predawn before sunrise. The rain had diminished, then stopped shortly after Brodie left him.
He barely detected a figure hunched low and sliding along the side of the box truck. Then the guard leaned around the edge of the van, and Brodie made his move. Two figures engaged in a momentary scuffle, then a lone figure dragged a body by its feet across the muddy ground back among the wrecked cars.
Sam switched his gaze to the shop. Long minutes passed as the sky lighten slightly. Suddenly, a figure in camouflage hustled from the shop to one of four pickups parked in front of the house. Sam hoped it was Brodie. A driver’s side door opened, interior lights flashed on, and then after two seconds the door closed with barely a sound. The man moved to another truck, opened the door, hesitated, then closed it again. Quickly the figure sprinted back to the shop only to return seconds later carrying a body over its shoulder. The dead guard was carefully dumped
