"Git'im in the car!….git'im in the car!" Shawn urged as he whipped the driver's door open, heedless of the struggle his partner found himself embroiled in with the injured man. The driver side door smashed into the Chevy pickup beside them.
The back door was eventually thrown open and Standish was bodily shoved into the car. The undercover agent rolled onto the seat, spreading blood in his wake. He gripped his thigh tightly between his two hands, cinching down on the muscles trying to tourniquet the pain and blood flow with his bare hands, all the while scrambling for the opposite side door. Breath and spittle sprayed from between clenched teeth.
Manny shoved Standish further into the car as he folded himself into the tight confines of the backseat.
Ezra pressed his back into the seat and curled his legs toward himself. He reached for the door handle closest to him.
A sharp fist slammed into his left eye, slapping the right side of his face down onto the door's arm rest.
"Try it again and I'll break your hands," Manny growled. A set of hands kept Ezra's head pinned to the door arm rest, well below any windows.
"Git us the fuck out of here!" Manny hissed as Shawn tried to feed into the line of traffic pulling out of the fairgrounds.
"Shut the fuck up!" Shawn hissed back as the car lurched into the slow stream of traffic winding its way through the rows of parked cars and trucks. There was no where to go. They had not planned on running into Sullivan today or anyone for that matter. Boss had sent them there to purchase a 'Beef' later that night, a show of support for the kids and the community. Hughes had a twisted macabre sense of right and wrong. Running into Sullivan today had been a bonus and obviously a curse.
Shawn kept an eye on the car in front of them; they did not need a fender bender now.
Manny scanned out the windows, searching for any signs of Feds or police.
"Shit here they come!" the man in the back seat, whispered out in a harsh overload of adrenaline. "Geezus! Is that Larabee?!…..We're f***ed…..damnit,….Sullivan what the Hell did you do to get Larabee's attention?! Are you f**ed up or what?!"
Standish blinked. The sweat that dripped from his forehead into his eyes hardly registered. Larabee and the others were coming…They were coming…
The driver slowly but methodically moved the car toward the front gate. Only a few yards to go……
"Keep it cool." The driver looked in the review mirror. "Damn it! Keep his head down!" the driver's shout dragged his partner's attention from the side window over toward Sullivan who once again attempted to raise his head up over the window in hopes of giving the others a chance to see him.
A solid blow smashed his wounded leg.
Standish did not bother holding back the scream that erupted as he tried to bolt upward and curl inward all at the same time.
The driver ignored the blood curdling scream and faced forward again.
Almost there……
~~~~~~~~~~`
Larabee stopped dead in his tracks. The others gathered around him frantically searching the crawling cars that slunk their way toward the only exit gate.
Then the howl. They heard it….the muffled scream. For a brief flash, Larabee spotted three people in a maroon Buick Le Saber.
"There they are!" JD shouted pointing out the car a few rows from where they stood. Larabee was already running towards his own black truck.
Josiah, Buck and JD sprinted behind him.
The Buick suddenly spun its wheels. It pulled out of line, side swiping cars, as it shot through the chain link gates.
The Black Ram pickup with its vortex engine, rammed its way out of its spot, leaping itself into its own lane. Its driver did not care nor heed any form of defensive driving.
With police siren blasting and blue dash board light flashing, the black Ram bullied its way out of the dirt parking lot. Cars and smaller trucks gave way out of respect and self preservation.
The ram roared to life, skipping from dirt to paved road. The man behind the wheel was expert enough to harness the power of the truck and not allow it to fish tail. No speed was lost.
Four tires gripped the paved road and shot the vehicle down the stretch of highway hot on the heels of a maroon car.
~~~~~~~~~~~~`
Ezra rocked back and forth in the back seat. He continued to slouch down unable to sit up as pain ripped through his leg. His hands were covered with blood, his sock was soaked, the blue denim had taken on a dark maroon to black color. Blood seeped thickly between his fingers.
"Geezus he's gonna bleed to death before we even git'im to Hughes," Manny spat out in disgust. He whipped off his belt and shoved the Southerner's hands away from the wound. Standish did not cooperate. He was too intent on cinching down on the pain, on slowing the blood flow. Nothing else existed in his world.
"Gawd damn it!" The big man snapped out another punch colliding with the side of Standish's jaw. Ezra's head snapped around again, spraying the side window with spittle and blood. The hands slackened slightly. The big man wrapped his belt around his captive's mid thigh twice and cinched it down tightly. Standish cried out and arched his back. His bloody hands reached for his wounded leg again. The big man slapped them away until he got the knot tied.
"Should keep ya alive until our boss kills ya."
Ezra merely leaned back against the door and the seat and stared at the man through sweaty bangs and vibrant green eyes.
"Shit, we got a black Ram on our ass!" Shawn spat out checking both his side mirrors before looking to Manny in the rearview glass.
"Well lose 'em!"
"Ya think Sherlock?" Shawn spun the wheel throwing the Buick into a smooth U-Turn.
He flipped off the Black Ram as he sped by it in the opposite direction.
"Gawd Damn Larabee….I can't believe it…of all the dumb ass luck..," Manny whispered from the back seat, watching the Ram skidding to turn in behind them. He turned his attention to the man bleeding beside him, "you got Larabee tailing you…I can't believe it…Geezus Christ…"
Standish managed a weak smile and a half hearted shrug, "only the best," he mumbled out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~'
"Gawd damn, sonofabitchin' bastards," Chris spit out.
Buck grabbed the handle above the passenger side door and hung on for dear life. From the corner of his eye, he noticed JD slide across the back seat on his shoulders with his feet in the air into Sanchez…. Seat belt JD…wear your seat belt.
Chris flattened the accelerator to the floor and shot after the maroon car. The big engine roared to life.
~~~~~~~~~~~'
"I can't lose him," Shawn spit out as he wove through light country traffic. He avoided the highways and their tire shredding road strips. They had managed to pick up and lose the few county police and State Troopers that had joined the fray. None kept close. Shawn was a professional driver, trained by the government itself no less. Not many could match his skill nor his control of speed. In fact, Shawn knew no one who equaled him in driving, until now. Larabee hung on him like a shadow. The only thing keeping the crazy SOB of an ATF agent from catching him was the nature of his pursuit vehicle. The truck just couldn't do it. In fact, Larabee had pushed and maneuvered the truck through paces that would have its manufacturers scratching their heads and smiling with pride.
Larabee matched Shawn's skill and may even surpass it.
The driver swore. Like Hell.
He made his move. With a sharp cut of the wheel, the Buick crossed lanes, speeding over the double lane rural road, and dove off the pavement onto a dirt country lane.
The car hit, its front bumper nearly slamming into the dirt. The back end sailed upward, throwing its passengers into the back of the front seat. Manny braced himself while their prisoner merely slid to the floor of the car with a plaintif groan and still clutching his leg.
Shawn never lost control of the car. The Buick kicked up dust as it sped down the narrow, non-shouldered dirt road.
~~~~~~~~~~~~'
"Where the hell is he going?" Larabee hissed out in anger. He kept the car's trunk just under his bumper.
Josiah sent up endless prayers as they shot down the dirt road. There was no soft shoulder. A mountain side sat to their left and a sharp drop graced their right side. Large pines occupied both the upper and lower parts of the lane. The mid morning sun cut shafts of light through the canopy casting everything into undulating shadows.
There was no room for maneuverability. No space for mistakes or corrections.
There was no real spot to knock the other car safely out of commission. Instead, Larabee literally stuck to their bumper.
Two people were easily visible in the car The third had disappeared from sight. The occupants of the pickup remained quiet.
Around blinding turns, over bone rattling pot holes, the two vehicles kicked up dust and gravel and hogged the road.
The Buick fish tailed for the first time, as it careened around a corner. It came face to face with an on coming pickup. In a flash of time, instinct kicked in and both drivers reacted, mirroring each other's movements. With no where to go, the pickup took the ditch, its driver acting not only on instinct but his skill as a log truck driver. He took the ditch hoping to avoid killing the idiot in the red car driving too fast on such a road. He never saw the black Ram that tailed it like an ominous spectre of doom.
Teenagers.
The red car swerved as well, its driver also acting on instincts. For the first time in his life, the driver's instincts failed him.
The maroon Buick shot off the side of the road. Still traveling forward, its right tires lost contact with the road , spinning over air. With nothing to support its weight, and with its forward momentum, the car careened over the embankment and log rolled down the wooded incline.
"Shit!"
"OhmyGod…Buck?"
"Iknowkid….Iknow."
"Protect him, Lord."
The driver of the white Ford pickup was already on his cell phone. He fumbled to open his door and step from his truck.
Larabee pumped his brakes and shifted the Ram down to a stop fighting the wheel on the rolling surface.
He threw the truck into reverse, spun its wheels until the back end swung around and faced the left side of the road in a perpendicular manner.
"Chris?"
Larabee threw the truck into second gear hit the four wheel drive button and nudged the accelerator, "Hold on".
The truck moved forward. The Ram's front tires left the graded road and lurched downward threatening to topple nose first down the incline. The passengers were thrown forward harshly. Larabee felt his seat belt cinch tightly across his chest. He pressed the accelerator further toward the floor. The tires gripped the side of the mountain's wooded face and pulled the rest of the truck off the road.
Larabee gritted his teeth and with no second thoughts, drove the truck down the side of the mountain following the path of the Buick.
Foliage whipped, scratched and beat the marauding truck. Thick, low branches smashed into the windshield, momentarily, blinding the driver.
"Oh Shit!" JD braced his feet high against the back of Buck's seat and was forced to keep his hands pressed flat against the ceiling. Wilmington gripped the dashboard with one hand the other held onto the handle by his head.
Josiah thanked the Lord for the reckless abandonment of his team. And quietly wondered just who in their right mind would ever insure Chris Larabee and his vehicles? A thought struck him, "Chris? Airbags?"
Larabee fought with the wheel and answered without looking up, "He's in the Buick, Josiah." The curtness of his tone dissuaded any more foolish questions.
Despite the insanity of their maneuver or maybe because of the surrealness of their situation, Josiah and the others chuckled.
The Dodge dove headlong through the forest.
The driver of the white Ford slowly dropped his hand from his ear, bringing his cell phone down to his hip. He stared open mouth as the taillights of the Dodge Ram disappeared from sight. The man gawked in open mouth shock ignoring the tinny plaintive pleas of the 911 operator to disclose his location and the nature of his emergency.
The sounds of smashing foliage, snapping twigs and sticks resonated unseen from below. The violent path cut by the rolling vehicle seemed virtually invisible, as if the forest had simply swallowed the car. Larabee followed like a hound on a fresh scent. Only the fresh barkless scars on standing pines marked the brutal descent of the car. The horrific screech of tearing and twisting metal filled the area.
Branches and shrubs gouged black paint from the body of the truck. Stumps and small depressions in the ground stole the truck's alignment away. The black Ram bounced, jolted and rocked its way down the mountain with no intention of being left behind.
The marooned dented roof of the Buick worked its way into view, camouflaged by the thick undergrowth.
Larabee rocked his battered truck to a stop. The maroon car had ceased rolling. It had become wedged against an ancient pine. The passenger front quarter panel had molded itself around the tree, its mangled bumper biting into the trunk. The car was momentarily anchored.
A wind fallen Ponderosa forced Larabee to stop a hundred yards from the other car. With a curse, Larabee threw the truck into park and shoved the brake to the floor. The truck rocked as heavy treaded tires gripped for purchase. Tires stopped turning but the Ram still slid forward, the back end slowly swinging around trying to pass the engine. The rear quarter panel slammed into a tree, jarring the occupants of the truck. The bumper scraped heavily along the bark, peeling painfully from its braces, tearing itself back away from the undercarriage of the truck. A piercing screech cut through the area.
The truck lost its forward momentum.
All sound stopped.
They spilled out of doors before the truck even lunged to a complete stop. Its back fender hooked and anchored the Ram to the old unyielding tree.
Buck splintered off from the rest of the group, heading South of them, hoping to flank the kidnappers…just in case….just in case those idiots were lucky idiots.
Buck ducked and shoved branches out of his way. His heart hammered in his throat. He thought of nothing but circling around. He gave no thought to Ezra's chances of surviving the wreck, gave no thought to the shape the undercover agent was in at the moment. Instead, he concentrated on gaining his position and removing any possible threat to his team.
~~~~~~~~~~~'
The Buick sat cockeyed on all four wheels, leaning precariously to the right, threatening to spill even further down the slope if given the slightest chance.
Larabee had his gun out, close to his body and raised to fire, an extension of his eyes. He boldly approached the crumbled car.
He passed through slivers of sunlight. Shadows and light bent and molded across him as he closed the distance to the car with confident determination. His feet never struggled for balance, his hands never wavered. His dark hazel eyes focused on the person behind the shatter lined glass, the unwavering gun barrel mimicked his steady line of sight.
Larabee cocked his gun and approached the front side of the Buick, towards the door that shielded the most frantic movement. People still sat behind the spider cracked glass. Each movement rocked the car, tilting it, threatening to send it careening once again down the slope.
The silhouettes were too big for his missing man.
Chris strode purposely to the driver's side door. No hesitation marred his steps. He stepped up to the glass, gun raised, just millimeters from the glass. Without warning or identification, without a sound, he squeezed the trigger.
The Sig barked once. A deafening, solemn toll that rang through the deathly still forest. Nothing moved, not even the air stirred as a small spray of red splashed onto the inside of the window and the one moving silhouette disappeared from sight, tipping across the front seat.
Larabee merely changed the aim of his gun and turned his attention toward the back seat.
The back door shot open with a cry both metallic and human. Two men tumbled from the vehicle and down the steep incline, one hidden behind the other.
Larabee dashed to the mangled trunk of the car, his gun raised to fire.
Standish slid face up, on his back on top of his captor. He stared directly at Larabee for a brief moment before heavy ferns blocked his wild descent from view.
A sharp flash of metal caught a stray stream of sunlight. Did the captor have a gun?
Larabee swore. He lowered his Sig and gave chase. He crashed through the underbrush chasing the bodies of the two tobogganing men. JD and Josiah followed behind.
Under branches, between trees and through bushes the ATF men followed the crazy slide of the others.
Larabee cursed the thick woods.
The steep incline finally ended at a small stream. One could cross the stream with an easy stride. The slope immediately began climbing back up on the other side.
Broken shadowed images stood camouflaged behind the thick foliage on the other side of the stream a few yards up the slope.
Larabee squinted, trying to piece together the broken images. Was it a rifle? Did whoever hid behind Standish have a gun? Chris fingered his Sig.
"Back off!" The hoarse order held no hint of surrender. The speaker remained nearly invisible in the cloaking darkness afforded by a thick overhanging canopy and forest growth.
Chris inched forward fighting to put scattered images of the speaker into place. He could just make out the unclear lines of his undercover agent. A straight line seem to run under where Standish's jaw should be…was it a gun barrel? Gawd Damn it!
As Larabee contemplated what to do, noise from just to the side of kidnapper snapped everyone's attention to the east.
Buck broke through the underbrush just a few yards from the kidnapper. Without warning, the unseen man redirected his stance.
Larabee brought his gun up trying desperately to see through the natural camouflage that mocked his eyes.
A Shotgun blast exploded.
Buck's eyes widened. His chest and abdomen were punched violently backward, his shoulders and head thrown forward with his legs. He sailed back, his arms flung garishly out in front of his body. He flew. He flew until he disappeared amongst ferns and fallen leaves. His hands and feet were the last to hit the earth. His head rebounded, reappearing above the ground cover only to disappear again.
The forest became ominously silent watching this theatre of death play out. A small breeze moved leaves and small branches.
Standish let out a strangled cry. A blood curdling "NO!" ripped through him and he fought with his captor.
Under the protection of shifting shadows, poor light and behind the shielding body of Sullivan, Manny dragged the weakly struggling man up the slope, deeper into the shadows. It was just a damn Fed…what the Hell was Sullivan's problem?… A Larabee Fed…that made things a lot worse, but still. Manny cinched the crook of his arm around Sullivan's neck and literally dragged the Southerner across the mountain side before heading upwards. Larabee would be relentless.
The bullets that started tearing through the leaves, and pinging into the ground and surrounding tree trunks only served to hasten Hughes's security man into action. Sullivan still fought with him. The big man swung the gun down and slapped it off the injured leg. Standish let out another howl and tried to drop to grip his leg. Manny smashed him between the shoulders with the gun, stunning him. The henchman started dragging the dazed man further into the shadows, deeper into the forest.
Chris started firing without realizing it. He fired where Manny had stood. He aimed high. He squeezed the trigger not bothering to discern shadows and figures. He aimed up over Standish's height and pulled the trigger, repeatedly. Someone was screaming in the background. Someone was crying.
Someone needed help. Chris fired until his gun clicked….and clicked and clicked. The empty Sig smoked in his hand.
JD screamed Buck's name even as the big man disappeared, seemingly consumed by the monstrous ferns.
"Buck!" JD ran to his fallen partner.
Josiah tumbled and slid down the slope toward Larabee. The leader never took his eyes from where Standish and his kidnapper had stood.
"EZRA!!!" Larabee hollered at the top of his lungs. Frustration and fear mingled freely.
Standish paused in his fight to regain his feet, listening to the man he could no longer see. The undercover agent fought back the tears, the fear and the flood of anger that threatened to consume him. Buck Wilmington dead…Buck was gone…Oh God Buck was gone.
"YOU'RE A DEAD MAN!" Larabee's enraged voice rang out again. Hatred and vile spite dripped from the blatant promise. A proclamation.
Standish swallowed uneasily and silently agreed with Larabee's pronouncement. Yes, he was a dead man, either way he had lost everything, but somehow it did not compare to the savage brutal loss of Buck Wilmington.
Ezra Standish had nowhere to turn, no haven in which to escape to.
Sullivan allowed Manny to pull him further away from the existing carnage.