Page 29 of The Mountain Man's Retribution
Will do
Every part of me regrets not getting a phone for Fawn last week. What in the hell was I thinking? I desperately need to call her. Hear her voice and keep her posted on what’s going on. But knowing Roscoe and Ginger are on their way fills me with the calm resolve I need to headhunt.
I find other tracks around the cabin. Male boot prints, a chaos of impressions no doubt left by the hot shots.
“Dammit,” I growl in low tones. The site is fucked for tracking by so much activity and the after-effects of first responders. Half-dug trenches and water damage. The land’s scars bear witness to the violence.
Along a gravel pathway that I assume must have led to the porch, I find tracks consistent with those of two males. Following the trail stealthily into the forest, anticipation tightens my throat, ready for vengeance.
The path splits in half a mile, the tracks diverging. I weigh my options, still concealed by the early morning darkness. My gut nudges me to the right, though I can’t express why in any logical way. But years of being a warrior make me trust it without question.
My pocket vibrates again, and I stop, grabbing my phone.
ROSCOE
Fire your cabin
My heart races as I stare at the words, trying to make them make sense.
BODIE
Fawn?
ROSCOE
Dunno. Pinned down. Cross-fire. At least two shooters, targeting anyone who approaches. Ready to engage. Which room?
Mind racing, I can’t believe my eyes.
BODIE
My bedroom
ROSCOE
Cops and firefighters en route. Possible hostage situation
BODIE
OMW
Fuck! I sprint back up the path through the woods to my vehicle, my mind racing and my heart bleeding. If anything happens to Fawn, I’ll never forgive myself. I can’t live without her.
Back in my truck, I race down the old forest service road, driving like a man bent straight for hell. My ride bounces and protests, but I push it to the edge, coming close to wrecking several times. I slow slightly. After all, if I crash, how will I help Fawn?
A distance off, I see a destitute white Ford pickup approaching, and my heart lodges in my throat. I only have seconds to decide what I’m going to do as the vehicle nears, and I make out two ratty, bearded men and no license plate. Slamming my brakes at full speed, I spin out, blocking the road as I slide into the truck sideways.
I jump out, crouching behind my vehicle as I hear car doors open. Bullets spray my truck. Dumb fuckers! I wait, crouched behind the dually tires as they unload their weapons into the cab.
Silence. Eerie and unexpected.
The rustling of fabric, heavy footfalls.
“Kael, where did he go?” a voice grunts.
“I don’t know. My fucking arm?—”
It’s all I need. Dropping beneath the truck, I fire twice.
