Walt Longmire 07 - Hell Is Empty (7 page)

It was about then that I noticed, for just an instant, a tiny green dot reflected in the van’s rear window.

5

I threw myself sideways, multiplying the speed of my descent by slipping on the ice.

The report of the .223 was very loud. I hit the ground with a grunt immediately following the sharp
spak
of the bullet going through the back window of the closed half of the van where I’d been standing.

I rolled over and looked at the bullet hole in the glass, small shards and snow still floating down on me as I reconsidered what an intelligent man would’ve done in this situation. I had an image of my smarter self, munching on a year-old Snickers bar, seated in the relative warmth of the Suburban, which I would have parked at the road head.

It’s a maxim that in these situations the first person to move is the first person to die. It was possible that the shooter thought he’d hit me and I could wait to see if he’d show, but that meant lying in the snow, exposed for longer than I really cared to be.

If I wanted a clear view, I was going to have to crawl out from between the two vehicles, which meant really showing myself, something I was loath to do. I reached over and picked up my hat, dusting it off and placing it back on my head.

Small comforts, but I always felt better with my hat on.

There were noises coming from the other side of the parking lot and then some voices. I couldn’t make out what any of them were saying, but they said a few things to one another and then it was silent again.

I waited for a few moments more and then looked around the passenger-side fender. With the blowing snow, it was almost like playing tag in a river. There was someone outside, and I just caught the fleeting image of a man darting past the windows on the porch of the main lodge.

It looked to me as if he were carrying one of the shotguns, which meant that someone else was probably still out there with the .223 and that the runner was going to try and flank me from the cabins at my rear.

I had to move, but I wasn’t going to attempt crossing the lot—not with the Armalite waiting for the possibility of another lucky shot in the current conditions. If I squeezed past the DOC van and right, I’d probably meet the shooter somewhere out there. I leveraged up on my elbows and knees and glanced back to see if I could triangulate the rifle fire. It looked like it had come from slightly to my right—the same basic area where I’d seen somebody moving at the main lodge.

I crouched and moved, picking up the Basquo’s backpack as I went, sliding between the van and the cabin where the cougar had been. The snow slid off the van and landed on my hat and shoulders. I didn’t wipe it off this time, in hopes that it might provide some cover from the scope, but when I turned my head, there was a SIG SAUER P226 muzzle pointed up and under my chin.

“Move back.”

With the shadows, it was difficult to see who was holding the semiautomatic, but hearing the Latino accent, I had a good idea. I retreated with my .45 held above my head. “Hey, Hector.”

“Raise your arms and shut up.” As he stepped into the minimal light afforded by the parking lot lamppost, I could see the pant leg of his orange jumpsuit and the tactical boots that he must’ve taken from the dead marshal. He also wore a three-quarter-length parka, which he must’ve appropriated from the convict transport. He motioned for me to move to my right. “Step over there.”

I did as instructed and, knowing that a little cover was better than none, was careful to place myself between the DOC van and the Suburban.

Hector stepped around as well, carefully holding McGroder’s Sig at an angle—gangsta style. He raised a hand to his face and yelled back toward the main lodge. “Got him!” I shifted, with my hands still above my head, and his eyes darted back to me. “I said don’t move.”

“Actually, you didn’t.”

“Shut up!” He paused and turned slightly as we heard noises coming from the big building. “And gimme your gun.”

I thought about my situation, how I was soon to be surrounded by some very desperate and well-armed individuals. I thought about how the odds of one-on-one were a hell of a lot better than five-on-one.

With my hands still raised, I tossed the Colt up onto the roof of the van.

Otero looked at me. “What the fuck?”

I shrugged. “You said to get rid of the gun.”

He studied me from the depths of his acrylic-lined hood. “What, you don’t think I can get up there or what?”

“Well, you are kind of short.”

He gestured with the .40 for me to back up, which I did with my hands still raised, as he placed a foot on the doorsill of the van and pulled himself up by the gutter rail. “Fuck you, Alexander Dumb-ass.” He really was kind of short and had to reach across the top of the snow-covered van with one hand while keeping his pistol pointed at me. It was quite a balancing act.

I retreated another step.

“I said don’t move!”

The wind blew another gust from the roof of the cabins and pushed the hood of Hector’s parka against his face; he kept yanking it back, but it continued blowing forward.

I was beginning to wonder how much movement it was going to take.

To give her credit, she didn’t make a sound until she moved and when she did it was something to behold. She bounced once to contain her speed and swiped out with a massive paw at Hector’s hooded head. He jumped when the sound and fury came out of the alcove, and his foot slipped on the wet sill. The cougar’s lethal claws raked the cloth on the top of his head, his face was pushed forward by the force of her swipe, and he flipped backward to land at my feet. The Sig should’ve gone off, but it didn’t.

I landed all two hundred and fifty pounds on his chest with a knee and listened to the air go out of him, which for a moment stopped the screaming, and then the semiautomatic popped from his hand.

It was a calculated risk, turning my back to the cougar, but I figured Hector was the moment’s primary threat. I snatched the .40 from the snow and then whirled to face the mountain lion, but she’d stayed on the roof of the van and was snarling and spitting.

“Shoot! Shoot the motherfucker! Shoot!”

Evidently, Hector had gotten his wind back.

“Shoot! ”

She slapped the roof of the van again with her big paws, and I guess she was waiting to see who, between Hector and me, was going to come out on top. I figured she was planning on eating the loser. I flicked off the safety lever near the slide action, something you might not know to do if you were unfamiliar with the weapon, and kept the semiautomatic on the cougar.

“Shoot! ”

Leaning on the grill of the Suburban next to Hector, I kept the sidearm trained on the mountain lion but glanced at the Latino. Trickles of blood were running down his face from where the lion’s claws had gotten him. “I think you’re annoying her.” The wind blew more gusts of snow, and I could hear footsteps along with a few shouts. “I think you better tell your friends you haven’t got me anymore.” He looked at me questioningly. “Go ahead—yell.” He paused for a second, but I gestured with the gun toward the angry cougar. “You don’t yell, I’m going to let her have you.”

The mountain lion continued to snarl and again slapped the roof of the van.

“Hey, he’s got my gun—and there’s a fuckin’ tiger over here! ”

I could still hear them moving closer and figured it was time to take action. I might regret the loss of ammunition later, but I needed to back everybody, including the cougar, off. I raised the P226 and fired off a couple of shots.

There was more cursing, but I could hear them scrambling back toward the lodge.

When I glanced up again, the mountain lion had disappeared.

I wedged my shoulder against the grill of the Suburban and peeked over the hood. There wasn’t anyone there.

When I realized I hadn’t breathed in a while, I took a deep one and slowly exhaled, feeling like a portion of my soul was escaping along with the vapor from my nostrils.

Hector was feeling his head and wiping the blood off his face. “That thing bit me!”

I pushed the barrel of the P226 in his ear. “New rules—stop complaining.”

My Colt was still on the top of the van. I figured the big cat was gone, but I still wasn’t too hep on the prospect of climbing up there and getting a .223 in my spine. I could always make Hector do it, but I wasn’t sure that they wouldn’t shoot him, too.

I glanced back at the main lodge. “Hey Hector, do you want to go up there and get my gun?”

His eyes looked like ping-pong balls with pupils. “Fuck that.”

“That’s what I figured.” I glanced at him. “So they’re all holing up in the lodge?” He didn’t say anything, so I nudged his ear with the Sig, reinforcing the rules.

“Yeah, yeah . . . they’re in the lodge thing.”

“They’ve got the FBI agent, the blonde woman?”

“Yeah, they got her.”

I made some quick calculations and took the barrel of the gun away from his head. “What about the other Ameri-Trans guy?”

He looked at me for a moment. “Yeah, they got him, too.”

I wondered briefly why they hadn’t simply killed him, but it was possible that they were smart enough to realize that they should hang on to all potential hostages. “What about Beatrice Linwood?”

“Who?”

“I need you to pay attention, Hector.” I sighed. “The waitress from South Fork Lodge, the one that served us lunch.”

“Oh, Shade’s bitch . . . Yeah, hey that dude’s crazy. He says there are ghosts all over these mountains and that they talk to him.”

I stared at him, and fortunately he misinterpreted.

“I’m not kidding. He says there are hundreds of them all around watching us.” He wiped the blood out of his eyes. “He’s fuckin’ crazy, man.”

I looked down at the top of his head and could see the four grooves where the big cat had gotten him. It was a good thing he had had that hood or it would have been worse. I figured I’d play on it. “You might need some stitches.”

“Hey, no shit. I’m bleeding to death here.”

I looked around at our situation and wasn’t overcome with confidence. The only positive thing I could think of was that I had all the modes of transportation and a pretty good vantage point. Of course, there was also the opportunity to freeze to death before the sun came up in the morning.

The gangbanger looked up at me. “Hey, you know I wasn’t going to shoot you, right?”

I kept my eyes on the porch of the lodge but couldn’t see anything amidst the streaking snow. “Well, I appreciate that, Hector.”

“Yeah, I mean I was just supposed to slow you down till they got that thing going.”

I studied him. “What thing?”

“The tank thing.”

“Hector, what are you talking about?”

He wiped more blood off his face with his sleeve. “When we got the van stuck, Shade said you’d be the one that would come after us; that the dead Indians told him.” He tapped the front of the Suburban with a hand. “When you got here we’d take your truck. But then one of the other guys, the guy they call Fingers, he found the tank thing in the shed behind the lodge and said he could get it going if we gave him enough time.”

I seemed to remember an old surplus Thiokol Model 601 Spryte snowcat that had been brought up from the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs back in the midseventies for use at the ski resort near Meadowlark Lake. So much for keeping them penned, but how far and how fast did they think they were going to go in a snowcat? If I were them, I’d still try for the Fed Suburban.

I stood and checked for the keys to the SUV, which were still in my pocket, and then tapped Hector on the shoulder. “C’mon.”

He looked up at me but didn’t move. “What?”

Slitting my eyes to guard against the snow, I glanced across the hood. “We’re gonna go break up the party.”

He settled into the parka, which was a good two sizes too big for him. “Fuck that.”

I looked down at him and snorted, losing a little more of my soul through my nose. I raised my eyes and tried to sound indifferent. “Suit yourself, but with you bleeding like you are and alone, I’ll bet that hungry mountain lion comes back.”

There wasn’t much cover between the cabins and the lodge, and I was going to have to hustle between them in open view of whoever was shooting the assault rifle. Occupying myself by thinking about how many wrong career choices I’d made to lead me to this lovely pass, I stood at the front of the van, shrugged the strap of Sancho’s pack onto my shoulder, and took a few deep breaths.

I jolted forward and to the right, postholing only one step in the open. I slammed against the notched corner of the other cabin but didn’t hear anything. I was tempted to wave my hat but figured I’d already pressed my luck—and anyway, I liked my hat.

I motioned for Hector to follow me. I’d cuffed him but figured his legs should still work fine.

He shook his head and brought his hands together in a praying gesture.

I’d given him the option of going first, but he’d said he’d rather follow. I guess he was having second thoughts now.

I yelled above the wind. “C’mon.” Say what you want about the small man, he was agile and fast. He ran into my shoulder and stood there panting. “You do that again, and I’ll leave you out here.”

His eyes circled the immediate vicinity, and I could only guess how many phantom cougars he was seeing.

I stayed close to the cabin, careful to slip under the window, and continued to my right. If I remembered correctly, there was a straight shot to the lodge up ahead, but we had to go through another opening between the next two cabins before we could get there.

I waited at the corner and hoped that when I made my mad dash, somebody wouldn’t be waiting on the other side with a riot gun. I stood there awhile just to break up the rhythm. I thought of Santiago’s cell phone in my pocket but didn’t want to open it out here in the dark—it’d be like a beacon for bullets.

I shrugged the strap of the pack farther up on my shoulder and launched across.

My back flattened against the logs of the next cabin about halfway down the row, and I looked back at Hector. He was still panting and held up a finger. After a moment, he threw himself into the opening, slipped in the snow, and fell to his knees, finally scrambling across on all fours.