Primal Threat - Earl Emerson [66]
“I thought I saw all four of them, but I wouldn’t swear to it. What are you talking about?”
“An ambush. You know? They jam that gate and then ambush us when we try to get out.”
“Then why didn’t he shoot at you when you were down there?” asked Jennifer.
“He probably wasn’t in place yet.”
“You really think they have that gate staked out?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. Any of us touches the gate, we’re dead.”
“Jesus,” said Fred. “Those fuckers.”
If there’d been anybody left above to shoot at them, they would have been sitting ducks, yet the only ones who seemed concerned were Bloomquist and Perry, who had taken up their earlier positions behind one of the trucks. Scooter laughed when he saw them, then nudged Fred, who also laughed. Today was a time for reckoning, for boldness, a time Scooter and Fred would remember because they’d taken a stand.
“What are we going to do now?” Jennifer asked.
“First thing is we need to get organized,” said Kasey.
“What we need,” said Fred, “is to go up and kill them before they kill us.”
The silence spread like oil on a puddle until Kasey realized they were uncomfortable with it, not because Fred had said something beyond the pale, but because he’d articulated thoughts most of them had been entertaining on their own.
Scooter was counting on his fingers. “There’s what? Four left?”
Kasey started up the hill. “If you’re right and there’s one posted at the gate, there’s only three up here. Let’s go check out their camp. Maybe we can figure out what they’re planning.”
Scooter walked over to the dead man in the road and took the pistol out of his hand, then went up the hill. Fred followed with Jennifer. Bloomquist and Perry remained behind, while Kasey, rifle at the ready, followed at a distance, his earlier panic still fresh in his mind.
Kasey clambered up the steep, rocky road at a measured pace, keeping his eyes on the track as it disappeared farther up the mountain. He couldn’t help thinking that the cyclists had climbed higher the way a hawk climbed higher—to gain altitude for an attack—and at any moment they might come speeding down.
When he reached the cyclists’ camp, he saw Scooter, Fred, and Jennifer in front of him kicking through bags of clothing and sleeping bags, looking for contraband, cell phones, or evidence of more handguns. Scooter found a small Bible with the toe of his sneaker and squashed it flat with a vengeance. It hadn’t occurred to Kasey until that moment that they might be religious, and the knowledge somehow made them all seem more human.
“Four bikes missing,” said Scooter. “Four guys trying to kill us. The question remains, did they all go up? Or did one go down?”
“We’re not the police,” said Jennifer. “We shouldn’t be the ones to track them down.”
“I’m sorry, but when you get in a situation like this, you are the police. If there’s no law nearby, that’s exactly what you are.”
“They killed my brother,” said Fred.
“But we can’t set out to deliberately kill them,” said Jennifer.
“Why not?” Scooter scratched his nose with the sight on the lever-action rifle he was carrying. “They’re doing it.”
“But if they’re trying to kill us, why are they running?”
“Are they? They sent Morse down to kill us. They fired four rounds at us. And they’ve got a guy at the gate waiting to ambush us.”
“I’ve been thinking…that Morse guy had time to shoot,” said Jennifer, “but he didn’t.”
“It’s his tough luck that he hesitated,” said Kasey. It was easy to know why Morse had flubbed his assignment. Remembering his own fear made him furious again. “Don’t be counting that screwup as a point in his favor.”
Kasey was anxious to see where Chuck had fallen. He was talking tough, but he was still confused by what he’d witnessed, confused enough that it hadn’t fully jelled in his mind yet. He walked past the thin waterfall and stood on the rocks overlooking the bluff. The view was incredible, thirty miles of old glacial wash spread out as if he were sitting on God’s shoulder.
The ledge was narrow enough