Primal Threat - Earl Emerson [92]
Even if it hadn’t cost Ryan Perry his life—which it might well have—in his own mind his failure would always stand between him and Nadine. Zak had been waiting for the day when the cowardice he’d discovered in his childhood would infect his adult life, and this was that day.
41
Having taken first-aid training with the ski patrol, Kasey was the only one who knew how to cut a blanket into strips to make a sling and swathe for Scooter’s fractured clavicle. He worked on the sling while Fred hiked down through the rocks and broken trees toward the Land Rover. Kasey handed his rifle to Bloomquist. “Here. Keep an eye on the road. There’s no telling where those guys are.”
“Plus, they took my gun,” Scooter said.
“What?”
“What do you mean what? Take a look at that car. I was lucky to get out alive. Next thing I know that retard grabs my Winchester.”
“I don’t understand why they didn’t shoot you,” said Bloomquist. “I thought they wanted to kill us all.”
“They might shoot me, still. They might shoot us all, still. Right now the retard has the rifle.”
All of them peered down the road with varying degrees of trepidation. Kasey could feel the paranoia in the group as if it were being passed from one to the other like a bottle of tequila. It was an eerie feeling to think somebody was watching him, eerier still to think they might be doing it through the telescopic sight of a high-powered rifle. They all crouched down, and Roger, who’d been holding the weapon as if it were a broomstick, began taking an interest in its working parts. Kasey noticed that the only one who didn’t try to make himself into a smaller target was Scooter. It must have been the pain that kept him from being more diligent.
Moments later, Fred called up from thirty feet below the road. “Perry’s in there.”
“How is he doing?” Kasey asked.
“I think he’s dead.”
“What do you mean you think he is dead?”
“Read my lips. I think he is dead.”
“Did they kill him?” Kasey turned to Scooter.
“I think the crash did,” yelled Fred.
“Oh, my Lord,” said Jennifer.
Bloomquist, who had a rich chocolate tan from lounging around the Newcastle pool all summer, turned pasty and began to look faint. He and Ryan had been friends since grade school, and Kasey knew it would take awhile for him to digest this turn of events. Hell, it was going to take them all awhile. They’d lost Chuck and Ryan. Jesus, how were they going to explain this to their parents? They could blame Chuck’s death on Polanski, but this was partly their own doing, wasn’t it?
After Kasey finished the sling and swathe on Scooter’s left arm, he walked over and lifted the rifle out of Bloomquist’s hands. Down the hill he could see the Land Rover pancaked on its roof, the upper half of the vehicle caved in. Looking at the wreck, it seemed a miracle that Scooter had been able to get out.
It was bad enough that Chuck was dead and the cyclists had sent their gunslinger down the hill with that pistol. It was bad enough they’d mutilated and killed Dozer. But now, to make things worse, poor little Ryan Perry was dead, Scooter was walking wounded, and the cyclists were armed with a loaded Winchester and a scope. All they’d meant to do was drink beer in the woods and have a good time. Who could have guessed they would spend the rest of the weekend running from a bunch of maniacs?
“They’re going to kill us all,” said Jennifer, staring at the road.
“No, they aren’t,” Kasey said, dropping an arm across her shoulders and hugging her close. Kasey was rather proud of the way he’d come to be the leader here, and now it was his responsibility to keep things together, to forgo a panic. “Listen to me, honey. They aren’t going to get anybody else. What happened here was a fluke. We’ve still got two trucks and two guns, and we’re mad as hell. They think they have the advantage, and that’s going to be their undoing.”
“I can’t believe we got Perry killed,” Bloomquist said.
“Bullshit we got him killed,” said Scooter. “They killed him just like they killed Chuck and the dog. If Fred hadn’t been alert enough