Intro: This is a short story about Barett when he was first in the Motorcycle gang in Tahoe, having just parted with his brothers, although they had lots of training, combat was limited, and distantly impersonal at this point in his life. This event takes place in late october in the Sierra mountains foothills, just southeast of Lake Tahoe. It is about his first real Kill, his first step into the dark world of gangs, a world of violence and deception he had not dealt with before.
He sat in the back of the old pickup truck as it bounced down the rutted dirt road, huddled low againest the rusted out wheel well. The cold morning air stung his bare face and hands, the dust from the fine dirt kicked up by the tires irritated his eyes, and made them tear up. It was still dark, at least another hour before the first rays of light would creep over the eastern sky, the coldest part of the night it seemed. His leather bikers jacket and hooded sweatshirt at least provided some protection and warmth for his core, but his shaved head and thin leather gloves leaked what little heat he could generate, out into the dark night. One other gang member sat in the back with him, a pencil thin gray cat mix, his green eyes staring intently into the warm cab of the truck where the three senior gang members sat drinking coffee and smoking hand rolled cigarettes, as they bounced along the road. They all called the gray cat "Stick", and that is what he went by, Barett never knew his real name. Stick wore a beat up black leather jacket as well, but only a t-shirt underneath, his dirty jeans more holes than denium, canvas high tops held together with duck tape covered his "small for his height" feet. He turned to look at Barett across the bed of the old chevy truck. His shaved head tucked down into into his jacket as far as it would go.
"You want a smoke ?" Stick said his teeth chattering from the cold.
" No, thanks though..I'm just fine." Barett tried to looked out through the windshield of the truck, hoping to see where they were going.
" Shoot yourself man, it will warm you up."
Stick slide out a pack of hand rolled cigarettes and attempted to light one up, ducking down behind the rusted white tool box in the bed of the truck, as it rattled loosely on the siderails. He almost had it lit up when they hit a deep rut in the road, Sticks head slammed into the tool box and knocked the lid open. He raised himself up onto his knees, cussing and ranting, holding the back of his head with both hands. The guys in the cab started laughing and hooting at him, which only caused him to curse louder. When he brought his hands down to shut the toolbox lid they were covered in blood.
" Damn man, now I'm bleeding.....pull over man...I need to clean up" He yelled to the guys in the cab.
" You'll be fine, we are almost there.......we need to be quiet from here on out, so keep it down...and do your part....or we'll make you walk back." Said the Dark haired driver as he leaned over his shoulder and spoke through the back window of the truck. Unlike the rest of them he had his long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a beat up straw cowboy hat on, a large canvas barn jacket covered his wide chest. Every one just called him "Hoss" but his real name was Greggory, the old truck was his, the gangs makeshift tow truck for when bikes broke down, which they often did.
Hoss turned the lights off and slowed the truck down to under 20 mph. Turning off the well worn dirt road he headed up a small hill to the left, the tall dry weeds clicking off the axles of the truck. Barett could tell that the trail had some use, but not a lot. The main dirt road turned to the right and vanished around a corner. They slowly crawled sideways and slightly up across this hill for another 3 miles before stopping just shy of the top.
Hoss opened the door slowly and closed it quietly, the other two in the cab did the same on the opposite side, jacking rounds into their guns as they stomped out their cigarettes in the sandy dirt.
"Ok, here is the plan," whispered Hoss", Stick you stay with the truck, keys are in the ignition....if anything goes wrong come and get us right away. Jimmy and Hog you take the house and kill everyone, I'll take "newbie" and go to the barn...when I give the all clear sign..... Stick you will drive down to the barn and start loading up the cargo. Any questions.........No...then lets go, ....and do it quiet."
Hoss hunched down low and started for the top of the hill, Jimmy and Hog went to the right and started around the bend in the hill quickly disappearing into the dark, before they had gone 30 feet Stick was in the cab of the Truck trying to warm himself up. Hoss just kept moving forward never looking back, working his way through the tall weeds and sagebrush, amazingly quiet for a guy his size.
The farm was really a small time "Mary Jane" operation, run by a rival gang that had stolen some of their stuff a long time ago. The house was no more than a small one room log cabin at the edge of the tree line, the barn a metal prefab garage covered in netting to hid it from planes in the sky, 60 feet away in the aspen trees up the hill from the house. They grew the "Weed" in the trees and hills, harvesting and fertalizing as the plants grew. The intel seemed good, two guys ran the place most of the time, and others came in to help with the harvest blindfolded....the place was supposed to be secret. Hoss had tortured a man to death a few weeks back, he said, and got the location out of him.
Barett grabbed the cold steel barrel of his single shot 12 gauge and stalked through the grass and weeds after Hoss, keeping back a few yards, trying to keep an open eye on the trees and the other on the log cabin.
21 comments:
Following "Hoss" in the dark through the cedars and sagebrush over the dusty dry ground, was harder than Barett expected. Although he had "officially" been in the gang a few days, he knew most of the guys already. Hoss they had told him came from a gang up north a few years ago and never talked about it, and you were not to ask him about it either. He was partial human, Native American and Partial horse. His looks were closer to full if you asked Barett. He worn knee high mocassins over the top of jeans, and a large handmade knife hung from his belt, Barett guessed he was 6'2" and 250 pounds on the light side. He moved like a man half his size and weight, checking the wind and constantly scanning the area in front of him.
This job was Barett's initiation into the gang, a ritual of sorts. The hit on the other gang was retalitory and meant to prove his loyalty to the group. At some point Barett expected they would send him to do the most dangerous job, whatever that turned out to be. Barett could tell "Hoss" was trying to lose him as he moved quickly across the dark valley, testing to see what he was made of. Although he was not officially the second in command, his authority and position was solid and well respected. If Barett could impress him, it would improve his chances of getting into some of the good jobs, he had every intention of making "Hoss" his mentor.
Barett focused on his breathing and feet and moved as quiet as he could, following behind the large man. The heavy full leather combat boots, and stiff leather jacket made more noise than he wanted, but he was able to keep up and not make any real noise. Hoss paused just inside the tree line and scanned the little bowl of a valley they had crept into. Pulling a large .41 cal. Revolver with a scope mounted on it from his jacket, Hoss double checked the cylinder and held the gun down low, waiting for Barett to make it over to him.
"We wait here until they make it to the cabin, before we move to the barn, just in case." Hoss whispered to him.
"They are moving into position now."
Barett could see the figures moving slowly through the dark, it was so quiet out that he even heard them moving occationally.
Hoss was crouched down low againest the earth, intently staring at the cabin, watching as the others guys kicked in the door of the cabin. Four quick shots were fired then a pause and a fifth rang out. The large caliber hunting rifles shots echoing across the valley. Barett started to stand but Hoss put his hand out and signalled for him to be still.
Barett settled back down, hiding back in the dirt behind some tall grass and weeds. It seemed like a long time, to him, to clear a house, at least compared to the raids he would watch the soliders go on when he was growing up. The morning sky was starting to lighten up, soon the darkness would recede and the cover it provided would be gone. They were in a rush againest time, to get moving before daylight revealed what they were up to.
The pungent smell of sage and decaying leaves mixing in with the nights humid, cold air, reminded him of better times out camping and hunting with his father and brothers in the late fall. Hiking the desert canyons in search of elk and moose for extra meat in the winter months. Little did he realize that father was really training them for events like this. He didn't remember eating much of the meat, it mostly went to the poor or needy in the small village just outside of the base. But they did spend a lot of time, stalking, building hides to watch the animals, working to leave no trail or sign that they had been there.
Finally the all clear sign came, and "Hoss" moved around to the back of the barn, still stalking quiet and fast through the trees. Barett trailed to his left, as Hoss was right handed. In hunting and combat training he knew that righthanders tended to favor their dominate hand, so he went to cover the left. Hoping to keep himself out of Hoss' firing arch, and provide a larger zone of kill area.
" Check the doors for traps, don't move anything you don't Absolutly need to.....then wait for me, I'll be right back."
Hoss spoke quietly to Barett then moved around to the front, doing a sweep of the building.
The metal building had been spray painted green and brown in a haphazard camoflage pattern. A series of camo nets were draped over the roof and sides, a poorly cut in door hugged what would have been the back rear corner, if you considered the roll up door the front. No larger than 20 feet by 30 feet it lay at a slight angle in the trees from the cabin, a well worn dirt path lead from it to this back door.
A large combination style lock, with heavy metal clasp held the door closed, a rag stuffed in where the door knob would have been, hinted at its lucrative contents. There was a small piece of plywood on the dirt in front of the door with a doormat on it. Barett thought this odd and looked around carefully, seeing two small red wires leading out from under the plywood and into the building. A sensor or switch of some kind
was his guess.
Barett stepped back and scanned the roof line of the makeshift barn. Not finding anything out of the ordinary he carefully looked over the backwall, looking for out of place shapes or colors.
Everything looked normal, if you considered camo netting and spray can paint jobs normal. He was just stepping torwards the building, just to the right of the mat, to check out the lock when he caught the odd shadow of a hole at a angle in the coregated siding. Upon further inspection he saw the tip of a barrel recessed less than a quarter of an inch back in. It was set up to point right at the back door. Deadly to anyone who came to the door unaware.
The Sun was just making its way over the horizon, beams of orange light cutting their way through the trees and morning mist, adding to the surrealness of the moment. Barett could hear, faintly, Hoss moving around the corner of the barn. Using some trees as cover, he stood back in the shadows, watching both the barn and the cabin down below.
Hoss stopped just as he came around the corner, scanned by the door, then turned his head and looked right at Barett.
A thin grin eased across his dark face, as he moved towards him.
" Almost didn't see you there." Hoss said in a quiet, but freindly tone.
Barett and Him both knew that wasn't true, but he accepted the compliment gratefully.
" What did you find ?"
" The man door is trapped, two wires lead out from under the mat, and a gun barrel is pointed straight at the spot from a hole just to the right, looks like a 20 gauge shotgun....I would suspect a simple trigger mechanism. There is no exhaust flues, or openings...no smell of gasoline...so no generators or stoves...The lock is a heavy duty combination, but should be easy to undo."
Barett looked at the Large man, his large brown eyes constantly scanning the area around him, his black hair and dark brown skin making him seem much older than Barett suspected he was. He nodded in approval, almost pride at the way things were going on.
" What do you think we should do then ?" He asked, in a fatherly sort of way, hinting that he knew what to do, but waiting to see if Barett's answer was the same.
" Jam a long stick into the barrel, just in case, cut the two wires, and bust the lock open...I would also not step on the mat just yet...who knows what else they may have done." Barett eyed Hoss carefully, watching his face.
"Sounds good enough to me, go to it." He slapped Barett on the back pushing him towards the door.
Barett grabbed a branch off a aspen tree just thinner than the barrel and cut it off. Pressing it down inside the barrel as far as he could without putting to much pressure on the gun, then stuffing leaves around the edge, to seal it off. Pulling out his beat up leatherman multi-tool, he put both wires together and held his breath.....two red wires indicated a dry switch, if one was white that would indicate it had voltage and cutting both would set the trigger off....This was all based on the fact these guys knew how to wire a simple switch. In Barett's limited experience, wiring was not a "stoners" best skill. He cut both the wires at the same time in one quick motion, keeping his head low, hands and face covered by the jacket.
Everthing seemed to stop making noise for a brief second, then the snort/giggle of Hoss broke the silence....
" Look like you crapped your pants there 'Newbie'......get the lock done....then we can celebrate.."
Barett stood up and slid the tool back into its holster in the small of his back. Grabbing the lock he worked the dial for a few seconds feeling for the tumblers....after a minute or so he found the combo and opened the lock.
"Should I open the door, or allow you the honors?"
Barett stepped aside, motioning to the door with his hand as he picked up his shotgun from where it leaned on the side of the barn.
"No need to be so formal, but I will take the honors...."
Hoss walked up to the door, side stepped the mat, and eased the door open. The pungent aroma of "Mary Jane" drying came rushing out the door. Hoss took a deep breath and smiled, then stepped into the dark building. A flash lights beam cut through the dusty air as he slowly sweep the barn, from left to right then up and down. A low chuckle then a full laugh came from the big man....
" Son of a bitch......Holy shit....you best come in here and see this.....I don't believe it myself."
He was still laughing as his figure diappeared in to the building.
Barett stepped carefully around the mat himself and turned on his own light, a small maglite worn down to the shiny metal with use.
Hanging from the ceiling were several plants tied upside down, the walls lined with makeshift tables, all haphazardly put together. But stacked neatly in the center was a pile of plastic wrapped bundles perhaps eight feet long and six feet high. A seasons worth of "Weed" from what Barett could tell, or a small fortune on the street if you looked at it that way. A large metal desk was pushed into the far corner, papers and tools covered the top, playboy centerfolds and other pictures of naked girls were taped to the walls, several scales of different sizes lined a table next to the desk.
"That seems like a lot of 'Weed' for this type of operation to me ?"
Hoss turned to look at him, the big grin slowly fading from his face.
"Good point....this looks like its all ready to be shipped some where...and soon...Find Jimmy and Hog and get the truck down here...we need to leave..and fast."
Hoss went to work opening the large overhead door, as Barett made his way over to the cabin. He still hadn't seen Jimmy or Hog come out of the building yet..that seemed odd to him. Slowing down his trot to a quiet stroll he moved off to the right of the trail a little trying to get a look inside the door that was still open a few inches. Something was wrong, this all seemed to easy, to good to be true. Barett didn't like the feeling he was getting. Some of his instructors called it "Battle sense" others called in "Zanshin..Warrior spirit", what ever it was, it was screaming in his head. He slung his shotgun from off his shoulder, just as a barrel poked itself out from the door of the cabin.
Barett flung himself into the dirt, dramatically reducing his profile. Pulling the shotgun to his shoulder and pointing it at the door, he fired a shot off. The Double 00' buckshot peppered the door and wall of the cabin twentyfive feet away, unable to tell if he hit anyone or anything inside. At almost the same time the high caliber rifle shot out from the door, the round whistling over his head and hiting the corner of the barn behind him. He could hear what sounded like three to four guns being chambered, way more than just Jimmy and Hog.
Barett was sure it was Jimmy that gave the all clear signal, this could only mean a double cross of some sort. But there was no time to contemplate the details now, the sound of breaking glass and another gun barrel coming through the front window made that clear. Moving quickly through some grass to mound of dirt to the left, as multiple bullets torn up the dirt around him. Rolling on to his back and jacking a fresh round into the shotgun, he attempted to slow his breathing and think.
Out gunned and out numbered, pinned down a mere 25 feet from his antagonists the situation looked grim. If they were smart they would lay down some surpressing fire and overrun him, but they didn't instead they continued to take random shots at him from inside the cabin. The rounds kicking up large clouds of dust around him, and pelting him with rock chips and dirt, but otherwise he was relatively safe.
Barett waited until it sounded like they were reloading, rolled to his left, shot at the front window and then rolled quickly back to his little hole in the dirt. He could hear screams from the cabin, as bullets punched the ground around him. Three distinct calibers were being fired, one round felt like it grazed his leg as he rolled into the small gully like depression in the dirt.
Where the hell was Hoss, he must have heard the shots and decided something was wrong? Matter of fact, Stick should be here to it felt like several minutes had past, but he knew they hadn't, he was just experiencing 'Combat Time' where things slowed down and seemed to take longer.
For a brief moment things went quiet, and Barett could hear the roar of the old truck as it was being gunned to life. A brief idea flashed in his head. The truck being a perfect distraction, as soon as it rounded over the hill below him, he would rush the cabin, using the scattered junk around the yard as cover, then hide againest the fieldstone fireplace chimney, the only wall without any windows. Breathing deeply he hoped his plan would work, at least it was better than laying in the dirt waiting to get shot.
Barett reloaded the single shot 12 gauge and braced himself for the mad dash to the cabin. The gun was a lousy weapon for a firefight of this type, and he vowed to upgrade as soon as he could. Granted the old gun was reliable, light weight, and easy to use, just not a great combat weapon.
The old yellow truck bounced over the top of the small ridge, the tires throwing tails of dirt into the air. Stick was at the steering wheel, desperately trying to keep the old truck under control on the loose dirt. Three shots rang out almost at the same time, each one punching holes into the winshield of the truck.
Barett jumped up at that same moment and ran a zig zag pattern through the scattered junk. He felt his pants rip as he rushed past some rusted out machinery, but kept moving as bullets bounced off nearby objects. Slamming into the stone chimmney base, he glanced over towards the truck.
The old truck was just lurching to a stop, throwing up a cloud of dust. Sticks bloody body thrown up over the steering wheel in a unnatural position, jammed againest the door and front windshield like some ragdoll.
He looked down at his leg, to see if he was hurt himself and noticed the hole ripped into his canvas cargo pants pocket. A small trail of red shotgun shells lead back to the old rusted out farm equipment. Only two were left in his pocket, plus the one in the gun.
Three buckshot rounds left, three guys in the cabin with rifles, plus one other possibly wounded. Terrible odds in the best case, unsurvivable in a frontal assault, the worst. He needed to get back in the woods, and make a run for it, evade and survive.
Where the Hell was Hoss, Barett didn't think he was in on it...he'd never let them shoot his truck up like that. But he was a smart man, he could wait and look for better targets. Not try and have a shoot out in the open ground. Hoss held the higher ground, at the barn and the woods provided him good cover....but still no gun fire, no yells of advice nothing...very strange.
Barett heard the front door open and soft footsteps on the porch. No time to think about Hoss, or Stick, that could come later if he lived.
Swinging out low and fast with the 12 gauge out front he rounded the corner of the cabin. Jimmy stood there with his old .243 bolt action savage rifle tight againest his shoulder. Caught off guard by Barett's low angle and sheer speed of attack he didn't have time to react, and the low boom of the shotgun answered first. The impact lifted Jimmy right off his feet, throwing his upper body back into a somesault like move as the blast from the buckshot caught him in the upper chest from a low angle, ripping holes through his body. His look of shock and pain the last image Barett saw.
Before the body hit the ground he was racing towards the tree line, across the grass field, using the chimmney wall as a block from the windows and doors. It was the fastest Barett had even ran, weaving in a short zig zag pattern, but still his legs felt like lead, his arms like they were carrying 5 gallon buckets of water. Each heart beat sounded in his ears threatening to drowned out all his senses. Amazingly all things stayed silent, no shots came from the cabin, no pains of bullets piercing his body. About thirty feet into the aspens he threw his body onto the ground, crawling through the thistle plants and tall grass, digging his way into some cover behind the trunk of a tree. Only then did he turn to look back and see if he was being followed.
The view was obscured by the trees and the chimmney, which was good for his escape, but no good for keeping an eye on the boys in the cabin. Still no one followed him, for now he was safe, well safer. Slowly crawling through the undergrowth he made his way towards the Barn, the thistles poked his face and hands, the dark moist dirt caked the front of his jacket and pants, as the morning dew slowly dripped on his back. He was wet and muddy on the outside, soaking from sweat on the inside of his cloths by the time he made it to the barn a mere 95 feet away from where he entered the woods. But it was 95 feet of crawling slowly over rocks and plants, easing his body around the forest floors deadfall and maze of trees and bushes, trying to not make sound or disturb the branches.
From behind the Barn he could make out the front porch of the cabin, dark blood stained the wood, the barrel of a gun was still pointed out the largest window, drag marks showed that Jimmy had been dragged inside at some point. There was a lot of blood, no way he would live long, if he wasn't already dead now. Stick still lay in the same place Barett saw him last, slumped over the steering wheel of the truck. The Truck looked like it was still useable, all the shots being carefully placed above the engine and into the cab, it sat in the yard 80 feet or so from the cabin. The sun was up over the tree line now, warming the air and causing a thin mist to cover the ground. Making the truck seem like it was stuck in the middle of some lost cloud.
Barett eased out a small pair of binoculars from his other cargo pocket, only to find one lense completly destroyed, the dent in the aluminun frame testified to how close he had come to being wounded. He decided to do a quick inventory of what he had left on him.
He double checked his ammo, two shells left, one in the gun, the other in his right front pocket. The leatherman multitool in its sheath, a six inch dagger in his boot, some beef jerky and butterscotch candies in a plastic bag in his left pant pocket, a small flask of water in his leather jacket, the watch on his wrist and a butane lighter in his sweatshirt. Not much of a inventory he thought, taking a swig of water and chewing on some beef jerky, he planned.
He lay in the dirt behind some fallen trees, 40 feet behind the barn. His watch told him only forty five minutes had past since the shooting began, but his body felt like it had been hours. No sign of Hoss, no noise, nothing. Every so often there was movement in the cabin and some noise, smoke now puffed slowly out the top of the chimmney. If not for the blood on the porch and Stick dead in the truck it was a picture perfect farm scene.
Baretts first instinct was to leave, he could survive in the woods just fine and make his way back to Reno on foot just fine. IF it wasn't for Hoss and the question of what happened to him, Barett would leave right then, but he had to find out, he needed to know.
Slowly, quietly, he crawled his way over to the Barn. Stopping every so often to take inventory of the cabin, making sure things were still quiet. The man door was still open and the best spot to get in, he crawled to the back wall and stopped. He waited for five minutes, listening and watching, nothing happened. Bugs crawled around him, the birds tweeted and flew around the tree canopy, a squirel ran up a tree, and that was it.
Barett eased his way around the mat and in to the barn. His eyes were just starting to adjust to the darkness when he heard the click, click, click of a revolver being cocked.
" Hoss, it's me....it's Barett, don't shoot man.....It's cool...."
Barett waited, his breathing was quick, his heart rate elevated. There was a long pause, then some movement on the far side of the Barn.
" Newbie....are you friend or Foe...?"
Barett could sense some fear, some trepidation in Hoss' voice. It didn't sound right, but the question was deadly serious.
" I am friend, they have killed Stick...Jimmy and Hog have turned on us...I...I had to kill Jimmy..there are two more guys in the cabin with Hog. They all have rifles, I just have the shotgun. How come you didn't back me up...I was totally ambushed out there ?"
There was another long silence, then the sound of the revolver being uncocked.
"Turn on your flashlight and come over here."
Barett did as he was told, making his way to the far corner. When he found Hoss, his back was againest a table the revolver in his hands. Blood covered his face and the front of his shirt, a bandana covered his eyes.
"What the hell happened to you ?"
Hoss held up his right hand, the pinky finger wrapped in blood stained cloth.
"Must have been the first shot they took......I was by the outer wall...bullet punched thru, ricoheted around. I had my right hand up by my face when it hit me, caught my pinky finger, my face and my right eye, left eyes so full of shit and blood all I can see is shapes. Damn fine way to go down in a fire fight. Sounds like the O.K corral out there and I'm in here crawling around on the floor."
Barett walked over to him and instantly went to remove the bandana over his face. Hoss's big hand swatted away his arm.
" I need to look at it, I am a trained military medic..your going to have to trust me on this. And we need a plan, staying here makes us sitting ducks."
Hoss hesitated some, then let his large left arm drop down.
"you'd better be good "Newbie"...take a look and see what you can do."
Barett pulled back the blood soaked bandana from his eye and face, it never ceased to amaze him how much head wounds bleed.
" Let me see your hand too..."
Hoss raised up his hand, and Barett quickly removed the makeshift bandaid.
" Looks like the tip of your pinky took the worst damage. The nail is imbedded in your eye lid, or parts of it. If we could flush this out with some sterile water, and get some antibiotic on it you should be fine. There is no punchures to the eyeball itself, good thing is eyes heal fast, bad thing...you won't be getting back that finger tip. I'll flush your left eye with some water now, that way you can at least see some things."
Barett went to work quickly, wiping down his small pliers the best he could and pulling bits of nail and bone out of the right eye lid and brow, the small flashlight in his mouth giving him some focused light. Using some duct tape on the desk to make butterfly bandaids for the mutliple lacerations on Hoss' face, he made several field bandages from the clean part of his shirt. Then at last pouring the fresh water from his flask over the eye, holding the lids back, he stood back.
"Damn newbie, that was very professional..and quick. What else are you holding out on me about?"
Hoss pulled himself up off the floor and gazed around. His right eye still covered by the Bandana, the right hand all wrapped up, but his face didn't look so much like hamburger now.
" Still kind of foggy to see....but much better."
" I told them I had some medical training, I don't think they took me seriously...I grew up on a military base...so I learned a few extra things along the way."
Barett looked around, then went to the gun in the wall, sure enough it was a 20 gauge, bolted to the wall. He went to the door on his belly, pulled back the mat and took out the small rocker switch that was the trigger for the boobytrap.
Outside he could see movement in the cabin, the door was being inched open and the scope of a rifle had inched itself almost all the way outward. They were scoping the place out pretty heavy now, getting more daring. Soon they would start leaving the cabin, and start hunting him down.
" Hoss toss me your revolver..."
Barett wispered to the big man.
" I've got an Idea."
Hoss hesitated for a moment, and shuffled his feet a little.
" Here, you take the shotgun, you'll do better with it than with your pistol, especially in your shape."
Barett backed himself up and handed the 12 gauge to him, placing the second shell in his hand. Hoss slowly reached into his jacket and pulled the revolver out. He handed it to Barett grip first, then pulled a small leather pouch out of his pant pocket full of shells, each bundle of six held together with a rubberband and wrapped in flannel, to keep them quiet. Barett looked them over quickly, six in the gun, twenty four in the pouch, that was better than two.
" That is my baby, handed down from father to son, till it came to me....protect it with your life."
Hoss seemed more emotional than Barett had ever thought he could be, but shrugged it off due to the shock of injury.
Crawling back out the door, he slide around the mat and into the weeds. Taking a bead on the rifle poking out the door through the pistol scope, Barett adjusted the eye piece on the scope. It was only a four power scope, but of good quality, so much so that it felt like he was pulled right up by the front door, the details were so sharp.
They had darkened the windows now with blankets and other objects. One rifle barrel stuck out of the broken window, the other out of the front door.
Barett didn't have a good line on the back door, but could see most of the small yard around the cabin. He beaded up on the rifle coming out the front door, resting the base of the pistol grip on a log in front of him, attempting to get the steadiest shot he could.
Slowly he started to pull back the trigger, straight and steady like he had been taught. About half way through with the shot a question passed through his mind, "What if the scope was off or Hoss had it sighted in oddly, he never asked him about that ?" But as quickly as it came he tossed it out, to late now.
The Large revolver bucked up in his hands, the blowback from the powder and shock of the explosion peppered his face with dust and hot exhaust, as the bullet escaped from the barrel, rocketing to its deadly destination.
Barett had decided to shoot just to his right and a few inches lower than where the rifle at the door came out. He assumed it was a right handed shooter, and he was looking through the scope, if this all panned out to be true, the bullet would strike the mass of the body, hopefully in the chest.
The impact from the bullet was dramatic, the custom loaded rounds being designed for maximum damage. The rifle was thrown up and back as the shadowed figure was spun backwards and around to his left, knocking the door wide open. The bullet was off from what he hoped, but it managed to catch the small man in denuim jeans and a flannel shirt, in the hip, punching a ragged wound in his body.
Barett dodged down behind the fallen log, as two shots came wildly from the cabin, one striking the barn, another richoceting through the woods.
He paused to let his breathing return to normal, then began crawling through the weeds and grass back to the barn. As he did, his mind went back to the event on the front porch with Jimmy.
That was his first real confirmed kill, the first time he had pulled the trigger on another person. He expected some change to happen in him, something surreal or supernatural. But nothing, his only thought "Better Jimmey than me", it seemed rather selfish, and cold. He thought it would affect him more, perhaps latter, but right now he was focused on surviving. No, more than just surviving, he wanted revenge, he wanted to prove he was more than just a "Newbie" but a vauluable member of the gang. Perhaps if he lived through this, it would greatly improve his rank.
Barett belly crawled back to the door of the Barn, keeping his body low, making as little noise as he could.
That shot should keep them in place for a while, he thought to himself. At least it would make them think twice about sneaking out of the cabin again.
Just before the doormat to the Barn he stopped, pulled out the leatherman and dug a small hole to the side of the trail. He pulled the red wires over to it, concealing them in the dirt and weeds then hooked a small branch it that was set across the trail to the rocker switch. If the branch was moved the shotgun should go off, once he reconnected the wires, he wasn't ready for that just yet.
"Hoss its me, Newbie, I got one of them, not Hog but someone else. How are you holding out ?"
Barett whispered from the opening to the door.
"OK....I guess. I think we had better get out of the Barn soon, they may have reinforcements on the way....sooner or later someone will come for all this "Mary Jane".
Hoss was still sitting in the back of the barn with the shotgun when Barett made his way in and dusted himself off.
"I have a plan, there is a large hiking pack over there, I was going to pack it with as many bags as I could. Then I was going to sneak you out of here, back into the woods. There is a heavy animal trail that runs up the hill through the aspens and scruboaks easy to follow, you could take. You take the pack and head up over the hill. I was going to set the rest of the "Mary jane" On fire once you had gotten clear. When the guys come out to hunt me down, I can pick them off one by one."
Barett spoke quickly, a little to excited for his plan.
" You want to burn all this 'Mary Jane'........are you nuts...do you know how much this is worth ?"
Hoss seemed really surprised by Barett's idea.
" Look Newbie, this is a small fortune...this is retirement for you and me...living the good life. you just can't torch your future..."
" I understand all that, but whoever owns all this knows we were coming...they planned to kill us...If we lived and got away with all this, they would find us, it wouldn't be hard...and thats IF we live.... trying to haul all this away. But if we only take a little, enough to make some money, and burn the rest....they won't know that we took any. And if we kill everyone else in the cabin, they won't know if anyone lived or took anything...I think it's our best shot of coming out on top in all of this."
Barett paused, hoping the idea sounded as good coming out of his mouth as it did in his mind.
Hoss just stood there in the shadows, making it hard to read his expression.
" Damn it 'Newbie' that makes to much sense......it might actually work...the smoke will drawn out the guys from the cabin....But what about the bodies and my truck.?"
Barett was stuffing packages of "Mary Jane" Into the large hiking pack, and stacking the rest into a pile that would burn better. The local wildlife would be flying high by tonight he thought. His back was bent low, the mud and dirt were starting to dry to a light brown, his clothes clung stickily to his body. He looked up at Hoss....
" We have to burn it all, the cabin and the truck........everything must burn, if I could make it look like the Sheriff did it, I would. It needs to look like everything went bad, unable to tell who really lived or died.....then we walk back to town...I guess about a week from now we show up alive back at the clubhouse...and buy you another truck."
Hoss drummed on the shotgun, with his left hand.....Barett continued to load the backpack...Hoss finally spoke.
"You really think we need to burn the truck....really?"
" Yeah, totally...more realistic that way.....why, it's just a truck."
Barett stopped loading the Backpack and looked at Hoss. He never found himself to be the sentimental type, tools and cars were just objects to him, they were only good for what they could do for you. When something wore out or you didn't need it, you sold it or got rid of it. Even after the death of his parents, he kept very few things. Those things were buried out in the desert by Palm Springs....someday he would go back and get them. But Hoss probably was thinking more about his eye and finger, and a three day hike in the mountains, then he was about sentimental things. Barett was sure he would be ok, the eyeball wasn't injured, and the lacerations would eventually heal. Part of him always wanted to fake his own death, he thought this was a good chance to try it out.
" If there are things you need from the truck, If, and thats a big If, I can eliminate all the other guys, I will get them out of the truck......you aren't thinking of trying to drive the truck out of here, are you?"
Barett held still, letting Hoss think about it. He knew that Hoss was the senior member, and in the end he was going to have to follow him, he just wanted to have a better shot at escaping unharmed himself.
" We need the truck to get out of here, I'm in no condition to be hiking around the woods for 3 days. But burning every thing down, that is a good idea. I'll hide in the woods, you lure them out and shot the remaining guys....that should work."
Hoss stated, sounding more like the guy Barett knew than he had the last little bit.
Barett gritted his teeth, his plan was much safer,at least for him. Part of him liked working alone,not taking orders from anyone, it wasn't safe ,just yet, for that. He missed his brothers a little bit more each day, and thought if they were here it would be different. He never thought that he would miss them, hoping that the excitement of being on his own and making his own way would be all that he needed. But something deep inside that he tried to keep under cover, tried hard not to think about reminded him that his family was still very important to him. In the end, his Brothers were his only connection to any kind of Family, the only people he felt he could trust.
Barett let out a sigh of resignation and nodded his head. I should have just left when I had the chance he thought, at least then he could do things his own way, in his own time frame. It reminded him of all the arguements Utah and him used to have....there was no real sense in the having the arguement, they always ended the same.
" When you get far enough into the woods I'll start the fire in the Barn....that should get them to do something down at the cabin. Then I can play clean up and finish the others that are wounded. I just hope the truck is still in driveable shape."
Hoss nodded his approval.
"Good, I hate to lose my truck, it and the gun mean a lot to me....besides we may want to move extra fast at some point, and will want the wheels. When you get the truck up and running, honk the horn two times then pause and honk it three times. I'll walk out of the woods when I hear that......and Newbie....good luck, Hog is a good shot and a mean fighter....watch out for the big knife he carries in his boot."
Barett helped get the pack on to Hoss' back and started the low crawl out of the barn and into the woods leading the way to the game trail he had spotted earlier.
This was begining to piss Barett off. He looked at his watch, as he crawled through the woods. It had been almost two hours now since they rolled up in the truck. In his mind to much time had passed, to long for the guys in the cabin to signal for backup or come up with a good plan. If he had been on his own and left, he could have been at least four miles or better from here, free and clear.
He glanced back at Hoss following him. Even for his injuries he moved with amazing stealth in the woods.
It was worth saving his life, there was no way he could have made it out alive in the condition Barett found him in, perhaps this would all work out, he thought.
It still irritated him to take directions that could cost him his life, perhaps that is part of the problems he had growing up on the base, taking directions from idiots that had senority over you. That was the one part of the Military that he hated, people " Rose to the level of thier incompentency " the officers used to say. meaning they promoted people, sometimes just to get them out of their way and into someone elses way. Lots of people in leadership, that couldn't lead people, or shouldn't lead people.
Mentally Barett was scrolling over the options, looking for angles that would play out to his advantage, as he brushed the high grasses from his way.
They had gone perhaps two hundred feet into the tree line when Barett saw movement on the side of the Cabin.
There was a quick blurr then the figure of someone running into the woods, while another figure scanned with a rifle from the corner of the cabin. It looked like Hog, but before Barett could bring the scope up and get a bead, he had made it into the trees, losing any good shots he may have had.
This didn't look good, if he shot it would give away his location, and probably miss. Now it was a game of cat and mouse in the woods, Barett's only thought was, " Am I the mouse, or the cat ?"
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