RUN! Page 8

  ‘I’ll ask the questions. Who are you?’ Zeb was ready for anything. His ears listening to sounds beyond.

  Doesn’t look like they are connected to Namir. Or Tavez. But I need to be sure.

  ‘Jesus,’ Jake repeated. ‘We’re campers. You didn’t have to hit Chuck so hard. He’s bleeding.’

  ‘You got any IDs?’

  ‘Who are you, man? Are you a cop?’

  ‘I am the one holding the gun on you.’

  The hikers took one look at Zeb and swallowed their protests. They tossed their driver’s licenses at Zeb, who signaled to the girl to pick them up.

  ‘Chuck. Jake. Paul Bo—’ she squinted her eyes, reading their first names.

  ‘Bowdrie, ma’am,’ a lean man spoke up.

  ‘All from Texas. From Houston.’

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I told you. Camping. We come each year,’ Jake replied, impatiently, darting glances at the burly man on the ground. ‘Look, man. Ma’am. Chuck was out of line. I apologize for that. But there was no reason to react like that.’

  ‘He was reaching for his gun.’

  ‘He’s drunk. I could have reasoned with him. But, no. You had to go Rambo on him. Why are you carrying that many guns, anyway?’

  ‘There are terrorists in the forest,’ Sara Ashland cut him short. ‘They killed my father. They are hunting us.’

  Her words sucked the wind out of them.

  She explained briefly as their eyes bugged out.

  ‘How can we help?’ Jake scratched his head. ‘Our cellphones don’t work. We were planning to return tomorrow.’

  ‘Stay together,’ Zeb warned them. ‘Keep away from any noise you hear. Warn other hikers. Don’t play hero. Go back to the nearest town. Report to the cops.’

  ‘You think they’ll do that?’ the girl asked him, when they were on the move again.

  They had taken more water and food supplies from the campers and left quickly, Zeb conscious of the time they were wasting.

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ she pivoted on a heel in surprise, nearly falling.

  ‘Yeah. Our story. It is so incredible that no one will believe it. They will talk among themselves. It takes just one person to trash it and they will come around to that man’s view.’

  He pushed her forward gently, resuming their fast lope. They still had to cover his planned distance.

  At six pm they stopped for a breather.

  Shared fruit that they had taken from the hikers. Finished a bottle of water.

  Started again.

  They were approaching a rise that was in the open. There was no way to go around it without sacrificing too much time.

  The incline seemed mostly gravel and soft mud, after the dense trees petered out.

  Zeb wanted to cross it quickly—minimal exposure against the skyline.

  The girl sprinted over it and called out that there was more gravel on the other side, a dry stream bed, and then forest.

  The sniper’s bullet struck Zeb just as he reached the top of the slope.

  It tore into his thigh and brought him down.

  Chapter Forty

  Joachim Tavez reached his pot farm early.

  He liked to keep his men on their toes, and arriving at the farm before the scheduled time was part of his method.

  He had six shooters with him and ten workers.

  Four other gunmen were in the forest, forming a perimeter around the pot farm.

  They had flown to Canada, evaded the border patrol by walking by night through farmland along the boundary, then driven to the outskirts of the wilderness, trekking through the forest to the farm.

  The stealth was just an extra precaution. Tavez was passing as a Mexican businessman and had ten other fake passports he could use.

  He arrived to see Koeman hopping mad. The guard was swearing up a storm as he clutched his shoulder.

  ‘What happened?’

  Koeman jumped, startled. His face lost its color when he saw the cartel boss and his men, who had crept up on him silently.

  Tavez was five feet ten, lean and clean-shaven, with short, cropped hair. His darkly tanned face and black eyes could split into a warm smile.

  But that warmth was a façade. Joachim Tavez was violent, ruthless and emotionless.

  His face could turn cold in an instant. He took pleasure in killing.

  Koeman had seen the gang boss enjoy watching a snitch’s hands be hacked off.

  The guard told him what had happened and closed his eyes for an instant, expecting a bullet to the brain.

  ‘You told him this is my farm?’

  ‘I had no choice. He would have killed me. He had a gun to my head,’ Koeman quavered.

  ‘And you think I will let you live?’

  ‘I hope you will. I know how he looks. He won’t have gone far. We can find him.’

  Tavez looked at his man. Koeman had served him well for a long time. He had not once let the cartel boss down.

  Koeman was probably not at fault.

  However, Tavez hadn’t grown his business by being big-hearted. Carelessness deserved to be punished.

  Especially when it concerned the pot farm.

  This was a new venture for the drug lord. If he could grow pot in this wilderness, in America, right under the noses of law enforcement, he could grow it in other forests.

  He could build cook shops in these wild places. His cost of distribution would plummet.

  Tavez was a killer, true, but foremost a businessman. And now, a couple of strangers knew about the farm.

  No, such carelessness could not go unpunished.

  He nodded to one of his shooters, who produced a silver-plated Colt, Tavez’s personal weapon.

  He cocked and pointed it at Koeman, who begged and trembled.

  He was pulling the trigger, focused on the guard’s terror-stricken face and oblivious to movement around him.

  ‘Stop!’

  Chapter Forty-One

  The cartel boss turned slowly, his shooters much faster, whirling around with M16s at the ready to confront the strangers.

  Eleven of them, Tavez counted. Well-armed, pointing weapons at him and his men.

  ‘We call this a Mexican standoff,’ he grinned, turning on the charm.

  The leader, a bearded man with fierce eyes, didn’t smile. He sized up the gang boss with an impenetrable expression on his face.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I should ask that question,’ Tavez replied. ‘You are in my territory. Pointing guns at me.’

  ‘Where did the man and the girl go?’

  ‘You heard? You know them?’ the Mexican’s gaze sharpened.

  ‘I have business with them.’

  ‘What kind?’

  ‘I have business with them. Not you.’

  Tavez clenched his teeth. He was outnumbered. This wasn’t the place to start a gunfight.

  ‘I have business with them, too.’

  ‘Your men know this forest? We can hunt them together, if they do.’

  ‘Who are you, and why should I trust you? You are not American.’

  ‘Neither are you,’ the stranger said, smiling crookedly. ‘I know that smell. I know your accent. I can guess what kind of man you are.’

  ‘So can I.’

  ‘They are getting away as we talk. Are you in? Or shall we start shooting?’

  Joachim Tavez was the most feared man in Mexico, his name one of the best-known in the world.

  Those who knew him knew he wasn’t a man to be crossed. And yet, this stranger stood here challenging him, uncaring that he would be one of the first to die if bullets started to fly.

  The Mexican felt a grudging respect for the man.

  There was the fact, for starters, that the stranger and his ten men had somehow slipped past his security cordon. Someone would die for that.

  But for now, the newcomer was right.

  The unknown man and the girl were slipping away. But still, there was the matter
of trust.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Why does it matter? We could have opened fire on you without warning.’

  ‘You would have died.’

  ‘So would you.’

  Tavez didn’t believe in hunches. He never trusted people.

  He did something he never had in his life.

  He signaled his men to lower their weapons.

  And that’s how his sniper team of Gomes, Hector and Enrico joined Namir, who pushed them hard through the forest, not bothering with concealment or stealth.

  Because finding Sara Ashland and whoever was with her was more important.

  For both the Lebanese gang and the Mexicans.

  Soon they had a stroke of luck, when Enrico noticed a filament hanging off a branch — from the hoodie the girl wore.

  That confirmed they were on the right track, and half an hour later, they thought they heard the girl talking.

  Then Gomes caught sight of the man and the girl. Gomes, the best cartel sniper in Mexico, who then fell flat on his belly.

  Brought his scope to his eye.

  Breathed in and out, while Namir halted everyone else.

  And Gomes fired the shot, just as the man was crossing the ridge.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Zeb could feel incoming danger the way animals can sense it.

  But before he could react, the round slammed into his left thigh.

  He had been fired upon several times in his life. He had experienced more severe injuries than a bullet to his leg.

  So now, his training and experience took over.

  He allowed his body to fall limply. Weight and gravity took over and dragged him down the slope, beyond the sight line of the sniper.

  In the distance he heard the yips of his pursuers.

  Namir and his men, he thought. He knows I am hit. They came quicker than I expected.

  And then he stopped worrying about them.

  Because Sara Ashland’s face was in front of him. Crying. Grasping at him. Helping him stand.

  ‘Ten minutes,’ he said, gritting his teeth.

  ‘What?’ she sobbed.

  ‘We have ten minutes before they come. Get to cover. Hide. Take this.’ He thrust one of Koeman’s knives at her.

  He took long hops, ignoring the pain. Ignoring that he even had a left leg. His body could protest and groan all it wanted.

  He would become Zen.

  ‘Dig a hole. Leaves. Branches to cover yourself. Take this.’ He cut a section of rubber tube he had found in the guard’s tent. ‘Use it to breathe. Like you are underwater.’

  ‘Give me a safe word.’

  ‘What?’ She was gulping enormous breaths of air. Sucking in oxygen. The sounds of pursuit were coming clearer now.

  ‘Ma’am!’—he grabbed her shoulders, blinking his eyes rapidly to dislodge sweat—‘Listen to me. Carefully.’

  He repeated his instructions, looking deeply into her eyes. He sighed inwardly with relief when her eyes turned intelligent again, and she nodded in understanding.

  ‘Give me a safe word.’

  ‘Tulip,’ she replied promptly, not asking why he wanted one.

  ‘Tulip?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s Gramps’ cat.’

  ‘Go. Don’t think of me. I will deal with them. We will be fine.’

  Her strained face bobbed, and she fled.

  Zeb waited for the forest to swallow her and then looked back.

  Three figures were racing down the slope.

  Eight, maybe nine minutes away.

  One of them shouted and pointed in his direction.

  Zeb hobbled toward the protection offered by the firs.

  A shot rang out, the bullet losing itself in the forest, and then he was out of their sight.

  He stopped immediately and looked around.

  For a moment he thought of digging a hole in the ground and burying himself.

  The way he had asked the girl to do.

  No time for that. Will require too much effort.

  He looked up.

  Branches. And leafy cover.

  Favoring his right leg, he jumped as high he could.

  He slipped and bit back an oath when he landed on his left leg and agony raced through him.

  He leaped again.

  Hooked his right hand around a branch and pulled himself up.

  Got his right leg over the branch, and levered his body through sheer dint of will.

  He was ten feet above the ground now. Waiting, Koeman’s second hunting knife in his hand. One of his Glocks within easy reach.

  At Koeman’s tent, he had pocketed several strings that he now used to tie the HKs to his waist to prevent them from clanking.

  A simple tug would release them and bring either one to hand for quick use.

  He wiped sweat off his eyes and hunkered down.

  Someone would die in the next few minutes.

  He hoped it wouldn’t be him.

  Or the girl.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Zeb moistened his lips. Stopped thinking about Sara Ashland. Only his pursuers mattered.

  Namir will not send all. He has lost too many men. Tavez won’t, either. He is in a new situation.

  Those three men I saw. They’ll come.

  No more, I hope.

  Time didn’t matter anymore. He worked out various scenarios in his mind for how he would take down three shooters, in whichever formation they approached.

  It was still light. The sun was close to setting, and through gaps in the leaves, he could see the sky had turned orange.

  He tried to look at the ridge, but there was too much foliage in his way. All he could see was a narrow section of the flats. Grass swaying lightly in the thin breeze. The chirp of birds.

  He let his chi roam and summoned that grey fog. The one that enveloped him and turned him into a killing machine.

  After precisely eight minutes, a shadow crossed the small area of the flats that he could see.

  No human sounds. No other blocking of light.

  He turned his attention to the ground beneath him, about twenty square feet of which he could see. The tree trunk that he had climbed. Chest-high growth on all sides.

  The narrow opening through which Sara and he had run.

  They’ll have to come through that. Any other way and their clothing will snag.

  Zeb waited. It was the most natural state for him to be in.

  There had been a time when he had waited thirty hours in the desert to take a kill shot.

  The first sound reached him.

  A step. It sounded unnaturally loud since he was so focused on that small universe of space and motion.

  First came an AK’s barrel. Pointing straight ahead. Below him. Then a head of thick hair appeared. Black or brown, he couldn’t be sure. Tanned neck.

  A second man appeared below him. Similar appearance, wearing a leather jacket.

  Both men stood motionless for long moments. Assessing. Listening.

  All they could hear was the forest.

  A bead of sweat rolled down Zeb’s nose and splashed on the branch he was perched on.

  He thought it sounded like a waterfall, but knew that was his imagination.

  One man nodded slightly, and they went out of sight to his right.

  He didn’t move.

  Ten minutes later, the third man appeared. He seemed shorter, though it was hard to say from Zeb’s position.

  Zeb sighed in relief.

  Only three men. If there had been more, the third man wouldn’t be alone.

  Because no shooter went alone in hostile territory. Unless he had no choice.

  The third gunman was as careful as the first two.

  He, too, stopped below Zeb to survey his surroundings.

  He was the cover for the advance men. It was his job to take care of their six.

  However, there was no one to look out for him.

  Zeb jumped.

  Chapter Forty-Four

 
; He had been meaning to land squarely on the shooter’s shoulders, a leg to each side of his head.

  But the gunman seemed to feel the rush of motion. He turned at the last moment, so that Zeb’s left thigh slammed into his hard shoulder, and his right knee smashed into the shooter’s head.

  Zeb grunted. He couldn’t help it.

  The shooter began collapsing from the sudden weight, a startled shout escaping from his throat.

  It was too late for evasive action.

  He was falling.

  Zeb’s knife was plunging into his chest.

  Repeatedly.

  Zeb rolled away from the bloodied shooter on the ground, his left hand flicking back to draw his Glock.

  Just as the advance team crashed through the bushes.

  Two pairs of startled eyes took in everything.

  ‘Enrico!’ One man yelled.

  They sprang apart, their AKs coming up.

  Their shouts were drowned out by the roll of thunder from Zeb’s Glock, which knocked back the killer to his left.

  The hunting knife flew from his right hand and thudded into the right shooter’s chest.

  Not a clean throw.

  The Glock blurred as it flew from his left to his right palm.

  It cracked twice, and the second shooter went down.

  Zeb rolled swiftly to the far edge of the clearing.

  Checked the approach.

  Clear.

  The ridge, too.

  He listened.

  No sounds of approaching men.

  He took in the three dead men.

  Enrico, one of them had shouted.

  They didn’t look like any of Namir’s men that he had seen.

  Tavez’s shooters, then. That means the cartel king and the terrorist have joined hands.

  Tavez probably knows the forest.

  There will be more men after us.

  He didn’t spend any time thinking about this development.

  It was what it was.

  ‘Tulip!’ he yelled, as he dragged the bodies and hid them under bushes. He removed spare mags, another hunting knife, and their wallets.

  He found no cellphones.

  He covered the bodies carefully. Sara Ashland had seen enough death in her life.