R Patterson - The Shadow Hunter

For the most part, his trek along the river was uneventful, save for spotting a pack of wolves eyeing him hungrily as they followed him along the banks. However, the animals eventually lost interest. But if they had stuck around, they possibly would’ve been rewarded for their patience.

Hawk went over a rocky segment of the river, but didn’t escape unscathed. When he returned to peaceful waters, he noticed that the air in his inflatable was leaking. He tried to determine the source, but no hole was visible on the outside. Running his hand slowly along the sides, he didn’t feel any air being forced out. But it was obvious something had gone awry.

Hawk steered his vessel to the shore for a closer inspection. However, when he did, he scraped against some more rocks and the deflation quickened. By the time Hawk was safely out of the water, his kayak had been reduced to little more than a small seat affixed to a sheet of rubber. He bit his lip and shook his head, irked at his new dilemma. According to his GPS, he had another ten kilometers to travel before he reached the nearest town with a highway that could get him to Yakutsk. The plan was to steal a car in the middle of the night and drive to Yakutsk. But Hawk was exhausted and knew if he had to walk to the nearest town, he’d be unable to continue without a good night’s sleep.

Hawk stashed his blown out kayak beneath a tree and trudged through the snow toward the road. The Onon River would’ve taken him to a nearby city, where he could’ve beached his craft and slipped out of town in a stolen vehicle in a matter of minutes. But the journey had just become more difficult—unless Hawk changed his approach.

He tried to contact Alex and let her know what he was doing, but he was in such an isolated area that his coms couldn’t even link up with a satellite.

I’ll have to tell her later.

Hawk knew she’d worry, fearing the worst. It’s what she did most of the time these days, more so than when they were both working for the Phoenix Foundation. He figured it had to do with the fact that John Daniel was in their lives now. Alex had grown up in a single-parent family and had expressed to Hawk on numerous occasions how she didn’t want that for their kids. It was also part of why she hesitated to agree to let him go on this mission.

No matter what happened, when Hawk didn’t check in at the appointed time, he knew she would start to panic, running endless scenarios through her mind about how he might have died. But Hawk wanted to put Alex’s mind at ease and decided there was a way he could meet both of his original objectives. It’d require just a few adjustments.

If this had been normal circumstances, Hawk would’ve stayed out of sight as he navigated through the Siberian hinterlands. But there was nothing normal about this operation, at least for Hawk. He usually had some sort of satellite support from Alex or drone support overhead. But this was rugged and raw, man versus wild. Hawk’s survival depended upon instinct and creativity in the midst of a fluid situation.

Hawk noticed on the map that the Onon River flowed beneath one rural highway several times before cutting through the heart of a small village. Instead of hiking all the way to the town, he decided to hike just one more kilometer before trying to find someone to give him a ride to the village. From there, he’d steal a car and continue his journey to Yakutsk.

It wasn’t the ideal plan, but it was better than trying to navigate his way through central Siberia while running on fumes. In a country fraught with pitfalls, he needed to be mentally alert if the mission was going to be a success. And keeping Alex sane was equally important.

When Hawk reached the road, he started walking toward the nearest town, thumb out, ruck sack slung over his shoulder. He ambled along, straining to hear the sound of tires thrumming on the dilapidated Russian highway. While Hawk hadn’t spent too much time in Russia, he never remembered the roads being so awful. Potholes the size of basketballs, both in depth and width, marred the smooth surface. Hawk could only imagine what kind of hell he was about to face while driving to Yakutsk. He didn’t see a scenario where he wasn’t changing at least one tire victimized by the pocked highway.

After ten minutes, Hawk had seen two vehicles, neither of which showed any interest in slowing down to pick him up. But that changed when an SUV rolled around the corner and eased past Hawk before slamming on its brakes.

The vehicle backed up and a man in the passenger seat rolled down his window.

“You need a lift?” he asked.

Hawk nodded and hustled over to the car. He got inside, and the driver didn’t wait for Hawk to find his seatbelt before stepping on the gas. They started talking in hushed tones. And while Hawk was only catching bits and pieces of the conversation, he could tell the man driving wasn’t happy with the decision to pick up Hawk.

“It’s our best chance out,” the passenger side man said. “We let him take the car and we go home.”

Hawk scowled and leaned forward, speaking Russian. “This car isn’t stolen, is it? Because it wouldn’t be good for me if you got pulled over.”

“Did you make the FSB mad?” the driver asked, eyeing Hawk through the rearview mirror.

“Not yet,” he answered with a wry grin.

The angst on the two men’s faces melted into a hearty laugh.

According to Hawk’s GPS, the town was about ten kilometers ahead.

“Where are you going?” the passenger asked.

“Wherever you take me,” Hawk said. “My boat sprung a leak and I started walking for help. Once I get to a place where I can make a phone call, I will get someone to help me.”

The two men looked at each other and smiled.

“Ask him,” the driver said in a whisper to the other man.

“No, you ask him.”

Their exchange continued for a few minutes, both reluctant to ask whatever it was that seemed so pressing.

Then Hawk interrupted them. “Do you need to ask me something?”

Before either man could answer, the driver muttered something and glanced in the rearview mirror. Hawk could tell something was troubling the man. The passenger then turned around and looked past Hawk and through the back window.

Both men started cursing as the driver pushed the accelerator to the floorboard. Hawk jerked backward, unable to deal with the initial inertia. He turned around to see another car speeding up behind them.

“Get ready!” the driver shouted. He reached into the console and produced a gun. Hawk reached inside his ruck sack and wrapped his hand around his gun. The SUV roared down the highway, each bump jarring Hawk. The larger the pothole, the more pain Hawk experienced when his head smacked up against the ceiling.

Hawk glanced out the back again and noticed the car was gaining on them. Then two men poked their heads—and their weapons—out of the side of the backseat windows.

“Get down!” the driver shouted seconds before a hail of bullets battered their SUV.

Hawk stayed down as the vehicle swerved back and forth across the highway. The men in the approaching car continued assaulting the SUV.

When there was a lull in the shooting, Hawk peered just above the back seat and fired back. His first few shots stunned the two men in the front as they started screaming at him.

“What are you doing?” the driver said. “Those men will kill us.”

“Aren’t they already trying to do that?” Hawk asked.

“They’re just trying to scare us,” the passenger said. “They’re not going to kill us, at least not yet.”

Hawk ducked down and eyed the two men cautiously. “If we get them first, we won’t have to worry about them doing anything to us later.”