C. Box - Nowhere to Run

“Still,” he said.

“Look,” she said, propping herself up on an elbow. His arm that had been draped over her fell away from her movement. “You’ve been gone a long time. You see the situation here. April is like a stick of dynamite walking around in a room filled with candles. She’s just going to go off if we aren’t there to help and guide her. Sheridan’s got a year left before she goes to college, Joe. To college ! She’s in a situation right now where she goes to practice every night and that hysterical coach of hers mistreats her because she won’t suck up to him. She doesn’t say much about it. She’s miserable-but she won’t quit. Who does that remind you of?”

Joe grunted.

She said, “I don’t sleep well when any of my children are unhappy, even if I can’t do anything about it. And there’s Lucy. I don’t want her to think she’s been forgotten amidst all this drama.”

He reached out and stroked her naked shoulder.

“I’ve never asked this before,” she said, “But I’m asking now: promise me you won’t go after them .”

Joe sighed and rubbed his eyes hard.

“I know it’s against your nature,” she said. “I know you think your advantage is your inability to simply let things go. But something happened up there. They got into your head and under your skin and they stole a part of you. You can’t get it back, Joe. You’ve just got to heal. And you’ve got to be home to heal. Where I need you right now. I need some help here, Joe .”

He said, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” he said. “I promise.”

He was shocked how relieved he was when he said it, how a tremendous downward pressure on him seemed to release and dissipate. He felt lighter and slightly ashamed of himself.

The truth was, he needed her permission not to go after the Grim Brothers. Because from what he’d experienced, they’d likely beat him again. And this time, he doubted they’d let the job go unfinished.

“Come here,” he said, pulling her to him.

She came.

Dave Farkus rode in the dark with his left arm up in front of his face in case the fat horse walked under a branch. He couldn’t see a thing, and he was terrified. He was also severely chilled, because the temperature had dropped once the sun went down behind the clouds.

“I’m freezing,” Farkus said.

Ahead of him, Smith turned and said, “Shut up, Dave.”

Smith, like the other three, had put on night vision goggles to ride by. Where Smith’s eyes should have been, there were dark holes. Only when one of the other riders looked directly at him could Farkus see a dull ball of red deep inside the lenses, which unnerved him. It was as if the twin eyepieces were drilled into their brains. Occasionally, if the riders adjusted their goggles or briefly removed them, he could see their faces bathed in an eerie green.

Farkus said, “I feel like I’m in a goddamned zombie movie.”

Earlier, Parnell had ordered them all to put on body armor and night-vision goggles-except for Farkus, of course. Smith and Campbell had dismounted and dug in the panniers and handed out the bulletproof vests. Farkus could hear the soft clink of ceramic plating as the vests were strapped on. Then, in the last few minutes of dusk, he watched them check lithium batteries and adjust the straps of the goggles in a well-practiced way. Campbell and Smith debated the merits of their goggles, and Farkus listened carefully.

“I was hoping for generation fours instead of these ATN gen threes,” Campbell told Smith. “There’s hardly any moon at all and the gen fours will reach out a thousand yards in these conditions.”

Smith said, “But we’re still talking one hundred fifty to four hundred yards with these babies at two grand a pop. Not too bad.”

Farkus said to them both, “Obviously, this ain’t your first rodeo.”

Campbell began to say more-he was obviously a gear geek-but after Farkus spoke he caught himself.

But Farkus learned plenty from the short exchange, if little to do with night vision goggles. The expedition was well financed by a third party, and the men were well trained even if they were seeing some of the equipment for the first time. Which meant, as he’d suspected, that the men were mercenaries-hired hands. So it wasn’t personal with either them or their target. That could work in his favor, he thought. He’d have to play it cool, but he was used to that. Avoiding hard work meant learning the motivation and proclivities of those around you. It’s what he did.

Occasionally, Farkus was brushed by a pine bough on his head or leg and he cursed his fat horse. But she could see better than he and there was no choice but to simply hold on and hope she didn’t walk under an overhanging branch that would knock him out of his saddle or poke his eye out.

The arrangement of the goggle-eyes behind him was interesting. Campbell rode erect and invisible in his saddle, and his eyes were level with Farkus. Capellen, though, slumped forward head down and moaning, goggles askew and leaking green ambient light.

As they rode, Farkus could see Parnell consulting his equipment. Based on the reading of his electronics, Parnell would subtly shift direction. The others would adjust as well. Farkus simply trusted his horse to want to stay with the others. He was grateful horses were such needy and social creatures, and glad he wasn’t riding a cat.

Parnell said, “They’re on the move.”

“Which way?” Smith asked.

“Away from us. And they’re moving at a pretty good clip.”

Said Smith, “I’m surprised they’re moving at night. Do you think they know we’re coming?”

“Who knows what they’re doing or why?”

“Those guys have always been unpredictable,” Campbell said from behind Farkus. “They’ve adapted well.”

Okay, something new , Farkus thought. They know their targets pretty well.

Parnell said, “Not well enough to turn off the sat phone they took off that game warden.”

Ah, Farkus thought, that’s what he’s tracking .

“Is the signal still strong?” Smith asked.

“Strong enough. We’ve closed within three miles and we seem to be holding at that distance as they move. Those guys can cover a lot of ground, as we know.”

So , Farkus thought, we’re after the Brothers Grim after all. But why?

“Hold it,” Farkus said. “If it’s just a matter of tracking these guys down through their sat phone, why couldn’t the sheriff and his boys find ’em?”

Said Parnell, “Because the brothers didn’t turn it on until just a day or so ago. They’re smart, those bastards.”

Farkus had got used to his own odor when a stronger and more pungent smell wafted through the trees. Parnell and Smith pulled their horses up short and the fat horse followed suit.

“What is that?” Smith asked.

“Something dead,” Parnell said.

“This way,” Campbell said, peeling off from the line of horses and riding into the trees to his right. “Stay here, Mike,” he said to his sick companion. “No reason to get any sicker smelling this than you already are.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Farkus volunteered.

“Nice try,” Smith sighed, and reached out and slapped the back of Farkus’s head as he rode by. Farkus was heartened by the gesture. The slap wasn’t hard or mean-spirited. It’s what males did to each other to acknowledge that the other guy was sort of okay after all.

Stifling a smile in the dark and complimenting himself on his reliable charm, Farkus spurred the fat horse into the trees with the others.

The smell got stronger. Farkus winced and pulled his T-shirt collar up out of his shirt and tried to breathe through the fabric. It didn’t help.