David Dun: Necessary Evil

Finally he called out madly-the chickadee and the snake- a fight. A shadow appeared on the steps. The man was on his knees, trying to peer through the fern. He fumbled with his light. Kier used his hand to make another scurrying sound. He raised the pole, looking for a face. Nothing. Nothing. His arm shook with the tension. A light. A face. There. With all his power, he drove the pole straight for an eye. Only a grunt and the sharp exhale of breath marked the piercing of the man's skull. The long point and the large barb had disappeared into the man's head.

When Kier tried to pull the pike pole from the man's eye socket, the barb caught and the head came forward.

Kier needed the pole. Quickly he crept from under the porch, then dragged the body out to free the long handle that protruded from beneath the steps. The man's body gave an ugly quiver. One firm jerk did not free the pole. Kier placed a boot on the dead man's face and yanked. There was a wet snap as the skull fractured and the tip came free. He grabbed the man's sidearm and rifle on the run. On the porch, he threw the main breaker in the fuse box, then broke it for good measure.

He tried the knob only once. Then, slamming into the door with his shoulder, he broke it off its hinges, knocking it inward and flat to the floor. Inside all was black. The feeble rays of winter dawn displaced the darkness only near the entrance. Men were calling in muffled voices. He stayed very low, hearing the pffft of silenced pistols as he went. There was some kind of firefight going on-people shooting at each other. Since he knew the layout like his own home's, he went to the corner of the living room where he had last seen Jessie-but found only an empty space.

Somewhere, he knew, a man had a gun to Jessie's head. He had to take the man down, and quickly, before someone found a light. Pffft. Pffft. More shots fired wildly in the dark. For a fleeting second, he wondered who was shooting at whom. He crawled in ever-larger circles. His fingers found a boot. A body. A dead man. She could be anywhere. They might have moved her to the back of the house.

Panic rose inside him. He resisted the urge to call out. Sensing was more important than thinking, his Tilok mind told him. He moved across the carpet toward the other corner of the living room. If she was in here, she was probably next to the wall, hidden from the kitchen.

Kier reached an empty chair on the opposite side of the room. He had seconds at best. He heard his grandfather.

"Kier."

Pffft. Pffft. More shots from men shooting blindly. Grandfather must be shooting as well. Kier fired a volley from the M-16, punching holes in the tops of the walls. It would keep people down.

A hand grabbed his arm, pulling him. It was only a moment before his hand found another chair-Jessie. But she was lying on the floor, struggling, trying to escape her bonds. Kier heard a sound like a knife through cardboard. A light flashed, bouncing off the ceiling. With a single shot the light went out. Now his fingers found Grandfather, kneeling low by Jessie's chair. She was moving, crawling along the floor.

"Jessie."

"Kier."

"Grandfather."

"Let's go," Jessie snapped.

Grandfather led the way toward the light. As they reached the back door, he finally saw her. Then they were outside, running. They should have been shot going through the door, silhouetted by the dull morning light. They hit the trees still alive and for a moment an exuberant joy sang through Kier.

"I can't believe we're alive," Kier said.

"White men can't see spirits," said Grandfather.

"Somebody in there was on our side, shooting like hell.

That's why we're still alive," Jessie said. Then she stopped running abruptly. "We can't run now while Special Agent Doyle's still in there."

"He double-crossed me," Kier said.

"He didn't double-cross anybody but Tillman. He's a real agent."

"Then he's sold out."

"You're wrong," she said. "Get it in your head. The FBI are the good guys. We've got to help Doyle. If they figure out he was shooting, he's dead."

Kier grabbed her arm to draw her forward, but she shrugged it off.

"We have more important things to worry about than one man," Kier argued, "even if he is legitimate."

"You would never say that if it was Grandfather or me."

Kier sighed and looked at Grandfather. ''I suppose you could go," Kier said haltingly. "We have the diary and the cure. You could tell the newspapers." He struggled. He didn't want to risk Jessie's life again. At best, Doyle was a government agent with a facility for lying. Jessie's blind faith in the damn government was ludicrous. He kicked the dirt, then turned away from her, staring at nothing.

"I can't live in a world where everything depends on the Lone Ranger, Kier. You've got to believe in more than yourself and the Tiloks. Nobody in this country can tolerate the Tillmans of the world. This government can't. Give me the pistol and let's go back. Let Grandfather take care of the Tilok." She studied him. "On everything else in life you are so wise. I just… " She shook her head and remained silent.

He guessed she had said her piece. He took a deep breath knowing he had only seconds to decide.

"Whisper to me where the cure is," he asked Grandfather.

The old man responded so quietly that Kier could barely hear. Then Kier turned to Jessie, seeing the question in her eyes.

"There is nothing they can do to make me tell," Kier said, as if to explain. "The stuff with James Cole should be safe. But we may need the other half that Grandfather hid."

Her gaze went to the ground. He knew she was wondering whether she could protect the information from Tillman if she were caught and tortured.

Grandfather nodded. "We are surrounded," he said.

Kier neither saw nor heard anything, but somehow began to sense something. If only Jessie hadn't insisted they stop. Maybe if it were Grandfather and him alone. But with Jessie… It seemed hopeless.

Grandfather touched his arm, looked Kier full in the eyes. Kier had never before witnessed such calm in the face of such danger.

"I should go now," Grandfather said.

The old man squatted and duck-walked into a patch of young fir, seeming to get very small. The forest fell deathly quiet. Even the birds sounded muted. After a moment, Kier heard the faintest snap followed by a rustling sound a little farther off. Men were coming.

"You go. I'll do the best I can to hide." Jessie stood close to him.

"This time, he'll torture you. He's worse than we imagined."

"I know." Tears filled her eyes. "Go now. You've got to get away."

Another snap came, much closer.

Kier hesitated. "I can't leave you," he said simply. "Let's go. If we get away, we'll find you some firepower, more ammo, and come back for Doyle."

Moving low to the ground, they passed through some manzanita, oaks, and patchy fir, then came to an opening. Several men, he thought at least seven, were spread out in a line behind a stand of fir trees, all within 150 feet. It looked tough. He pushed Jessie back into the brush. The throbbing sound of a helicopter emerged from the distance. Seconds later, it hovered directly over them, just above the trees. They retreated, moving to the left, staying low and out of sight. As if it had eyes, the chopper hung squarely over them. Kier knew it must have infrared sights. Even Grandfather could not hide from this.

He caught a glimpse of the helicopter's belly, and his mind began to spin. In giant letters, fbi read obscenely across its underside. He pointed.

"They'll save us," she said.

Now there was no good answer. Kier reasoned that the Feds were either on Tillman's side, or they had been misled. Whichever, they were being used to track them more surely than any man could ever accomplish.