William Dietz - A Hole in the Sky

Capelli was intrigued by the possibility of a truly successful survival community. But when pressed, Locke had very few details to add. Still , Capelli thought to himself, it’s worth taking a look at. And the truth is that I don’t have anything better to do .

So Capelli finished the last of his applesauce, washed his plate in the stream, and removed a pair of binoculars from the top of his pack. “See the tree over there? The one on the east side of the stream? I’m going to climb it and take a look at our back trail.”

Locke looked around. “Where’s Rowdy?”

“Wherever he wants to be,” Capelli replied.

The stream was shallow enough to wade through without overtopping his boots. So Capelli followed it as far as he could, knowing that he wouldn’t leave any tracks. His caution wasn’t the result of a specific threat, but because it was always best to be careful, even when there was no apparent danger.

Having left the streambed at a point approximately thirty feet from the cottonwood, he made straight for it. The dry calf-high grass swished past his boots and a raven made a throaty cawing sound as Capelli arrived at the base of the tree. With a flapping noise, the bird took to the air.

He passed his binoculars around so they hung down his back and shinnied up the textured trunk, up to the point where he found reliable footholds in a series of sturdy branches. A few minutes later Capelli was as high as he could safely go and scanning the countryside through the binoculars. I taught you that , the voice said. I taught you to stop, look, and think .

Yeah , Capelli agreed. You were a fucking genius. Now shut the hell up .

The voice could be quite insistent, but this time it did as it was told, and Capelli was free to examine the horizon without any distractions. And it was then, while scanning the highway, that he saw the tiny figures coming up the road. His heart began to beat faster. Were they Hybrids? Grims?

No; as Capelli rolled the image into perfect focus he saw that they were humans. And that was when he swore. Not because they were headed east on Route 40; lots of people did that. But because these individuals were jogging! And nobody runs while carrying a heavy pack unless they have a very good reason to do so.

Like catching up with people ahead of them.

Turning the glasses to the right, Capelli scanned the area beyond the bridge, before making his way out of the tree. Once on the ground it was a simple matter to hurry down to the streambed and follow the water back to the bridge. He found Locke reading a leather-bound book. He closed it as Capelli approached. “See anything?”

“Yeah, I sure as hell did. How many people did you show those gold coins to back in Burlington?”

Lock frowned. “Not many. Two, no three people, counting yourself. I exchanged one of them for some silver coins and I gave the other away.”

“You did what ?”

“I gave it to a woman with a sick child so that she could pay for a doctor,” Locke answered defiantly. “Why do you ask?”

“Because five men are hot on our trail,” Capelli answered darkly. “Maybe it was the money changer, or maybe it was the woman, but somebody fingered you. And now some very unpleasant people are coming to take your gold.”

Locke looked doubtful. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because they’re running , goddammit, and that’s the only explanation that makes sense. Now, here’s what we’re going to do. I want you to head over to the rise on the other side of the stream and build a little fire.”

Locke frowned. “You’re going to use me as bait.”

“That’s right,” Capelli replied, as he removed the Marksman from its scabbard.

“How do I know I can trust you?” Locke wanted to know. “You could let them kill me.”

“You should have considered that before you went to sleep last night.”

Locke grinned. “That’s true! I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“For the moment. Now take your pack and rifle, cross the stream, and build that fire.”

“Okay,” Locke said reluctantly. “But what if they shoot me from a thousand yards away?”

“Then you’ll be dead. Now get going.”

Rowdy had reappeared by then. He nosed the ground, then ran to catch up as Locke splashed through the stream and climbed the slope beyond. Rowdy was always up for an outing and followed along behind, pausing every now and then to lift a leg.

Capelli considered calling the dog back, thought better of it, and took a moment to stash both the pack and the Rossmore on top of the retaining wall that ran under the bridge. Then he returned to the stream and followed it north. That enabled him to move quickly and stay off the skyline as he made his way towards the spot he had chosen while up in the tree.

A sharp left-hand turn took him up a slope and into a field of unharvested wheat. His boots produced puffs of dust, and a squadron of grasshoppers fled ahead of him as he went facedown on the hard ground and elbowed his way up onto a rise. Even though the land looked flat there were slight undulations, and even a few feet of additional elevation would give him a slight advantage.

Once at the highest point, and with a screen of wheat stalks to conceal him, Capelli put his eye to the Marksman’s scope. It was, as the name implied, a very accurate weapon. Though not appropriate for the task at hand, the semiautomatic rifle could launch a small semiautonomous Drone as well, which would fire on any life form it encountered.

The highway seemed to leap forward as Capelli found the strip of blacktop and followed it back to the five-person column. They looked bigger than they had before, the heat rising off the blacktop causing them to shimmer slightly, and the left-to-right breeze would be a factor as well. Not to mention the fact that the bastards were still running.

Still, Capelli was confident of his ability to make the shot as he led the first figure slightly and wondered which one of the would-be thieves was the group’s leader. The one in front was a good bet. Unless the number-two man had enough power to force someone else into the point position. Capelli was running through the possibilities when he saw the lead figure wave the others forward.

Confident that he knew which person to shoot first, Capelli glanced over his left shoulder, and saw that a thin column of smoke was rising up into the sky. Locke was doing his part and the thieves were taking the bait.

Capelli turned back, nuzzled the rifle with his cheek, and felt a sudden emptiness at the pit of his stomach. Suddenly the column was close, a lot closer, which left very little margin for error. Capelli made a slight adjustment for windage, squeezed the trigger, and felt it break. The butt kicked his shoulder, and the report was nearly lost in the vast grasslands, as the group’s leader appeared to stumble and fall.

It was tempting to stay on him, and make sure he didn’t get up, but that would be dangerous. The column was breaking up, so he had to send a second projectile after the first, and do so quickly. The trigger gave, and another man threw up his arms in a gesture of final surrender, as the rest of the thieves sought cover in the wheat field beyond.

That was good, but not good enough, as the wheat rippled and the surviving thieves made a beeline for Locke. Capelli swore. He’d hoped that after two pursuers went down the rest would pause, giving him an opportunity to thin the group even more.

But these people were not only tough, they were determined, and that made them that much more dangerous. And as the road rose to meet the bridge deck, it was going to provide the thieves with more cover if he remained where he was.