R. Ruggiero - Reckoning

The truck sped across the asphalt and his field of vision. Break lights flared red; tires screeched and white smoke leapt from the tires as it reached the driveway that led to the cabin. The pickup careened as it made the turn and the body leaned precariously to the side; a threatened rollover that was narrowly averted. Cooper’s brain told him to drop his focus and to scan the area. A man was running towards a sandbagged position set up to guard the entrance. A makeshift gate made up of a felled tree on a metal swivel blocked the vehicle’s path. Two other men were moving into flanking positions on either side of the truck.

It skidded to stop just inches from the tree-made barricade. A cloud of dust flew past the truck as it stopped. The nearest guard waved his arm about him and sputtered with a coughing fit. Cooper’s line of attackers looked toward him expectantly as a group. His gut screamed at him to hold and he held up one finger signaling them to wait. Still, he cursed himself for his indecision. Act for Christ’s sake, his mind assailed him.

He spurred his gaze back to the pickup. The guard had recovered and was holding his rifle at the ready, pointing it at the driver. He was dressed from head to toe in hunting camouflage, but the rifle was of a military-pattern that Cooper did not recognize. A long, slender magazine butted out from underneath.

“Help me!” The voice screeching from inside the cab was a woman’s. “Someone’s chasing me!” The shrill cry of distress pierced the forest floor.

Cooper blinked, did a double take, and looked again at the driver. She was yelling, tossing her head back and forth in clear panic. As her face turned in Cooper’s direction, it hit him.

It was Lily Stott! His mind reeled to process the information. What the hell?

The guard was taken aback by the elderly woman’s plea for aid. The muzzle of his rifle dipped a few inches. Cooper could make out the curious frown that alighted on the man’s face. He took a few cautious steps toward the pickup’s cab.

“Help me, please!” Lily’s voice fell from the loud scream to a plaintive cry. “I’ve been shot! I’m going to die!” The last word fell away into the air. Her hands left the steering wheel and fell toward her body. Cooper presumed to staunch the bleeding. Who shot her? His mind struggled to catch up to the swift moving drama unfolding before him.

Her last cry catapulted the guard into action. He ran the last few steps to the driver’s side of the truck in response to her desperate plea. His look of confusion had transformed to one of deep concern for the injured old woman. As he drew alongside the vehicle, his eyes went wide in surprise.

BOOM! Cooper’s body jerked in surprise. A cloud of smoke erupted from inside the cab. Crimson spray spouted out from the guard. His rifle dropped from his hands, which jumped towards his throat. The guard fell backward, stumbling. Lily shot him, Cooper’s mind registered. The door of the pickup swung open and a glint from a revolver hit his eyes as Lily brought it to bear on the other guard, positioned about fifteen yards to her left.

“Now!” Cooper bawled at the top of his lungs.

He went to a kneeling position and drew a bead on the guard to the right of the truck. The man was turning toward the truck in a confused, jumbled reaction. Doing so exposed his profile to Cooper for an easy shot at fifty yards.

Cooper squeezed the trigger, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. His rifle thundered, the deep-throated roar of the .308 cartridge exploding. Flame and smoke bellowed from its muzzle. His shot went wide. He had rushed the shot. Damn!

To his right, another rifle fired. This one missed, too. The man was pivoting toward the newly found threat. He fired wildly as his rifle turned. Fire spewed from the muzzle of his AR-styled rifle with each haphazard shot.

Cooper drew a quick breath, steadied his rifle, aimed, held his breath when it was half released, and deliberately squeezed the trigger. A puff of white down burst outward from the guard’s chest. A blank look of shock gripped the man’s face for a moment. In that split second, every detail of his face etched its way forever into Cooper’s mind. Piercing green eyes. Crow’s feet running outward from those eyes. Thin lips, chapped white in chaotic lines. Flared nostrils. A short, jagged, scar on his left cheek. Hazelnut hair tufted out from underneath a green stocking cap. His eyes looked right at Cooper. A distant, sorrowful, dying look as the light ebbed out of them even before he was dead. Then, he slowly collapsed onto his side. He knew he would see this nameless man’s face in countless dreams in the nights to come. Despite the claims from Hollywood, killing another person always exacted a price.

He rotated to his left to check on Lily. She had dispatched the guard to her left. He lay sprawled over a set of logs that had formed his defensive position. He was face down, but still moving from side to side. It looked like he was trying to regain his feet, but weak arms pushing against the logs failed to succeed. Blood oozed from his mouth and dripped onto the forest’s carpet.

He lost sight of Lily as she withdrew from the driver’s side door. He saw a glimpse of white hair above the bed, halfway to the truck’s rear. A cascade of shots rang out and the truck paid a heavy price. Glass shattered as bullets peppered the cab. He heard the sharp, metallic puckering sound that shells will make when piercing metal. Lily emerged once again, taking up a prone position behind the pickup truck. That crafty, smart woman .

Cooper turned back to the front of their position. To his left, Dranko had already moved up about ten yards, taking cover behind a fallen tree, ferns growing upward from its body. Muzzle flashes flared from two of the cabin windows and from several positions scattered on either side of it. That sound was then dwarfed by another that made Cooper’s skin crawl.

The shrieking buzz saw racket made by the machinegun came to life. It was set up about thirty yards in front of the cabin, in a carefully arranged sandbagged position. Flames that looked to be ten feet long leapt from its muzzle. Cooper was surprised that he could hear the sharp tinkle as spent shell casings ejected out and clattered against the metal tripod or ammunition boxes below the sandbag line. The machinegun spat destruction at the pickup truck. It seemed to visibly wither and shrink under its fire as its heavy-caliber bullets struck home. True enough, the cab collapsed on its right side as the pillars supporting it were torn off or destroyed by the machinegun. Two men manned the machinegun, one firing and the other feeding the belted ammunition. It had a voracious appetite as countless rounds sped through its jaws. They wore the visage of the confident look of men feeling invulnerable behind such a fearsome weapon. Cooper imagined, more than saw, malevolent smiles creasing their camouflage stained faces. He involuntarily cringed when he saw them both wearing helmets and body armor.

His morale sagged for a moment as the heavy odds against them hit him square in the belly. His heart cried out against his fear-gripped gut. He summoned courage by willing himself to remember the feeling of his son’s embrace and then screamed a guttural battle cry that sounded like that of a rabid animal. His brain came back into the fray and he knew they had precious seconds before the machinegun crew turned their attention towards them.

He disregarded caution and scrambled across the distance to where Dranko lay, fully exposing himself, trading speed for safety. A sole bullet whizzed past him, splitting the air as it did so.

He thudded heavily onto the ground next to Dranko, his ribs crying out in pain as he landed.