Jenna Kernan - Adirondack Attack

“Siming’s Army.”

Twenty minutes later Erin, now in dry clothing, gathered the surviving campers and explained that the captain’s helicopter was shot down, he claimed, by terrorists who would be coming for whatever was in that bag. She explained that leaving this evening was hazardous because of the volume of water at the forefront of the scheduled release from Lake Abanakee. Finally, she relayed that it was her husband’s belief that they needed to leave this site immediately.

“I’m for that. Staying the night with two dead bodies gives me the creeps,” said Brian.

“You can’t just leave them out here for the predators,” said Richard.

“You rather be here when the predators show up?” asked Merle.

“We called for help. They are sending an air rescue team for them,” Brian said. “We should at least wait until they pick up the dead.”

“We wait, there will be more dead,” said Dalton.

“What do you think, Erin?” asked Brian.

“I would prefer to stay put and wait for help.”

“What’s coming isn’t help,” said Dalton.

* * *

ON EMPTY STOMACHS, the campers packed up their tents and gear, while Erin and Dalton headed down the rocky outcropping to ready the kayaks that had been stowed for their excursion the following morning. Dalton took Carol’s gear and kayak.

“You really sure about this?” asked Erin, her gaze flicking from Dalton, who carried one end of Carol’s kayak, and then to the frothing river behind him.

“Sure about our responsibility to deliver this? Yes.”

“Sure about taking inexperienced kayakers into the roughest stretch of white water one hour before sunset. What if someone upends?”

He lowered the kayak onto the grassy bank. “What would you normally do?”

“Pick them up from the river and guide them to shore.”

“We’ll do that.”

“In the dark?”

“You’re right. We can’t do that.”

“So your plan is to leave anyone who gets into trouble. And here I thought you were the hero type.”

That stung. He wouldn’t leave anyone behind. She had to know that. “Erin, he said they’re coming. Mercenaries. You understand? That means hired killers, and I know they are using high-caliber rounds from the size of the holes in the tail section of the chopper. We can argue later about specific logistics. Right now we need to...”

She was cocking her head again. Looking toward the sky. He didn’t hear it yet, not over the roar of the river. But he knew what was coming.

Dalton looked at the three kayaks they had retrieved from cover. Her gear lay beside her craft, neatly stowed in her pack. Dalton slipped her gear into the hollow forward compartment of her craft and added her paddle so that it rested half in and half out of the opening.

Erin arched backward, staring up at the pink sky with her hand acting as visor. Dalton packed his gear into the bow of Carol Walton’s craft and added the red nylon cooler, which now contained nothing but a river rock. The black case, recently within, held two small vials in a padded black compartment with a thumb drive. This precious parcel now rested safely in the side pocket of his cargo pants.

“They’re here,” she said, pointing at the red-and-white helicopter with Rescue emblazoned on the side.

The chopper hovered over the meadow, then began a measured descent. Erin stepped back toward the tree-lined trail that led to the meadow. Dalton glanced at the kayaks, packed and ready, and just knew he’d never get her to go without her group.

So he abandoned their escape plan and followed her. He could at least see that she wasn’t one of the welcome party.

Dalton made sure he was beside her when they reached the sharply ascending trailhead at the edge of the open field. Before them, the chopper had landed. The pilot cut the engine and the copilot stepped down. Dalton studied the man. He wore aviator glasses, slacks and a button-up shirt. Nothing identified him as mountain rescue and his smile seemed out of place. As he crouched and trotted beneath the slowing blades that whirled above him, Dalton spotted the grip of a pistol tucked in the back of his slacks.

Erin moved to step from cover and he dragged her back.

“What are you doing?” she said.

He held a finger to his lips. “Wait.”

Merle was first to greet the copilot. Their raised voices carried across the meadow.

“How many in your party?” asked the new arrival, straightening now. He was a small man, easy to underestimate, Dalton thought. The relaxed posture seemed crafted, just like his casual attire.

“There are six of us,” answered Merle, omitting the two dead.

“Where’s the crashed chopper?”

Merle pointed, half-turning to face the river. “Went into the Hudson and sank.”

The copilot glanced back to the chopper and the side door slid open. The man within crouched in the opening. There was a familiar metal cylinder over his shoulder and a strap across the checked cotton shirt he wore. Dalton had carried a rifle just like it on many missions while in Special Ops. It was an M4.

“What about the pilot?” asked the newcomer. “He go down with his chopper?”

Brian answered that one, coming to stand beside Merle. “We got him out. But he died.”

Dalton groaned.

“Too bad,” said the copilot.

Alice smiled brightly, standing in a line beside Brian. The only thing missing was the wall to make this a perfect setup for a firing squad. Dalton had a pistol but it would hardly be a match for three armed mercenaries. They’d kill him and, more importantly, they’d kill Erin. So he waited, backing her up with a firm pull on her arm. They now watched through the cover of pine boughs.

Dalton knew what would happen next. He ran through possibilities of what he could do, if anything, to prevent it.

“Do something,” whispered Erin.

“If I do something, they’ll know our position.”

“They’re going to kill them.”

“I think so.”

“So save them.”

“It will endanger you.”

“What would you do if I wasn’t here?”

He glanced at her. “You are here.”

Dalton watched from his position. “Get behind that tree.” He pointed. “Stay there and when I say run, you run for the kayaks.”

“Dalton?”

“Promise me.”

She met his gaze and nodded, then stepped behind the thick trunk of the pine tree. He moved beside her.

In the clearing, one of the new arrivals glanced in his direction and then back to Alice.

“You retrieve anything from the craft before it went down?”

“Yeah,” said Alice,

Dalton aimed at the one with the rifle.

“What exactly?”

“A red cooler. We have to take it to the FBI,” said Brian.

“That so? Where is it now, exactly?”

Brian seemed to have realized that he faced a wolf in sheep’s clothing because he rested a hand on his neck and rubbed before speaking.

“Back by our tents,” he lied. “I’ll get it for you.” He turned to go.

The man with the aviator glasses motioned for the pilot to follow. The copilot lifted his hand to signal the shooter. The rifleman raised his weapon and Dalton took his shot, dropping him like a sack of rags.

By the time Dalton swung his pistol away from the dead man, the copilot had Alice in front of him, using her as a human shield.

“Come out or she dies,” said their leader.

He didn’t, and the man shot Merle and Richard in rapid succession. They fell like wheat before the scythe.

From the brush where Brian had disappeared came the sound of thrashing. Dalton suspected the teen had made a run for it.

The copilot dragged Alice back toward the chopper, using the nose cone as cover, as he shouted to the pilot. Another shot sounded and Alice fell forward to the ground, shot through the head.