Chapter Nine
“Sweet Lord,” Sierra whispered, as she unclicked her seat belt.
Beau reached behind their seats, then tossed something bulky and heavy in her lap. “Put that on. I should have had you do it at the station. I won’t underestimate them again.”
“I don’t… I don’t understand. I thought you said there were cameras, that Collier would call us—”
“There are. He would. They must have tapped into the live feeds and set them on a recorded loop so that all Collier sees on his screens is an empty road. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Hurry, put that on.”
She looked down at what he’d tossed to her, then swallowed hard. “Kevlar? Wait, where’s yours?”
“On you. Or it will be, in a minute. Hurry. We don’t have time to argue.”
He reached between them again, this time coming up with a rifle. Except, not any kind of rifle she’d ever seen before. It was huge, menacing and looked as if it could rip open the side of a tank. She sent up a quick, silent prayer as she shrugged into the vest and tightened the straps.
Beau rolled down his window and settled the end of the rifle on top of the side-view mirror, aiming it at the truck blocking the road.
“Get on the floor, Sierra.”
“Beau—”
“Now.”
She turned around and slid into the floor, tugging at the cumbersome Kevlar vest to squeeze into the tight space.
No sooner had she ducked her head down on the front of her seat than the sound of gunshots echoed around them as the gunmen let loose with a volley of shots.
Beau’s answering shots boomed like a cannon inside the truck.
Sierra gasped and covered her ears, trying to shut out the sound.
Bullets pinged off metal. Glass exploded above her as the windshield shattered and sprinkled down on her like rain. She squeezed her eyes shut as the terrifying barrage continued.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, everything stopped. The silence was broken only by the sound of Beau’s deep ragged breaths. And one brief, keening moan from somewhere outside.
She looked up, noting the tension carved in his face as he stared through the hole framed by the ragged edges of what remained of the windshield.
“Beau,” she whispered, “what’s—”
“Stay down. Wait here.” He set his cell phone on her seat. “Call Collier. Tell him what’s going on. He’s listed in the Favorites.” He popped open his door and hopped down, his boots crunching on glass as he jogged down the road.
Sierra grabbed the phone and made the call.
She waited, but it didn’t ring. A quick look at the screen showed no bars, no service.
She tried again anyway, but when it didn’t go through, she tossed the phone into the console and tried to unwedge herself from the tight space in the floor.
The heavy bulletproof vest kept pulling at her as if she was swimming in quicksand, but she finally got free and plopped onto the seat.
Staying low, she peered over the top of the dash, then drew a sharp breath.
The SUV blocking the road was in utter ruins.
The tires were shredded. Large pieces of rubber littered the road.
Every window appeared to have been shot out.
Glass was everywhere. Enormous holes pockmarked the doors.
One sagged down at an awkward angle from its only remaining hinge, scraping the asphalt.
But the real damage was to the men who’d been standing by the SUV.
Three of them lay crumpled and unmoving on the road.
Blood streaked across their clothes and pooled beneath them.
But one man must have still been alive. Beau was on his knees beside him, apparently checking his injuries.
Sierra’s hands shook as she leaned back between the seats to see what else Beau had in his truck. Unsurprisingly, there was a large first-aid kit in the duffle bag he’d mentioned earlier. She grabbed it and hopped out.
Beau’s head jerked up as she ran toward him.
“Get back in the truck,” he shouted.
She ignored his latest order and used her shoe to sweep a spot relatively clear of glass before getting on her knees beside the gunman across from Beau. The man’s eyes were closed, and he wasn’t moving. But his chest was rising and falling. He was breathing, but appeared to be unconscious.
“It’s not safe,” Beau hissed at her. “These guys could have backup on the way.”
“Then, I’ll have to be fast.” She threw open the kit and grabbed some gauze packets, ripping them open and shoving Beau’s hands away so she could take over.
He didn’t try to stop her again. Instead, he yanked out his pistol and held it down by his side as he looked around.
“What did Collier say?” he asked.
“Nothing. I couldn’t get the call to go through. No service.”
“I’ve never had problems with cell service on this road.”
“I couldn’t get a call out. And I know how to use a phone.”
“Maybe there are sunspots or something interfering with the signal. We’ll have to take him with us to get medical help.”
“If I can’t get this bleeding stopped he won’t make it.” Sierra tore open a fresh pack of gauze and pressed it down over the blood-soaked ones, applying pressure again.
“Do you have a phone on you?” Beau asked. “Maybe we have service here on the road.”
“Here, press down while I get it out.”
He took over while she slid her phone out of her pants pocket. Beau told her the number, and she tried it, then shook her head. “Nothing.” She held her phone out. “Try yourself, if you want.”
“No need. I trust you. These bandages are soaked through.”
She checked the first-aid kit. “The rest are too small. We need something bigger, thicker.”
“Take over.” He lifted his hands, and she immediately covered the bloody gauze with her own hands, desperately trying to stanch the flow of blood that kept oozing down the man’s sides.
A moment later, a wadded up shirt dropped down on top of her hands.
She glanced up, expecting to see a shirtless Beau.
But she quickly realized it wasn’t his shirt.
He was folding up a knife and putting it away next to one of the dead men, whose bullet-riddled chest was now minus a shirt. Beau had cut it off him.
She grabbed it and placed it over the bandages before pressing down again.
Beneath her, the man moaned.
“Sorry,” she said. “I know this must hurt. We have to stop the bleeding.”
The man didn’t respond, no doubt slipping back into unconsciousness, which was probably for the better.
“What do we do now?” she asked when Beau dropped down across from her again.
“We’ll have to load him into the truck and take him to Stella’s B and B.
She’s a retired nurse. We don’t have any doctors in town.
But I’ve seen her save people against tremendous odds.
Another change I made this year was to keep more emergency supplies stocked at her place.
We don’t have blood, but she can pump up his blood volume with an IV. ”
“Wouldn’t it be better to take him to the hospital in Chattanooga? He definitely needs a transfusion. And we’re closer to Chattanooga now than Mystic Lake.”
“It’s a risk either way. We’re only fifteen or twenty minutes from the city limits.
But it’s another thirty or forty minutes after that by car to the hospital, and that’s only if there’s no traffic, which pretty much never happens.
We’re only about thirty-five minutes total from the B and B.
If Stella can stabilize him, we can fly him to the hospital in the town’s medevac chopper. ”
“The town doesn’t have a doctor but you have a chopper?”
“Donation from a wealthy resident. We need to tie that shirt down tight to keep the pressure on when we move him. He’s fairly thin.
I can probably tie more shirts around him in a tight knot to keep that one in place.
Maybe even use a belt as a tourniquet of sorts to tighten it down.
Are you doing okay? Do you need me to take over? ”
“I’m okay. But hurry. My arms are starting to get rubbery from pressing down so hard.”
“I’ll be quick.”
True to his word, he was back in less than a minute with more shirts. These were, thankfully, less bloody than the first one he’d brought. But it made her wonder where those men had been shot, if not in the chest. She didn’t look over to confirm her fears.
With both of them working together, they got the shirts knotted and held into place with a belt from one of the dead men.
“I think it’s working,” Sierra said. “There’s barely a trickle now.”
“Good. He can’t afford to lose much more blood. He’s white as a sheet.”
She looked at the man’s alarmingly pale face, her breath catching in her throat.
“This is ridiculous. He was trying to kill us, and here we are trying to save him. I don’t know why we even care.
” Even as she said it, she gently pressed her fingers against the side of his neck, feeling for his pulse.
“Because we’re not like him,” Beau said, his voice tight.
She glanced up, then looked back down. “His pulse is weak. His breathing is really shallow. He’s lost far too much blood. I don’t… I don’t think he’ll make it back to Mystic Lake or to Chattanooga. I don’t know what else we can do.”
Beau hesitated, then grabbed the first-aid kit and set it down beside him. He rummaged inside. “What about stitches? Do you think that would make a difference? I have needles and thread in the kit.”
She shook her head. “I think your makeshift tourniquet is working just as well or better than stitches. It’s blood that he needs.”
“How about mine?” a raspy voice called out.
Sierra jerked her head up.
Beau grabbed his pistol and swung it toward the man stepping out of the woods. He was nearly as tall as Beau and just as muscular, dressed all in black like the men from the SUV. But his facial features were concealed behind the tinted facial shield of his motorcycle helmet.
“Hands up,” Beau ordered.
The man slowly raised his hands. “I’m unarmed.”