Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga (18 page)

After what seemed forever, he found himself just inside the tree line, as high up the slope as he dared.
 
Chad was following the curve of the crescent landslide zone, working his way west and assumed his pursuers were well behind him now.
 
Then he heard a muffled shout come from below and to his right.
 
A light winked through the trees a few hundred feet below him in the snow.
 
Another one bobbed and weaved even closer, followed by an echoed voice.

He crouched behind the trunk of a tree and closed his eyes to think, trying to ignore how cold he was
.
 
They couldn’t
possibly
have come across the point where he had turned and headed west already.
 
There was no
way
they could have seen him—the storm was too intense.

So, how the hell’d they get around me like that?
 

Just then, a soft beep came from his belt.
 
The heartbeat monitor was showing the line of soldiers approaching from the northeast.

“Oh
shit
,” he gasped.
 
A sickening weight settled in the pit of his stomach.
 
“The guy with the little black box—”
 

They were tracking him like he had tracked the cougar.
 
Clenched and relaxed his fists over and over again, partly through frustration, partly to keep his fingers warm.
 

There was no way he could evade them.
 
As long as he was in range, they could zero in on him in even the worst blizzard.
 
And, they were probably using some souped-up, state-of-the-art
military
version.
 
Chad looked down sadly at his own old and well-used device.
 
He shut his monitor off and slapped the cover closed, harder than he necessary.
 
He cracked the lid, but didn’t care.
 
It felt good to break something.

What hell am I supposed to do
now
?

A new sound drifted over the snow. It was a rhythmic thumping, from somewhere out in the storm.
 
“Jesus, you guys got a
helicopter
, too?” he asked as he watched the dancing flashlight beams of his pursers, farther downslope.
 

Chad looked along his path and shielded his eyes from the snow, now blowing straight into his face.
 
The helicopter was the least of his worries though, any pilot would have to be crazy to attempt to get close to him in the storm.
   

Chad grunted and heaved himself to his feet, feeling uneasy about how fast he was tiring.
 
Determined to give his pursuers a merry chase, he lowered his head and moved on, heading due north along the ridge and into the teeth of the storm.
 
If he could just get out of range of their monitor he might stand a chance.
 
After all, he knew this land like the back of his hand.

He huffed and grunted and hauled himself farther away, pausing to rest against trees when he dared.
 
Always, always they came after him; a few voices carried on the wind, a few lights flickering in and around the trees below and behind him.
 
They were running him to ground as sure as he’d ever stalked an elk.
 
His legs were starting to burn with fatigue.
 
He was in pretty good shape but the stalks that he went on were more relaxed.
 
He was burning through his energy reserves at an alarming rate.

Partly to satisfy his curiosity about who was chasing him and partly to gain a short, hard-earned respite from his arduous trek through the storm, he dropped to a knee by a snow blasted pine.
 
He gratefully leaned against the tree for support and brought his rifle up in order to focus the scope on the closest of his pursuers.
 
Despite the blowing snow, he was able to spot one and hold him in the cross-hairs.
 

The man was definitely wearing woodland camouflage.
 
It was dark green with brown streaks and dots and had a very mottled appearance.
 
Definitely wasn’t anything one could find at the local outfitters.
 
He almost looked
Asian
.
 
In all the snow, he stuck out like a sore thumb.
 
That suggested they weren’t concerned about being spotted.
 
They had little respect for their prey.
 
That, he decided was a mistake he could use to his advantage.

A cry to the right of the man he was watching caused him to shift his view.
 
When the next man came into focus, Chad nearly dropped his rifle.
 
That guy was aiming right at
him
and actually
fired
.
 
Chad saw a brief flash before he heard a sharp crack and a chunk of bark showered down on his shoulder.
 
Falling backwards on reflex, Chad’s finger bumped the trigger on his rifle and it boomed into the storm, dwarfing the report from the military rifle.
 

Chad heard some screaming and many excited voices.
 
Now he was
sure
they weren’t American.
 
A few more shots were fired in his direction, sending up puffs of snow and bits of bark all around him.

“Oh, screw
this!
” he said and scrambled to his feet and took off north in a headlong dash through the storm.
 
The realization that he had just shot a man drove him forward even after his lungs were screaming for rest.
 
If they were chasing him before, they sure as hell were chasing him now.
 
Over the din of the storm and the shouts from below, he heard the helicopter again.
 

He was in some kind of nightmare.
 
Had
to be.

C
HAPTER
9

Glacier National Park, Montana.

C
HAD
KEPT
UP
HIS
top pace as long as physically possible and only stopped when he stumbled and crashed into a snow covered log.
 
He laid there in the cold snow, resting until the stars retreated from his vision.
 
He rolled over on his side placing his back against the frozen log.
 
Only then did he realize he was half buried in the snow and a hell of a lot colder than he had ever been before.
 
Panting, his chest burned with the effort of his escape.
 
His beard was coated in snow, making his face cold.
 
His teeth began to chatter.
 

“Not…not…good…man…” he told himself as he struggled to brush the snow off his watch.
 
It was only 3:37pm.
 
He glared south through squinted eyes, looking through a tunnel of snow swirling around and about him.
 
The storm had fully enveloped the mountains in darkness.
 
This was no normal early-season storm.
 
It was a real blizzard.
 
And he was about spent and still hours away from shelter.
 

Chased by those soldiers, he now felt a sudden, terrible kinship with the animals that he had harvested for the CDC.
 
Run to ground, exhausted, cornered.
 
He had only to wait for a crack of a rifle and a bullet to end it all.
   
He chuckled grimly.
 
The Blue Flu couldn't touch him.
 
The Black Death had no way to hurt him.
 
But a little piece of lead will might very well finish him off right here, propped up against the snow-covered log.

He knew they were out there
somewhere
.
 
Full dark would be coming soon, since this time of year.
 
That would be
real
bad news for him, stuck out here, freezing to death with no shelter, already exhausted.
 
The prey had been run to ground.

A new voice called out.
 
Chad held his breath.
 
Another shout.

“Mr. Huntley!
 
Chad Huntley!
”
 
The voice came from behind the log, to the north—the opposite direction in which he had last spotted his pursuers.
 
It was calm, authoritative, and loud.
 
Whoever was speaking was
close
.
 
And clearly spoke English.
 

“Sir, we’re here to help you!
 
Can you hear my voice?
 
Chad Huntley!
 
Hell-looooooo!”
 

Chad gave up.
 
Whatever was going to happen, hopefully it would all be over soon.
 
Maybe they would take him to jail for shooting one of those guys back there.
 
He didn’t care anymore.
 
He just wanted out of the damn storm.
 
He feebly raised a gloved hand and tried to speak.
 
His voice croaked out a reply but it was lost in the howling wind.
 
He waved his arm over his head, back and forth.
 
He stirred, trying to raise himself on one elbow and keep waving.
 
Chad was shocked to see how fast his body succumbed to the elements once the initial adrenaline rush ended.
 
He felt weak as a kitten.

“Got movement over here!” shouted the voice, closer now.

“There he is!
” called out a second voice, almost on top of him.

A shape appeared out of the snow as it slid over the top of the log and landed next to him with a muffled thump.
 
Chad was expecting the woodland camouflage of his tormentors but was greeted with someone wearing
white
camouflage, and decked out as if he was going to war.
 
The man was wearing a military helmet, snow goggles and a neoprene mask over his face—all white.
 
The man was also wearing and a white vest with bulging pockets and a rucksack on his back.
 
He also had a wicked looking machine gun.

“Sir, are you Chad Huntley?” said the masked figure, bending low to speak clearly through the wind.

“Yeah,” Chad replied hoarsely.

“Are you okay?
 
Are you injured?”

“Cold…tired…”
 

“Okay.
 
Just relax, for me.
 
I’m Staff Sergeant Garza.
 
We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?
 
I need you to put your rifle down first, though.”
 

Two other forms appeared out of the snow like ghosts, dressed like Garza.
 
They both knelt down next to Chad and looked him over.
 
One soldier took Chad’s Henry rifle and looped its sling over his shoulder.
 

The other turned to look around and called out into the air, “Anvil, this is Hammer 2, Actual.”

Garza was trying to help Chad to a sitting position and he could hear over the soldier’s in-helmet headset the static-filled reply: “
Hammer 2, Actual, this is Anvil, go ahead
.”

“We have the package—I say again: we have the package.
 
The trees are too dense here, better call off our ride.
 
We’ll head to the secondary LZ.”

“
Anvil copies all.
 
You got twenty minutes.
 
The storm is eatin’ the gas up, how copy?
”

“Shit,” the soldier said.
 
Then louder, “Roger, Anvil—Actual copies all.
 
We are Oscar Mike
.
”

“Somebody help me get him up,” said Garza.

“I’m…I’m
sorry
,” said Chad through clenched teeth.
 
“I didn’t…mean to
shoot
him—”

“Calm down, sir, you’re going to be fine,” the soldier replied.
 
“Wait, shoot?
 
Shoot
who
?”

“Those g-guys back there,” Chad said, weakly pointing south.
 
“Been chasing me since b-before noon…soldiers I think. Hunting me across the damn mountain.”