Daunting Days of Winter (34 page)

Ty screamed out Sean’s name and scooted towards him, trying to get Sean’s attention. “They’re shooting Luther from the other side of the river,” he cried. “You gotta take them down.”

“Cover me!” Sean yelled as he raised his rifle, searching for the shooters on the far bank.

Ty lifted his head and scanned the side of the dump truck. The machine gun swung back towards them, and Ty pulled Sean down just as the firing began. They waited a few seconds before popping up again, their ears ringing from the barrage. With the machine gun swinging away, Ty once again zeroed in on the arms of the man at the controls. His second shot drew blood, though not as dramatically as before seeing as Anderson’s gun was a smaller caliber than his own.

A head rose above the edge of the dump truck, and Ty fired at it. He missed, but a silver divot appeared along the edge of the truck, and the man dropped his weapon and clawed at his eyes. His second shot found its mark, and the man dropped from sight.

“Got him!” Sean exclaimed after his weapon discharged, then quickly turned his attention back to the closer threat.

The shooting continued in a steady, indistinguishable roar for three or four minutes, then slowly died down as the return fire from the dump truck diminished. Sean called out for his men to hold fire. A brief moment of silence was followed by moaning and crying, along with banging sounds from inside the back of the truck. Then, to everyone’s relief, they heard the transmission grind into gear.

“Luther’s on the road,” yelled Ty as the dump truck began moving towards Luther’s twisting body. Ty rose to his feet and ran along the top of the berm, leaping over stunned men as he sprinted towards the river. With steel plates covering the side doors of the truck, he needed to get ahead of it to be able to take out the driver through the windshield. Gunshots rang out and bullets whistled past him, but he kept running, seeing in his peripheral vision the truck closing in on Luther, lying injured on the road.

Two gunshots came from close by, then all gunfire ceased, leaving only the sounds of the truck’s engine and Ty’s feet pounding the dirt. He drew even with the front of the truck, which was crawling forward in low gear, then began to get ahead of it, but it was only a few feet from Luther, who, wounded and bleeding heavily, was unable to move to the side.

Ty pushed himself to his limit, gasping for air but desperate to stop the truck. He turned as he ran, seeing he didn’t have the angle yet, and pushed harder, raising his gun to his shoulder. The truck was shifting gears when Ty finally had the shot he needed. He planted his feet, aimed, and pulled the trigger in rapid succession, shattering the windshield with the truck less than ten feet from Luther. Ty kept shooting until he ran out of bullets. The driver slumped forward as Luther rolled over and lobbed one of his grenades over the cab of the truck.

In the fresh silence Ty heard the clang of metal striking metal, followed by frightened shouts and a deafening explosion, but the truck continued to roll forward.

“Move, Luther!” Ty shouted, unable to stop the truck. There was a sickening, hollow thud and a scream, as the front wheel struck his injured friend. Ty dropped to his knees in shock. The dump truck careened forward, bounced off the rail on the side of the bridge, then collided with the same blue pickup it had tangled with earlier before finally coming to a stop.

Overcome with emotion, Ty tried to stand but his legs buckled. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and sobs wracked his body as he looked at the broken form in the middle of the road.

Sean gathered a group of men, and they approached the idling truck, now jammed against the railing. A gunshot from the back of the truck sent everyone diving for cover, but no one in the truck showed his face. Sean’s team waited thirty seconds after the gunshot, then resumed their advance.

Ty watched as they skirted around the front of the vehicle and yanked open the driver’s door, ready to unload a volley of bullets, but the driver was already dead. With the others providing cover, one of the men climbed into the cab and turned the engine off, then they waited, listening for sounds of life from the back.

While Sean’s team waited, several of the better shooters at the barricades trained their rifles on the far side of the river, scanning the area for any additional threats. The remaining members of the militia tended to the wounded while trying to deal with the emotional repercussions of the short-lived battle.

Ty heard shots and turned back to the truck in time to see one of their men standing on the roof of the cab, firing shots into the bed of the vehicle, and then it was quiet. Fifteen minutes after the first shots were fired it was all over.

CHAPTER 41

Friday, February 17
^th

Moyie Springs, ID

Kyle knelt in front of the grave marker once again, trying to reconcile his emotions and guilt at not having been there in their time of need, weighed against the awareness that, under the circumstances, it was a miracle he’d made it at all. The lightly falling rain mirrored his mood, with hardly enough moisture to justify an umbrella but threatening, with dark, rolling clouds filling the valley, to turn the drizzle into something more torrential at any minute.

“We should probably head back, Kyle.”

Kyle turned towards his father and nodded. “You’re right. No sense in getting any wetter than we need to.” He stood and put his arm across his dad’s shoulders as they left the cemetery. “It’s still a shock to me that she’s gone. I always thought she’d live forever. Last time we talked everything was good. I never imagined it would actually be the last time I spoke to her.”

Five days previous, Kyle had walked up to the front door of his parents’ house, unsure of what to expect. He had imagined every possible scenario while traveling. One second he feared they’d both be dead, then the next he’d convince himself that they were doing fine, then that they’d be at death’s doorstep, and he had arrived just in time to save them. Worst of all, he feared he’d frighten them, and they would unleash a volley of bullets that would cut him down after having walked thousands of miles.

The walk through Moyie Springs with Sheriff Pratt, and the orderly situation he observed, had increased his hopes that all would be well, so it had been heartbreaking when his dad tearfully welcomed him home with the news that Kyle’s mother had succumbed to a stroke just before Christmas. Her blood thinning medication, which she’d taken for years, had run out in early October, and shortly thereafter, she had suffered a series of strokes, the last one, three days before Christmas, proving fatal.

Since his mother’s passing, his dad, Gene, had been struggling, and was in a deep depression when Kyle’s knock sounded. The gun propped beside Gene’s recliner was there for defensive purposes, he promised, but Kyle worried, based on his father’s state of mind, that it might be put to another use some point in the not too distant future. Their reunion, however, had snapped Gene out of his melancholy, and each day Kyle had seen an improvement, to the point that he was close to again being the jovial grandpa Kyle’s kids knew.

They were halfway home from the cemetery when his father broke the silence. “You can’t imagine how much I miss your mother.” His voice, full of emotion, was nearly drowned out by the sound of rain on their umbrella.

“I know. You two were inseparable. How many years were you married?”

“June would have been forty-one.” He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “Sorry to get all weepy on you, but I haven’t had anyone to talk about it with.”

“You’re fine, Dad. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you sooner.”

“That last month was the hardest. She couldn’t do much of anything except lay in bed. I spent most of my time taking care of her, but she just got weaker and weaker.” He paused, but Kyle just listened. “I knew she was going to die. I could get her to drink water, but she wouldn’t chew anything. Even the doctor at the hospital told me it would just be a matter of time.”

“Was she in pain?”

Gene shook his head. “Not that it seemed, but she couldn’t communicate, so I don’t know. I hope not. I tried to keep her comfortable. That’s when we moved out to one of the rental cabins. It was smaller and had the wood stove. There wasn’t so much to take care of or keep warm. I could just focus on her. I’d comb her hair and rub her arms and her legs. She didn’t talk, but I could see in her eyes that she knew what I was doing. That was something I guess.” He laughed. “I tried to paint her fingernails for her once, but I wasn’t very good at it. Just made a mess of her hands.”

Kyle smiled as he wrestled with his own emotions. “I bet that made her happy. We all knew how much she loved you. I wanted a marriage like yours when I married Jennifer. We’re not there yet, but we’re trying.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Son. I never walked home from Texas for your mother.”

“But you would have if you needed to. You know it, and don’t say otherwise.”

Gene smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “You’re right. I suppose I would have walked as far as I needed to for her. Florida to Alaska, if that’s what it took, though I’m glad I didn’t have to. My hips would have made it tough.”

“Are they still bothering you?”

He nodded. “They are, but I think a replacement is out of the question now. The best our doctors can do is sew a few stitches or give recommendations on how to stay healthy. I hear they’ve done a couple minor surgeries, but it’s only the essential stuff —removing bullets, or delivering babies, that kind of thing. At this point I expect I’ll die with the hips I was born with. Guess that’s the way God designed it.”

The Bed and Breakfast was in sight, and they could see smoke billowing from the cabin’s chimney. Gene motioned to the cabin. “You haven’t said what you plan to do with the boy.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Kyle said, shaking his head. “He doesn’t talk, I don’t know where he’s from, and I killed the only family that I know he had. I’ve been trying to think of something, but I’m at a loss.”

Gene put his hand on Kyle’s arm. “If we can’t figure anything out, let him stay with me. I spent a lot of years with kids, and I think it would be better for me than being alone, since I’m pretty sure you’re going to head back to your family at some point.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am,” he said decisively. “I’ve thought about it for the last couple of days. I need to have someone around, and he can’t take care of himself. Plus, I think he’s on the verge of opening up. I can see it in his eyes when I talk to him. There’s a spark there that’s gently flickering back to life. He even smiled at me this morning. If we get something better figured out for him, that’s fine. But if not, I’ll take him.”

“That would be good for him to have someone that cares. I don’t think he was in the best environment where I found him.”

They reached the cabin and pushed the door open. Collin was reading in a chair by the window and looked up when they came in.

“We’ve got lunch, Collin,” Kyle said, holding up a slab of venison he had purchased at the market. “You like deer meat?”

The boy shook his head vigorously. “No,” he said, defiantly putting the book down on his lap.

Gene looked at Kyle and whispered, “He speaks.”

Kyle turned back to Collin. “I’m really sorry, but it’s what we have. What do you like?”

“Pizza.”

Kyle stopped in his tracks. Gene’s eyes opened wide. They had tried to get Collin to talk for the five days since arriving in Moyie, but they had never gotten more than a grunt out of him when he was awake. During the night he would talk in his sleep, but that was it.

“I think I can get some flour at the market tomorrow and try to make a pizza,” Gene said. “Is there anything else you like?”

The boy looked up at the two men, the wheels in his head turning. “Hamburgers,” he said hopefully. “And spaghetti.”

“Oh, those are delicious, aren’t they?” Gene crossed the room and sat in a chair facing Collin, eager to engage the child. “I like broccoli and carrots. Do you?”

Collin shook his head. “No, they’re gross, but I like corn, and Corn Flakes.”

Gene peppered the boy with questions about food, discovering his preferences on anything a person could eat—Chinese, Italian, Mexican, candy, snacks, fruit, and on and on. They talked about food for thirty minutes, with Kyle listening while he stewed the venison in a pot on the woodstove.

Kyle indicated to his father that the food was ready. Gene stood and smiled at the boy. “Lunch is ready,” he said, “but I wonder if I can ask a favor?”

Collin nodded cautiously.

Gene bit his lower lip. “My wife died a few weeks ago, and it’s been really hard for me. I miss her a lot, you know. Anyway, she would always give me these big, long hugs. I wondered if you would do me a favor and give me a hug, to help me not miss her as much.”

Kyle held his breath, watching, waiting to see how Collin would respond.

Collin looked nervously around the room, then up at Gene, and nodded. He stood and moved to Gene with his arms out wide.

Gene knelt in front of the boy and embraced him, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Oh, thank you, Collin. This makes me feel a lot better. It’s really hard when you lose someone you love, isn’t it?”

Kyle’s eyes blurred as the boy’s head bobbed vigorously up and down against Gene’s shoulder. They held their embrace, arms wrapped tightly around each other, both crying, until Kyle finally broke the silence. “The food’s going to get cold, guys,” he croaked out. “Let’s eat.”

CHAPTER 42

Monday, February 20
^th

Deer Creek, MT

Jennifer escorted her brood through the front door of the house and instructed them to go down stairs and change out of their good clothes, then read or play quietly so she could take a nap on the upstairs couch, hoping to get rid of a headache that had been tormenting her for two days. Their family had just returned home from the funeral service for the men killed on Thursday, while Carol and Grace had gone on together after the service to help tend to the injured men, each recuperating in their own homes and attended to by their families. Six had been wounded, three seriously, but Carol was only really worried about one of them, a woman who had taken a bullet in the stomach.