Thorpe didn’t have a military background, but it sure as hell seemed like he’d received combat training somewhere—and where the fuck did he get an automatic rifle? The more Phipps considered Thorpe’s actions, the more concerned he became. Not only did the man anticipate an ambush, but he correctly anticipated from where the attack would be launched. Then he laid down some damn accurate fire on Shaw, who’d been a moving target at considerable yardage. Plus, Thorpe shot and moved. He didn’t get tunnel vision and even anticipated there could be more than one threat in the woods. Phipps had definitely underestimated the man.
He doubted Thorpe would follow multiple adversaries into the woods alone at night. Most likely, he’d wait alongside the road, concealed, and hope to ambush them as they made their way out of the trees. That’s what Phipps would do if he were in Thorpe’s position. On the other hand, Thorpe might move in an arc to the north, in an effort to cut off their retreat.
Their extraction element—Brandon Baker—idled in a car a few miles to the east. Their intent had been to kill Thorpe, hike out, call Baker and get the fuck outta Dodge.
Well, that plan had gone to shit. Phipps decided his best bet at survival would be to trek north fast enough to ensure Thorpe didn’t get in front of him. Phipps might have to spend the entire night in the woods, but it wouldn’t be his first. As he rose and began picking his way through the underbrush, he heard Shaw screaming his name.
Fuck ‘im; that Gomer was on his own.
SHAW DIDN’T HAVE A CLUE what direction he was headed. Goddamn Phipps! His left arm was on fire. It hung like a piece of meat from the elbow down. A round had caught him near the elbow and had completely disintegrated the joint. Shaw needed medical treatment but instead blundered sightless through the middle of nowhere in freezing temperatures with sleet pelting his face. His glasses were nearly useless; stashed in his breast pocket, they’d broken when he’d begun running and ricocheting off trees. All he had left was one cracked lens and no flashlight.
And Phipps…that motherfucker, wouldn’t answer. Shaw didn’t know where the man had gone or if he was even alive. Fuck, it was cold. Shaw, convinced he would die if he didn’t get immediate medical attention, withdrew his phone and called Baker.
“Is it done?” Baker said, answering his phone.
“Yeah…change of plans though. You need to come in his neighborhood and pick us up. We’re lost in the woods, but we’re close to the road.”
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
“Just get your ass in here and pick us up. You need to honk your horn when you get close to Thorpe’s house so we can follow the sound.”
“Bullshit. You trying to get us all arrested?”
“Look, ain’t nobody the fuck out here! It’s colder than shit so people’s windows are closed; they’re not going to hear you.”
“Fuck that!”
“If you don’t come get us, and the police pick us up, the first person I’m going to throw down is you. Now get your white ass in here and pick us up.”
Shaw terminated the call. Hopefully Baker wouldn’t phone Phipps before driving in; no way he’d come if he knew Thorpe was still alive and engaging targets with an automatic weapon.
THORPE HEARD THE SCREAMINGBEFORE he reached the road. Someone was yelling Phipps’ name.
“Phipps…I’m hit…where are you? Phipps!”
Concerned it was a trap, Thorpe resisted the temptation to follow. He did cross the road but kept well south of the commotion. He hid behind a fallen tree and waited in the black. Thorpe removed the SID-supplied night vision device from his pack and secured it to his head. He knew he should use his dogs, but he’d become too attached. Better he die in these woods than Al and Trixie.
The thrashing and yelling to the north ceased, and Thorpe tried to attune to the sounds of his environment over the falling sleet. Several minutes later he observed the wash of headlights on the branches above his position. Behind him, a vehicle approached from the east. A minute after the car passed, Thorpe focused on a faint glow of light moving through the trees ahead.
SHAW CAUGHT THE FLASH OF headlights and began picking his way toward the road. He again called Baker.
“Where you at?” Baker answered on the first ring.
“Did you just drive by?”
“Yeah, I’m passing Thorpe’s house now.”
“Turn around and come back the way you came. You don’t have to honk your horn; I could see your lights. Stay on the phone, I’ll tell you when to stop.”
Shaw was having a hell of a time navigating through the trees. It was impossible to see, particularly with only one cracked, sleet-covered lens. After a minute, Shaw picked out Baker’s headlights approaching from the west.
“Stop. Stay where you are and cut your lights. I’m heading your way.”
Shaw couldn’t wait to get out of the woods. To help avoid losing an eyeball to a tree branch, he decided to use the light from his cell phone’s LCD screen to illuminate his way. Holding the phone straight out, he picked up the pace toward the waiting vehicle.
THORPE SAW THE VEHICLE APPROACH from the west, stop twenty yards behind and to his left and cut its lights. Then he watched the glow slice through the woods toward the waiting automobile.
What the hell? Thorpe lifted the goggles away from his eyes. The approaching light cast a blue haze. This is too easy…has to be a trap.
On the other hand, the car on the road was a sitting duck. If Thorpe wanted to step out and fill the windshield with .223 rounds, there was nothing to stop him. Perhaps it wasn’t a trap after all.
They’re actually that stupid.
Thorpe lowered the goggles and plotted an intersecting course with the wielder of blue light. Footfalls audible over the cascading sleet, his target crashed carelessly through the woods. Thorpe timed his steps to those of his prey.
The glow grew near. Whoever he stalked was using a damned cell phone to light his way through the trees. The display might provide a couple of feet of visibility but would totally wreck the person’s night vision beyond that distance. Thorpe propped his AR against a tree and retrieved a Sig Sauer .357 caliber pistol from his side holster. He didn’t really want to use the weapon because he’d purchased it himself, and it was registered in his name. If forced to use the weapon, he would be disappointed in having to destroy it—he was already going to have to dispose of parts of his personal AR.
Thorpe held the pistol in his left hand and a large black knife in his right. If given the opportunity, he’d use the blade.
He stood behind a large tree as his target passed eight feet in front of him, moving right to left. The man held the phone out in front with his right hand—his left arm dangled at his side, hand empty. Was this idiot really walking without a weapon at the ready? Thorpe again checked to see if his target was being followed. He doubted someone would willingly sacrifice himself as bait, but Thorpe was genuinely perplexed with his quarry’s carelessness. To make himself less of a target, he decided to take the man to the ground.
Thorpe holstered his Sig and rushed his phone-wielding adversary. His prey heard death descending upon him and turned—too late. Thorpe tackled him with a well-placed elbow to the jaw, both men crashing to the ground with Thorpe on top. Thorpe secured the man’s right wrist and ignored the noodle-like left arm that slithered about the leaf-strewn forest floor. He pressed his knife across the man’s trachea and looked down into a pair of wild eyes.
Thadius Shaw. Thorpe lowered himself to within inches of the man’s face, partly to instill fear, but mostly to get his head closer to the ground and out of danger.
“How many of you are there?” Thorpe hissed.
“Just me and Phipps…and Baker’s in the car,” Shaw declared without hesitation. “Please don’t…”