“I think I’ve heard enough,” said Ed, “You guys are crazier than a pack of dogs in a hubcap factory.” The group fell silent, the only noise now coming from the critters in the woods and the grunts of exertion from the two gravediggers. Ed turned to Linda. “Did you get through?”
“Yes, I spoke to a Captain Dewhurst. He took some convincing but he’s getting a team together and thinks he could be here within the hour. I said one of us would meet them at the bottom of the foothills to guide them up.”
“Good thinking, I’m going to…”
He was cut off by two shots barking out in quick succession, amplified by the darkness and making everyone jump.
“Jesus Christ!” cried John, “What the hell?”
“John, are you and the others okay to keep an eye on this bunch?”
“For sure.”
Ed didn’t waste any more time. He turned and took off towards where Buster had followed Rosen and Willets, knowing the sound they had heard was the sharp crack of a pistol, and knowing too that Buster and George weren’t carrying pistols.
Buster stomped through the forest with a speed and agility that defied his size but he made no attempt to stay quiet as he bull-dozed after Mayor Willets and Sheriff Rosen. It was all George could do to keep up. They had already splashed through the water and were nearing the track where the vehicles were parked when Buster caught sight of a figure in the darkness. It was Willets. The old man was starting to flag and Buster increased his speed, quickly closing the gap. Ahead Mayor Willets was puffing heavily and limping on his arthritic legs but self-preservation kept him moving. He sensed more than heard someone behind him. He turned to see a dark mountain of flesh just ten feet away from him. He stopped dead and raised the old Colt revolver in his quivering right hand. He snatched at the trigger, once, twice, the sharp recoil pushing the barrel upwards. Some of the Mayor’s earlier arrogance returned for a fleeting moment but the huge man coming towards him barely slowed. Buster gave a deep growl, bent lower and barrelled into Willets with his shoulder like a football player. “Oomph!” The air was forced from Willet’s lungs as Buster hit the old man. The mechanic hit with such force that the Mayor left the ground completely, sailing six feet through the air before slamming into the base of a big old pine tree. As the old man flew through the air legs and arms akimbo and Buster thundering past he thought to himself, ‘I hit him, I know I hit him.’ It was the last thought he had as his head hit the tree, snapping his fragile neck in the process, the limp, lifeless body crumbling to the ground.
Buster kept going, his goal was Sheriff Rosen, and he could just see him through the trees, but he was feeling weak, he started to slow. Adrenaline pushed him forward but his legs started to feel like jelly, his eyes were losing focus but he couldn’t understand why. When the mayor had fired he had felt a couple of stings, like a bee, but now his strength was sapping. There, not fifty yards ahead, Rosen was looking back at him then running on. Buster stumbled and went down on one knee. He looked down at his stomach; his shirt was covered in liquid. He touched it and felt the thick stickiness of it. In the darkness of the forest, it looked shiny black. Another dark patch was leaking from a hole through his cargo pants in his thigh. George arrived at his side, panting. “Buster, you okay man?”
“George, I don’t feel real good, I think I bin shot.”
His friend knelt down beside him. “Argh craps Buster, what you gone and done. Sit down against this tree, let me take a look at ya.” With an effort he helped his friend over to the base of a large pine and let him slide down until Buster’s legs were stretched out in front of him. “What bout Rosen, he getting’ away. He killed my little princess!”
Don’t you worry none about him, he’ll get his due soon enough, right now I need to take a look under your shirt.” George managed to untuck Buster’s shirt and pull it up enough to see the wound. It was the size of a nickel, just to the right of centre but it was bleeding heavily. George got a handkerchief from his pocket and placed it over the whole. “You push down on that hard while I take a look at your leg.” He got a multi-tool from a pouch on his belt and unfolded the knife. With the greatest of care, he cut into the fabric of Buster’s pants. Another nickel-sized hole cut into the dark flesh and muscle. That too oozed blood but not as quickly as the stomach wound. George looked down at his own body, looking for something he could use as a tourniquet. Nothing seemed obvious. “What in hell am I gonna do?” he asked himself.
“If you’s thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ to strap ma leg wid, you could do worse than your belt there.”
George looked down at his waist.
“Less you afraid O losin’ your pants!” Buster added with a faint smile on his lips.
“Of course!” he exclaimed.
He un-cinched the buckle and slid the brown leather belt through the loops of his old army fatigues, popping the tool pouch into his pocket. As he gently slipped the belt under the huge thigh of his friend he tried to keep Buster distracted. “Well I guess with all the beers I been drinking lately I don’t think I really need the belt anyway my pants are getting so tight.” The humour wasn’t lost on Buster with George being as thin as he is, but he still winced as George moved the belt around Buster’s leg. He worried that the belt wouldn’t be long enough but it came round and he hitched it tight just above the wound with a couple of notches to go. The blood still oozed slowly. “I think you need to pull tighter.” said Buster.
“Well okay, but hold on, this is gonna hurt some.” George tugged hard on the belt and took it to the last notch, the blood stopped flowing almost straight away. Buster didn’t flinch when it was done but George could see the pain etched on his friend’s face.
“That’s all I can do for you right now old buddy. I need to get you some help.”
I ain’t worried ‘bout me, I want to get Rosen and get back to my Gracie.”
He started to struggle to his feet causing a fresh pouring of blood from the stomach wound. George gently pushed Buster back down. “You just sit there and do as your told, I’m gonna head back to the clearing and get some help. I doubt Rosen will come back this way but,” He walked swiftly back to where Willets lay heaped at the bottom of another large tree and pulled the revolver from the dead man’s hand, barely looking at the glazed stare coming from the corpse. He went back and knelt beside his friend. “Take this, just in case but don’t go to sleep okay?”
“Okay George” he slurred back in reply, “but I do feel awful weary.”
“No, you mustn’t go to sleep Buster; I’m counting on you to watch my back now ya hear?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Well, that’s all I can ask for.” And with that, George stood and ran back the way the two friends had come, back towards the clearing. Buster sat with his legs outstretched and his hands on his lap, holding the revolver. His head turned left to right slowly, watching the path that Rosen had taken and the surrounding trees and vegetation.
Ed Saunders heard someone coming straight towards him, making no effort to conceal their movement and they seemed to be moving fast. He stopped and knelt down behind a tree, his browning pointing towards the noise as he peeked into the darkness to try and see who it was. Within seconds he saw George barrelling towards him, his shotgun held across his chest at the ready. Ed didn’t want to get shot by mistake so he shouted before he stepped out. “George! It’s Ed Saunders.”
George stopped immediately and started pointing the two vicious looking barrels of his weapon toward where he heard the voice in the dark.
“George, it’s me, Ed, Ed Saunders.” He repeated. Ed stepped out very slowly from behind the tree as George peered forward in the gloom to see better. Recognition came across George’s face as he saw Ed’s torso tentatively appear. The barrels of the shotgun came down immediately, much to Ed’s relief.