He heard the sound of the Taurus's engine change as Jamie turned the car and started back. Retreating farther along the stream, he took a deep breath before he reached the smoke. Then he climbed up, letting the smoke envelope him.
Keeping his eyes closed, he approached the sound of the returning Taurus. His nostrils and throat felt burned.
The drone of the Taurus became louder.
He stumbled faster. Come on, Jamie!
Then he heard the car stop ahead of him. Opening his eyes, which immediately began to weep, he stooped and emerged from the smoke. Coughing, he saw the car. Only partially visible through the bullet-starred side window, Jamie's strained face reacted with relief when he opened the rear door and climbed in, only to realize that the window across from him had a hole in it. The smell of blood permeated the car's interior. Angelo was slumped forward, unmoving.
William was covered with gore. He stared straight ahead, catatonic.
"Two windows are shattered!" Jamie said, pressed low in the front seat. "The others can't take much more!"
Desperate, Cavanaugh strained to decide what to do. To the south, the lane through the trees was blocked. To the west, most of the shooters were dead. But that still left shooters to the east and north, plus the sniper on the eastern ridge.
"Back up. Get a little farther from the smoke," he told Jamie.
Immediately, the car was in motion.
Cavanaugh pulled William down as bullets hit the no-longer protective window, chunks of glass flying.
With a clear view of the burning lodge, Cavanaugh told Jamie, "Stop."
She did.
"We're getting out."
She didn't hesitate.
Cavanaugh dragged William from the back seat. Jamie and Mrs. Patterson joined him, scurrying down into the streambed.
"I shot four of them on this side," Cavanaugh told Jamie, pointing to the west. "I think there's only one more shooter over there. If we can get into the woods, we can take him. Then we're home free."
The expression "home" struck him with bitter force as he thought about the burning lodge.
"But we'll be shot if we show ourselves and try to run to the woods," Jamie said.
"Unless we have a distraction."
Behind him, another car window burst apart, glass flying, too many bullets having struck it.
"What kind of distraction?"
"Give me a gun," William said, his catatonia broken.
"What?"
"Give me a gun. Bastards. Sons of bitches. Give me a gun. I'll shoot them until their whore mothers won't recognize them."
"Hold that thought, William. Glad to have you back with us."
Cavanaugh squirmed to the top of the bank and risked showing himself to what he assumed was now only one gunman on the western side of the canyon. But he didn't face the west. Instead, he peered toward the burning lodge. He studied a shed behind the building. A large white propane tank was next to it. But a non-incendiary bullet wouldn't detonate it.
"Jamie."
"What?"
"Cover your ears. Make sure William and Mrs. Patterson cover theirs."
He sighted his rifle toward the burning lodge, toward the fiery back porch, toward a barbecue grill on the porch. The grill had a small white propane tank. When he shot a hole in it, the flames caused the gas in the tank to explode, the porch heaving, its roof flying. Burning chunks arced toward the shed.
Immediately, Cavanaugh swung his aim toward the huge white tank behind the lodge, shot a hole into it, and tumbled down the slope, pressing his hands to his ears.
But nothing happened.
I didn't time it right. All I did was blow a hole in the tank. Now the gas is escaping, but if the fire doesn't reach it--
The ground shook. Even with his hands over his ears, the roar of the explosion stunned him. A shockwave jolted him, knocking him even closer to the ground. As the canyon walls captured the roar and thrust it back in a massive echo, Cavanaugh yelled, "Now! Run to the trees!"
He grabbed William, and thrust him up the side of the streambed. Jamie and Mrs. Patterson ran next to him, chunks of smoking metal and burning wood thudding around them.
"Faster!" Cavanaugh yelled, ignoring something hot that fell on his left arm.
Any moment, he expected a bullet to knock him flat. But more chunks of metal and burning wood kept falling, and he kept charging, and at once, yet another explosion shook the canyon, its shockwave so powerful that it threw Cavanaugh and William onto their chests.
" Jamie? " Cavanaugh's ears rang. " Mrs. Patterson? "
"We're okay! What was that ?"
"I think it was the helicopter!"
Cavanaugh tugged William to his feet and pushed him, urging him to run. Cavanaugh's body armor made him feel suffocated. Another hot object struck him, this time on his neck, but all he cared about was the forest looming before him as he and William burst through undergrowth into the trees. He yanked William down with him and waited tensely for Jamie and Mrs. Patterson to crash through bushes and dive behind trees, landing next to him.
Only then did bullets from the opposite side of the canyon wallop into the woods. Too late , Cavanaugh thought in triumph.
The shots faltered, ending.
"They know the explosions can probably be heard all the way to Jackson," Cavanaugh said. "The smoke's above the canyon now. Police and emergency crews will be coming. The shooters need to get out of here."
He let thirty seconds elapse and decided it was safe to peer between trees. What he saw made him inhale sharply. The exploding propane tank had indeed caused the helicopter to explode. The combined force had flattened the lodge. Burning timbers were everywhere, igniting the grass.
Chapter 25.
"You prick!" the spotter yelled. "You swore you could do this!"
"How was I to know the target would--"
With a look of contempt, the spotter drew a handgun and shot his companion four times in the face. Then he took out his knife and cut off the sniper's fingertips.
"That's what I know," he said.
The act wasn't impulsive. It wasn't motivated by anger. The truth was, he'd been ready to kill the man, whether the attack was successful or not. The sniper had exemplary professional habits before an assignment, first-rate preparation, but afterward, he drank and talked too much. His usefulness had come to an end. In fact, the execution was the only thing about this assignment that felt good.
" Abort ," he shouted into his walkie-talkie. " Abort. Abort. Abort. "
*
PART TWO:
THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO FAIRBAIRN
Chapter 1.
"Those last four shots are too low-pitched to be from a rifle," Jamie said, puzzled.