Ancient Echoes

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

It took all the Hammer’s willpower not to speed up, not to wrap his hands around Charlotte Reed’s scrawny neck and demand she tell him exactly where she was going. Tempting as it was, he knew that the sheriff, and possibly the other two with her, would put up a fight. The pretty boy he recognized as Michael Rempart, but he was puzzled by the one who looked like a walking corpse. He looked like the type who’d pull the wings off flies and then eat their flightless bodies. Hammill didn’t like going up against guys like that. Their reactions were never normal.

He decided to see where Charlotte Reed and the others, “the searchers” he called them, led him. That should be the fastest way to end this mission, then clean-up any collateral damage such as witnesses, and finally to leave this god-forsaken part of the country and get his fill of booze, broads, and a soft bed.

He watched through binoculars as Reed and her friends left the sheriff’s truck at Polly Higgins’ ranch and took off on horseback. “Hell and damnation!” He pounded the steering wheel of the Suburban before turning to Fish. “Looks like we get to play cavalry. We’ll head over to the stables and see what’s in it.”

After the sheriff and his friends left, Polly Higgins went back to the house to cook biscuits and gravy. She wondered if she'd done the right thing telling Jake and the others about the Indian legends. Pillars that created thunder sounded so frightening that no one in his or her right mind should want to go there. But then, the sheriff’s companions seemed to be scholarly types, and from what little Polly had seen of that kind, they were never in their right minds anyway. Besides that, anyone with half a brain could see the sheriff was a might smitten with that Charlotte Reed, much as he tried to hide it. More than likely, she could lead him straight to the fires of hell if she wanted. Polly snorted, glad romance was no longer on her agenda.

Shadow erupted in barks, followed by Gretchen and Lolo. The dogs raced to the window to see what was outside. The scruffs of their necks stood on end, their barking loud and hysterical.

Polly grabbed her Mossberg double-barrel shotgun, chambered some buckshot, and went outside, shocked to see men in black running around her stables. She ordered the dogs to stay with her.

The obvious leader was blond and muscular, wearing sunglasses, a heavy black jacket with lots of gear dangling from a wide belt, black baggy pants tucked into heavy boots, and a black baseball-style cap. What in the world was he made up for, she wondered. Had war games come to Idaho? No wonder her dogs barked. She would, too, if she could.

He saw her and approached.

“Who are you?” she called.

“Major Derek Hammill, retired,” the leader said, removing the glasses. A cold dread filled her at his flat, hard blue eyes. He stopped a few feet away. “We're investigating the whereabouts of Sheriff Jake Sullivan and some visitors. We understand you may know where he went.”

She raised her chin. “Jake can go wherever he wants. This is U.S. Forest Service land, not military.”

“Yes, ma'am,” The Hammer said. “But he went off without saying where. Now his deputy needs him. It’s serious, so we were called in.”

She looked over Hammill and the others. There were a lot of them—six or seven, all moving around. All held rifles and looked like they had enough fire power on them to conduct a full scale war.

She had no choice and proceeded to explain, giving little detail, where the sheriff was headed.

“I take it we’ll need horses,” Hammill said. “Do you have more?”

“Nope.”

The Hammer thanked her for the information, then turned to walk away. He glanced at a nearby man and nodded.

Instead of following Hammill, Bates drew his .44 magnum, turned toward Polly and aimed. She was too stunned to react, but Shadow did. The dog flung herself at Bates' throat, clamped down on his Adam's apple and tore.

He made a gurgling sound, his blood spraying into the air as he fell with the shepherd mix on top of him.

The Hammer spun around and fired at the dog, then moved closer for a shot at the old woman.

Polly raised her shotgun and aimed at Hammill as Gretchen and Lolo attacked. But she and her two dogs weren't a match for the mercenaries’ deadly firepower. Bullets slammed into the old woman, jerking her body, her shotgun firing ineffectually into the air. Polly fell dead as her dying dogs whimpered beside her.

The m******e had taken only seconds.

The Hammer never left one of his men behind. He ordered the others to carry Bates with them. They would give him a warrior's burial.

He sent two of his men back to Salmon City to rent, buy, or steal three double-seat ATVs, and a rig to carry them out here. He’d leave the Suburban behind. Even though this meant a delay, four horses would be child’s play to track, and the ATVs would easily make up the time lost.