The Flashback Trilogy

Chapter 7

I took off my glasses and rubbed the bridge of my nose.

At length Sam said, “I can drive—if you’re not up to it. I don’t mind, really.”

I must have nodded. All I remember for certain is hearing the engine start and Lazaro grumbling before Nigel said, unexpectedly, “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. The Ranch.”

“Forget it,” I said—irritably. I didn’t want to hear it, whatever it was.

“Holy s**t, I forgot all about it.” I heard the map rattle as he tapped it. “The Ranch. The Ranch, mon, Sunset Ranch.”

Lazaro cursed as he swiveled in his chair. “What the f**k are you even—”

“What do mean, ‘Sunset Ranch?’” I glanced at the map and quickly back to him. “Talk to me, dammit!”

He only shrugged, carelessly, nonchalantly. “It—it’s a tourist attraction, sort of a barbeque joint, but with a riding stable and a corral full of horses. It’s right here.” He indicated a spot on the map. “Yuh, see, there’s even a trail, here, which intersects with Mount Lee Drive.”

“And follow that right into an ambush?” Mr. Fantastic harrumphed.

“Horses,” I muttered. “Holy Christ.”

I slouched over the map and pointed. “If there’s horses left alive we could follow the trail to Mount Lee Drive and then cross it—right here, then cut through the hills north by northwest until we come straight to the bunker.” I looked at everyone one by one. “Not only that, but if we get attacked ... they’ll go for the horses. Not us.”

I tried to smile as Sam glowered at me. “More meat,” I said, and shrugged.

The cockpit fell silent as everyone thought about it.

“I’ve never even rode a horse,” said Mr. Fantastic. “How the hell am I going to—”

“You’ll stay with Gargantua,” I said. “And cover us with the .50 cal for as far as you can. How about the rest of you?”

“4-H Blue-ribbon, Poulsbo State Fair,” said Sam. “2007.”

“Used to ride ‘em right there at Sunset,” said Nigel, “when we were working for Eagleton.”

I looked at Lazaro, who seemed to hesitate.

“Of course I’ve ridden a f*****g horse,” he grumbled. “I’m from Idaho.” He added: “What about you?”

“Never in my life,” I said, and looked at Sam—I don’t know why. “But I’ll manage. Don’t worry about it.”

I looked at Mr. Fantastic, who just shook his head.

“Okay ...” I breathed. I held my hand out to the others, palm down. “Who’s in?”

And Sam slapped her hand over mine, after which Nigel slapped his hand over her’s—and Lazaro topped us all off.

“Great,” said Mr. Fantastic, disappointed. “All right ...” He picked up the targeting goggles. “Let’s hope there’s some horses.”

And then we were off, making a U-turn in the middle of Canyon Lake Drive and rumbling toward Sunset Ranch—all of us, I think, wondering if we were really up to it, and if we could actually pull it off. All of us, I think, frightened out of our wits.

––––––––

As it turned out, there were horses: fourteen of them, to be exact, all of which were healthy and had been well-maintained—thanks to a woman named Shawna, who lived at the Ranch. Nor had our meeting been a confrontational one, in part because she’d been riding out in the field when we’d first rumbled up and had hardly been in a position; but mostly because she was a woman of singular grace and beauty who wouldn’t have hurt a fly—even if her life and wellbeing had depended on it. In this case, fortunately—it hadn’t.

“Well now, if that isn’t a posse,” she said, and took the picture—even as our horses grew restless and mine most of all: nickering and neighing, clearly wanting to go. “The Apple Dumpling g**g rides again.”

She waited as the Instamatic developed the snapshot and pushed it out—humming in the silence, groaning as though its batteries were low. “Ah, see?”

She quickly approached and handed it to me. “That’ll be a buck ninety-eight.”

I took it but didn’t look at it yet, smiling down at her from “Rusty,” liking the way the sun fell on her face and hair. “Just add it to your Lifetime Protection Plan,” I said, and glanced at Gargantua. “You’re going to like having that parked here, I think.”

“If it means I’ll be seeing you again, I will,” she said, and beamed up at me, earnestly, unguardedly. She seemed to grow somber. “Take care of my horses, Jamie. Bring them back safe.”

I looked at the picture, which showed the four of us mounted in front of the trailhead, our rifles slung across our backs—and smiled. “I will do everything in my power, Shawna. I prom—” I left off, feeling as though a cold hand had gripped my heart. “Oh, no.” I looked from the picture to the trail.

“What is it?” Her previously lilting voice had lowered an octave. “What’s wrong?”

I gripped the reins, dropping the picture—even as Rusty whinnied and squirmed—wanting to reach back and unsling my rifle; wanting to have some kind of defense. But it was already too late; too late for fight or flight. Too late for anything but to hold perfectly still. “Shhh,” I whispered, “nobody move. And don’t reach for your weapons. Don’t even breathe.”