Shallow Creek

What concerned him now was taking care of the lookout without alerting anyone inside the cabin.  No other patrols made rounds while Brendan observed from concealment, so he made his move.

Carefully he stretched out and plucked a fist-sized rock from the grass next to him.  The ever-vigilant sentry yawned loudly and shuffled his feet against the gravel driveway.  He faced away from Brendan, staring idly down the road.  A smarter man would’ve realized that in this almost silent environment, a truck would be heard a mile away, so it was more pertinent to camp out in a secure spot.

That was his loss.

The lumberjack continued to grind the heel of his boot into the gravel.  Brendan looked once more at the trucks splayed erratically across the open lot, checking for any unwanted visitors.  All was quiet.  From his position, Brendan could see the front corner of the cabin, where a large, open porch led to the front door.  No activity there either.

Brendan hefted the rock from his prone position.  The missile soared majestically into the back of the sentry’s shoulder, knocking him forward a few paces.

“Hey!” the man said, turning to face the parked trucks.  “Is that you again, Jim, you son of a bitch?”  He stomped toward a green Chevy regular cab, which happened to be the closest vehicle to Brendan.

The lumberjack walked around the truck a few times and then stood facing the cabin, rubbing his shoulder forcefully.  Only when Brendan crunched down on the gravel one step behind the man did he try to turn.  But it was too late.  Brendan was on him in a flash, quickly wrapping the man’s neck in a constrictive hold.  Despite his smaller size, the man thrashed and struggled, but no sound left his mouth as Brendan restrained him and forced him down to the ground, using the truck to block the view of any random onlookers in the cabin.

The noise of the man’s boots scrambling around on the small stones of the parking lot irked Brendan, but he knew that the sound wouldn’t penetrate the thick walls of the cabin.  Slowly, but surely, his prey eased into unconsciousness.  Brendan quickly released the man, not wanting to kill anyone who hadn’t attacked him first.  Self-defense was one thing, but he’d have a hard time explaining why he choked a guy to death in a premeditated ambush.

Using a brand new roll of duct tape that he’d found in the pristine toolbox in the bed of Kim’s mom’s truck, he bound and gagged the man quickly, but effectively, and then dragged him into the bushes.  He didn’t pay any special attention for poison ivy this time, but that would be the least of this chump’s worries by the end of the afternoon.  Crouching next to his victim, Brendan pulled his cell phone out and hit the power button to activate the touchscreen.

Nothing happened.

Shit.  How was he going to call the cops and let them know he was pretty damn sure they needed to get their asses out here?

He patted down the unconscious man and found a radio, but no phone.  Who didn’t carry a phone?  Maybe the reception sucked so badly that people didn’t bother using cells in these parts.  Brendan had been too young to own one back when he’d visited previously.  He turned the volume down on the man’s radio and tossed it into the woods.

A secondary search of the man produced a 9mm Beretta in good working order.  Stashing the piece in the back of his jeans hadn’t worked out so well for Mr. Lumberjack.  Holding the pistol out in front of him, Brendan crept out of the brush and ducked between two trucks.

As he tried to formulate the next stage of his plan, the distant sound of a roaring engine reverberated up the driveway.  Brendan hustled around the back of the parked pickup and sprinted to the side of the cabin.  No cover readily jumped out at him, so he backed away from the front of the cabin to a small firewood shed.  In the shadow of the shack, he waited a few minutes until Michelle’s truck materialized out of the woods and slid to a grinding halt.

A quiet rustle behind Brendan caught his attention as Michelle climbed down from her truck.  He looked around for anyone sneaking up on him, but saw no one.  Probably just a snake, he thought.  Up at the front of the cabin, Michelle had disappeared.

He padded quickly down the length of the cabin to the front, listening to Michelle’s boots boom against the wooden porch floor.  She threw the door open right as he poked his head around the corner to see her vanish inside.  Holding his position, he heard her screaming at someone he recognized.

“Grant, have you lost your damn mind?”

“Hey, baby.  I didn’t expect to see you here,” Brendan’s brother replied cheerily.

“Cut the ‘baby’ shit.  You’ve kidnapped federal officers.  You didn’t think you should clear this with—”

A violent slap shut Michelle up.  Brendan seethed, struggling to stay put.  Someone had just made a very big mistake.

“Jim, close the door,” Grant said, the previous cheer replaced with venomous hate.

Chapter 46