Hunted (4 page)

Darry was surprised to see Rick show up on his doorstep, for it was a good five-mile hike from the ranger station to his cabin—and it was not an easy hike. The ranger was carrying several newspapers and magazines.

“Thought you might like something to read, Darry,” Rick said, sitting down on the porch. Pete and Repeat looked at him, inspecting him carefully before moving over to him and sniffing. Rick sat very still while the big hybrids gave him the once-over. Satisfied they had met the man before and he posed no danger, the hybrids allowed Rick to pet them for a moment. Then they moved back to their positions by the side of Darry's chair.

“Thank you,” Darry said. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Glass of water would be fine.”

Darry pumped them glasses of water and returned to the porch. Sitting down in his chair, Darry said, “You didn't hike all the way up here just to bring me a few magazines, Rick.”

“No. I've received reports of heavy gunfire over that way.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the survivalist camp.

“I've heard it. Is that Sam Parish's bunch?”

Rick cut his eyes. “What do you know about Sam Parish?”

“I heard people in town talking. Some seem to support him, others don't.”

“And you?”

Darry shrugged. “I guess I'm neutral. I don't really know what it's all about.”

“He's a racist, Darry. Believes in the violent overthrow of the government.”

“A lot of people are unhappy with the government, Rick. Millions of people are unhappy with the government. A lot of them with very good reason.”

“You including yourself in that bunch?”

Again, Darry shrugged. “As long as the government leaves me alone, I'll remain neutral.”

“Is there any reason why the government should bother you, Darry?”

“The government doesn't need a valid reason to harass its citizens, Rick. And you know it.”

“We've had several dozen chats over the past months, Darry. I wasn't aware of this side of you.”

“I see what is taking place around me. I listen to the news on radio and read newspapers and magazines. It doesn't take a genius to reach the conclusion that the government wants more and more control over the lives of its citizens.”

Being an active government employee, Rick wasn't about to admit agreeing with Darry, but he certainly did agree with him—silently.

“I'm going to hike over to the survivalist camp, Darry. You want to come along?”

“Sure. I believe I can fit you into my busy schedule this morning.” He smiled and Rick laughed. “Are we going into the camp, Rick?”

“Maybe. Like your acreage here, their camp is privately owned. Most of the land around here, as you know, is owned by either the government or logging interests. But I can legally get very close to their camp, and also, legally, enter their camp if I feel game violations have occurred.”

Darry had noticed the side arm Rick was wearing, and the lever action rifle he had carefully leaned up against a porch support post. “You ready to go?”

“Anytime you are. You going to carry a weapon?”

“I don't need one, Rick.”

“You are a supremely confident man, Darry,” Rick said with a smile.

“Just a man who knows his capabilities and limitations,” Darry replied.

“That's a good thing to know.” Rick rose to his boots and picked up his rifle A .30-30, Darry thought, but he wasn't sure. “How long did it take you to master that art?”

“A lifetime,” Darry said, with a very small grin.

* * *

“You'll be going into some rough country, girls,” the woman told Stormy and Ki. “For the most part, the men you'll encounter are good decent people who'll help you if you need it. But there are a few bad apples in there. Either of you armed?”

“I am,” Ki said.

“Can you use the weapon?”

“Oh, yes.”

The free-lance writer smiled. “But
will
you use it is the big question.”

“I'll use it if I have to,” Ki said.

The woman studied Ki's face for a few seconds, then chuckled. “Yes. I think you would. All right, girls, let me show you something.” She spread a map out on the coffee table, after shooing the cat away. “Here we are.” She pointed to their location. “You go over to this junction and cut south—that means you turn right . . .”

“I can read a compass,” Ki said, just slightly annoyed at the woman's condescending attitude.

“I'm sorry,” the writer said. “But over the years I have been involved in dozens of search and rescue missions... most of them looking for city folks who got lost. Before you leave, I'm going to give you very detailed maps of that area. Maps that I helped draw up. They feature landmarks and creeks and so forth. Now listen up, I want to tell you a few things that just might save your lives . . .”

* * *

The twelve mercenaries hired by Robert Roche to capture Darry Ransom took different routes and methods of transportation getting to Coeur d'Alene. There, they picked up four four-wheel drive vehicles to be driven in and stored—two Ford Broncos in that small city, two Broncos over in Spokane. The vehicles had been prepacked with supplies and all the equipment the mercs had requested . . . which was considerable. Since this mission would not involve killing, the men would carry only side arms. Each carried the side arm that he was most comfortable and familiar with. The pistols ranged from .44 mags to 9mm.

The mercs pulled over at the first rest area and gathered for a chat. The Englishman, Nick Sharp, said, “First time in my life I ever went on an op with only a pistol.”

“Guns are no good against this man,” Billy Antrim said, opening a soft drink.

“If he exists at all,” Tom Doolin spoke the words that lay in the back of the minds of all but one of the meres.

“He is real,” George Eagle Dancer said. “Believe it. He is the man my people have been singing and telling stories about for centuries. And this man is dangerous. Probably the most dangerous man on earth.”

“We all have tranquilizer rifles,” Mike Tuttle said. Mike was the leader of the bunch. “The drugs will neutralize this dangerous person. Then we put him in a cage, call in for a chopper, and our job is over. We collect the balance of our money and then go our separate ways.”

George Eagle Dancer smiled at how easy Mike made it all seem. George sensed—no, he
knew
—this job would be anything but easy. And he did not believe they would succeed in capturing this legendary shape-shifter. Besides, George wasn't at all sure he wanted to capture the man.

Mike said, “We'll stop at the first decent-looking motel we find and spend the night. Shove off at first light and get in the general area and set up camp.” He looked up at the sky. “Tomorrow promises to be a fine day.”

A good day to die, the Indian in George Eagle Dancer sprang to the surface.

* * *

Sam Parish faced the ranger and Darry. Darry sensed very quickly that there was no back-down in the man. The federal badge on Rick's chest did not intimidate him at all.

“I've got a ninety-nine-year lease on this property,” Sam told the ranger. “And you've got no business snoopin' around here. We're not breaking any laws, so why don't you and your pissy friend here”—he jerked a thumb at Darry—“just haul your asses on away from here.”

Darry immediately thought of a dandy place to stick Sam's weapon, a semiautomatic, legal version of the famed Russian AK-47. But Sam probably wouldn't like that very much—it would be awkward moving about.

Darry learned something about Rick, too. The ranger said, “I can go anywhere I damn well please to go, Mr. Parish. If I suspect you've been poaching, I can enter your cabin and search it from top to bottom. So don't get too damn lippy with me.”

Sam Parish relaxed, and a grin wiped the scowl from his face. “Okay, Ranger. Okay. We've both blustered at each other and found that neither one of us is afraid of the other. You want to come into our camp and have something to drink?”

“Some water would be nice,” Rick said.

“Come on. I can't offer you anything stronger. I don't allow liquor in the area.”

Smart move on his part, Darry thought—if he's telling the truth. Guns and liquor are a bad combination.

Darry's experienced eye noticed that every man and woman in the camp looked very fit and very healthy. The men and women smiled as they were introduced and shook hands, but the smile did not reach their eyes.

“No poached game here, Ranger,” Sam told Rick. “We send someone into town once a week for fresh vegetables and milk and meat. Most of the time we eat field rations.”

“There are no minorities in your group,” Rick pointed out.

“Is that against the law?” Sam asked with a faint smile.

“No. Not at all. I was just curious about it.”

“We're separatists, Ranger. All of us here are. That's the reason for our being here. We believe in the purity of the white race. We don't want to see it contaminated with the blood and genes of inferiors. We've never denied our beliefs and never will. Is that against the law?”

“Not that I am aware of, Mr. Parish. Not unless you're planning to wage war against those not of your race.”

“We plan no such thing. We wish no harm to come to anyone. We believe the government of the United States is on the verge of total collapse. We're training to survive after the collapse. That's all.”

Darry noticed that the weapons being shown were all legal ones. They were military look-alikes, but all semiautomatic and legal. The ones the press and the liberals liked to call “assault rifles,” a term that always amused Darry. When George Washington's troops assaulted a British position with weapons, the muskets they carried were assault rifles.

As he stood by Rick, listening to the exchange, Darry quickly picked up on the close scrutiny he was being given by the members of the camp. For several mornings running he had found boot tracks at the edge of the clearing near his cabin and knew someone had been circling his cabin and checking him out. Of course he knew it in other ways, as well. During those nights when someone had prowled around the edges of the clearing, he had awakened at the same time his hybrids had, alert and listening.

“This a new ranger?” Sam asked, his eyes flicking over to Darry.

“No,” Rick said. “Just a friend. I imagine you know where he lives.” He introduced Darry.

“For a fact, I do. For a fact. You live out here year-round, don't you?”

“That's right,” Darry replied.

Sam Parish stared into Darry's pale eyes for a moment and felt a slight chill run up and down his spine. Something about those eyes was very disturbing to the man. After a few seconds, Sam dropped his gaze and concluded that this young man—Darry looked to be somewhere between twenty-five and thirty; hard to tell—was a man who knew how to take care of himself.

Sam was sure right about that.

A man who had been introduced as Willis Reader said, “Those dogs of yours are hybrids, aren't they, Ransom?”

“That's right, Reader,” Darry said.

“You ought to keep them things penned. I don't like dogs. They wander over here, they're gonna be dead dogs.”

Rick tensed as Darry shifted his feet, facing the man. “My dogs almost never leave the clearing unless they're with me. Sometimes they will chase a rabbit a few hundred yards into the timber. But they don't go far. I have a ninety-nine-year lease on all that acreage around my cabin. And the acreage is considerable. Don't you ever let me find you on my land. And you can consider that a warning. And I'll tell you why: I don't have much use for people who don't like dogs. I think it's a severe character flaw. Now, as to my dogs, I wouldn't like it if someone harmed my dogs. I would probably become very irritable and hostile. And you wouldn't like me should I become hostile.”

Willis Reader was taller and heavier than Darry. A man in his late thirties who looked to be in excellent physical condition. Indeed, he was a man who had done hard physical labor all his life. He was also a bully, and had been a bully all his life. Willis poked Darry in the center of his chest with a thick, blunt-ended finger. “Don't threaten me, sonny-boy. And you don't insult me. You got all that?” He poked Darry again. Bad mistake on his part.

Darry hit him, the blow coming with rattlesnake speed. Darry struck just below the V of Willis' rib cage with stiffened fingers, nearly paralyzing the man. Before the sickening thud of the first blow had faded, and just as Willis was bending over, making horrible retching sounds on his way to the ground, Darry struck again, this time with his open left hand. The palm impacted over Willis' ear and sounded like the crack of a rifle. Willis Reader screamed in pain and hit the ground, the hearing gone on one side of his head and his stomach feeling as if it were on fire.

The whole thing had taken one second.

Then Darry growled, and Rick and those standing close by were shocked to hear the menacing animal sound coming from a human throat. Sam Parish didn't realize he was doing it, but he took a step back from Darry. Rick had never heard a human make such an authentic animal sound.

“Easy now!” Sam found his voice as the members of his bunch moved toward Darry, menace in their eyes. “Just stand easy.”

“You really don't want to assault a federal officer.” Rick quickly defused the situation. “Willis Reader initiated the first physical move against Darry, and I am a witness to that. So don't do anything stupid.”