“ . . . my radio call sign had been ‘Gabriel’ because the archangel and I have a lot in common. Legend says Gabriel’s trumpet will sound the last judgment. I do the same sort of thing with my rifle . . . ”
—Gunnery Sergeant Jack Coughlin, USMC
Houston watched Winter shift the motor from reverse to drive and then spin the boat around in the water. He saw its bow point upward and heard its hull slap the surface as it raced away. Once the boat was out of sight, he walked to the clearing for a closer look at the cabin. On the way, curiosity got the better of him and he crept into the woods, looking for the sniper’s partner.
He followed the trail until he found blood sign, which he presumed to be Anne’s, and then stepped into the woods. The sounds of buzzing flies and something rustling in the brush led him to the body. He found her lying in a small copse. Two huge crows picked at the corpse and flew off when he approached. Their loud cawing filled the afternoon stillness. He crouched beside the cadaver and recognized Estes. She was not as squared away and pretty as when they had first met. Even though it had been less than an hour since she’d died, scavengers had already been at the body, eating away portions of her face. The foragers he scared off had already eaten her eyes and the bloody sockets seemed to look through him. No one, he thought, deserves this. He stared at Estes’s body and wondered how many more marines in her outfit were involved in this escapade. He was still crouching over her when a taunting voice called, “You’ve become lax, Mikey! I could have nailed you already.”
Houston crouched lower and spun toward the voice. He raised his rifle and peered through the trees, hoping to locate where the shout came from. “If that’s so, why didn’t you?”
“That would have been too easy. Here’s the rules. You and me hunt each other until one of us is dead.”
“You’re fucking nuts . . . ”
“Maybe I am, but when this is over there will be no doubt as to who’s the best.”
“Who are you?”
“A friend from your past . . . your worst fucking nightmare. Too bad about your friend getting shot, but it seems to have evened things—we both lost spotters today. I guess that’s the breaks, huh?”
“This is only just beginning, asshole.”
“Ain’t that the truth? Sorry we had to snatch your kid, but it was the only way I could get you up here.”
“Well, you know how that old saying goes.”
“There’s a lot of old sayings, dipshit. Which one are you talking about?”
“The one that says be careful what you ask for because you just might get it.”
The sniper’s laugh rolled across the forest. “Yeah, that’s a good one.” “Why don’t we just cut to the chase? We’ll meet by the shack and end this right now?”
“Who do you think I am, fucking Wyatt Earp? No way, José, we’ll play it out just like we were trained. Well, I gotta run, Mike—see you around the campus.”
“You’re not thinking of taking off on me are you?”
“I wouldn’t think of it, buddy. Either one or none of us is leaving this island alive. I sure hope your friends don’t send a bunch of goddamned cops up here—I got nothing against them and it would serve no purpose other than to run up the body count. What was that old song? I remember. Catch us if you can.”
Houston waited for five minutes, hearing nothing but the leaves rustling in the breeze. Convinced that the shooter was gone, he set out to find him, circumventing the clearing.
Houston stayed below the skyline and in the trees, following a course parallel to the shoreline as he searched the island. He stopped at the shooter’s motorboat, removed the fuel tank and carried it into the woods. He buried it under leaves and loose sediment. Houston would return to the canoe and disable it. Then, asshole, he thought, I’ll know you aren’t leaving.
He left the shore and avoided the trail, moving through the woods. If it took him the rest of his life, he was going to find this guy—and he would turn over every rock on the island to do it.
Winter kept the throttle wide open. The boat bounced across the water like a skipping stone. Each time the hull slammed into the water, Anne bounced and grunted in pain. O’Leary and Susie knelt beside her to keep her from tumbling off the mattress.
O’Leary cursed. He had been broadcasting constantly on the citizen’s band, trying numerous channels, but all he heard was static. He turned his head to avoid the constant spray that the boat’s bow sent flying over them and saw that Susie’s head was bent slightly forward and her eyes were closed in what he believed to be prayer.
They were five miles from the boat landing when Winter spied another boat racing on a course that would intercept them. He angled slightly, hoping to avoid a collision, but the oncoming craft also corrected its course. A uniformed man stood in the boat and waved for them to stop. Winter reduced the throttle and when the boat decelerated and the bow settled into the water, he shouted at the intruding boatman. “I got an emergency here and I don’t have time to waste.”
The fiberglass boat drifted alongside and a muscular man wearing a green uniform with black stripes running down the legs and a gold badge said, “I’m Marvin Marsh, game warden for this wildlife management district—”
“Thank God,” Winter said. “I’ve got a severely injured woman who needs to get to a hospital as soon as possible.”
The warden leaned over and looked inside Winter’s boat. He took a quick look at Anne. “I got a report of some shots being fired on one of the islands and I’ll bet dollars against donuts that if I looked under those bandages I’ll find a gunshot wound.”
Susie held a wallet toward him. Marsh took it and when he opened it and saw a badge and police ID his level of urgency ramped up. He removed a two-way radio from his hip. In seconds, he was talking with his dispatcher and requested that a medical evacuation helicopter meet them at the boat launch on the south shore of Aroostook Lake as soon as possible. He stopped transmitting and turned to the people in the boat. “A Coast Guard chopper from Portland will meet you at Guy Harris’s place.”
Winter cast a nervous look at Anne. “We really don’t have time to be bullshitting.”
“Understood.” The warden pushed away from Winter’s craft. “Follow me.” He pushed forward on the throttle and raced south. The two boats stayed abreast, bouncing as they raced across the lake’s surface.
In twenty-five minutes, they were within sight of the boat launch and Winter rocked back and forth in his seat, as if he could coax another knot per hour out of the roaring outboard. He cut the motor at the last second and the boat’s nose dropped down into the water. They had decided that it would be easier to unload Anne from the bobbing boat if they stood in the water, using their bodies to hold the vessel steady while they hefted her out. The craft slid onto the sandy gravel near the dock and Susie leapt into the water and held the small vessel steady. It took all of the strength that O’Leary and Winter had to lift the mattress and wade ashore. Once they were on land, O’Leary began coughing and hacking. Susie ran forward and helped Winter support the mattress as they lowered it to the ground.
Harris appeared in the door of his store. “You fellers sure seem to be in a rush.” He strolled toward the dock.
When he was halfway to the pier, O’Leary shouted at him. “You seen a helicopter?”
“Nope, but then I ain’t been lookin’ fer one. Onliest time I ever see one is when there’s a ’mergency—you got one?”
Harris noticed that Marvin Marsh was with them and his brow furled. “Hey, Marv, what brings you here?”
“Guy, there will be a chopper landing here any minute. Make sure there’s enough room in the parking lot for them to land.”
The old-timer stared at the mattress lying on the gravel-covered landing. He saw the woman. She was wrapped in an old woolen army blanket and it and the mattress were covered with what he thought was blood. “Jaysus, what you fellahs been up to?”
“Just get out of our way,” Winter said.
Harris shuffled aside. “I got a couch in the back of the store . . . ”
The sound of rotor blades beating in the sky attracted their attention. “Looks as if her ride’s here,” Marsh said.
A Coast Guard HH-60 helicopter appeared over the trees. It hovered over the parking lot. The pilot swung the tail around 180 degrees and slowly settled to the ground, its rotor blades creating a windstorm that swept dust and dirt before it. O’Leary and Winter turned away from the aircraft and bent over the mattress, shielding Anne from as much of the detritus as they could. The rotor blades decelerated and the helicopter settled onto its landing gear. Two crewmen, wearing flight helmets with visors down that made them look like bipedal insects jumped from the rear door and ran toward them carrying a folded stretcher. “We got it from here. Why don’t you folks get aboard?”
They moved Anne from the mattress to the stretcher and carried her to the helicopter. The instant they were aboard with safety belts on and Anne’s stretcher secured, the pilot increased rotor speed and lifted out of the parking lot.
O’Leary slumped in exhaustion and doubled over in another fit of coughing as the aircraft lifted, hovered as its tail spun around, then the nose dipped forward and they sped toward Portland. He watched the two EMTs feverishly work on Anne.
Winter and Susie were crammed into a small space behind the medical crew, each staring out the window at the seemingly endless wilderness speeding past below the aircraft. The pilot motioned for Winter to put on the headset that hung on the bulkhead beside the compartment door. Once he had done so, he heard her metallic voice. “We should be at the hospital in thirty to forty minutes. The state police are waiting there. I’m sure they’ll have a lot of questions for you.”
Winter raised his right hand and acknowledged her with the thumbs up, letting the aviator know he understood. He put the headset back on its hook and sat back. He looked at the sun setting and wondered what was happening on the island.
Marvin Marsh used his right hand to shield his eyes and watched the Coast Guard HH-60 turn in midair and head for Portland. He walked into the store. Guy Harris stood behind the counter, dipped his thumb into a container of Red Top snuff, lifted a mound of red powder with his thumbnail and placed it between his lower lip and teeth. He picked up his pipe and lit it. The air between them filled with the strange combination of wintergreen and cherry blend tobacco.
“Guy,” Marsh said, with a knowing grin, “you know it’s against the law to smoke in a public establishment.”
“Then,” Harris said, “as of this minute this ain’t no public establishment. I own this place and ain’t no damned Democrat with the government in Augusta gonna tell me what I can and can’t do in here.”
Marsh grinned in spite of himself. “You got any i-deer what in hell is goin’ on in the north islands?”
“Nope. Them people from away come yesterday an’ said they was goin’ fishin’. Only thing was, they didn’t have a single fishin’ pole among them. Fact of the matter is, they had to buy licenses and tackle from me. Only a damn city fool from away would bring along his boat, but forgit all his gear, don’t-cha think? They sure as hell had enough guns to start a war though. Now, you know me, Marv, I don’t give a good goddamn what folks does, so long as it don’t bother me. But, like I said, them fellahs looked like they was goin’ huntin’ not fishin’ and, considerin’ the kinds a guns they had, they weren’t huntin’ no animal I know of.”
Marsh turned to the door.
“Marv, you ain’t thinkin’ about goin’ up there, are you?”
“Yup, I agree with you—somethin’ about this situation stinks.”
“Ya better go armed . . . like I said, them fellows was all packin’ some heavy ordinance. Looked to me like they wasn’t huntin’ nothin’ that walks on all fours. In fact, if I was goin’ to stick my nose in there, I’d want at least one long gun with me. A man might even want to consider takin’ a machine gun.”