5:45 A.M.
Fifteen minutes after leaving their overnight shelter, Devlin and Randall had joined up with the main path a half mile north of where they had come upon the abandoned motorcycle. From there, they had ridden north for forty-five minutes, taking the trail as it snaked its way among mountain peaks.
Entering a clearing, the agents now spotted a distant cabin on their two o’clock.
Snow blanketed the roof, and a snowdrift sloped three feet up the structure’s west-facing side.
Randall squinted. “Hammer would’ve most likely come this way. We should check it out.”
“I agree.”
Looking at the cabin, he squared his shoulders with it then barely rotated his hips to the right.
Taking the cue, Sophia moved in the same direction.
Devlin withdrew from the saddle-mounted scabbard her fully loaded Henry Big Boy—weighed down by eleven extra cartridges in loops on the ammo carrier—before resting the buttstock on her right thigh, the gun’s muzzle pointing skyward.
*******
FIVE MINUTES LATER...
Spotting footprints in the snow, Devlin got down from Sophia.
Dismounting, Randall eyed the tracks. “They’re fresh.”
Her eyes following the deep marks from the cabin, down a rolling slope, and toward the north, “They lead away from the cabin, but,” she shouldered her long gun, “let’s not take any chances.”
Randall drew his Walther and followed her. “Who goes in first?”
“That would be me.”
“Why do you get to have all the fun?”
“Since when is getting shot first fun?” She motioned toward the door.
He threw it open.
Devlin charged in swinging the Henry left and right, “U.S. Marshals,” her gaze taking in the entirety of the tiny interior in a fleeting look. “Clear.”
Observing the same emptiness, Randall holstered his weapon and made a quick pass around the space, noticing an unkempt bed and furnishings strewn around before he squatted and lifted a hand in front of the fireplace. “It’s still hot. I think whoever was here didn’t even bother to extinguish the fire before leaving. I can still see red embers. They must’ve just left.”
“Which means,” she gave the area another visual inspection, “if Hammer stayed here last night, then we’re closing in on him.” She spun on her heels. “Come on.”
Outside, three feet away from their transportation, hearing her phone ringing, Devlin retrieved the device and saw ‘Faith’ on the screen. “Hello, Faith. Long time. What’s up?”
In Devlin’s ear: crackling and garbled speech.
“Hello? Can you hear me, Fay? You’re breaking up. Hello?” She glimpsed her cell and saw one bar before putting the mobile to her cheek. “If you can hear me, we’re,” she did a quick mental calculation of the distance she and Randall had traveled, “in the mountains about twenty-five miles northeast of Elmer, Idaho...heading north. We can’t be far from the Canadian border. We’ve been tracking Hammer for...”
The phone beeped in her ear.
“...the—” Devlin eyed the screen and saw ‘No Signal’ displayed. “I lost her.”
Having mounted Sophia, Randall moseyed the horse up to his partner and stretched out his left hand. “Let’s get going.”
She squeezed his forearm, stuck her left foot into the stirrup, and pushed off with her other leg.
He pulled.
She settled into her spot behind him and slid the Big Boy back into the scabbard.
Randall nudged the steed with his boots.
The animal went to a walk before going to a trot upon receiving the corresponding prompt from its rider.
He steered Sophia along the blemishes in the snow. “Maybe we can go a bit faster and close this guy’s lead on us quicker.”
*******
6:53 A.M.
In the last hour, having alternated Sophia’s gait between walking and trotting—but favoring the walking pace—Devlin and Randall had traveled four miles in deep snow. He pulled on the horse’s reins. “Whoa. Whoa.”
The equine stopped to the right of a large fallen tree and began eating snow.
He swung his right leg over the animal’s head and jumped to the ground.
She dismounted in the normal manner.
He hauled out a water bottle from his jacket pocket. “Well, Soph, old girl, I’ve been saving this for you.” Not having come across any water sources since shortly after departing from their overnight shelter and knowing the horse would have a hard time eating enough snow to satisfy its requirements, Randall glanced around while unscrewing the cap. “Seems this is as good a time as any to crack it open.”
Devlin shook her head, “Great minds...” and handed over one of the water bottles Bentley had stowed in her jacket pockets. “Here. You can add the one I’ve been saving for her as well.”
He took the container and set it on the tree trunk. “You’re just trying to get on her good side.”
“What do you mean trying?” She patted the horse’s neck. “She knows I’m the one who saved her from those wolves.”
“Excuse me?” He continued pouring small amounts of liquid into his palm while Sophia lapped it up. “I was right there with you.”
“Yeah, but I,” she cocked her head and half closed an eye at him, “took out more of them than you did. So, I think,” she stroked fur, “Sophia likes me best.”
Sniggering, “You think so, huh?” Randall placed the now empty bottle in the snow on the log before opening the full bottle and filling his palm. “Well, when this is all over, we’ll see which one of us she lik—”
A gunshot rang out.
The plastic container on the log flew into the air.
Devlin and Randall dropped to the ground behind the fallen tree and drew their pistols.
Sophia ran into the forest ten yards away.
A string of gunfire.
Bits and pieces of bark sailed over the agents’ heads.
They ducked down further.
Randall glimpsed his partner. “That’s a five-five-six.”
“I know. And Hammer had an AR-15 slung over his back at that cabin.” Devlin shuffled backwards on her left hip, away from Randall, along the length of their cover, then craned her neck to peek over it. “Looks like,” she dipped down again, “he might be set up in a stand of trees on the opposite side of that crossroad up ahead.”
More incoming rounds strafed the snow ahead of the log.
Randall fired back. “I saw muzzle flashes. He’s in the middle of that stand of pines on our eleven o’clock, fifty feet up the hill.” The deputy marshal scooted right, raised his gun, peeked above his cover, emptied the Walther, and fell onto his back.
Devlin returned fire from around the left end of the tree.
5.56mm bullets tore up the snow around her.
She rolled behind the horizontal tree.
Randall inserted a fresh magazine into his PPQ45 and ran the slide forward.
Devlin performed a tactical reload and stowed the partial in her jacket pocket. “Cover me. I’m going to make a run for Sophia and get my rifle.”
“Forget that. You’ll never make it.”
“I’m a fast runner. I did track and field in high school...even took home a state championship in the long jump.”
Randall pivoted his head toward the woods, his mind estimating the distance. “That’s awesome, but unless you can jump thirty feet in twelve inches of snow, I’m here to tell you...you ain’t never going to mak—”
“I only want the horse,” said a distant male voice. “Walk away, and I won’t shoot you. You have my word.”
On his backside, the top of his head a few inches from tree bark, Randall pointed his chin toward the sky and shouted over the wood. “No offense, but your marksmanship doesn’t exactly have me trembling in my boots.”
Devlin shook her head at her partner. “There you go again...provoking our enemies.”
“Helps to throw them off balance, mentally.” He smiled. “Plus, it’s fun.”
She raised her voice. “You’ve robbed three banks and murdered two people. We’re not walking away.”
Hammer: “I didn’t kill those people. Samantha did.”
Randall frowned at his partner. “Why do they always want to split hairs? Do they not know what it means to be an accessory?” He looked toward Hammer’s position and hollered at the unseen man. “I’ll tell you what. How about you drop your rifle and come out with your hands up? And I promise I won’t beat you to a pulp with your own weapon.”
Gunfire.
Wood splinters flew into the air above his face.
Randall turned away then came back when the shooting stopped. “A simple ‘No’ would’ve sufficed!” He trundled onto his belly. “Target practice is over.” He planted hands in the snow as if he were about to do a push-up. “You know how pissed off I get when people point guns at me? Well, I get doubly P-Oed when those guns go off. I’m making a run for the rifle. Give me a head start, will you? Send some rounds downrang—”
Devlin lunged right to grab a handful of his clothing. “You’re not going anywhere. You said it yourself. That’s too much ground to cover. He’s got a rifle and most likely a variable power scope dialed in on our location. As soon as you stand up, you’ll be like one of those yellow duckies at a carnival shooting gallery.” She gave him a firm tug on the arm of his jacket. “Stay put. You hear me?”
“Is that an order?”
“Does it need to be?”
He regarded her for a short spell. “Are you this strict with your daughter?”
“Don’t have to be. She’s more mature.”
He turned away from her. “Wish I could argue that point.”
Devlin stole a peek over the log then dipped back down. He’s got the high ground, better cover, and a rifle. She saw Sophia among the trees while picturing the Henry in the saddle scabbard. We need to even these odds. She ran through possible options in her mind then shook her head. They’re all terrible.
“You know, I never could hit those dang ducks at the carnival. And I was a pretty good shot, too. I’ll bet the carnies had those gun sights all jacked up, so customers like me couldn’t—”
“Quiet.”
He faced her. “Oh, so you get to brag about your high school glory days in the long jump, but I can’t talk about—”
“No. I mean be quiet. I think I hear something coming.”
Randall turned an ear toward the northeast. “Yeah.” A tick. “I hear it, too.”
“Sounds like an engine. A four-wheeler?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
The noise grew louder.
He risked a look over the trunk. “I believe that’s a snowmobile.”
Ten seconds later, its headlight on, a snowmobile came out of the woods, met up with the east-west trail, then traveled westward.
Devlin caught sight of the machine on her two o’clock. When it reached her one o’clock, she saw a figure carrying a rifle emerge from the trees on the north side of the crossroad. She went to her knees. “It’s Hammer. He’s going to...”
*******
Duke Hammer ran into the road, fired three rounds at the ground in front of the oncoming snowmobile, then pointed the AR-15 at the rider’s head.
The rider slammed on the brakes.
Hammer dragged the man in a black one-piece snowsuit off the sled, hopped on, and mashed the thumb throttle.
Its engine whining, the snow craft took off along the trail, heading west.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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