Zeb had had enough of amateurs.
He twisted Chuck’s rifle away easily. Tripped him and shoved him onto his ass.
The burly man’s face reddened. He scrambled to his feet with an oath and charged at Zeb.
Who punched him in the gut, rolled him across his hip and sent him sprawling—a move from judo, a martial art that uses an opponent’s energy and speed against him.
‘Don’t,’ Zeb warned Chuck, one of his HKs coming up to cover all of them, in a seemingly casual manner.
‘Jesus. Who the f—’ Jake began, moving forward. He stopped when the HK moved an inch.
He friends backed down, too, keeping their hands well away from their weapons.
‘I’ll ask the questions. Who are you?’ Zeb was ready for anything. His ears listening to sounds beyond.
Doesn’t look like they are connected to Namir. Or Tavez. But I need to be sure.
‘Jesus,’ Jake repeated. ‘We’re campers. You didn’t have to hit Chuck so hard. He’s bleeding.’
‘You got any IDs?’
‘Who are you, man? Are you a cop?’
‘I am the one holding the gun on you.’
The hikers took one look at Zeb and swallowed their protests. They tossed their driver’s licenses at Zeb, who signaled to the girl to pick them up.
‘Chuck. Jake. Paul Bo—’ she squinted her eyes, reading their first names.
‘Bowdrie, ma’am,’ a lean man spoke up.
‘All from Texas. From Houston.’
‘Why are you here?’
‘I told you. Camping. We come each year,’ Jake replied, impatiently, darting glances at the burly man on the ground. ‘Look, man. Ma’am. Chuck was out of line. I apologize for that. But there was no reason to react like that.’
‘He was reaching for his gun.’
‘He’s drunk. I could have reasoned with him. But, no. You had to go Rambo on him. Why are you carrying that many guns, anyway?’
‘There are terrorists in the forest,’ Sara Ashland cut him short. ‘They killed my father. They are hunting us.’
Her words sucked the wind out of them.
She explained briefly as their eyes bugged out.
‘How can we help?’ Jake scratched his head. ‘Our cellphones don’t work. We were planning to return tomorrow.’
‘Stay together,’ Zeb warned them. ‘Keep away from any noise you hear. Warn other hikers. Don’t play hero. Go back to the nearest town. Report to the cops.’
‘You think they’ll do that?’ the girl asked him, when they were on the move again.
They had taken more water and food supplies from the campers and left quickly, Zeb conscious of the time they were wasting.
‘No.’
‘No?’ she pivoted on a heel in surprise, nearly falling.
‘Yeah. Our story. It is so incredible that no one will believe it. They will talk among themselves. It takes just one person to trash it and they will come around to that man’s view.’
He pushed her forward gently, resuming their fast lope. They still had to cover his planned distance.
At six pm they stopped for a breather.
Shared fruit that they had taken from the hikers. Finished a bottle of water.
Started again.
They were approaching a rise that was in the open. There was no way to go around it without sacrificing too much time.
The incline seemed mostly gravel and soft mud, after the dense trees petered out.
Zeb wanted to cross it quickly—minimal exposure against the skyline.
The girl sprinted over it and called out that there was more gravel on the other side, a dry stream bed, and then forest.
The sniper’s bullet struck Zeb just as he reached the top of the slope.
It tore into his thigh and brought him down.