Chapter 28
January 8, 12:20 p.m.
They had driven in silence for over two hours.
“Where are we now?” Larson asked Marajo.
Small snowflakes were falling. Floating to the ground in the windless air like small paper planes.
“Approaching Denver,” she said. “It’s about ten miles west of us.”
“That means we’re getting closer to the Society’s information center and the fire fight we can expect when we get there,” he said, feeling warm and comfortable and knowing the small, floating flakes would soon be replaced by larger ones and a strong wind. He wondered why he was more concerned with the weather than what was waiting for them. Whatever the reason, it’s nice to get my mind off the Society for a few minutes.
“Yes.” Marajo’ voice was flat and emotionless. There was no reason for emotions since they couldn’t avoid what was waiting for them and emotions wouldn’t change anything. What they needed to survive what was ahead of them was cold, emotionless logic.
“Then I suggest we stop somewhere so I can refresh myself with the use of firearms,” he told her.
“We’ll stop at a truck stop west of Denver for something to eat. Then find a nice quiet spot away from where people might be and let you fire a few rounds.”
“Truck stop?” he asked. “Isn’t that rather dangerous? Those places have cameras attached to computers which the Society can access.”
“Yes, but I’m hoping they’re still trying to find out who you are?”
“And suppose they aren’t? Suppose they’ve learned about this Highlander of yours? It’s not the sort of vehicle one would expect a woman in her fifties to have in her garage, you know?”
“You don’t want a hot meal?” she asked him. “It may be the last one you’ll have in a few days.”
Larson thought for a few seconds and said, “Okay, but it may also be the last hot meal of our lives.”
“So we take a chance and get a hot meal,” Marajo said. “And pray it’s not our last one.”
“Park somewhere that’ll make it hard for cameras to see this Highlander,” he suggested.
“Somewhere on the side of the road leading to the truck stop,” she agreed, “Under some trees. It’ll mean we’ll have a long walk to the truck stop.”
“Better a long walk than cameras recording this Highlander,” he said. “Cameras the Society’s computer people can access. And you can bet they’ve got them on their computers checking every camera, public or private, that shows vehicles of any kind.”
“Well, do,” Marajo said.
“Let’s not forget a few tin cans to use as targets.”
“Good idea,” she agreed. “I didn’t bring any target sheets. Didn’t think I’d need them.”
“Pull over and let me drive for a while,” he said. “You look tired.”
She nodded, slowed down, and came to a stop. She opened the driver’s door, and turned around and grabbed a small blue bag from the seat behind her. “My bladder is about to burst.” she said as she got out and ran to a secluded spot among snow covered bushes.
Larson got out of the Highlander and took the opportunity to stretch his legs and relieve himself, too. The problem with living a comfortable life in a city is one gets use to the modern conveniences, he thought as he looked around at the open, snow covered country. It would be terrible to have to return to a life in the wild.
Ten minutes later after they had cleaned up, they were back on the road. Half an hour later they were pulling into a grove of snow covered trees off the side of the road.
They got out and walked the hundred yards to the crowded truck stop, looking like two travelers and hoping there were no security cameras the Society could access, and knowing there were probably a few around somewhere. Two hours later with full stomachs they were back on the road in the Highlander.
Route 29 was nearly empty of cars and trucks. Apparently everyone was headed to shelter to avoid the snow storm that had now grown in intensity. The small snowflakes had been replaced by a steady down pour of larger snowflakes that had reduced visibility to less than a hundred yards.
Larson slowed the Highlander, shifted to power drive two, and turned off onto a snow covered road that was marked only by bare trees on both sides. He drove for a mile before he stopped in a clearing surrounded on three sides by snow covered brush that looked like small snow hills. He turned the Highlander around to face the road.
“This looks like as good a place as any to test fire one of those automatic,” he said, turning the engine off.
“Remember, aim, squeeze, and fire. Take your time. We don’t have ammo to waste,” she said as she opened the passenger door and got out.
“If what you’ve said about the Society’s killers is true, I doubt if we get the time to waste ammo,” he said, getting out and opening the left rear door.
The automatics were in her backpack.
“Should I open your backpack and take any one?”
“Any one,” she said.
He opened her backpack and took the first one he saw, checked it to make sure the safety switch was on then checked the butt of the weapon to make sure it had a full magazine.
“You still remember how to safely handle firearms from your Army days,” she said, standing at the other door watching him as she removed the four empty coke cans from the floor of the Highlander she had brought from the truck stop.
“I don’t like guns,” he said, slamming the door and walking around to the side she was on. He kept the barrel pointed up and to his right.
Marajo, holding the coke cans, took fifteen long strides through the deep snow to a snow covered bush and sat the cans on top of it.
“Why so far away?” he asked when she came back.
“If we run into soldiers from the Society before we reach this information center, and we probably will, we don’t want them getting close,” she explained as she walked up to his right side. “Unlike you, they’re very familiar with weapons. Especially electric guns which I’m sorry to say I couldn’t get.”
“Aren’t those illegal?” he asked her.
“That’s why I didn’t try to get any,” she told him. “Start asking gun shop owners where you can get an electric weapon and you’ve got the local police on your back.”
“Yeah,” he said as he went into a shooting stand and aimed at the first can.
Marajo started to tell him to aim and squeeze, but decided against it. She hoped he had the ability to shoot, because if he didn‘t the responsibility of keeping them both alive when they ran into the Society’s soldiers would fall on her shoulders. And she didn‘t think she could handle it.
Larson flicked off the safety switch and squeezed the trigger on the automatic and it fired. The bullet hit the first can and sent it flying high in the sky. He did the same thing with the second can and third can in half the time it took him to hit the first can.
“Excellent!” Marajo said. Amazed at how well he shot. “You still remember what you were taught in the Army about shooting.”
“The cans aren’t shooting back,” he said as he took aim at a bare branch on the bush the cans had sat on and fired.
The branch snapped off.
“You aimed at that?” she asked in a surprised voice.
“Yes,” he said, flipping the safety switch back on the weapon.
“Where did you learn to shoot like that?”
“In the Army, of course. I was a sharpshooter in my company. It was a reconnaissance company in Germany. We spent a lot of time preparing for an attack against middle-eastern countries America didn’t consider friendly to American interests.”
“So why was your company in Europe and not the Middle East?”
“So the American arms industry could make billions off the voters supplying us so gutless members of Congress could get fat political contributions from them for their reelections. As for why we weren’t reassigned to the Middle East, I don’t know.” He turned to her and smiled as he said, “What you wanna bet the Hidden Society backed a lot of those gutless Congress members?”
“Suckers bet,” she said. “Now let’s see how good you are at snap shooting.” She looked around and saw a tree to his right rear. “I’m going to tell you to fire at something.
You must turn and fire in less than three seconds.” She looked at her watch. “Tree. Right rear.”
Larson spun around, saw the tree, and fired three quick shoots.
Only one hit the trunk of the tree.
He relaxed and turned to face her, and asked, “How did I do?”
She looked up from her watch and said, “It took you five seconds.”
“Too slow, huh?”
“Did you have the safety on?”
“Yeah, I always keep the safety on unless I’m going to shoot.”
“Good rule. But don’t do that when we come in contact with the Society’s soldiers.”
“It’s dangerous not to,” Larson protested.
“Not really,” she disagreed. “If you’ve noticed that weapon requires a strong squeeze of the trigger. That prevents the weapon from being fired until you squeeze the trigger hard.”
“Okay,” Larson said, putting the safety on and offering the pistol to her butt first. “Let’s see how you do.”
Marajo took the automatic and asked as she flicked the safety switch off, “What should I shoot at?”
Her looked at his watch and said, “Behind your left shoulder. Tree. Fire!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Marajo turned, and raised and fired the automatic at the tree. She hit it.
Larson looked at her then looked at the tree. “Three seconds flat,” he said. “You’ve been practicing.”
“Necessary if I was to be ready for the Society’s soldiers,” she said. “Driving in the back country around Westport also gave me the chance to test the Highlander.”
“That’s why you were capable of knocking me out in that parking lot in Westport without me knowing you were there. You’d be practicing sneaking up on people.”
“And the reason for the Highlander. I stayed ready.”
“You practiced at a shooting range?”
“The Open Range Gun club is a private one south of Westport,” she told him. “I rented the weapons I used, but I practiced test firing these in the back country.”
“Is that where you got these two semi-automatics?”
“Yes, right after I got a federal gun owner’s permit. Bought them on sale.”
“Okay the last can on the bush. Now,” he said.
Marajo turned toward the can sitting on the bush and fired within three seconds. She hit the can.
“Twenty years of waiting and practicing,” he said.
“And worrying.” She put the safety on the automatic. “We’d better leave and find somewhere we can get some sleep. It’s better traveling at night.”
Larson looked up at the falling snow. “Storm’s getting worse, too.”
“It’ll be a blizzard in less than an hour. We need to find outdoor shelter and wait it out.” She started walking toward the Highlander.
“Let’s gather up those cans,” he said. “I’m a strong believer in keeping the environment clean.”
They both walked back and picked up the cans and carried them back to the Highlander and put them in a plastic trash bag.
Larson asked as he got into the driver’s seat, “No chance of a motel I guess.”
“No. Motel’s register guests on their computers. And the Society’s soldiers can access them.” She got into the passenger’s seat and closed the door.
“Then I suggest we get farther away from that truck stop we ate at,” Larson said. “In case the Society’s computer people have accessed every security camera at every truck stop west of Wichita. Two people walking down a road to a truck stop in the middle of winter when there’s a perfectly good parking lot isn’t normal, you know.”
Ten minutes later they were back on Route 29 driving twenty miles an hour into a snow storm which reduced their visibility to less than fifty yards beyond the hood of the Highlander. Half an hour later they had stopped on a side road in a wooded area without any signs of civilization for miles around.
“Here okay?” Larson asked, looking out the window at an almost white world of snow.
“Best place,” she said. “You can take the back seat. I’ll sleep up here. We can start again after a few hours rest. If you need a blanket, there‘re two behind the seat.”
“My parka’s alright,” he said, climbing into the back seat. He settled into the seat saying, “Let’s hope whatever soldiers the Society’s sent for us are waiting somewhere outside and are cold.”
“Yeah,” Marajo agreed. “We’ll be rested and alert if we should meet them.”
If the Society’s soldiers are as good as Julian implied they were being cold and tired won’t do a damn thing to slow them down, he thought as he closed his eyes.
***