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CHEROKEE RIDGE
CHET CALHOUN HAD TO STOP for a moment, muttering to himself, "This was easier as a kid. I've got to start exercising." He wiped sweat from his brow, hitched up his pants and then shifted the small backpack up a little higher, tightening the straps. It was only an hour into the hike up here from his house, but the slight uphill climb was already beginning to take its toll. The heat wasn't helping either. As he took the brief rest, he looked around. Chet had to admit, the one thing he had never taken notice of when he was a kid, was the beauty and serenity of this area north of the little town he had grown up in. He breathed in the smells of fern, honeysuckle and wild rose, also something he enjoyed as a kid. Unfortunately, other thoughts intruded on the enjoyment. He fully expected to be shot at any time. His thoughts went to Corry Haney, Emma Houston and Nora-Jane Jackson. He was doing this for them. And for all those other missing children. Somebody was responsible and maybe he could help uncover who it was. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm his nerves. Time to move on. He hitched up his pants again and started walking again.
An hour later, Chet crossed a large clearing and stopped just before he entered the tree line again. He grabbed the canteen on his belt and took a drink. The water was cool and refreshing as it went down his throat. Funny how the little things in life can become so pleasurable. Putting the canteen back, he made a show of pulling out the rolled-up piece of paper sticking out of the top of his backpack. He unrolled it, looked at it and then looked around at the trees and the rocks around the clearing. He walked a few feet, then stopped and looked at the paper again. He wondered: Will I hear the gunshot that kills me? Is that what happens to people who die? Do they see it coming? Do they hear it?
Bird songs and the chattering of squirrels were the only sounds in the forest. A woodpecker hammered away in the distance over to the left.
Chet rolled up the paper and put it back over his shoulder into the backpack. Time to move on.
"Don't move."
Chet froze. He could feel something pressed against the back of his head.
"Take off the backpack," instructed a low voice behind him. "And do it real slow."
Chet unhooked the backpack and felt it pulled away from his body. Whatever was against the back of his head was taken away.
"Whacha you got here, Chet?"
Chet turned slowly to look behind him.
Someone was sliding the rolled up paper from the backpack that was now sitting on the ground.
The figure straightened up and Chet saw a familiar face, "Buster?"
Buster Connor, 5'10 inches and 150 pounds and dressed in green camouflage clothing, stood twenty yards away, holding a .308 Winchester rifle with one hand as he unrolled the paper.
Chet turned right around, "What in the world are you doing, Buster?"
Buster Connor glanced up at Chet, a half smile on his face as he continued unrolling the paper.
Chet stepped forward and reached for the paper, "Stop fooling around –"
Bringing the Winchester up, Buster pointed it menacingly, "Stay right there or I put a bullet in you."
Chet stopped dead in his tracks. Confusion etched across his face.
Buster stared as he chewed on a large wad of tobacco in his cheek. Then he took a step back, keeping a wary eye on Chet while he went back to unrolling the paper. "What the–?" The paper had sketches of various KGC signs right across the paper, in no particular order. Buster looked up the Chet, "Where's the map?"
"I don't have a map, Buster," Chet said. "Look. You don't understand what's going on here–"
Buster let the piece of paper fall to the ground as he brought the .308 Winchester rifle up to his shoulder, aiming it directly at Chet's head, "We know you've been snooping, hanging around over at Haney's house. That kid put a lot of things together. What did you find? Where's the map?"
Chet Calhoun's blood ran cold. "You're...you're part of the KGC?"
"I'm part of the military arm," he said as he spat tobacco juice on the ground. "My daddy was, my grand-daddy, all the way back..."
"I...I never knew. We went to school together –"
"You'd be part of it too," Connor snapped as he lowered the rifle. "Except your family was a bunch of traitors. Weren't willing to stick to the cause."
Chet shook his head and held his hands out, "W-what are you talking about?"
Connor snickered, "Yeah, figures. Nobody in the family ever told you."
"Told me what?"
Connor spit tobacco juice on the ground and then sneered at Chet, "Your family said there was too much killing. They was in charge of caring for the treasure and working with the sentinels. But they was going to turn it over to the government." Connor spit harder, the tobacco juice hitting the grass with a splat, "Same government that killed our ancestors, the ones who destroyed our way of life. The very same government that still wants to take away our freedoms and our guns. It ain't gonna happen."
The faces of Corry and Emma flashed in Chet's mind. "And you kill children to protect a damn treasure!" he snapped.
Connor spit a blob of tobacco juice at Chet's left foot.
Chet jumped back.
Connor shouldered the .308 Winchester rifle again, closed one eye and aimed at Chet's head, "Tell me what you're lookin' for up here. Spill it all...before I put a bullet between your eyes."
Chet blinked his eyes, "W-why should I? Y-you're probably going to kill me anyway...."
"Probably."
"Why kill those kids though, Buster?" Chet asked in a shaky voice. "Who put you up to it?"
Connor stared. And he never denied the accusation.
Chet could hear the birds twittering. The sun caressed his face, probably for the last time he thought. Something hit a tree off to his left with a sharp clunk.
Buster swung the Winchester right and fired, placing a bullet into the bark of a tree thirty feet away.
A green and brown blur shot from the trees and hit Connor at waist height with a vicious tackle. Conner was carried backwards ten yards and slammed to the ground, the .308 Winchester rifle flipping another twenty yards away.
Rory Mack Steele got off Buster Connor and hauled him to his feet. He turned the dazed man roughly, walked him back ten yards and slammed his back against a large tree. "Sorry I didn't act sooner, Chet. But I was hoping he would give us something."
Chet was white and shaking as he walked over to Rory, "No, I understand. Although I have to say, I thought I was a goner –"
Crack!
It was a rifle shot!
Rory ducked and whirled around.
Chet half ducked, frozen in place.
"This way," Rory said urgently. He grabbed Chet's arm and pulled him towards the trees and away from the clearing.
Chet stumbled and nearly fell.
Crack!
Chet flattened to the ground, trying to burrow into the pungent earth.
Rory stopped, wheeled around and went back to Chet, "You're still in the open, Chet. C'mon, you have to get –"
Crack!
Chet had started to move and the bullet gouged a hole in the ground barely an inch or two from his eyes. Swearing, Chet realized it was meant for his head and just missed by that much. He rose to his feet and ran hard beside Rory, trying to match stride for stride–
Crack!
Bark exploded from a tree just beside Rory and he dove head first for cover.
Chet stumbled, caught his balance and then dove to the ground behind a pine tree. Scrambling around on the ground, Chet sat his back up against the tree.
Rory already had his back to the tree to Chet's right. He looked over at him, "You hit?"
Chet shook his head vigorously no. Then his face took on a look of alarm, "Buster!" He rolled over onto his knees and looked around the pine tree and back towards the clearing.
Buster Connor lay on his side, on the edge of the clearing, facing towards Rory and Chet. There was very clearly a bullet hole between his eyes. A blood stain was also spreading on his chest.
Rory pointed across the clearing and towards a higher ridge of trees, "I think the shots came from up there. Do you see anything?"
Chet shook his head, "No–"
Crack!
A narrow branch just above Chet's head was cleaved from the tree and fell to the ground.
Chet rolled back behind the tree.
Rory did the same.
Licking his lips and shaking his head, Chet said, "I expected to draw some attention coming up here. I just didn't expect it to be so scary...."
Rory rolled around to his knees and slowly peered out from behind the tree.
Crack!
Sharp bark fragments flew off the tree just above Rory's head. He ducked back behind the tree.
"Why didn't they shoot us when we were out there in the open?" Chet asked in a strained voice.
"Those first two shots were meant for your friend. Probably wanted to make sure he was dead first. And then we were on the move...."
"He was a friend...not so much after today," Chet said. He licked his lips, looking at the dense trees around them, "What if they sneak up behind us?"
Rory sat with his back to the tree, "Probably will." He pulled his Baby Eagle 9915 RL Polymer 9mm handgun from the holster under his camouflage jacket, "But they'll do it slowly since they don't know if we're armed or not."
"Well, you're armed, I'm not. My old handgun was in that backpack. Stupid Buster." He shifted a little to peek around the tree, "Unless I could go and find that rifle–"
Crack!
Bark shot in the air as the bullet clipped the tree.
Chet pulled his head back in, pressing his back against the tree again, "Not gonna happen."
"Just keep an eye for any movement," Rory told him.
Cursing, Chet said, "Movement? There's probably going to be a bowel movement in my pants!"
"You'll be fine," Rory said.
"Yeah, right." After a few moments of scanning the trees behind them, Chet's back straightened as a thought struck him. He got around onto his knees, "Rory. We should get back into town. I was just thinking about what he said about us being over at Donna-Lou's place. If we don't make it out of here...and they go over there...I'd never forgive myself...."
Rory nodded his head after a moment, "You're right. Okay, I'm going to fire a shot. That should make them pull their heads in for a moment. You run through the trees over there towards the left."
"Why not straight back where there's more cover?"
"Just trust me."
Chet took a deep breath and let it our hard, scared. But he nodded and squatted in a running position.
Rory got around on his knees behind the tree and then shifted the Baby Eagle handgun to his left hand, "On three?"
Chet nodded once and then watched Rory's fingers count down.
3-2-1.
Chet was off in a low run.
Rory leaned out and quickly fired a shot across the clearing and high towards the ridge. Then he turned and sprinted off after Chet.
Crack!
A bullet clipped the branch just to the left of Rory's shoulder.
He wheeled left, fired two shots from his Baby Eagle and continued running.
Crack!
A bullet exploded through a small sapling a foot behind Rory.
Up ahead of him, Chet was breathing hard, fear driving his legs. He clambered over a fallen log, scrambled down a small gully and used his hands to make it up the other side before driving through the trees, swatting branches aside.
Rory was now right behind Chet, running low.
The only sound was their raspy breathing and the sounds of leaves crunching underfoot. Needles scratched their skin as they ran through a dense stand of Loblolly pines. A hundred yards through the trees, they burst into another clearing.
Chet stopped dead in his tracks.
On the other side of the clearing was a two-man, green and brown all-terrain vehicle sitting in the foot high grass.
"It's okay," Rory said. "It's the one we brought."
Chet's face showed instant relief, "Oh right. I forgot." He joined Rory at a run across the clearing. They jumped into the all-terrain vehicle, Rory on the driver side, Chet on the passenger side. They were both breathing heavy.
Rory put his weapon on the dash in front of him and started the vehicle, "I was pretty sure they would use one of those clearings to stop you."
"Pretty sure? As in not positive?"
Rory put the vehicle in gear, "I caught sight of that Buster guy in my binoculars after you moved through that last clearing. Have to admit I missed the other guy. Or however many there are out there." He accelerated, left the clearing and began to weave through the trees.