The quiet in the woods seemed even quieter, after the explosion of noise. I moved my legs slightly. I wasn’t hit. After a couple of seconds, it stopped raining leaf bits. I realized I was holding my breath, and let it out slowly. The shots, three or four of them, must have been high. Then I remembered the tops of the bushes were just over my head. Not that high.
‘‘Carl…’’ came a whisper on the walkie-talkie. ‘‘Carl…’’
Cautiously, I reached down and brought the little radio up to my mouth. I wanted to scream at him to shut up, but I knew he needed information. ‘‘Yeah, go ahead,’’ I whispered back.
‘‘They’re still here,’’ came the whispered voice. ‘‘Be careful.. .’’
No shit. Thanks for filling in the gaps.
‘‘Where are you now?’’ he asked, in a barely discernible whisper.
‘‘Right at a sharp bend to the right…’’ I whispered back. The best I could do.
There was a long pause. ‘‘Come on ahead, I’ll cover you, we’re just past the bend.’’
Fine. Why didn’t you cover me before? ‘‘Ten-four,’’ I whispered. Yeah, come on ahead. Sure. All I had to do was force myself to get up, at least into a crouch. That was difficult, because all my instincts told me to keep down and still. But I had to get to Johansen. He needed assistance.
When I got to my feet, I found I was only about one step off the trail. Very carefully, I stepped out. I stopped, crouched down, and looked around, my rifle pointing ahead of me. Nothing. But… I didn’t have my first-aid kit. Where in the hell had I lost it? I backed back into the tall brush, and glanced down. It was to my right. Holding my rifle in my left hand, I picked the metal kit up and stuffed it partway down the front of my jeans. Both hands on the rifle again, I got back on the trail.
‘‘Carl,’’ I heard from the walkie-talkie. ‘‘You comin’, Carl?’’
I didn’t bother to answer, because I would have had to take one hand off my rifle again to do so, and I was feeling eyes on me all the time. Instead, I crept around the corner to the right. About four steps into it, and I saw them.
Johansen was about a foot off the trail, kneeling by a body that had to be Kellerman, although I could only see his lower half. They were both in camouflage clothes, and Johansen was as white as a sheet. They were shielded a little by a grassy mound about two feet high and a dead tree that stretched into the brush just past them. There were several pale blue paper wrappers strewn on the ground… first-aid kit compresses. They reminded me of flowers. I was to them in two steps, and knelt back down just off the trail.
‘‘You all right?’’
‘‘Yeah,’’ said Johansen. His eyes were wild-looking, and his head was moving constantly, scanning the area. ‘‘They fuckin’ killed us, man. They killed us.’’
Shock does strange things. I moved slightly, and reached out to try to find a carotid pulse on Kellerman. Johansen blocked my hand.
‘‘He’s dead.’’
‘‘Just let me check, Ken. Just for the record.’’
He thought for a second. ‘‘Yeah, yeah. Okay.’’
I reached out and pressed two fingers into Kellerman’s neck. Nothing. Cool to the touch, but damp. His color and texture reminded me of pale cheese. I noticed he hadn’t shaved that morning.
‘‘Okay,’’ I said softly. I wiped my hand on my jeans, and pulled the first-aid kit out before it cut me in half. ‘‘What happened?’’ I asked, keeping my eyes focused opposite Johansen’s, peering uphill. It occurred to me that, crouched down as we were, we couldn’t see much more than a few feet, except uphill, and up the trail. ‘‘You sure you’re all right?’’
‘‘We got set up,’’ he said. ‘‘They were waitin’ for us. Just waitin’… No, no, I didn’t get hit. I’m just fine.’’
Off in the distance, a fragment of a siren’s wail came drifting up the little valley.
‘‘I’m sorry, man,’’ said Johansen, to me.
‘‘Nothing for you to be sorry about,’’ I said, scanning the area around us. I was thinking the siren might stir up the ambushers. ‘‘This shit can happen.’’
‘‘Yeah, I do. I am, I mean,’’ he said softly.
I kept looking up slope. There could be a tank up there, and I wouldn’t be able to see it unless it moved. ‘‘Why?’’ I asked, almost absently, trying to humor him.
‘‘It was me that shot at you, just now. I thought you might be them.’’
I looked at him. ‘‘Oh.’’ I looked back uphill. ‘‘Apology accepted.’’ Sort of.
‘‘I didn’t mean to,’’ he said.
‘‘No problem.’’ I just wasn’t going to think about that. ‘‘How many you mean by they?’’ I asked.
‘‘Lots.’’
‘‘Right.’’
The siren was Lamar Ridgeway, Nation County sheriff, and my boss for more than fifteen years. He was a good sheriff, dedicated, and tireless. He was also the only other one working today, and had come all the way from Maitland. It’s a big county we live in. People don’t seem to realize just how big. Or how few of us there are. Nation County is about half the size of Rhode Island. Now, that’s not exactly huge, I admit. But there are usually two or three cops out, at the most. Seven hundred fifty square miles is a big area.
‘‘Three or Four, can you copy me now…?’’ Lamar’s voice has a raspy quality to it, unmistakable. I picked up my walkie-talkie.
‘‘We copy, One,’’ I answered him.
‘‘Where ya at?’’
The question of the hour. I looked over at Johansen. ‘‘Did you brief One as to how to get up here?’’
‘‘Yeah,’’ he said. ‘‘We showed him the aerial photos.’’
I held my walkie-talkie to my lips. ‘‘One, Three. Up the trail. Wait, if you can, for some more backup, before you come up. We might have shooters in the area.’’ I knew he wouldn’t, any more than I had. I just had to say it.
‘‘Yeah, ten-four… What’s goin’ on up there? Somebody shot?’’
‘‘Yeah,’’ I answered. I turned my head to look at Johansen, who was getting a dazed look about him.
I brought the walkie-talkie back up. ‘‘688 is down.’’
‘‘Need an ambulance?’’ asked Lamar, hopefully.
‘‘Negative,’’ I said. ‘‘Medical examiner.’’
‘‘Ten-four.’’
I looked at Johansen. ‘‘You able to wait for a bit more?’’
‘‘Yeah.’’
‘‘We’re fine here right now, One,’’ I said to Lamar. I hoped I was telling the truth. But I sure didn’t want Lamar charging up to the rescue and getting blown away for his trouble. ‘‘But let us know when you start up the trail. We’re about a hundred fifty yards up, and just kind of off the trail to the right. We won’t be able to see you until you’re right on us…’’ I glanced at Johansen. I knew about that hazard, all right.
‘‘Ten-four,’’ said Lamar. ‘‘I got people comin’ from all over. Be there right quick.’’
I nudged Johansen. ‘‘You got a canteen, or something? Could use a drink.’’ The heat was oppressive, and there seemed to be even less air here than before. For some reason, the whispering made it seem even hotter.
‘‘Yeah,’’ he said, reaching behind his hip and unfastening the GI canteen. ‘‘Here.’’
I took a long swig. It was warm, but wet. I thought about the three cans of diet soda in my car, in the icefilled cooler. I handed it back to him. ‘‘You better have some too.’’
‘‘No,’’ he said, shaking his head. ‘‘I’m all right…’’ and his voice trailed off as he looked around the brush again.
‘‘Drink some,’’ I said. ‘‘Don’t want you goin’ into shock or anything. We got enough trouble without that.’’
In the distance, there were more sirens.
Johansen swallowed water from his canteen, loudly. He sighed, and said, ‘‘At least we got one of ’em.’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Yeah, Kellerman got one of them. He’s up there,’’ he said, gesturing up-trail. ‘‘Just a little ways.’’
‘‘Dead?’’
‘‘Oh, yeah,’’ he said. ‘‘Real.’’
There was a sudden rustling in the brush, just on the other side of the trail. I brought my rifle around just as Johansen’s came up to his shoulder.
‘‘Don’t fuckin’ shoot unless we got a target!’’ I hissed.
‘‘Right,’’ he whispered. He wasn’t convinced.
It couldn’t be Lamar. Not yet, and not from over there. We waited in dead silence for several seconds. Sweat ran off my left cheek, which was pressed against the butt stock of my AR, dripped onto my left hand, and ran down my forearm. I don’t remember ever being so tense. Nothing.
Then a ground squirrel chattered, and there was a faint rustling again. We relaxed a bit, but didn’t talk.
It was about two more minutes when Lamar’s voice crackled over the radio. I sort of jumped.
‘‘Okay, I’m comin’ up. I should be about there.’’
‘‘Ten-four,’’ I said into the walkie-talkie. Way to go, Lamar. I knew you wouldn’t wait. ‘‘Be careful, but there has not, I repeat not, been any activity for ten minutes or so. But keep your eyes open.’’ And at least I won’t shoot at you until I know who you are, I thought. God, the idea of being blown away by Johansen sent a little shiver up my back, despite the heat. God, what a stupid way to go.
Lamar appeared around the corner, in uniform, with his shotgun pointing in front of him. He stopped and looked at the three of us.
‘‘Holy shit,’’ was all he could say.