The Rundown

The way things go down we don't even have time to compare notes before we are interrupted by Grable and two of his men. Lou doesn't know how many of his boy's he killed, Mitch hasn't told us how many of them there were to start with, and I am no help at all with any of it.

It is only seconds before the window of opportunity closes on Lou's chance of survival. Two of them and Grable, Lou in shackles, Mitch standing in front of me, and a pistol tucked in her pants that is not visible to our captors. In a flash I do two things, visually inventory the two men in the doorway for weapons, and try to remember if Mitch checked the load in the pistol. I will not have time to pull the slide back and hit both of these guys. I hope to God she loaded it.

Just as I slide my hand around the grip of the weapon tucked in Mitch's waistline, squealing brakes from a heavy trailer outside takes everyone's attention for a split second... including mine. It is the backhoe/trailer and the truck that is towing it. They had to take the long way around on the main road and have just arrived.

My victims are turning back now just as I draw the pistol. The one nearest the door sees me first and tries to swing a carbine my way, but he gets the first of three shots through his forearm from an intended torso shot. The next two are adrenaline powered but quite deadly as the first catches him in the chest and the next in the head.
Mitch has dropped to the floor to give me a better chance at accuracy and I fire on the next man who looks as though he was going to cut and run. He barely gets turned and one shot goes through his ribcage and he is down as well.
Lou, always at the ready, has dropped and rolled toward a spade shovel and as Grable realizes he is in the line of fire, Lou manages to swing the shovel toward his shins and connects with the trailing leg as he bolts for the door.

It all happens in about five seconds. We rush to Lou and drag him to the back of the shed. Gunfire erupts from Grable's men and the headlights from the tow vehicle show through the ever increasing bullet holes through the front of the structure.
Mitch knows just what has to be done and runs to the workbench and rifles quickly through the pile until she comes up with an axe and runs back to Lou, who has already up ended a round of cordwood. He barely gets his cuffs up on the wood when Mitch sends the axe head crashing down.
"START THE BIKES." She yells.

Lou scrambles to his feet and the two of them make a frenzied attempt to get the bikes started. We are all in the back of the shed now and the gunfire has abated. I see the door begin to open and fire two rounds. That sends another volley of gunfire through the front of the building. There is light spotting the back wall now, we are exposed.
First Mitch gets the Honda started and immediately aims it at the back wall. Lou is still kicking, fiddling with the carb. With sheer will alone he makes the bike fire and then reaches down and backs the choke off.
I am on the back of Mitch's bike holding on with my good arm, pistol now tucked in the small of my back. We blow through the back of the growing shed. Lou is right on our heels. His bike has no lights, but the Honda is fitted with head and tail light. We fly, taking up about a half mile of trail before we stop to assess the situation.

Behind us, Grable and his remaining men remove the trailer from the truck that is hauling it. Looks like four total, including Grable. Two of them run back toward the house now, probably retrieving the Hummers. The truck is free and begins to pursue us.
"Well?" I look at Lou's face in the red of the tail light.
"Can't let 'em get out of here alive or Mitch here won't have a moment's piece."
I pull the pistol from my belt and toss it to him. He pulls the clip and then gives it a rattle.
"Fifteen round clip, you put three in the first guy?"
I nod in the red light.
"One in the second guy and two for effect." He slaps it back into the gun. "One in the chamber and eight in the clip. Count eight to be safe." He throws it back at me and I catch it.
"Hey, you keep it. You are a much better with that thing than I am."
"Gotta ride, my friend. We'll distract them and you hit them when they pass."
Oh shit... is he saying I should get off up ahead and dive into a hole?
"Are you saying that I should get... "
"That's right, Nancy, off the bike and into a hole so you can pull a Bouncing Betty on their ass."

The truck is on its way out to our position, so we move up in through the holes and then Mitch slows so I can leap off. I am so hyped that I don't even register the jolting on my shoulder from my exit off the bike. I find a hole jump inside. Shallow, but any deeper and I would not be able to get out with one arm. I hunker down and wait, hearing the bikes trail off up ahead and then the deeper rumbling of the truck as it finds a path through the holes.
Now another sound as the Hummers join in the hunt. The distinctive sound of that two stroke can be heard a it makes a run toward me now. I pop my head up just in time to see Lou jump the bike off a pile of dirt and then wheelie it off the meadow toward the trees. Come and get me.

I can't believe my luck. The smaller hole I am in doesn't seem to pose a problem for one of the Hummers as it slows and rolls over the top of me while it calculates its next move. I watch as the chassis passes over me and I wait until it is a few feet ahead before taking several shots at what I hope is the fuel tank. One of them finds home and their is a brilliant fire ball as the vehicle explodes. The man inside bails out, his clothing ablaze. The other Hummer is too far off to assist him and it is like shooting fish in a barrel. I have used four shots, but if I am lucky... yes. I pull a smoldering pistol from the man and check the load. A huge revolver with five shots, none of them spent. I don't have time to look for any other weapons. The other Hummer has turned and is coming fast.

Across the field the truck is in hot pursuit of the Honda. The headlight reaches out into the blackness to give Mitch warning of the hazards. At one point she really scoots, making tracks through the trees, going where her pursuer cannot follow. Then there are rifle shots, a wicked volley that has the bike hitting the ground, the light spinning and skidding across the ground before coming to a halt illuminating the truck as it slows, the driver paused by the blinding light.
I try to see what is happening, but my own situation grows more perilous by the second.
The other Hummer is upon me. The ground beyond my feet smokes as gunfire traces its way toward me. I dive out of the headlights and keep the inferno of the first Hummer between us. They fire blindly and the bullets whiz by me. I remember for a brief moment the luck I spent in the Caribbean and figure this might be it. I run straight into a hole and disappear from view. It surprises me and I lose my wind for a moment.
The vehicle stops now, between the fire and my position. But there are other holes and the chances that he knows right where I am is slim. I wait. I hear a voice calling for me, even smell the cheap cigar he is smoking. There is a moment where I can hear the sound of the two stroke making a run toward Mitch's position. It slows, more gunfire, and then Lou hits the gas and the chase is on. He must have her, or she is dead.
There is gunfire, right next to me. I sink into the hole as far as I can go. He is on me... he must see me. No, his voice... the next hole, he is firing into the next hole.
I spring up and fire the nine millimeter until it is empty. Each shot traces his path as he dives for the Hummer. In an instant he is mobile, driving twenty yards or so before turning back toward me. He means to run me over. Gunfire from the window, but it is a carbine and not aimed.
I heave the huge pistol and level it at the oncoming vehicle. He is into the gas for all it is worth and I only have seconds.
I think I am prepared for the kick of this locomotive, but only the first shot is aimed... but aimed well. It passes through the engine block and like a Matador taunting a wounded bull I step aside as it screeches by, the engine seized, the driver startled.
Gone is the carbine, dropped in haste as I shot his ride. I take aim once more and fire two shots into the back of the Hummer as it grinds to a halt. The first I expect finds a home in back of that driver, because for an instant I see him slump... just before the second explosion of the evening.
I am blinded for a moment, that and flash burned. I smell burning hair, his or mine I don't know.

I turn to the site of the truck in pursuit of the two stroke. I can see the truck as it bounces up the hill, the Yamaha at the end of the reach of his headlights. Lou is leading him to the spot where we came up the side of the mountain.

It is a half a mile at least before I make it to the Honda. A quick inspection tells me that Mitch is with Lou. That may or may not be a good thing. I look up at the side of the mountain and see nothing, no light... no pursuit. What ever has happened it is over now, or out on the highway. Long way up that hill.
I pull my arm out of the sling and instantly remember why it was there in the first place. But Lou and Mitch may be in danger. Lou would find a way to ride this fucking thing with no arms if it meant saving my ass.

The bike is still warm and I use my good arm to hold it as it comes to life. I hop on and try my bad arm out with a twist of the wrist. A shock of pain pulses in my shoulder and with every move of the throttle, but I forge ahead. Up the mountainside and to the top of the hill where our jeep had sat that morning.

I see nothing. Not a trace of the two stroke, of Lou and Mitch... of Grable and his man. I get close to the edge and then kill the engine. The silence is thick for a moment and then the I can hear the sounds of a struggle. I make my way to the edge and cautiously look over.

The shadows veil the scene below. My eyes adjust and I can make out the truck, upside down... the wheels still spinning. Lou is holding off Grable and his man, the three of them circling an imaginary void. They haven't seen me yet.
I scramble down toward the wreck and find the two stroke laying on its side. Mitch is under it, bloody and out of it. I lift the bike and drop it the other direction.

"Jake." She opens her eyes and then looks toward the up-ended truck. "Lou..."
I turn and see him make his move. He takes Grable's henchman and climbs him like a step ladder. When he is on the top rung he snaps his neck and the man collapses.
I run toward them, not caring if I am discovered, gun drawn.
Grable leaps in the other direction and then scrambles on the ground for a moment. He comes up firing a semi-automatic. The report lasts for fraction of a second while I bring the blue steel cannon to bare and fire. Grable is knocked off his feet, the two shots making a mess of him.

"LOU..." I run up and see him on his hands and knees, blood running from his scalp.
"Are you hit?"
"No, just making another part in my hair."
He needs something to stem the flow of blood. I tear off a large piece of my shirt and wad it up. As I apply pressure he draws in a quick breath.
"Easy, Goddammnit." He wipes my hand away and holds the cloth tightly against his head.
"What about Mitch?"
"She's okay, I think."
Lou stands and takes a moment to gain his senses, then we walk over to Mitch who is already on her feet. She limps slightly, favoring her right ankle.
"Must have twisted it some when we made that jump."
I look back at the top of the trail, "You guys jumped that?"
Lou winces as he looks up the darkened trail to the top about fifteen feet above us.
"Well, it wasn't the plan... at first."
"I should hope not." I feel a sharp pain in my shoulder and realize that I might want to put my arm back in the make-shift sling.
"Those son of a bitches started firing at us. All we had to defend ourselves with was the trail and a little more knowledge of the area."
I look up at the trail and then down to the bike. "So you took a fifteen foot drop with my cousin on the back?"
"The bike could handle it."
"Fuck the bike, Lou, what about Mitch?"
"She could handle it."
Mitch puts a little more weight on her ankle and walks a few steps, she registers a stab of pain. "It was my idea, Jake."
Lou looks at her with pride, "We drew them in close and then drove off the edge and they followed right behind us."
Mitch puts an arm around his shoulder as she steps on the ankle. "We really flew, like a damn bird."

We all fall silent and look up at the head of the trail. With Mitch in between us we make our way to the top. Not a word is spoken as we slowly find our way back to the ranch house.
"Coffee? Mitch asks as she limps toward the sink in the kitchen.
"Yeah, coffee."

While Lou sips his coffee, Mitch sews up the gash in his head the best she can with the small medical kit she has on hand.
"I had animals at one time. Shit happens on a ranch."
I watch intently. A month ago I think I would have puked, but now... nothing.
"You want a Walker, Lou?"
He gives me a wink.
"What is a Walker?" She draws the curved needle through Lou's scalp.
"Well, let me show you. You have any of this fantastic "product" I keep hearing about?"
Mitch draws her last stitch and then ties it off. "In my bedroom, second door on the left."
I start down the hall.
"It's in Humphrey." She calls after me.
"Humphrey?"
"Yeah, he is a glass decantor... held some kind of liquor. You can't miss it. A friend brought him back from a trip south of the border."
I walk into her bedroom and flip on the light.
"No way."

I walk back with a package of rolling papers and "Humphrey". When I set it down on the table Lou's eyes light up.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"You've seen enough of them."
"No shit." He turns to Mitch, "That skull held Muerte Verde."
"Okay."
"No, man... Muerte Verde is the best tequila you will ever drink. Green Death. Me and Jake drank the hell out of that in Guatamala."

Lou's fingers do the walking and he rolls up five walkers in the time it takes to make a three minute egg. A minute after that we are red-eyed and relaxed... soon to be hungry as hell.
Mitch lets out a long sigh, "I can't believe it is all gone."
"What?"
"Everything I have worked for."
Lou looks at her and smiles, "You still have your health and your good looks."
"A lot of good that does when you don't have the money to take them places."
"Money? You still have your money."
Mitch freezes, "Don't even kid me about that, Lou."
"Nope."
"You're not kidding?"

Lou tells her the plan we made. It was all a surprise to me. I had totally blanked on what we did in the growing field. I guess getting shot does that to you.
When we got back to digging the rest of the holes, Lou parked the Gator in a way that it was between us and Grable's view. Instead of pulling money out of the ground and putting it in the bags, we were pulling the money out of the bags and putting it in the ground. What went back in the bags was a little dirt and balled up newspapers... the ones we found at the bottom of every hole. Luckily it was the San Francisco Chronicle and not some local six page rag. There was enough to give the duffles a full look and the dirt gave it enough weight to stay put on the Gator.

"It all burns the same." Lou says, taking a long drag on the Walker.
"Oh... my GOD I LOVE YOU GUYS!" Mitch comes from behind and wraps an arm around each of us. "Let's go dig it up."
"They are holes. They won't run off in the night. The only people remotely interested in robbing you are dead in the field and at the bottom of the drop off. So relax and let's party."

We raid Mitch's refrigerator, her pantry, her liquor cabinet, and give the Muerte Verde Skull a little brain damage. By the time morning comes along we are down to the cheekbones, well fed and watered.

A doctor friend of Mitch's makes a house call and treats our wounds. I am warned that I should be in a hospital with a wound like this, that I will need the dressing changed out several times a day. I smile and nod. Not here. I will get some treatment in Vegas on the road home. Home... I can't wait.