Cassandra Case Files Page 11

  The drive wasn’t straight. It dog-legged a couple of times coming uphill, and it passed through a couple of deep notches that had been cut into solid rock where there was barely six inches of clearance on either side of the single-lane road. Granted, that single lane was wide enough for two small cars to pass one another going in opposite directions, but not anything larger. Like, say, a skoolie. Furthermore, those notches were rather long, a good thirty to fifty yards, and they tended to get packed with heavy snowfall, blocking passage to or from Silver Dollar City. Below him, Mack could already see that three or four feet of snow had accumulated on the more open parts of the drive. The notches would be impassable until they melted or the Mayor ran his plow through it. Even then, getting through was an iffy proposition.

  Mack looked up as he thought about air travel being the only possible way in or out now. He realized that flying in this weather carried numerous dangers. In his bird form, he’d be willing to risk it, but not in something mechanical like a helicopter. Of course, the government had access to helos that could fly in all kinds of weather conditions. He’d ridden in a few, even so-called “black helicopters.”

  As he turned to trudge through the snow back toward Main Street, Mack thought about the rumors he’d heard of black helicopters overflying Silver Dollar City. Several people who frequented the Saloon swore they’d seen them. Natty Moon, the self-proclaimed Female King of the Mountain Men, had described seeing one such craft to Mack in detail. The survivalist had even hinted that she knew where the black helos were flying to. She claimed that there was a secret government base, hidden literally underground, here in these mountains where the only way to get to the base was either on foot or by helicopter. Thinking of the older woman, Mack resolved that he would go check on her. If anybody had seen anything weird, Natty would be the one most likely to have seen it.

  Mack’s path took him around behind the Livery Stable and the Hotel toward the Bank. The back door of the Bank opened, spilling light out onto the snow. Mack halted just as he came into the light. Teddy Young looked rather surprised to see Mack standing there.

  “Oh! Hello, Mack,” the Mayor declared, adjusting quickly to the surprise visitor.

  “Hello, Teddy.” Nobody called the man “Mr. Mayor” at his own insistence, but he didn’t correct people who referred to him as the town’s mayor.

  “What brings you out on such a cold pre-dawn morning, much less to my back door?” Teddy asked with a politician’s winning smile even as he pulled up the hood of his parka and zipped the coat shut tight.

  “Needed to stretch my legs,” Mack lied. “Being here and now is just a coincidence. By the way, I just come from the drive head. It’s snowed in.”

  Teddy nodded as he closed his door and stepped out into the snow. “I figured it would be. We haven’t gotten snows this heavy all Winter, and come Spring we get snowed in.”

  “Where ya off to?” Mack asked.

  “I was going to check in on Porcia. With this storm hitting so hard yesterday, I haven’t had the chance to see if she’s weathering it alright. Pun unintended.”

  “Mind if I tag along? I mean, I won’t bother Ms. Porcia. I’m just curious as to conditions.”

  “Enough to get out in this mess? You must be,” Young laughed. He shrugged. “Alright, Mack. Can’t say I don’t welcome the company.”

  The two men fell into step. Teddy Young was only a little shorter than Mack, but he was bulkier, though not from an excess of muscle. His bulk was the result of middle age slowing his metabolism without him slowing down his caloric intake. He carried the extra pounds well, though, and the short walk from the Bank to Porcia’s Hermitage didn’t seem to wind him.

  “Everything alright with you and your wives?” Young asked.

  Mack snorted. “One wife, sir. The other one is like a little sister, and she seems to have taken a positive shine to the one like a little brother, much to the wife’s delight.”

  “Then, why in god’s name are you up so early?”

  “I could ask you the same, sir.”

  “Good point.” Teddy was quiet for a moment. “I suppose it’s because this is the only time of day when I can get out and be free of Samuels or my other bodyguards. I mean, really, we live in isolation. It’s not like I need a bodyguard.”

  “But you do need a town marshal.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess having some kind of security team on hand makes a certain amount of sense, but let’s face it: everybody who lives her full time is armed. I’ve got a Glock 19 on my belt right now. What about you?”

  “I’ve got a .45.”

  “See? The town is its own militia, you know? But, our visitors seem to feel better knowing that we’ve got something that looks like a police force even though the biggest threat they’ve ever had to deal with was a brown bear that wandered into Main Street three years ago or a drunken tourist.”

  They’d arrived at Porcia’s Hermitage.

  “I’m afraid this is where we part company, Mack.”

  “Not yet,” Mack replied, pulling Teddy’s hand away from the gate latch. “Something’s wrong.”

  Teddy frowned.

  “Where are the dogs? Rain or shine those dogs come at anybody who comes close to this fence. Where are they?”

  Teddy’s eyes widened. Even though the dogs were trained to recognize him as their master, they still charged him whenever he first showed up.

  “Wait here,” Mack ordered as he drew his FNX-45 from its holster. “Wait. Here,” he repeated when Teddy started to move like he was going to follow.

  Mack assumed the tactical posture he’d been taught in the Marines and Special Operations. He took a couple of steps into the yard and paused, waiting for some kind of reaction. When nothing happened, he began a steady, slow pace forward, sweeping left, right, up, and down as he walked, searching for threats. He didn’t see any, but as he came close to the porch he did smell blood.

  He climbed up onto the porch and cleared each of the kennels, finding no trace of either Rottweiler. He did, however, find two new holes in the wall at about the height of the big dogs’ head and necks. Mack stood up and motioned for Teddy to join him.

  The Mayor rushed over. “What’s going on?”

  “Your dogs are missing, and from the bloodstains, I’m guessing they’re dead. Unlock the door, then let me take the lead and clear the house before you come in.”

  “I thought you were a cook?”

  “I’m a chef, yes, but I’m also a Marine. Less talk, more opening locks.”

  Mack went in first and Teddy waited on the porch as he’d been instructed. The great room was quick to clear, and Mack did note the blood on the couch, but didn’t say anything as he swept the other rooms of the home before announcing, “Clear!”

  Teddy rushed in. “Porcia!”

  “She’s not here,” Mack said bluntly. “I’m gonna sweep outside for tracks, but with this snowfall, I’m doubtful.”

  Teddy fumbled a radio out of one of his pockets and began frantically calling Samuels on it.

  Mack went out the back door and squatted down. He could smell something strange yet vaguely familiar, but the scent was so faint that he’d almost missed it. All he could tell was that whatever it was had definitely been alive so that temporarily ruled out undead as the underlying cause for this mystery.

  SAMUELS AND HIS CREW showed up ten minutes later while Mack was still poking around in the backyard. Teddy met his three security people outside and quickly explained that Porcia and both her dogs were missing. When Mack came striding around the side of the house, Samuels drew his Glock 17.

  “Stop right there or I will drop you!”

  “Put that down, Jack!” Teddy snapped. “Mack was with me the whole time!”

  “Don’t mean he didn’t do nothin’!” Samuels snarled back. “My gut’s telling me he’s dangerous!”

  Samuels wasn’t sure how it happened, but he found himself on his back in the snow with his pistol in Mack’s left hand, po
inted in the general direction of Planche and Bryce. Then, just as quickly, Samuels found himself eye to eye with Mack, if a little higher. His toes were barely in contact with the ground beneath him.

  “I have had enough of you!” Mack snarled, barely half an inch from Samuels’ face. “You pay attention to me now and commit this to memory. For the last four months, you have been sheltered in the harbor of my benevolence. The only reason you have continued to fill your lungs with air is because I have allowed it. My name is not ‘Steroid Fred.’ My name is Hieronymus L. MacDuff. You may call me ‘Mr. MacDuff.’ I am a United States Marine and a warrior of God, Mr. Samuels. God sent me here to save your worthless self because his benevolence is far more expansive than my own. Now, until I say otherwise, you answer to me. Not Teddy and certainly not to your own conscience. Me. I am your alpha, the leader of the pack, chief badass in charge, the boss of you. Have any of these words sunk into your skull?”

  Samuels nodded in terror.

  “Say. It.”

  “Y-yes, sir, Mr. MacDuff.”

  Mack dropped Samuels back to the ground and glared at the other two security people. “Do either of you not understand the new hierarchy?”

  Planche nodded her head quickly. “No, sir, I get it!”

  Bryce frowned and shook his head. “Uh...”

  “I’ll explain it to him,” Planche offered. She, too, was terrified of Mack, and in later years would swear that Mack had seemed to be glowing from within as he’d established his dominance.

  “Good. Teddy, I apologize for overstepping my bounds, but I believe Silver Dollar City is in imminent danger.”

  “Um, no, it’s, um, okay.” Teddy Young was equally terrified and comforted by Mack’s presence, a feeling that he just couldn’t understand. He knew, instinctively, that Mack was the single most dangerous person he’d ever met, but, just as instinctively, he also knew that Mack was a protector.

  “Alright, my family and I will try to find Porcia if we can. In the meantime, why don’t you and Samuels start getting everybody gathered together, start explaining that something weird is going on, and the best way to protect one another is in as big a group as we can manage, alright?”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Teddy concurred.

  Bryce seemed to finally work out what Mack had been saying. In some small part of his mostly inactive psyche, a little spark fired that took exception to the way that Mack had treated Samuels. To Bryce, Samuels was the Good Boss, a father figure. He couldn’t let such a slight go unchallenged. The giant man raised his arms and started to step forward, fully intent on grappling Mack to the ground and pounding the life out of him.

  Mack noted the action from the corner of his eye as he spoke to Teddy, but he also noticed something moving beyond the picket fence. “Down!” he bellowed as he grabbed Teddy with his left hand and effortlessly tossed the husky man behind him and into Samuels, sending both men sprawling into the snow. Bryce didn’t react, just continued his seemingly inexorable attack on Mack.

  Then, the arrows fell on them. Mack caught the first in his left hand even as he drew his FNX-45 with the right. The “arrow” was five to six feet long, which made it closer to a spear even though it was fletched on the back end. He deflected the next two projectiles with the first one, using it like a switch to knock them off to either side. Bryce’s building roar of rage transformed to a squeak of sudden intense pain. The fourth arrow/spear had pierced his right armpit, transfixed his heart, and penetrated a couple of inches out of his left armpit. Mack was already charging forward as the giant security man fell dead behind him.

  Mack emptied the pistol’s mag in short order. He followed a tried and true aiming pattern: two rounds to center torso, one round to the head. He repeated the pattern four more times, adjusting aim for new targets with each repetition. Then, he dropped the spent magazine, inserted a fresh one, released the slide, and repeated the center mass/head aiming pattern again. He did miss a couple of times. The tangos blended well with the background, and they were in constant motion, seeking cover, maneuvering tactically, but they had a humanoid shape, and their blood was bright crimson red splashing across the snow.

  The tangos turned tail and ran as Mack cleared the picket fence in a single bound. He noted that they actually did have tails. He wanted to continue pursuit, but he’d already shot through two of the four mags he had on him, and he couldn’t leave Teddy, Samuels, and Planche alone. As he loaded his third magazine into his pistol, Mack snagged his radio. “KC, I need back-up at Porcia’s Hermitage and bring the truck. We’ve got bodies to haul.”

  Chapter Four

  Twin Lakes, Colorado

  Thursday, March 14, 2019

  SAMUELS SAT ON THE porch steps staring at David Bryce’s body. Teddy sat next to him with a comradely arm thrown over his chief bodyguard’s shoulders. Iva Planche had gotten a sheet from the Hermitage’s linen closet and thrown it over Bryce’s body. She stood guard over her fallen comrade, her Glock 17 in hand. Mack was gathering the bodies of the tangos that he’d managed to put down. By his estimate, the ambush had consisted of six to eight individuals. He’d managed to outright kill three of them, and he was positive he’d wounded another three or four judging from the amount of blood in the snow. He left the bodies piled up outside the fence where the others couldn’t see them.

  “Those are some big ass arrows,” Samuels stated blandly as Mack rejoined them.

  KC was just pulling up, and she, Liam, and Pilar piled out of the truck.

  “They’re not arrows,” Mack corrected. “They’re darts. At least, that’s what you call spears or javelins with fletching. They pre-date the bow and arrow, so instead of a bow, you use a curved stick called an atlatl to hurl ‘em with more energy than you can generate with just your arm.”

  Gunfire from the other side of Silver Dollar City interrupted Mack’s impromptu lecture.

  “Samuels, you’re with me,” Mack ordered. “Planche, stick close to Teddy; get him back to the Bank. KC, leave the truck here for now. Liam and Pilar, with us. We’ll come back for the bodies as soon as we’ve figured out what’s going on over there.”

  “You might want this.” KC handed him his ammo bag and the Armalite AR-10 that he’d affectionately named “the Hammer.”

  “This is why I love you, babe,” Mack declared as he looped the strap of the ammo bag over his shoulder before taking the Hammer from her and sliding the tactical sling over his shoulders.

  The ammo bag was an olive drab canvas bag that Mack had extensively modified for a specific purpose. He had sewed two dividers into the main compartment turning it into three pockets. Each pocket was just the right size to accommodate a single MAGPUL D50 drum magazine. The bag also featured four external pouches, each large enough to hold two standard size AR magazines, in this case, MAGPUL PMAG-25s. His final modification had been a mesh pouch attached to the front that could hold a single empty magazine. All together, Mack was walking around with 350 rounds of .308 Winchester ready to use in that bag alone. He had a PMAG-25 loaded in the rifle and four more magazines in the pouches on his vest.

  The Hammer looked like any of the recent slew of AR platform semi-auto rifles currently on the market, and the original Armalite AR-10 was the grandfather of all those rifles, chambered in the 7.62 mm NATO round rather than the 5.56 mm round which ultimately replaced it. The AR-10 had made a comeback among AR enthusiasts who desired a heavier, more powerful round capable of lethal shots at long range. Mack’s particular AR-10 was Armalite’s TAC16 model in .308 Winchester with a sixteen-inch long barrel and fitted out for “tactical” operations like close-quarters combat yet still powerful enough for long-range engagements.

  He’d chosen the .308 chambering for the same reason he’d chosen the 5.56mm chambering for his AR556: interchangeability of ammo. A .223 Remington chambered AR could only fire .223 Remington caliber ammunition, but a 5.56mm NATO chambered rifle could fire both 5.56mm rounds and .223 Remington rounds. Likewise, rifles chambered in 7.62mm
NATO could only fire 7.62mm NATO caliber ammunition, and .308 Winchester chambered rifles could fire both with the .308 actually being slightly more powerful. Either way, if he was buying factory ammunition in bulk, he wouldn’t need to worry if his rifles could or could not chamber the rounds.

  Mack had invested a lot of time, money, effort, and aggravation into modifying the Hammer to suit his particular needs as a monster slayer. He’d had to jump through a number of ATF hoops to not only get himself properly licensed to own and operate a non-NFA compliant weapon, but to also get all the proper tax stamps and clearances to take the Hammer from a semi-auto only hunting rifle into a selective fire battle rifle. He was thinking that this situation would be all the justification he would ever need for indulging himself.

  KC had dressed for the occasion in her own 5.11 TDUs, cold weather boots, and a heavy dark blue parka. She’d braided her hair to keep it out of the way, which had made necessary a knit stocking cap to keep her head warm. A scarf was wrapped around her neck and lower face, and cold weather tactical gloves completed her outfit. She had her turquoise AR556 on a tactical patrol sling and an ammo bag like Mack’s hung across her chest from the opposite shoulder, only hers was smaller and didn’t contain any drum magazines.

  Pilar was dressed in her usual jeans and parka. When she’d joined Mack and KC, she hadn’t owned any hunting gear of her own other than a Gerber Sharkbelly folding knife and a cheap contact stun gun. Mack and KC had done their best to equip her out of their own arsenal. Mack had gifted her his AR556, which he’d helped her to adjust to her smaller frame. He’d also given her his old GP100 revolver, which she’d taken a liking to over KC’s TH40C compact.

  Liam had on his old Marine Corps cold-weather gear in the Corps’ Winter Overwhite Camouflage pattern. Of the four of them, he would blend in the best in a winter woodland setting. Liam wasn’t a professional hunter like Mack and KC, but he was a Marine who’d managed to put together a fairly effective combat kit using readily available civilian arms and equipment.