Chapter 28
I climbed over the entry gate and jogged down the paved and then gravel road past the ranger station. I hurdled over the Official Use Only gate and entered into the forest canopy overhanging the track through the trees. Very little moonlight penetrated here, but I could still see well enough to navigate forward. I could see and feel under my feet the many small stumps of all the trees that had been cut during the fire-fighting efforts last fall. They were cut very close to the ground so that vehicles could pass over them without puncturing a tire or scraping the undercarriage. After jogging for what I judged was about a mile, I slowed to a walk. My breathing gradually returned to normal such that I could hear the sounds of the forest around me, not just the rapid pounding of my heartbeat in my ears.
Continuing forward, I eventually saw a break in the trees ahead in the distance. The moonlight was more visible over the wide opening of the valley. Since I could more clearly see my target, I moved to the right edge of the road to be less visible myself. I stopped every few steps to peer ahead and listen. There was nothing. I continued this walk and stop routine. This vigilant slow pace was tedious and even a bit nerve-wracking, but I felt it was necessary.
In the dim moonlight, I finally got close enough to see a chain-link fence running across the road and stopped to stare. It was topped by razor wire. Behind it, I could make out a second row of fencing, just like on top of the ridge surrounding the valley. There were no lights visible beyond the fence, as though those inside were in blackout conditions. There had to be at least someone in there, such as the two guys in the truck and the two guys in the Hummer. I had to get closer to look in.
I was about to continue forward to the fence when my ears detected the faintest crunch. It sounded like a footfall breaking small twigs. It came from the other side of the track well ahead of me. Standing perfectly still and without moving my head, I swept my eyes in that direction. There was movement to the left, slow deliberate movement, and more quiet crunching under feet. As the sound progressed across the road in front of me, I saw the faint outline of someone, and it seemed he was carrying something high across his chest. It was a rifle. The figure came slowly toward me, and seemed to be cautiously searching. Perhaps the person heard my approach and was looking for its source. It was clear, though, if I stayed here and he continued on his course, I would be found.
I didn’t panic. I had been mentally prepared for this. I had followed the track of a military truck toward what I suspected to be a place occupied by guys with guns. I was unarmed, probably a fool getting in over my head. But I was ready to fight my way out, if I had to.
My heart rate was rising, and I could feel the blood pulsing through the veins in my temple. I forced myself to take slow quiet breaths. He still crept cautiously forward toward me.
I didn’t dare make a sudden move from this spot. My movement would be seen. Even though the dark woods were behind me, so he probably couldn’t see me, I felt like too big of a target standing up. Ever so slowly, I crouched down to minimize my profile, ending in a position where I sat on my uplifted heels, balancing on my toes. My fingertips were outstretched to my sides, lightly touching the ground for balance. From this posture, if I needed to, I could roll right or left or spring forward. Retreating was not an option. I would be found if I attempted retreat.
The figure still came in my direction at the same slow measured pace. His rifle was still held high across his body, across his chest. He was less than 20 feet away. I felt lightly with the fingers of my right hand on the ground for something that could be used as a weapon. There were small pebbles, along with sand and pine needles. Now he was just 15 feet away. I probed a little farther behind me and felt a stick. My fingertips ran along its length. It was maybe two feet long, less than two inches in diameter. He was only ten feet away. The branch felt firm, not spongy like an old rotting piece of wood. Not much, but it could work if I surprised the guy. Now he was just a few strides away. I quietly lifted the stick and gripped it tightly in both hands like the handlebar of a mountain bike, my knuckles pressed against the ground in front of me for balance. I tensed in preparation, adrenaline pumping through my system.
“Mason!” The urgent call came from near the fence. “Mason! What’s going on out there?”
There were two of them? I hadn’t seen or heard the second guy, who was much farther back, perhaps up near the fence. I was certain he could not see me, otherwise he would have known what was going on. I froze in position, and could feel tightness and burning building in the tensed muscles of my feet and legs.
“Mason!” the other guy called in annoyance. “Are you screwin’ around again?”
“Quiet. I thought I heard something over here.” He was so close that even his hushed response to his partner seemed loud.
“I didn’t hear nothin’. Do you see anything over there?”
“Quiet!” Mason urged.
Mason kept coming my way. My heart was pounding so loudly in my head that he must hear it. What was I doing? I had some training in hand-to-hand combat against an armed opponent, and had done well in practice. But I had never actually used that skill in the field. Did I think I was Rambo? Yet I now had no choice but to strike before he stepped right on me or heard my heart as it burst from my chest. And I hoped my body had another surge of adrenaline in reserve to take me through this.
He was only a couple of strides from me and moving faster now, like he was charging me. I sprang upward and toward him, driving the stick upward with both hands, using all the strength in my arms. I felt the jolt in my wrists and forearms as it hit him hard under the chin, and I heard the sharp clack of lower teeth smashing into upper teeth. He grunted, staggering backwards and starting to fall. I continued to push until he fell with a thud on his back, his head smacking hard against the ground. I landed in a seated position on his abdomen, which emptied his lungs of air in a loud grunt. His fingers lost their grip on the rifle, and he lay still.
I felt an urge to leave now that the immediate threat had been neutralized. But I stayed frozen in place.
“Mason! What was that?” the other man shouted.
The other guy was closer now. Did I have to confront him also?
I sat motionless on Mason’s mid-section, and he continued to lay quiet.
“Mason, did you run into a tree again? You dumb fuck.” After a pause, “I wish the Lieutenant had gotten us night vision goggles.” It was quiet for a few moments. “Mason?”
I felt for and could feel Mason’s pulse on his neck. As I did, my fingers touched metal. Dog tags. This was what I had expected to find. This wasn’t the reason I followed the truck. It was even better. Reckless behavior led me to attack an armed guard. Now I was glad I did.
“I’m not coming out there to drag your sorry ass back in here,” his partner scolded.
I hoped that Mason would be fine, after a couple of days. Tomorrow though he would definitely have a headache and sore jaws. I snatched the dog tags off the chain and placed Mason’s rifle softly onto the pine needles in the woods several feet away. If he came around, he wouldn’t find it in time to shoot at me. I would be long gone.
“God damn it, Mason. Where are you?” The other guy was sounding a bit desperate now.
I dropped the chain and one dog tag on the ground, keeping the other tag. That was really the original purpose of the tags to the military, take one and leave the other with the body. With any luck at all, Mason would actually think he ran into a tree, knocking himself out, and losing a dog tag when his chain snagged on a branch. With any luck. Regardless, I was leaving with some information. Maybe this tag would help tell me who these guys are.
I scooted softly on the fallen pine needles in a crouched position down the edge of the road, moving quickly away from the fence. When I had gone for about a minute like this, I stopped to listen, still crouched down to minimize my profile. I forced myself
to breath shallowly so I could hear better, though it was difficult with my accelerated heartbeat and the rush of blood pounding in my head. But I heard no other human sounds. No crunch of footfalls on the ground, no shouts of alarm, no gunshots whizzing around me. There were only the sounds of the forest: crickets and an owl in the distance.
I stood upright and ran, still staying on the pine needle carpet. I ran as fast as I could, down the road, over the fence, past the ranger station, over the gate, across the highway, and into the relative safety of my car.
As I drove south, I looked behind me, but didn’t see any headlights trailing me. As a precaution, I went past my motel for a mile, did a U-turn in the road, and headed back north. No lights came toward me, so I felt sure that I was not followed. I stopped across the road from the motel and surveyed the parking lot for several minutes. There was nothing unusual happening, and no other cars passed by or entered the lot. I killed the car lights, turned into the lot, shifted into neutral, turned off the engine, and coasted into a spot in front of my room. No lights came on in the office or any of the other rooms. I went inside my room, my safe haven in Montana. It was there that I finally felt my heart rate slow to normal. It was nearly three in the morning.
Still fully clothed, I lay down on the bed thinking the rush from my adventure would prevent me from dozing at all. I was really feeling the juice now. I had some hard information, the dog tag. Much better than my disappearing body, sighting of some guys who might be military, and some plant pieces that might have nothing to do with anything. But I was spent, like coming down from a high. In minutes, I was sound asleep.