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Gunner picked up his pace. It seemed like hours before he reached the area the drone was circling. The first thing he came across was the remains of a man. He’d been torn up and fed on from the looks of things. Was that done by the wolves, or the bear that started this fight?
Just then he heard a wolf. He slowed and looked around. “Ba’Cho?” he asked as a wolf silently appeared from off to his right. He knelt and waited for Ba’Cho, who ran to him, covered his face with wet licks, and then let Gunner hold him for a moment.
“I need to find her, buddy,” Gunner whispered against thick fur on his neck.
Ba’Cho yipped and turned his head. Gunner got it. “Find Oakley.” Gunner said and signed simultaneously. Ba’Cho gave a soft chuff, turned, and waited for Gunner.Gunner took time to bring the drone back, land and pack it. Then he and the rest of the wolves who’d shown up with Ba'Cho fell in step behind the big wolf.
They reached the area with the dead bodies. There were no wolves to be seen. And no Oakley. Where was she and why didn’t she wait? He turned toward Ba’Cho to discover that he and the rest of the wolves had silently vanished, leaving him alone, wondering about his next step.
One thing was for sure, he wasn’t staying there any longer. The smell of death was going to be worse in a few hours, and he wanted to be as far away as possible to avoid the stench. Not to mention the team that was probably headed in his direction right now, looking for what was left of the men Gunner walked away from. He understood men like Samir. He’d fought them or those who served them, his entire adult life. Samir would have sent more than one team. How far a head start he had would reveal its answer sooner or later. Gunner didn’t see the point in waiting around. Maybe he should find a secure location to hide and send the drone up. If he spotted anyone, it’d let him know how much time he had before they reached him.
Gunner figured that was what he was supposed to do, because without warning, Ba’Cho had vanished, leaving him to figure it out. So, he hitched his pack up more comfortably on his shoulder and headed north, following the valley floor until he spotted an opening in the rock about twenty feet up. It would be a bit of a climb, but would provide an excellent place to observe and send up the drone.
Gunner didn’t spot anything in the direction Oakley was supposedly heading, but did spot a team coming upbehind him. Obviously, the team killed by Oakley and the wolves would have been wearing GPS. These teams needed to stay in touch.
But the one approaching was going to fall out of touch soon. Gunner was in the perfect position to pick them off one at a time, and they’d never know where he was and would be dead before they could call for help. No one would think there was trouble for possibly hours.
That would buy him time. He’d stick to the program and try to make it to the next set of coordinates on the map. If he could hook up with Oakley and the wolves, they could then turn their attention to eliminating the threat against them.
Since he had a few hours until the next team was within firing range, Gunner settled back and tried to empty his mind. A memory he’d tried his whole life to suppress rose from its grave to lay claim to his mind.
Knowing he’d not be allowed reprieve, he opened himself to it and prepared for the pain. His right hand moved instinctively to his shin. It didn’t matter that the scars were covered with socks and pants, he could still feel them. He had burns on both legs, his feet, and ankles. On his right leg, the burns extend almost to the height of the calf muscle, but only along the ridge of the shinbone. On the left, the worst of the burns were on the lower legs, above the ankle. It was almost a web of scars, like a crude knitting of skin.
He remembered the day it happened. It’d been with him since he was ten years old.
His father was at work, and his mother’s shift at the café didn’t start until three. Since it was summer, he and his sister were home alone between two, when hismother left to make the walk to work, and whenever his father returned.
This day it was too hot to be happy outside and like an oven inside the house. No one was in a good mood. Gunner’s mother said she’d put a cake in the oven for them before she left for work. All Gunner had to do was take it out, put it on the rack to cool, and turn off the oven. His dad would be happy to have a fresh slice of cake.
He did as she instructed, and suddenly the heat wasn’t so important. The house smelled of sweet, fresh-baked cake. His mouth watered, contemplating that first bite into sweet soft heaven. His mother might not have the prettiest clothes or finest shoes, but she was the best cake baker ever. At least in his opinion.
Gunner and his sister were upstairs, sitting on the floor in front of an open window, playing her favorite board game. Both started in alarm at the sudden bellow from the door. “What the hell are you trying to do, son? Burn the house down?”
That’s when Gunner realized he hadn’t turned off the oven. He apologized, but that only earned him a look of disgust that preceded a backhanded blow that sent him sailing. “Stop being a damn pussy, boy. You’re fucking bigger than everybody five years older than you, and you don’t have to be smart to stand up to people. Never fucking back down. You hear me son?”
“Yes, sir.”
That seemed to satisfy his father. He stomped out of the room, slamming the door closed behind him. “Why’s he so mad, Gunner?” his sister asked.
“Beats me,” Gunner replied, knowing the words were untrue. His father hated him, and Gunner didn’tknow why. All he knew is the man rarely had a kind word from him, and the only thing he’d taught Gunner was how to take a punch, and how to avoid one.
Gunner had given up a long time ago trying to figure out why his father hated him. As long as his dad didn’t hurt Gemma, his little sister, Gunner would take whatever was dished his way and never start trouble.
But he’d not let anyone hurt his sister.
That night, he failed.
They stayed in her room, not wanting to face their father. They’d wait for their mother’s return. Their father would start drinking and be asleep in his chair before she got back, and that was fine with Gunner and Gemma. They wished he’d hurry up and pass out.
But they grew tired and decided to lie down for a bit while they waited. Gunner woke to the smell of smoke and the sound of yelling. He ran to the door, and when he opened the door, smoke billowed in.
He thought his heart was going to jump out of his chest. The house was on fire, and they were trapped in Gemma’s room. What did he do?
He had to get Gemma out. Gunner looked around frantically. Where were his shoes? He couldn’t find them. Gemma was screaming. That terror mixed with the cracking hissing fire, groans, pops and crashes from the house as the flames consumed it. He was about to lose it.
Before he could chicken out, he grabbed her favorite old quilt, covered her with it, then picked her up and left the room. The floorboards were fine until he reached the stairs, then terror grabbed him like a rabid beast. The stairs were on fire. How was he going to make it down? He’d catch on fire.
Gunner had never known such fear. He stood there, battling with it, and might have lost the battle if Gemma hadn’t whispered. “You can do it, Gunner. I know you can.”
