Chapter 003

Bolt-Action

The damp circle of cork strained the seams of my pocket the entire ride back toward Ellenville. When I’d been unable to come up with an amount that seemed reasonable to both of us, Wilder insisted that I think on it and stay in touch. He was confident I’d come around. I couldn’t blame him. I needed a win. A blank check bought you plenty of those.

CAT snored from the passenger seat. We took the Palisades Parkway up for the scenery, what little of it we’d be able to make out in the midnight darkness. I’d seen more wood in the courtroom and O’Sullivan’s than in trees in the city for the whole week. The few extra minutes didn’t matter. I wasn’t in a hurry.

After Hazel and the girls passed, I sold off the apartment in the city. Even if I’d stayed on at the SDA and could still afford it, there was no living with that much empty space around me. The commute to the city from upstate and back was hell, so I’d taken to sleeping on a cot next to my desk in the office during the week. CAT loved it mostly because there was nowhere for me to banish him in the tiny one-room affair. He could hog the blankets to his heart’s content.

Giving up the cabin, like traveling off-planet, was not an option. Hazel and I sunk every penny of our savings into the fixer-upper the moment it hit the market. The roof leaked like hell and it still had some of the original wiring from the late 1900s, but it came with a tiny parcel of unspoiled land just up the base of the mountain where you could still see the stars. We wanted a place where we could take the girls to get away from it all. They could skip rocks in the creek and chase frogs instead of spending all day asking why we refused to get them jawbone conduction implants like all the cool kids in their class.

When neither of them were old enough to walk yet, we’d all spend weekends out in the cabin. Hazel and I would fumble our way through whatever repairs she deemed not dangerous enough to warrant an expert while Tracy sat in her playpen and Fiona cooed from her bassinet. As the girls grew old enough to collaborate on escape plans, I tried to speed up the pace of my work. I felt like it would never be ready in time for them to truly enjoy our weekend getaways. I had no idea how right I was.

I eventually found myself making trips on my own. Hazel claimed that there was too little there to hold their attention, that I shouldn’t have to worry about having them underfoot while hanging new drywall or tangling with the plumbing. I still needed the time away though. My work schedule was unrelenting, and it drained me both physically and mentally. Ellenville was my place to recharge. It was my duty to make sure that it would one day be that for all of us. Hazel understood. She hated the time we spent apart but never once complained, just kissed my cheek and told me to come home safe.

I still went out there on the weekends, but the improvements stopped the second they were gone. Heavy blue tarps draped from the ceiling served as makeshift interior walls. There was only electricity in one room. Wind howled through chinks in the exterior boards that’d I’d never plug. I knew that if I didn’t fix it, eventually the whole thing would collapse in on me but I was content taking my chances for the time being. I could think of worse ways to go.

CAT belched. A noxious whiff of fried pigskin and dog slobber jolted me back to the here and now. I felt both hands gripping the steering wheel a bit too tightly, saw the ghosts of anemic trees racing by on both sides. Judging from the lack of other headlights I was the only vehicle on the road for quite a ways. Given the variety of other travel options it wasn’t shocking, but I’d never understand people who felt the need to fly everywhere. I was perfectly content keeping myself planted on terra cognita.

We rolled through the sleepy single-lane stretch of Canal Street winkingly referred to as downtown, long abandoned at this hour. The modest steeple of Christ Lutheran towered impressively over the one- and two-story brick buildings. Back in the city, it wouldn’t have seen daylight. It’d have been swallowed whole.

The lights of the township faded in the rearview as we pushed onward toward the Shawangunk Ridge. I cracked the windows in hopes that the fragrances of honeysuckle and wild bergamot would mitigate the worst of CAT’s pub breath. He enjoyed the conveniences of city living, mostly the variety of restaurants and the availability of reliable climate control, and never got sick of making new friends thrilled to meet a talking dog, but deep down, he was a country dog.

Normally, by the time I reached the end of the gravel driveway and cut the ignition, his nose would be pressed to the window glass waiting for the door to open. This time, however, he sat at full alert while we bumped along the unpaved stretch. I couldn’t tell whether the rumbling noise I felt in my throat came from him growling or the tires negotiating the uneven terrain. The cabin wasn’t even in view yet. Was it possible that he’d smelled something on the air he didn’t like? It seemed ridiculous, but experience taught me better than to count him out. I killed the headlights and slowed to a crawl, looking for signs of anything amiss.

Through the trees I saw one of the cheap construction lights that stood in for a proper lamp shining through the front window. There was no way I’d left it on. I always left my keys inside the breaker box when I came upstate, ensuring that the last thing I did before I left was cut the power. There hadn’t been any tire tracks in the soft dirt after turning off the main road, so it wasn’t a stranded motorist looking for shelter. A lost hiker seemed improbable as well, considering the season. There weren’t any landmarks that make the cabin stand out from the surrounding wilderness. You had to know exactly where it was, which branches to take at each fork in the overgrown mountain path.

Whoever was in my cabin had come looking for me.

We reached the tree line at the perimeter of our property. Shadows cast by the knots of red oaks and sugar maples that ringed the clearing encroached on the patchwork cottage, obscuring everything except for a faint halo of silvery moonlight and the harsh glare of the work lamp in the living room.

I parked the car across the trailhead and got out. If I couldn’t stop whoever it was from escaping, I could at least make it a roaring pain in the ass for them. CAT, keying off my movements, stayed low and quiet as he followed me toward the cabin. I hadn’t trained him to do it, he just always had. I had no idea whether he’d picked it up from me or it was something he’d learned from the same folks responsible for his voice synthesizer. Considering that I’d found him as a stray, I wouldn’t know who to ask. Perhaps he and I would get to the bottom of that mystery one day, but we needed to get through this first.

As we neared the edge of the porch, I heard muffled voices. I couldn’t make out any specific words, but there were at least two distinct voices, possibly more. I instinctively reached for my sidearm and came up empty. My Ratifier 783 remained locked away in my office, right where I left it before heading to the courthouse. It was a gorgeous piece, cobalt-plated, the flagship of Madison Defense’s electronic discharge weapons program. But it didn’t do me a damn bit of good right now. It seemed like the only people my gun safe was protecting were the assholes who had broken into my cabin. It was their lucky day.

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If only there were any way I could make it inside. I kept an antique bolt-action on a rack mounted next to the front door and a reproduction Smith & Wesson 686 stashed under a loose floorboard. The rifle was for warning off wildlife that wandered too close for comfort; the revolver was part of a lean bug-out kit I maintained in case I ever needed to hit the road in a hurry. Along with the hand cannon and plenty of ammo, it contained a curated selection of tools and equipment that I felt would come in handy when the shit hit the fan. Again, excellent in concept, currently useless for practical application.

The hair on CAT’s back and tail stood on end. The powerful muscles in his neck and haunches drew taut, as if he were readying to launch himself through the window. I glanced around the property for anything I could arm myself with and spotted the woodpile. The axe.

In a stroke of brilliant laziness I’d left it buried in the stump where I split logs until dawn on nights I couldn’t sleep. I had no need for the firewood; the chimney flue hadn’t been inspected since before we bought the place and I’d never cared much for bonfires. But fallen trees were free and in great supply, and chopping them to bits was an excellent way to force myself to sleep via sheer exhaustion.

I wasn’t sure when I’d last used the axe or how long it had been left out in the elements. When I yanked it free from its resting place, I noticed a patch of corrosion marring the cheek of the blade. I scraped the edge of the blade across my thumbnail. Still plenty sharp. Even if it hadn’t been, the steel head was heavy enough to cave in skulls.

Crouching behind a shoulder-high pile of split and splintered scraps, I took a couple of half-speed swings to gauge the axe’s heft and the balance when wielded as a weapon. The unfinished pine beams running from floor to ceiling would make finding angles for full arm extension next to impossible once inside the cabin.

I considered trying to lure the interlopers out into the open, but without knowing how many were inside, I ran the risk of being flanked and surrounded. Against unknown odds, I felt my best chance was to strike hard and strike fast. If I could make it through the threshold enough to grab the rifle, then I could consider falling back and picking them off one by one as they came out the door.

A peal of raucous laughter from inside drew an involuntary growl from CAT. I nearly clamped my hand down on his snout but that wouldn’t have helped. He knew it was wrong but he couldn’t help it. CAT might have been better company than most but he was still very much just a dog.

“Alright, bud,” I whispered, “here’s the plan. You’re going to stay right here until I call for you. Wait for your name. Don’t come for anything else, no matter how loud it gets, okay? If I don’t call for you, you go to town and get help. Help. Do you remember what direction the town is?”

“Stay.” CAT sprawled out on his belly in a dusty patch worn into the grass. I wasn’t expecting him to have processed much more of our planning session than that, but I liked to make him feel included. I reached out and scratched behind his ear. He rewarded me with a couple of insistent headbutts until I adjusted and hit the right spot. I picked up the pace until his leg started kicking involuntarily.

I waited until he wore himself out, smoothed his fur, and rose to my feet. “I’ll see you in a minute, buddy.” There was no sense in contemplating the alternative.

Hunching below the sightline, I crept up to the porch, ducked under the rough-hewn log railing, and pressed myself against the wall next to the door. The chatter from within was calm and casual. Professionals.

I pictured the interior of the cabin, trying to figure out the best tactical locations for stationing a squad. One on the front door, obviously. Someone on the back wall could keep an eye on the four main windows but they risked exposure from every side. If they hadn’t discovered that the back door didn’t work, there was a chance they were wasting energy guarding it.

Heavy footsteps pounded the creaking floorboards, coming to a rest on the opposite side of the wall. I held my breath until I could pinpoint their exact location. Their conversation died out and I worried they were doing the same. If they knew I was here, I had to make my move. The longer they had to coordinate, the worse my chances got.

I wiped the sweat from my palms across the seat of my trousers and firmed up my grip on the axe handle. I took a deep breath, thought about my family, then with textbook form, kicked the door off its hinges.

A yelp came from behind the heavy oak six-paneler as it crashed down on them. Not hard enough to flatten them, but plenty to knock them off-balance as they tried to dodge out of the way. I groped blindly for the rifle with my left hand as I maintained a death grip on the axe with the right, scanning the room for an excuse to use it.

A lantern-jawed man sporting a five o’clock shadow sat motionless on the center of the threadbare couch, temporarily stunned. The top right quadrant of his face was taken up by a heavy-duty ocular overlay, a sleek plate of jet-black metal that radiated traces of neon light around its opaque lens. From what I understood, that clever piece of kit extended its wearers visible spectrum to include thermal and low-light frequencies, in addition to acting as a rangefinder and a scope.

His quizzical expression melted away, replaced by the hardened mask of a hired hand. He reached into his jacket before I could shoulder the rifle. I gave up on the gun, focusing my efforts on the weapon already in my possession. I drew the axe behind my head with both hands and heaved it at him. He rolled out of the way before it slammed into the back of the couch, slashing through the foam cushion and biting deep into the hardwood frame.

I whirled at a rustling behind me. The first stranger, smaller than the man on the couch, worked on untangling himself from the detached door and the pile of extension cords he’d stepped in while trying to regain his balance. Noticing a loop loosely snaked around his ankle, I charged forward and shoved him as hard as I could. As I’d hoped, the wayward cord swept one foot out from under him and he tumbled to the ground. The door fell on top of him. As it did, I gave it a savage stomp where I estimated his head would be. The torrent of foul language it elicited told me my aim was true. He did not immediately attempt to get back up.

“What the fuck’s going on in here, guys?”

The basso profundo preceded its owner around the corner from the bathroom. He was still buckling his belt as he stepped into the living room. I wasn’t a small man, around 6’2” once adjusted to standard gravity, but this behemoth had at least a foot on me. The mud-brown bristles of his unkempt crewcut brushed against the overhead beams. I’d heard that augmented skeletons were all the rage now, allowing the customer to expand themselves to unfathomable sizes, but this one struck me as all natural. He moved and sounded with the nonchalance of someone who’d always been the biggest guy around, unaffected by puny threats that vexed the rest of us.

His head rotated slowly as he took in the carnage of the room: a pair of legs sticking out from beneath a broken door, the yawning portal leading outdoors, the axe gouged into the sofa. I could almost hear each individual brain cell firing in his head as it dawned on him that he and his confederates were under attack. Once again, my hand lashed out for the rifle.

“Don’t even think about it.”

The harshly accented words hit my ears just as my fingertips brushed the barrel of the bolt-action. The speaker’s cold confidence insisted it was not a suggestion. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the intruder with the faceplate leveling his own Ratifier at me. He’d opted for the nickel-plated finish. Classic. From this distance he didn’t even need his enhancements, just a steady hand.

“Please step away from the firearm, Mr. Miller. My brothers and I have been waiting for you.”