HEAVY SNOWFALL DECKED OUTSIDE the closed window, True Bob looking out at a road ahead, from the upstairs room of a deserted mansion on a hill. He was alone there and biting on an insipid piece of dried cured meat — looking out at the empty white road buried in snow.
They were low on fuel again, for either one of the two bikes — so Reeves wanted to ditch his bike, and had decided to get offensive with an attack strategy rather than eschew — to first get the needed gas for the rest of his team, and to enable them to proceed their maladjusted journey — which was infested by tighter securities, for them to reach the Canadian border.
The rest of the cell-group were downstairs, huddling together in lassitude to keep themselves warm. Their eyes were glued to the network news on Troy's laptop, which featured last night's God’s Army defeat at Cory's Fundraiser in LA. Despondency set inside to all of them when they witnessed the dire CCTV recorded footage — of the charging ‘Preacher’ in his blazing robe — executed by the firing Secret Service squad before he succumbed in the immolating fire.
Tears flowed out of the morose Big Joe and he wiped it, Laura consoled him by hugging his oversized back. Reeves stood up and Troy switched off the laptop — because, beyond that, it is just repeats of Cory's victory hegemony propaganda speeches. Everybody was silent except for small sobs from Joe, drowned by the howling winds outside. Reeves looked at Troy, and he refilled his coffee mug...
“It was brave of him too, he came back from Mexico — to lead the people the second time, and confronted Cory head-on. At least he died for his own principles, despite knowing the consequences — that his followers would not have a chance against the Snake-woman's army. The Preacher had no other option, but to die along with them. Brave? Yeah — we know he is a fighter that is my own definition of someone a hero is — he or she who dies for their principles, but yet still chooses in trying hard to the last breath.”
They all listened to him rambling like he was telling a boogieman story at a campfire. Reeves’ strategies and ruses had worked so far since they left the Mojave Desert — by keeping those around him alive...
But yet in their eyes, they also wanted guarantees in continuing their journey north — that was an indemnity that he could not warrant, but he always hoped that it was him and not them who took the first bullet once facing the skirmish at the border — just like the precedent Preacher’s forlorn legacy in LA.
“So are we going to die too?”
The timorous Joe asked out, and he sobbed even more. Laura hugged the trembling big boy and stroked his hair. Reeves smiled back...
“Yeah Joe, if they find us, they will kill us — it’s simple as that.
“That is why we cannot afford to make any mistakes from now onwards, if we were to keep surviving — the slightest mistake at this point now, will either get us captured, or shot dead.”
Reeves turned to Laura with the bleak eye and gave an obscure submission...
“But Mimi, you have a choice to save yourself — you can always return back to Roberta.”
Laura stood up to his narrowing suggestion.
“We still have a plan, Reeves — we should stick to it, and we are only a day's journey to the Canadian border. We have a good chance to cross over — if we keep our spirits and hope high.”
Troy spoke up in dissension from behind her...
“Think again Laura — Reeves is right, we don't know what dangers lie ahead at the border — there will be lots of e-SWAT bullets and even US army’s mortars to dodge — and we don't want you to get hurt, that’s all.”
“Hey listen the two of you — let me decide that.”
Laura stared back at them all...
“I was literally dying for the last 18 years on a hospital bed — and now I am awake — I am not going to live a moment longer like a coma patient, with my eyes wide open.”
It had also always been a noncommittal fear in her since, that she felt during some sleepless nights — the dread that she would drift back into the internment of her coma once more — and never wake up again.
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Laura was still slightly irascible at the factious conversation — instead, she turned around and smacked Joe in the head, responded with audacity...
“You too Big Joe — stop crying like a small baby. We all are going to cross to Canada soon. Let’s concentrate on staying together with the plan, guys.”
Everyone looked up to True Bob’s abrupt voice — calling from upstairs...
“Reeves, I got one! Come now!”
Reeves dashed upstairs, Laura was about to follow after him, but Troy grabbed her arm...
“Laura no, you don't want to see that.”
***
Reeves pushed open the window — and strong freezing wind gushed in when he peered into the scope of his sniper rifle set on a bipod. Bob was at the other window — viewing out in a field-glass...
“You got about 20 seconds tops and only one clear shot.”
Bob’s foreboding voice said, without hurrying his partner on the trigger. Reeves was breathing shallow, and his fingers adjusted the scope — and the focus cleared to an open-top fast-attack terrain buggy, patrolling on the road ahead, with two female soldiers — the driver and the gunner.
Both the army troopers were braving the cold weather outside.
Reeves was relieved that the gunner was not behind the mounted high calibre machine gun, but she was sitting on the passenger seat beside the driver. Most gunners let their guard down for their own comfort in the harsh weather — where it was unbearably cold, to be behind on the mounted M240 gun in the moving vehicle — this worked to Reeve's advantage.
True Bob acted as the spotter, still peering into the binoculars — and cued him.
“The wind is coming strong, not too soon.” The driver was locked into the scope. Reeves mentally estimated the speed — of the moving vehicle that was closing in...
“8 seconds or less...” Bob's officious voice — was now a distraction to his equanimity...
Reeves backheeled to kick the chair away, in his way — before he positioned and balanced himself with his knee on the floor. His body perched partially out — of the window sill, with the rifle butt on his shoulder.
He had assiduously trained hard too, for such similar situation at practice at Lake Huntington on moving targets — and it should now be ancillary by instinct. But he could not afford any infinitesimal miss in his shot — with the consequences of the two soldiers escaping. They would then return by the dozens to hunt them down, in their ‘search and destroy’ mission.
It was also a relief that his hands had stopped shaking. He recalled back a second to the time when he did not have the guts to even shoot for the desired food to put on the table when he was at the lakes, some time ago— but the carnage with close encounter in the recent cannibal town incident — having over 30-headshots back there, had given him the killer instinct — as a sharp-shooter on live targets.
Today, he could not afford to have a soft heart, or else those who were dependent on him to stay alive would be sacrificed instead — they were all both his family and close friends.
Reeves mentally shushed his partner beside him, closed his eyes for two sec, to centre himself into the zone of mental quietness — he then reopened his imperturbable eyes again, to focus...
Looking into the scope’s cross-hair that was on the fuzzy driver's face, in the vehicle — that was emerging from the tempest.
***
Standing at the foot of the staircase bannister, Laura was in between Troy and Joe.
They all looked up at the open room door upstairs with the gushing cold air blowing — she clenched onto both of their hands tightly. They too took shallow breaths and anticipated...
Reeves had his finger ready on the trigger — while downstairs, Joe was biting his own wrist with his eyes half-shut. All three of them took a step back in reaction, to an exploding gunshot from upstairs...
Out in the road, the enfilade shot shattered the buggy’s windscreen — it hollowed the driver's cheek, and exited out from her other side of her neck, throwing the driver out of the vehicle. The buggy swayed uncontrollably, trepidation struck the lone gunner beside — she grabbed the wheel by instinct...
Two subsequent shots then rang — hitting the passenger’s chest twice.
***
Reeves sat on the pillion of Bob's chopper in the wintry exterior, approaching the stationary buggy, with the engine still purring on the side of the road. They came over to check on their fruition kills. True Bob was grinning to himself and joked at Reeves’ accomplishment...
“...two dead Bambis, bro!”
He then looked at the fuel gauge meter. “We got more than half a tank.”
Reeves hopped into the buggy’s rear, toying with the mounted machine gun. Reeves then jumped next into the driver’s seat — and kicked off the bullet shattered windscreen, before he sat on...
He tampered with the remote-controlled knobs on the steering wheel — it manoeuvred the M240 machine gun barrel on automatic — and had a monitor come on the dashboard, to view the rear-attacks, a valuable feature that in case the gunner was killed — and the driver could still operate the M240.
Reeves spoke up his mind...
“Change of plan, Bob — I am ditching my bike, and I will drive this.”
“Why so? Are bikes not faster?”
“Yeah agreed, but we are also low on ammo too — well on the road, with this baby here, it could play things towards our advantage.”
Reeves glanced back at the two mottle bodies sprawled still nearby, in the tire track, white road — gradually creating crimson blotting pools, on the snowy white canvas.
"Hey Bob, we take their uniforms too."