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While the first shot was still echoing all around them, another shot began echoing. Shards of a nearby stone that the bullet hit flew in all directions, which at first caused Abe some momentary confusion. In the blink of an eye, an entire mental discourse began and ended: Not likely, is it? To have us surrounded? That was a pretty loud noise, and we are literally between a rock and a hard place. Echoes. One guy, right? Just one guy down there with a rifle, who just happened to catch Blake in an unguarded moment. What was that, anyway? The whole point was for us to see them, and not them us. But, you know, Lars warned us that they might have electronic surveillance in place. What if Blake is part of the conspiracy to take James Thurgerson? Well, in any case, I’m sure we will be just fine.
“Well, we are cooked,” said Blake, backing himself away from the edge. Blood was pouring out of his shoulder. Sano was still screaming into her mittened hand. Blake looked at his shoulder and the steady stream of blood from it. “Okay, I can see why that might be distressing. It’s just a flesh wound, thank God. None of my guts is hanging out, you know. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”
See? We’ll be fine.
“Maybe we’ll be fine. I don’t know. Did anyone see the shooter? Whoever it is, is probably trying to reposition to get a sight on this position. We have to clear out. But nobody move.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Lars said. “Did the cold freeze your brain?" Just as quickly, Lars composed himself: "Oh, well, what’s done is done. What do you want us to do, boss?”
“Just shut up for a second so I can think,” said Blake. His tone was authoritative, not angry, so it had a calming effect. Sano uncovered her mouth and tried to breathe. Blake himself took a deep breath and said, “Okay, just to clear one thing up that you’re all probably thinking: I should have brought Jason. Now that that’s out of the way: you stay put. The sniper has seen only me so far. I’m going to draw his fire by standing up and running. Abe, can you get the trees to help out with some movement?”
“I need to be closer.”
“Good,” said Blake. “Stay on your belly and keep your head down. I’ll count to ten and run after you. The rest of you, stay down. Just stay down, okay? After I draw his fire, you crawl with your heads down back to cover. If I get hit again, you know what to do.”
“No, what do we do?” said Abe.
“I don’t know,” said Blake. “You’ll think of something. That’s the point. Now, move out.”
“Move out?”
Blake rolled his eyes. “Get going!” he whispered, but the frustration rang through the entire valley.
Abe moved out. Go, Stoic, go! A time for heroism is at hand. Crawl like your life depends on it! Because it does! Go! Go! Go! Whatever that is scraping your frozen belly doesn’t hurt. Just, go!
After about a ten-second count, Blake rose, holding his shoulder, and he ran in a random zigzag up the slope toward the cover of a grove of trees. Abe sent out a command, still crawling. “Move about!” he said. “Move!” Indeed, when Blake stood, they all heard the report of a rifle round begin to echo.
As Abe was shouting to the trees, Blake passed him by. He was chastising himself aloud: “Forgot, forgot, forgot why we don’t fear bullets…” Another rifle report filled the air with echoes.
“Sway like you’re in a storm!” Abe shouted. He was finally close enough that the trees obeyed, and, in an image that caught Abe as quite funny, so did Blake. He swayed in a chaotic rhythm, as it was, while he ran to and fro, beating his way to the Eden of a grove of lively trees. Another shot rang the mountainside, but Blake was safely in shimmering darkness.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
A second later, Abe heard Blake call to him. “Abe! Up! Run! Get up! They’re coming!”
Believe Blake.
Without hesitation Abe was on his feet and running toward the grove. Zigzag, you idiot. At that instant, Abe heard a bullet fly by his ear, then he heard the sharp report thunder all around him. He began to zigzag, trying not to create a pattern. Bob and weave, just like you saw on 1980s NBA highlight videos on YouTube.
On one of his tacks, he happened to glance back down the slope, catching with his eye a tableau which imprinted itself in the timeless areas of his mind: three men were emerging over the cliff, pulling themselves up some robust-looking grappling hooks. One of the men was nearly on his feet, crouching to run after Lars and Sano, who were in half-stride, turning to run. In the distance was a camouflage-capped blonde head atop a rifle.
“It’s a woman, Blake!” Lars was shouting.
Why is he telling Blake it’s a woman? Never mind that, now, Stoic. Get yourself into that cover. What about Sano? Shouldn’t you commit some heroic deed to put yourself between her and a bullet? Well, no, because bullets go through people like water. No, not like water. Bullets don’t really go through water. But they go through people, and people are mostly water. I think something must be wrong with ballistics theory. Would you all just shut up and get to safety? And Sano will have to fend for herself. With luck.
“She’s out of rounds!” Lars shouted. “She’s reloading. Go! Go straight!”
Sano.
“Sano!” Blake shouted.
Abe was running straight into the cover of the dancing grove when he heard it: at first, that same unconscious part of his mind told him it was Umezawa, at three o'clock in the morning, back in Kyoto, laughing with Abe, after an evening of Final Fantasy XIV and too many helpings of natto with extra soy sauce. In short, it sounded like someone had ripped a tremendous fart, followed by a very pretty giggle. Abe felt himself laugh in spite of the situation.
When he reached the cover of the dancing grove, he turned and saw an inky black cloud, as an octopus might make in the water, except this was holding a similar shape in midair. In front of the cloud, coming toward the grove, was Lars, who was holding the hand of a tittering and blushing Sano. Within the cloud was the shape of a man who seemed incapacitated but still standing. Behind the cloud were two men running toward Lars and Sano.
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“She can’t shoot!” Blake cried out. “You’re screened by your pursuers. Run!”
The first man, momentarily trapped in the ink cloud, broke his bondage and resumed the chase. So there were three abreast, running up the mountain, only inches behind the two, Sano and Lars, who were stumbling and fighting up the slope. Abe and Blake drew their pistols, but when Abe looked down the sights of his pistol, he shook his head. “It’s no good.”
“Good instincts, Abe. It’s no use shooting over your friends. They’ll be fine. Just you be patient. You’ll see. We’ll all be fine in a few seconds.”
Indeed, it was as Blake said: Sano and Lars rushed into the grove and fell to the ground. The three pursuers were close behind. When they reached the edge of the grove, Abe gave the command:
“Get them!”
With a swish, a thump, and a thunk, the three men were on the ground and unconscious, laid out cold by some large, angry-looking spruce branches.
“Send them up the mountain,” said Abe. With another swish, a snap, and a wooden thop, the three men were whisked away to the high side of the grove. “Very good,” Abe said as they moved toward the place. “Now bind them.” Dried vines appeared in the boughs of the spruce branches, who went to work wrapping the men from neck to foot. “Not too tight,” Abe said. “Thank you, but I think we’re going to need them to be able to walk. Make sure to take their weapons.” In a green flash, six pistols, six knives, and three multitools clattered at Abe’s feet.
“Wow,” said Blake.
“Impressive,” said Lars. “I think our situation has just improved muchly.” He looked at Blake. “That's right: muchly,” he said. “Blake, let me be the first to say that your ideas are always the best ideas.”
Blake nodded. He looked at Sano. “I guess you’re pretty comfortable with us, now,” he said to her, “seeing as how you can fart like that in front of us.”
She blushed very prettily and said nothing.
“An inky discharge, huh?” said Lars, shaking his head. ““Nanotechnology?” He kept an eye down the slope, seeing nothing but a slowly-dissipating black cloud. He continued, saying, “Nanotechnology at work! What were those guys working on down in those subterranean hallways?”
“Never mind that now,” said Blake. “We’ll ask Jim when we get back. One of them is coming to.”
Abe crouched over the one who was groaning and moving his head. The spruce branches checked the bindings, which were now limited to wrists and ankles. “Fall back,” said Abe. The trees ceased their movement and stood still, now just an innocent, sincere grove of spruce trees on a mountainside. Lars kept watch behind them.
Abe tapped on the man’s face with his hand, leaning close, putting his face near to the man’s. “Wake up, jerk.” After a moment or two, the man’s eyes opened, and he gasped. “That’s right, jerk: welcome to our mountain.” He slapped him with a fully open palm.
Blake caught Abe’s arm, pulling him away. “Forgive my friend, here. But, after all, you shot me.” He motioned to his shoulder, which Sano was wrapping with her homemade gauze.
“Who are you?” the man said.
Abe stepped on his chest. “No,” he said. “This is our mountain. Who are you?”
“Abe,” Lars said. “I wish you would be careful saying things like that out loud.”
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