Tread Fearless: Survival & Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 4) (8 page)

A few steps brought the two men within Mark’s attack range, or at least the outer edge of his attack range of twenty feet. He suppressed a grin and waited patiently for the attackers to come closer.

The white guy was his immediate threat because of the gun, but he knew he’d have to position himself carefully to avoid premature contact with the big guy. Mark began to choreograph the fight in his head, imagining all the possible moves and countermoves, and also weighing the various risks.

The scrawny white man walked with a slightly hunched over gait, as if he was in pain, or maybe under the influence of something. He foolishly walked toward Mark with his right arm fully extended, as if the pistol was his index finger, pointing it at Mark in blind accusation. He reminded Mark of a modern-day goblin. His face was bruised and dirty, his clothes torn and soiled, his grin, toothy and wide. Apparently, the large Latino man was the goblin’s pet troll, and though he showed less intelligence than his smaller partner, his face was set and dangerous.

Mark knew the two were working alone. If they had help hidden in the trees and bushes, they would have been much bolder in their approach. Everything about their movements would have been different. They would have also held their ground a little longer, and toyed with Mark some more.

One thing about the rural farm and ranch roads around central Texas, they tended to crest steep hills and drop down into low valleys to cross one-lane bridges over creeks, or pass through thick vegetation that came right up to the sides of the road.

It was the latter of the three conditions that facilitated the present ambush. And though it annoyed Mark to be interrupted like this, he had little choice to avoid the area. As he got closer to Austin, the roads became more risky, but only because he was skirting more heavily populated areas. He knew it was only a matter of time before he ran into people leaving the city, but he didn’t think he’d run into any serious trouble.

At times he crossed through wide open fields of pasture and farmland. He could see for miles, but so could the threat. The open terrain didn’t make him feel safer because he could see around him. In fact, he felt more exposed in the open than when he traveled on the narrow roads near Austin.

Mark snorted softly as he watched the men approach cautiously. He was glad they were still coming toward him, but he didn’t understand their caution. “
Maybe I shouldn’t be smiling,”
thought Mark, and he relaxed his face.

Despite his frustration at being caught in yet another life-and-death situation, Mark was perfectly comfortable with where he was at the moment. That didn’t mean he was willing to abandon his equipment and supplies to the two idiots facing him. Everything he owned was in the racks on his bike, or on the trailer attached to it.

The equipment represented his only hope for survival in the changed world, and Mark was willing to kill for it. Besides, living already meant less to him with Lisa gone. It was obvious to him that the two robbers felt the same way. Living was about life and death, about finding a balance between the two.

The challenges he faced in San Antonio changed his perspective on life. When he finally accepted the fact that he was already dead, that he didn’t care if he lived or died, he was finally at peace. But if he was going to keep on living, then he was going to hold on to what he had. He wasn’t about to lay down and die for two desperate scumbags. In fact, he was as desperate as they were, it just didn’t show.

The white guy must have sensed Mark’s unusual calm and he stopped to look at the big guy. Mark wanted them closer still, so he raised his hands higher into the air and said, in as much of a scared voice as he could muster, “I don’t know what you guys want with me, but I just want to be on my way.”

Mark took a step to the side, as if he planned to dive into the bushes. The white guy thrust his pistol forward and screeched, “Stay where you are!”

The move worked. It allowed Mark to clear his bike and better set the white guy between him and the big man. Mark whined, “I can pay a toll if that’s what you want,” as he studied his targets closely. The white guy was in his late twenties. Long, brown dreadlocks hung down his back. His head was wrapped tightly under a faded and equally filthy green bandana. A thin, scruffy beard, and sagging, open hoops for earlobes, confirmed the man’s goblin past. He pointed the revolver at Mark’s chest with a slightly trembling hand.

With the pistol out at arm’s length, which was something Mark planned to take advantage of, the white guy yelled, “Shut up!”

“Ok. OK. I’ll shut up. I’ll shut up,” replied Mark, as he continued playing along with his submissive routine. He was also armed, but he wasn’t about to try and fast-draw against a guy who already had a gun pointed at him. He knew that even a stupid goblin could get lucky, especially at only twelve feet away.

The Colt 1911 on Mark’s hip, and the M4 across his back, might as well have been stashed in his bike trailer with the .22 for all the good they served him at the moment. He wasn’t sure why the white guy just didn’t shoot him outright and take all his stuff. That’s what he would have done if the situation was reversed. But he figured the white man didn’t shoot because he either didn’t trust his weapon, or trust his aim. Both possibilities worked to Mark’s advantage.

“Or maybe you’re out of ammo
,” thought Mark. But since he couldn’t see into the wheel cylinder of the man’s revolver, he had no choice but to treat it as if it was loaded.

The large, bald, Latino man continued moving along the right side of the road, and he too entered Mark’s attack range. Strangely, baldy looked more confident with his baseball bat than the gun-toting white guy did with his pistol. The man was taller than Mark by at least a foot, and outweighed him by more than eighty pounds. That put the giant at close to seven feet, and some three-hundred pounds.
“Once it starts rolling, I’ll definitely have to deal with that situation quickly,”
thought Mark.

The giant held the bat loosely in his hand, and for the first time Mark noticed the end. The bat was spiked with large nails. Along with the nails, the business end was also coated in what looked to be dried blood. Bits of flesh and hair were also matted around the nails. Mark didn’t know if the dried flesh was a result of recent and heavy use, or if it was placed there to create terror. Either way, it disgusted and angered Mark.

A now familiar surge of adrenalin began to rush through his body, and he eagerly embraced it. In days past, the surge helped him to quickly deal with various threats and dangers, but he didn’t recall feeling it during the siege. That surprised him a little, and he wondered if he was getting used to the feeling. Still, he longed for the help of adrenalin.

Learning to manage the feeling was the hard part. It was important not to allow fear to come to the surface. Adrenalin was funny like that, it seemed to amplify whatever emotions were first to arrive. If it was fear, then he’d run. But if it was fight, like it was now, then he wouldn’t stop until either he killed them, or they killed him.

The first time he was filled with adrenalin was during a motorcycle accident. A large truck had pulled out in front of him and he slammed on the brakes. As Mark slid upright toward the back of truck, his mind began to flash quickly, making everything around him seem to slow down. He was able to react and compensate his movements during those few seconds, and managed to avoid serious injury, but the drop in adrenalin left him shaking uncontrollably for thirty minutes.

He never forgot how it helped him think and act quickly, though. And this time it would be different. He since learned how to control the drop through physical exertion, and direct contact with two armed combatants would most assuredly do the trick for spending his adrenalin. He let it flood into him with the threat, and focused on his targets with laser-like precision.

“Get on your knees,” hissed the white guy, as he stopped just outside of Mark’s reach.

Mark moved to comply, and the white guy turned to his partner to say, “P! Go get his guns.”

With cat-like speed, Mark shot forward and closed the distance to the white guy before the man even turned and faced him again. Mark batted the gunman’s arm aside as the gun fired its first and only shot harmlessly away.

He continued moving forward, ignoring the gun, intent only on occupying his target’s space. Then, before knocking the man down, Mark decided to keep him standing a moment longer, as a barrier against the giant, so he drove his knuckles deep into his enemy’s throat.

Without giving a second thought to the debilitating blow he just delivered, Mark pivoted around the man’s right shoulder and prepared for a second strike. Facing the man’s back, and effectively positioning the white guy between him and the giant, Mark delivered a powerful blow to the man’s kidney.

Mark was pleased to see the white guy drop his pistol and try to decide what part of his body to comfort with his own hands. He knew it was a normal response to immediate pain - to move the hands to the injury - but Mark wasn’t finished.

He saw the giant move closer, and Mark was almost ready for him. He delivered a powerful kick to the inside of the white man’s right knee to close the deal. He felt the white guy’s knee snap, and literally heard the damaged ligature separate from the bone as Mark drove his foot through the target and to the ground.

With the white guy down and Mark’s foot on his knee, Mark turned to prepare for the giant. He looked up just as the giant was completing the wind-up of his bat to take a full-force swing at Mark’s head. Mark leaned back and avoided contact with the nail-enhanced bat by inches, but the big man put so much energy into the swing that he couldn’t maintain his grip on the bat and it sailed out of his hands and into the cedar bushes behind him.

Both men acknowledged the moment with a surprised pause. And had the scene been anything other than a life or death, it would have deserved a hearty laugh. But Mark wasn’t in a laughing mood. His only thought was how to quickly dispatch the last idiot before he got himself hurt.

Before the giant could recover from the surprise at losing his weapon, Mark stepped forward and delivered a powerful shin kick to his groin.
Mark knew he did it right, but the man didn’t react to the kick. The giant should have doubled over in pain and grabbed his balls with both hands. Instead, the giant stepped forward and enveloped Mark in a massive bear hug.

As the giant began to squeeze, lifting Mark off the ground, he felt his breath being forced out of his lungs. He knew he’d be unconscious in moments, so he quickly slammed his forehead on the bridge of the giant’s nose. The giant loosened his grip for a moment, but it was enough to allow Mark to raise one arm free.

With a thumb, Mark pushed deep into the giant’s left eye. He drove it along the side of his attacker’s nose, and continued to push into his eye socket to scoop out the eye. It came free of the socket with a wet pop, and the big man screamed in pain.

The giant released Mark and raised his hands to his damaged face. Now free of the constricting death grip, Mark caught his breath, unsnapped the pistol’s safety strap, drew, and fired two quick shots into the big man’s chest. The large .45 caliber rounds knocked the man off his feet and he hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Mark moved and scanned the area for additional threats. Seeing nothing of concern, he holstered his pistol and said, “Nice move, Mark. You’ve just wasted two bullets, and you’ve made some unnecessary noise.”

Mark walked over to the moaning white guy and saw that he was still alive, though only barely managing to breathe through his crushed windpipe. The man croaked in ragged gasps and wheezed. Mark had absolutely no sympathy for him, but he was curious, so he knelt by him and asked, “What’s your name, friend?”

Through clenched teeth the white man said, “Futtth uuuuea,” followed by a cough, and a long, wet gasp.

“That’s not very polite,” replied Mark. “Do you have any friends in the area?”

The man didn’t seem to understand Mark’s question, so he repeated it. When the man didn’t answer, Mark concluded that the two thugs were operating alone. Besides, they were too dirty and desperate to be
anything more than lone operators. Confident that he wasn’t entering an area patrolled by a gang or some other group, Mark asked, “Do you want me to put you out of your misery?”

The man stared at Mark coldly but didn’t reply. “Suit yourself,” said Mark. “The coyotes will find you laying here tonight, unless you manage to drag yourself to safety.”

The man’s eyes went wide and tears began to spill down his cheeks. His struggle for breath became more pronounced. The man was obviously upset. “I’ll tell you what,” said Mark as he stood. “You can keep your pistol. I’ll give it to you when I leave, and you can decide what you want to do with it.”

Mark picked up the revolver and opened the cylinder, it held only three unfired rounds. He pushed the ejection rod and dumped the brass into his open palm. After reinserting one live round, he closed the cylinder and slipped the pistol into his pocket. The three empty casings, and the remaining live rounds, he placed into his shirt pocket.

After searching the giant and finding nothing of survival value, Mark returned to his bike. He stood it up and inspected it for damage. He was very familiar with every detail of his bike, for it served as his primary mode of transportation in and around San Antonio for the past few years.

He actually preferred riding his bike over driving to work. Not only did the south Texas weather support his efforts, but the near daily cycling helped him stay fit and trim. He also liked the fact that he didn’t have to fight for a parking space at the impossibly busy military hospital.

Though he had never ridden so far with a loaded trailer, it proved to be of little consequence. The single-wheeled trailer handled the challenge better than he hoped it would, and now that he made it to near the outskirts of Austin with a lot less trouble than he expected, even including the delay with the two thugs, Mark began to think he could actually peddle all the way to John’s place, north of Fort Worth.