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Deb had no idea what that meant. The Copperline team briefed her on the concrete bollards out front, and the underground barriers that shot up to block vehicles at the exit and entrances to her property, but not a screen. Didn’t sound very tough.
The ATV whined and slowed, the hillside growing steeper and the tires spinning. Pete turned the wheel hard to the right. “Too steep and slick with the muddy ice. Got to find a gentler slope.” As they crossed the hillside, the whizzing of bullets stopped. The bad guys must not have night vision.
“I can get out and lighten the load. I’m small, no one will see me.”
“No. The load isn’t the problem. Hang on.” They bumped and jumped, Pete turning around the random boulders in their way, and her body slammed into the straps. In the back, Michael remained down; he must be seriously hurt. They slowed, and rolled to a stop behind a large rock. Pete shifted into park. “Deb, get in and drive. I’m gonna take ‘em out from here. Go straight up the hill and into Wiz’s basement. Got it?”
But she’d never driven one of these things! She unbuckled and ran around the front.
Pete waited, rifle in hand. “Don’t put your foot on the brake or they’ll see you. Get Michael help. Drive fast, but not fast enough that you roll the thing. Don’t use the brakes. And don’t worry about me. I’m good at this.” He crouched, running away from them, toward where the bullets had been flying. He hid behind a boulder and turned back to her, waving her on.
Deb was a baker, not a racer. She’d surely roll this crazy machine. But Michael was injured and he needed help. She climbed in the machine and strapped in, then examined the controls. Don’t put your foot on the brake! That was hard; it was so automatic. She put her foot over the accelerator instead, and slammed the gear shift into drive. They jolted and rolled forward. But she had no idea where she was going, other than uphill. They drove gradually upward, and she steered around the increasing number of large rocks in their path. Ahead, thin vertical lines glimmered; it must be a fence. She turned sharply uphill, but the ATV’s front end dropped, then jumped so violently, the steering wheel almost yanked out of her hands. Taking her foot off the accelerator, they crept forward, tilting and tipping back and forth precariously. The pasture was getting really rocky.
Or they just crossed a ditch. Light flared, and Deb pulled her foot off the brake. Stupid! She couldn’t do that. She tried to turn uphill again, and they rolled on, relatively smoothly. But they got closer to the fence, and eventually, she drove into a corner. But there might be a gate…Deb squinted, but the green and gray all blended together. She took her foot off the accelerator, slammed the gear shift into park, unfastened the harness and climbed out.
Already bumped and bruised, jolting across that ditch meant she’d be aching later. She walked to the fence, but there wasn’t a gate. The dark bulk of Wiz’s house loomed above her. She returned to the ATV and put a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Michael, can you hear me?”
“Yeah.” The word was more of a grunt.
“I can’t drive any farther, because there’s no gate.” A boom made her jump. A second boom, with a flash on the edge of her night vision monocular that made her wince. Smaller, rapid flares from the bottom of the hill near the highway must be the bad guys shooting, but bullets weren’t zinging by them. Pete had drawn their attention.
“Pete left? Because that was a large-caliber rifle.”
“Yes. He said he was taking them out.” Deb hated that the older man, who should be happily retired, was killing to protect her.
Michael pushed into a seated position, groaning. He must be badly hurt to let it show. “He’s just taken out the culvert, I’d bet. Glad he knows what Wiz did to it. Open the tailgate so I can slide down, please.” He pointed at the rear of the small box on the back of the ATV, his hand trembling.
Deb stumbled to the back, unfastened the latches on both sides, and the six-inch high piece of heavy plastic fell away, dangling below the ATV’s bed. Michael straightened his legs and pushed with his arms. He fell, his legs collapsing, but hung on, staying upright. His rifle banged and clattered, Pete’s boomed, and a chattering noise came from the bottom of the pasture; the bad guys shooting in return. Louder booms came from far above and behind them. Nic must be firing, too. She wriggled under Michael’s arm to help him stand.
“No, don’t do that. I’m too heavy.”
Men. “Michael, you need help, so let me help. Did you get hit?” She slid her arm under his backpack and vest, gripping his muscular waist. Good thing he wasn’t taller.
“No, it’s my stupid back. The jolting made it seize. If I can get moving, it will loosen.” He tried to pull away.
Deb tightened her grip. “Hold on. I’m stronger than you think.”
“You’re one of the strongest people I know.”
His declaration warmed her heart, and hardened her resolve. His arm draped around her shoulders and she held back an exclamation at the load. The man was all muscle. “Okay, we move ahead to the fence, go through it, then get up the hill. Ready? Go.” They lurched forward through the darkness, stumbling on the rough ground, taking tiny steps. Gradually, Michael’s stride lengthened, and the weight of his arms across her shoulders lightened, letting her walk rather than shuffle.
At the fence, Michael removed his arm, and leaned toward the barbwire, but stopped. “I don’t think I can bend enough to get through or pull it apart for you.”
“What do you mean by pulling it apart?” Deb wasn’t a rancher, and she’d never been into horses, so her experience with barbed wire fences was non-existent.
“You step on the second from the bottom strand, and pull up on the third, creating a gap. If they’re loose enough, you can wrap the strands together so they stay apart.” Michael panted.
He was in a lot of pain and it seemed simple enough. Deb stepped on the barbed wire strand, pushing it down to the fourth, and lower. “It’s pretty loose. Can you get to your hands and knees, and crawl through?”
“It’s the only way I’ll get through, so yes.” Buckles snicked and his backpack dropped to the ground, rattling. “Shoot. Too loud.”
She doubted anyone heard pill bottles rattling with all the shooting. Leaving her foot on the wires, Deb turned to Michael and held out her hands. “Here, take my hands and I’ll help you down.”
“I think using your torso will work better, if that’s okay.” His tone was tentative.
“Absolutely.” He stepped closer, and his big, strong hands clamped on her waist. She put her hands over his to hold him in place, even though her soft hips gave him a good place to hold. Any bruises would be worth it.
Grunting, he half-dropped to his knees, muttering something under his breath. He released her, and lowered his upper body.
