- 9 -

Day 20, Saturday, October 29

Outside, the sky was clear, the air still and crisp, a thin mist of fog began forming over the water, and country-rock blared from the jeep parked at the end of the trail. The corporal in the jeep, bouncing to the beat of the tune, didn't hear the muffled thump in the bluff or feel the slight quiver in the ground. His mind was on the fifteen minutes he had to kill until time to head to the cabin and turn the jeep over to his relief.

He hated the midnight to 0400 watch, especially when he had nothing to watch. He lit a cigarette and turned the knob on the radio, searching for something with more of a city flavor. Something noisy and nasty and hot. He hated the dull, depressing, country whining.

To him, Chicago was life, everywhere else was purgatory, or worse.

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Ollie awoke and glanced at the red digits on his clock radio. 5:11 stared at him, then as if his eyes were playing tricks on him, 5:12 looked at him. Both 5:11 and 5:12 were trying to tell him something. He didn't know what, but the feeling was overwhelming, compelling.

He jumped out of bed and quickly got dressed.

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Joyce woke with sex and food on her mind. She cuddled next to Dan's back and slid her hand down his stomach, and found that he was thinking the same thing. They hurried because he was also suppressing hunger pangs.

Afterwards, they completely devoured a small three foot fish, Dan glancing at the tunnel between bites, his anger heightening with every mouthful. He started eating slower, his gaze lingering longer on the tunnel. A growl started deep within his throat and erupted from his mouth as a vociferous roar. With sleep, sex, and his hunger satiated, he had only one thing left to accomplish in his life. Revenge.

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Sherri had lain awake for hours listening for any sound other than those that came from Tom's drained body. She could tell when he was dreaming. He'd twitch or mutter something unintelligible or his breathing would become irregular. Once, he'd rolled toward her and clutched her to him with such force that she thought she'd have to wake him. She remembered listening to a long period of time when his breathing had become steady, deep, monotonous…

She awoke to a thunderous sound that seemed very faint after awakening. She knew where the sound was coming from and what it had to be; rocks tumbling to the tunnel floor. Having no idea if the tunnel had been blocked for thirty feet or two feet, she had to react as if they would break through any minute.

She shook Tom, picturing Dan, right this minute, struggling through a hole in the blockage. Tom made some sounds but didn't wake up, a definite after effect of a severe concussion.

She crawled from under the rock and quickly put on her warm, damp clothes, turned off the stove, grabbed the lantern and Tom's clothes and crawled back under the rock. She pointed the shotgun toward the tunnel side of the opening and laid her pistol beside her. Tom sputtered something and moved.

"Tom, they're coming!" She shook him. "Tom, they're digging through!" She hoped she was exaggerating, but it worked. His eyes fluttered open and he slowly rolled over onto his stomach, looking around groggily.

"What's the matter?" he asked, becoming more alert as the memories of their situation flooded to the surface of his mind.

"They're digging through." She waited for the sounds from the tunnel to register, then pushed his clothes to him. "They're not quite dry, but you better get them on," she said putting on her shoes.

She placed the lantern to her left and spread the three small bundles of dynamite in front of her. Tom saw her looking at the twelve-stick bundle.

"Sher, you better not try to use any of that stuff from under here. If you don't get it far enough away from us, you might blow us to pieces."

"I know what I'll do. I'll climb on top of the rock and if I hear them coming through, I'll throw it in front of the tunnel. I can easily jump down and crawl back under here before they get me."

She scooted the lantern down with her feet, grabbed the dynamite, and crawled out from under the rock.

"Hey, wait a minute," Tom said, crawling after her. "We've got to figure this out."

When they were both on their feet, she gave him one of her, what is it that you don't understand, looks.

He took the look at face value and explained, "While we've got a chance, I've got to try to blow open the front tunnel. Besides, what good will it do us if we use all of our dynamite closing the rear tunnel and then don't have enough to blow open the front one. We're going to be out of food and water pretty soon and it's obvious that no one knows we're here. We would've heard them digging by now. And I'll bet that we're so deep in the hill here that they didn't even hear the explosions. Maybe no one's even out there."

She assented gracefully, glad to see that his mind seemed to be working all right and that he seemed fit enough to do something. "How are you going to blow open the tunnel without making it worse?"

"I don't know, yet. The first thing I want to do is to put one of those small bundles as far under that big rock as I can and see what gives. That big rock might keep the inner part of the tunnel from collapsing. Maybe what's on the other side of it can be blown away. And I'll take the big bundle, the tape, and a handful of extra sticks just in case I get lucky."

"Then you're going to have to have the lantern," she said. "I'll light the stove." She picked up one of the empty ammo boxes and tore a piece off it. "Oh, the rifle is still up there if you need it." Then she looked into Tom's face with her motherly look. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Well, if my legs don't give out from horniness, I think I'll make it." He winked and kissed her before she could beg him to stay.

She looked at him straight-faced. "Is that all you think about?"

"Mostly."

"Good." She picked up her gun and the flashlight and climbed on top of the rock. He was sure that she wiggled her butt once or twice, unnecessarily. Maybe women don't think about it all the time, he thought, but they are surely aware of it all the time.

Sherri pointed. "Take that stove off the stand and hand it up here."

Shivers went through him when he looked at her face in the soft blue light from the stove. The thought of them getting to her and…

"Hon, don't get too brave. I love you, and…" Not able to say more without choking up, he turned and ran to the tunnel.

Sherri let him go without saying anything. She knew that if Dan broke through the tunnel, he'd first come up on top of the rock after her. Then Tom would be left alone, with nowhere to run or hide. Maybe she had a motherly feeling toward Tom, maybe it was simply the way true love and danger help to set aside personal survival instincts. Maybe that was why some people become heroes, love of the unit more than themselves. She didn't know. She really didn't consider it brave to do something that had to be done.

Tom reached into the crack under the rock and couldn't feel the back of it. Moving his hand around, he could tell that it got bigger the further back it went. He yelled a warning to Sherri, lit the dynamite fuse and slid it quickly across the floor and into the crack. He ran to the end of the tunnel and ducked to the right.

A surprisingly muffled explosion shot a cloud of dust out of the tunnel, and he could hear a few rocks tumbling somewhere outside, but nothing of the magnitude that he'd expected.

He waited a moment for the dust to settle and then went back to the rock. Nothing appeared disturbed.

Remembering the fishing poles among the camping supplies, he retrieved the longest one he could find and poked it into the crack. It slid it's full length, about six feet, before stopping.

He taped five sticks on the end of the pole, warned Sherri, lit it and shoved it in.

This time he didn't stop at the end of the tunnel. He ran to the other end of the cavern and met Sherri climbing down from the rock. He faintly heard her say, through hand muffled ears, "It sounds like they're almost through," when the explosion shook the whole cavern.

Rumbling continued outside for several seconds afterwards. When it stopped, he noticed that there wasn't any noise coming from the rear tunnel.

"Tom, I said it sounds like they're almost through," she repeated.

Looking at the front tunnel and seeing no light, Tom knew that it was still blocked.

"It's going to take more time. I don't know what the last explosion did, but I'll bet the big rock is still there." He looked back at the rear tunnel, and then to the front, and back to the rear. "You talk about being between a rock and a hard place. This is sure as hell it."

The sounds in the tunnel started with renewed vigor.

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Ollie wanted to get past the cabin before Major Enright showed up for the eight o'clock watch change. The major was like an eight to five business executive. He showed up at eight, looked around, acted important, drank some coffee, tossed around a few orders, and disappeared until a few minutes before lunch. Then he repeated the whole process, showing up before quitting time, tired from a full day's work. Ollie assumed that he could do what he wanted, without having to explain to the major, but he wanted to avoid the amenities and small-talk expected of him.

He told the soldier guarding the road at the highway to radio ahead to the guard at the cabin and the one upriver that he was going to be looking around. He didn't want to be shot by some trigger-happy, scared, wet-behind-the-ears kid wearing a man's uniform. The soldier, surprisingly, offered no resistance and did as he was instructed.

As soon as the sergeant at the cabin, the watch captain, heard that the sheriff was coming in, he called and reported it to Major Enright, as all watch captains had been instructed to do. The major, in turn, called Colonel Rainier, as he'd been instructed. General Fulmer was eating breakfast when the colonel called him. In reverse order, Major Enright received his instructions. Call Lieutenant Colonel Stewart Rollins. The major was also told that Rollins was now in charge of operations.

Ollie drove past the cabin without stopping and made the jog to the old river road. About a quarter mile past the cabin he turned into the woods and drove to where the bluff began. More out of habit (an avid hunter going for a walk through the woods) than anticipated need, he took his riot gun with him and started hiking to the top of the bluff.

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"You take the lantern and give me the flashlight," Tom said, "and wait here. If it looks like they're going to break through, yell and get under the rock."

He came back in a couple minutes with three sticks of dynamite, the tape, two cans of fuel, a pan, and the box of canned-heat.

"We've only got one more detonator, and thirty-three sticks of dynamite, counting the ten sticks you've got. We're going to try something different," he said, handing the flashlight to her. "Give me your dynamite."

He quickly made a twelve-stick bundle from their four three-stick bundles, removed the three extra fuses and detonators, put them in his jacket pocket, then handed the bundle to her.

"I don't know why we didn't think of the canned-heat earlier," he said, lighting two cans using a piece of paper and the lantern, and setting one can by the tunnel entrance and putting one on the ground directly in front of the rocks.

"Sher, we've got to try to save the dynamite because I might have to have it up front. What you've got to do is watch the rocks blocking the tunnel. If it looks like they are about to break through, throw a pan of gas on the top of the rocks. The canned-heat will ignite it. You've got a light and a can of fuel by the entrance for a backup. Hold them off as long as you can with the gas. If that doesn't work, or you run out of gas, you've still got the stove on top of the rock, and the dynamite. I'm going to try to blast our way out of here."

She nodded, playing the light on the rocks. As he was leaning toward her to give her a quick kiss for luck, she pushed him away and ran past him, shining the light on the floor at the base of the rocks.

"Tom! There's water coming underneath the rocks!" She knelt down and put her finger in a puddle spreading across the floor.

Tom ran to her and did the same thing, then jumped up, a look of horror flashed across his face. "The explosion in the hole must've plugged some of the tunnels. This whole goddamned place is going to fill up with water."

"But that was hours ago. Why is it just now coming through?"

"Maybe the last blasts caused something to shift. Remember how this tunnel and the rear cavern sloped down, starting right where it's blocked. Hell, the rear cavern has probably got five feet of water in it already. This cavern is barely sloped, so it will fill much quicker." He picked up the canned-heat and set it on a rock about three feet from the floor. "Don't get near the water if you have to throw any gas. It'll run across the water and surround you."

Sherri scooted her feet back from the encroaching puddle. Now that she was aware of the water, she was sure that she could hear Dan and Joyce sloshing through it on their side of the tunnel. It was no wonder that they'd increased their activity.

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When Dan had caught the fish, he didn't think about the fact that the water level was at the top of the hole, and when he and Joyce had started working on digging through the tunnel, he'd been unaware that the water had crept over the edge of the hole and was steadily crawling toward the tunnel entrance.

As Dan dragged the rocks from the pile, Joyce carried them almost to the end of the tunnel and tossed them into the cavern. It wasn't until she heard one of them splash that she noticed the water, but it didn't mean anything to her.

It wasn't until the loud noise and shaking, when Dan had ushered her back into the cavern that they realized the water was raising and almost to the tunnel entrance and that they had nowhere to run except into it.

An earth-shaking rumbling came from the front cavern, but also, a deeper, muffled rumbling came from somewhere in the depths of the water hole. Dan grabbed Joyce by the shoulder and pointed at the almost submerged hole at the rear of the cavern. The water seemed to raise a couple inches and spread out across the surface of the water covering the cavern. The water was rising much faster.

Dan grabbed her and dragged her back into the tunnel. They attacked the blockage, savagely.

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The explosion had done some good. Tom imagined that he could smell the outside air, even though the canned-heat flame indicated a flow of air leaving the cavern through the crack under the rock blocking the tunnel. He wondered where the air was coming from. The water was rising, but was it rising that much? It had to be.

Looking through the crack, he could see a dimly lit space behind the rock, but couldn't see how the light got in. He had the urge to put all the dynamite in one big bundle and hope to blow off the side of the bluff, but his better judgment interceded. Even if he blew everything away on the other side of the big rock, getting past it would still be impossible.

He searched for a flaw, a crack, or hole where a well placed charge might crack it. There was nowhere that more than a single stick of dynamite would fit into, except the small space beneath the rock about a foot from the wall. Lying on the ground, he shined the flashlight into the crack. It sloped up from the floor and there were several feet of open space behind it. Groping around the bottom of the rock, his hand found empty space, a hole or a crack, he couldn't tell which.

He quickly taped together six sticks, pushed a detonator into the end of one of them, and inserted a short fuse. He slipped it up into the space and found that it wedged in perfectly. The fuse was too short to light with the canned-heat, and not daring to light the short fuse and then trying to get it back into the hole, he pulled the bundle out, exchanged the short fuse for a longer one and pushed it back into the hole.

He lit the fuse and ran back into the cavern hollering at Sherri, and realized that she was hollering something at him.

She came out of the rear tunnel to meet him, and seeing his hands over his ears, followed suit and ducked down.

Tom saw the water coming out of the tunnel just as the explosion rocked the cavern. A blast of air slapped his back.

Instantly, Sherri pulled his hands from his ears and shouted through the echo, "The whole tunnel is flooded and they're coming through!" She ran to the tunnel entrance, picked up the now floating canned-heat and the opened can of fuel and the pan. Tom grabbed the unopened can and set it on a rock, ten feet from the water's edge.

Sherri continued, "A rock tumbled from the top and knocked the other canned-heat into the water. I could see Dan through the rocks at the top. They'll be through in a few minutes."

"Go get the rest of the gas and put it up on the rocks about halfway to the front," he said, "while I take care of them."

She dove under the rock and crawled to the other side.

Tom picked up both cans of gas and ran into the tunnel, high-stepping through the water. He had forgotten the lantern, but when he got to the rocks, he could see surprisingly clear. He looked back toward the tunnel entrance and realized that the lantern was back in the cavern, well away and around to the side of the tunnel. He looked back at the rocks, puzzled, knowing that he shouldn't be able to see them at all, much less, with such clarity.

A large rock wiggled in the hole at the top of the tunnel.. Tom jumped back expecting it to come tumbling toward him. Dan growled and grunted, apparently struggling to push the rock out of the way. It seemed to get wedged as he pushed against it. It stopped wiggling, then a hand snaked around the rock and started pulling it back through the hole.

Tom tossed the opened can into the hole behind the receding rock and removed the top of the other can. He poured half of it on the rocks and ran out of the tunnel, letting the gas empty onto the water behind him. When he got out of the water, he saw Sherri coming around with the other cans of fuel.

"Sher! I've got gas on me. Get the canned-heat and toss it in the tunnel." As she ran toward it, he shouted, "Bring it back here to throw it."

She grabbed the can, took a couple steps backwards and tossed it in front of the tunnel entrance. The tunnel was already so full of fumes that the whoosh was just short of an explosion. The eruption of hot air from the tunnel sent her staggering backwards into Tom's arms.

"Damn, what did you do?" she said, grasping him to keep them both from going down.

The flames roared out of the tunnel for a few seconds and then gradually died down to a flickering flame, its light dancing on the cavern wall.

After a minute, Tom said, "It looks like it won't burn as fast as I was afraid it might. Probably can't get enough oxygen back in the tunnel."

Sherri looked at him with a concerned look on her face. Not enough oxygen?

"Don't worry, Babe," he said reassuringly. "That's going to work in our favor."

She gave him a, goddamnit, hurry up and tell me why look, then decided that running out of oxygen was the least of their problems.

He went on, "I used two cans of fuel and we've only got three and a half more. The longer we can keep it burning, the better our chances will be."

He handed her the empty can he still had in his hand. "Try filling this can only half full and poke a couple holes in it with your knife. When the fire dies down, toss it back as far as you can. The gas will last longer that way. Use the canteens and anything else you can find. I've got to get back up front."

"I'll keep them back there as long as I can, but you better hurry. The water is already going under the rock where we slept, and that's the only place where we can hold them off from." After saying that, she realized how hopeless it really was.

He shook his head grimly. "If it comes to that, it won't matter. We'll either drown or we'll just be a pile of chewed on bones. We've got to get out of here now."

Attempting a hopeful look, he gave her a quick kiss and ran to the front.

She started pouring gas into the empty can.

At first glance, Tom thought that the six sticks hadn't been enough to do anything to the rock, but as he got closer, he noticed a three foot long crack running diagonally across the lower left hand corner. The piece was still in place, but the crack was almost wide enough to get his fingers into. He felt under the rock and realized that the piece was broken in several places. He hooked his fingers behind the first chunk and pulled, not really expecting to be able to move it. It slid easily out from under the rock. He pulled it out into the tunnel and looked at it, amazed that he'd been able to move it at all. Grabbing it with both hands, he easily picked it up and tossed it down the tunnel, wondering what kind of rock could be so light, and yet be so strong. What he'd estimated to be at least two hundred pounds, felt like no more than twenty.

The hole was barely large enough for his head and shoulders. Squirming into it, he managed to wiggle another rock out. When he crawled into the hole again, he found that the next piece was loose but wouldn't come toward him. Becoming frustrated, he shoved angrily against it. It moved a couple inches. He worked himself in further and pushed again. It moved again. The next push and it was clear of the hole. Wiggling further in, he could see the back edge of the rock slab. He slid the chunk back further and crawled out into a six foot clear space caused by an eight foot high overhang jutting out from the big rock. Beyond that, there was no tunnel, only a wall of boulders. A speck of light filtered through!

Tom frantically climbed around on the wall of rocks looking for blue sky. Eventually becoming frustrated, he realized that the light probably filtered through the cracks dozens of feet from the surface.

In a moment of delirious insanity, thinking he could dig himself out, he tugged and jerked futilely on the rocks, trying to find a loose one. They were wedged in tightly as if cemented in place.

He jumped down, crawled back through the hole, and recounted the sticks of dynamite. There were fifteen and three detonators left. He resisted the urge to use all of them at once and made up a three-stick and two six-stick bundles. With a six-stick bundle, he dove back through the hole, hoping that Sherri wouldn't have to use her bundle.

He had a feeling that he was going to need it, and more. The twelve sticks he had wasted in the water hole was coming back to haunt him.

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The water rose alarmingly fast, a foot in the last few minutes. The slightly sloping cavern floor was already half covered. In order to stay close to the tunnel entrance and stay out of the water, Sherri climbed on top of the slab where they'd slept. Now she couldn't even see the tunnel entrance.

She was fighting a loosing battle with the fuel. It was burning more in the cavern than in the tunnel, the gas quickly spreading out on top of the water.

With only two full cans left, and two empty canteens. She had to conserve. Filling both canteens, which used half a can, gave her three containers ready to throw. She poked two holes in the can, then tossed it against the wall in front of the tunnel entrance. It hit the wall, fell into the water, and floated with about six inches of the bottom sticking out of the water. Flames immediately engulfed it and spread out, creating a wall of flame across the entrance. It wouldn't last long.

Back in the tunnel, rocks splashed into the water.

She wanted to yell to Tom. Tell him that she couldn't hold them off much longer. But he'd probably run to her to help, knowing the big lug.

A muffled explosion rocked the cavern. The mountain rumbled. Dan roared. The girl shrieked, as if in reply.

Rocks started coming out of the tunnel, splashing in the burning water, breaking up and scattering the flames. Sherri poked two holes in a canteen and threw it. The flames ignited the trailing stream from the canteen, followed it to the wall and then streaked after it to the water. Only one can of fuel and one canteen left.

She patted the bundle of dynamite. Thoughts of lighting it and running up to Dan and blowing them all to bits entered her mind. Tom would do it for her. The full impact of his love for her hit her with a rush, a revelation, an insight into a higher level of feelings, of commitment. She'd blamed herself when her husband had taken a bullet that was meant for her. It was her fault that she'd gone down the alley after the drug dealer without waiting for backup. She blew away the dealer, after Jim had dove in front of her, taking a bullet meant to end her young life. Jim had died in her arms, and her life was ruined, forever. Until now. She finally understood. She could easily do it for Tom. She loved him that much. She now knew how much Jim had loved her.

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Tom saw the problems Sherri was having, but as soon as the six-stick bundle exploded, he ran back into the tunnel without saying anything to her. He didn't have time to talk. They were down to a few minutes and he had to decide whether they should make a stand against Dan, or whether he should use all their dynamite trying to get out.

He'd done some good. The huge boulders had shifted. More light streamed in through a crack large enough to crawl into. He wiggled up into the crack which quickly became too tight to get his head through. He worked one of the six inch pieces of fuse out of his pocket, stuck it in the six-stick bundle, and wedged it into the crack. He needed more dynamite.

He heard Sherri yell that she was on the last can of fuel. Then he saw Dan pick up a boulder… He shook his head. The image was too real. His imagination must be running wild, he thought.

Dropping to the ground, he picked up the canned-heat, and clambered back up, touched the dancing blue flame to the fuse until the resounding jet squirted back into the flame. He dropped to the ground, scrambled out the hole and ran to the edge of the water.

Sherri was poking holes in the only can in sight.

"Toss you're dynamite to me and throw that last can," he yelled.

"You knew that this was my last can?" she asked, but her mind was really on what to do about the dynamite. She didn't want to give it to him. Conflicting thoughts flooded her mind until he said:

"Yeah, I heard you hollering."

She knew what she had to do. She threw the can against the wall. "I didn't holler anything. I thought I heard you say something about needing more dynamite."

Their eyes made contact for a brief moment. They both felt it. They simultaneously looked toward the front tunnel. An explosion shook the ground, followed by rumbling, then small clatters, then silence.

She handed him the dynamite.

Tom unwrapped the tape on his remaining three-stick bundle, pocketed the two extra sticks, lit the fuse and threw it into the water at the mouth of the tunnel.

Sherri jumped off the rocks, and they ran to the front tunnel. The rear tunnel erupted in a ball of flames, spraying flaming water over the entire cavern, a large portion of it being blown into the tunnel. Through the echoes they heard receding splashing in the tunnel, growls and panicky yelps, then silence.

Sherri grabbed the .223 she'd left by the tunnel. Tom started to explain what he was going to do, but decided not to waste the time. He gave her a quick kiss. She grabbed him behind his head and held his mouth to her lips. A small sob escaped from her. He gave her a tight hug, then reluctantly broke away and ran into the tunnel. She heard splashing and squatted into a firing position. She only wanted accurate head shots.

Tom climbed into the hole and immediately saw that the explosion had caused a major shift in the rocks above him. More light filtered in from somewhere above. It wasn't direct light, there was no blue sky, but it was much brighter. His hopes soared.

Clambering up through a crack, he found another diagonal crevice and wriggled into it. The boulders were huge, making more and larger spaces between them. Following the light, he searched for a way out. Every direction he tried, the openings soon squeezed too narrow to pass.

He only had small fuses left, and the bundle only had a small fuse, not nearly enough to allow time to get out of the hole before it exploded. He cussed himself for not thinking of it on the ground.

Setting the canned-heat on the rock, he worked the tape from his pocket. Holding the bundle between his chest and the rock, he managed to tape on another piece of fuse. That would give him six to eight seconds to get out. Not much time, but it would have to do.

As a kid and had often taped two M-80 fuses together, sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't. He didn't want to risk another tape joint; one was too much. He put the twelve-stick bundle in a crack as high as he could reach, confident that he was close to the top of the pile of boulders. Then he took out the two extra sticks he had and jammed them in beside the bundle. He raised the canned-heat toward the fuse. The edge of the can caught on a rock and tipped, spilling some of the flaming contents across the back of his hand. He yelped and dropped the can. It landed on the ground upside down, leaving a trail of burning splatters along the way.

Sherri heard him yell at the same time that Dan appeared at the opening of the rear tunnel. He was kicking at the water, trying to drive the flames away from him.

She fired several shots, forgetting to count.

Dan ducked back into the tunnel. Sherri was sure that it was more because of the fire than her shots.

She heard Tom asking for another canned-heat. She lit one, fired twice more at the tunnel entrance, hearing the bullets ricocheting off the wall of the cavern, and ran into the tunnel. Tom met her at the hole and grabbed the can.

"Hold them off for another minute," she thought he said. He crawled back into the hole.

Sherri ran back and waited for Dan to show himself, wondering how many shells were left in the gun. The fire was dying. She heard splashing and resisted the impatient urge to fire at the tunnel opening in a desperate attempt to hold them back a little longer. She had to make the last three, four shots count.

Tom held the can carefully, shoulder-high and worked his way up to the dynamite. He tried to calculate a fast decent. At the most, eight seconds was all the time he'd have. It was going to be close.

He heard Sherri shooting. The fuse sputtered and lit.

Dan and Joyce both came out of the tunnel, kicking the remaining tentacles of fire away from them as they came.

Sherri fired two quick shots, hitting each of them.

Joyce squealed angrily, obviously not hurt. Dan kicked at the water and stomped forward, emitting a ferocious growl.

Sherri shot him twice more, then the gun made a hollow, sickening click. Empty!

She drew her .45 and backed into the tunnel. She wanted them close together. She wanted to stick the gun in Dan's mouth and blow the back of his head away, then beat Joyce to death with her bare hands, but… She knew that it was hopeless. Even if she could take down one of them, the other…

Tom pushed off, slid down the diagonal crack and dropped into the vertical crevice. As his feet came into the opening he tried to slow his decent. His right foot dropped into a crack. He'd already committed his left foot to the open air, having reached out with it to land. He fell sideways, his right foot still in the crack. His body swung against the wall, hanging by his right leg, his left leg searching in space for something to hook onto. His heel hit the top of a rock. Pointing his left toe, catching his heel on the rock, and bending his knee, he was able to take enough weight off his right leg to work it free. He fell to the ground and dove for the hole.

Sherri spun around as the cavern shuddered as if from a tremendous earthquake. Small rocks came down from the ceiling, a blast of fragments and dust billowed from the hole under the rock, sparkling in the blinding light that she hadn't seen in an eternity.

"Tom!" she screamed. He hadn't gotten out before the explosion!

She heard Dan and Joyce screeching behind her, their wet, running feet slapping the ground at the tunnel entrance.

The explosion mashed Tom to the ground. He reached for the hole and something crushed the breath out of him. He tried to get up. The weight on his back rolled off him, but he couldn't move his legs. The mountain rumbled and roared. Sunlight flooded into the hole. He turned his head just in time to see the blue sky gradually go dark, with little twinkling spots of light. Stars, but no moon. The stars began slowly flickering out.

Sherri holstered the pistol and dove into the hole. A scaly, clawed hand grabbed her right foot, then miraculously slipped off. She frantically wiggled through the hole and saw Tom lying on his stomach, buried from the waist down by huge boulders.

Dan crawled into the hole under the rock. One of his clawed hands reached through the hole, feeling around, grasping at air, his body too large to fit through.

Sherri drew her pistol and shot the groping hand. It jerked back into the hole.

Tom moaned.

She crouched down beside him. "Tom, can you hear me?" she pleaded.

He moaned again and opened his eyes.

She heard something in the hole. Pointing the gun into the hole, she looked in. Joyce was coming through! She almost filled the hole, but it looked like she'd fit through. Sherri fired two shots. A clawed hand shot out, swiped at the gun, then jerked back into the hole.

"The rock…" she heard Tom say.

"What rock?"

His hand was off the ground, pointing to a rock in front of the hole.

She saw what he meant. The rock looked like it fit the hole. She grabbed it desperately, not expecting to be able to move it. It slid easily into the hole. She saw a long slab of rock and wedged it in between the plug and a large boulder that was held in place by thousands of tons of rock. She wondered how she'd been able to move the rocks, but let the thought slip away as she spun to check out Tom.

His eyes were open and his lips were quivering.

"Go for help," came from his throat, or his mind. She didn't know which. She understood. Go for help. Get to the highway and call the State Cops or the Sheriff. Don't trust anyone outside. He'd be all right. His lips hadn't moved.

She tried to move some of the boulders that were on top of him with no success. He was wedged tightly. Horrific growls and screeches came from the other side of the slab. One of them was frantically clawing at the plug in the hole. It didn't budge.

She kissed Tom on the side of his face, a tear dripping on his cheek.

"I'll bring help, sweetheart. You just hang on. I promise I'll be back soon."

He smiled painfully, closed his eyes and watched the stars slowly blinking out.

______________________

It was 0710 when Stewart Rollins received the call from Major Enright. He told the major that he'd meet him at the cabin in thirty minutes.

He ripped off his Police Chief uniform and donned a hunter's outfit; jeans, red sweatshirt, red and black plaid jacket, red baseball cap, and black, round-nosed, high-topped boots. He glanced at himself in the door mirror as he got his shotgun from the closet, spun around to the mirror and admired his transformation. He looked like any other hunter. But his game had never been anything other than people, and he didn't expect that to change in the foreseeable future. He liked hunting people and wished that he could talk about it as casually and with the relish of animal hunters. Unfortunately, most people wouldn't understand.

It was 0717 when he started his blue, four-year old, small-town cop's Ford pickup. His disguise was now complete.

He drove with the confidence of a typical small-town police chief, knowing that if he was stopped, he would immediately be waved on, escorted if he wished. He mentally marked that thought on the plus column about small town living. Another plus came to mind. Something that he'd always suppressed; man's love of not having to work very hard. Then he thought about the respect he received from the town's people. He liked it. He deserved it. The plusses on his list had grown from zero to three in only a few days.

It was 0738 when he pulled onto the gravel road to the cabin, 28 minutes since he'd gotten the call. As usual, precisely as clockwork.

Roaring down the road, his thoughts turned to the sheriff. What would he be doing here? And why did he show up just after daybreak? He'd told the sheriff to immediately report to him if he found out anything. What was the old man up to?

He walked into the cabin just as Sergeant Jacobs received a call on the radio from the upriver guard.

"This is Scout Leader, over," the sergeant answered, making a perfunctory salute to the Lieutenant Colonel.

"This is Scout one. I'm at the north end of the road and I just heard an explosion over by the bluff."

Rollins grabbed the mike just as the three 0800 watch reliefs pulled up in front of the cabin.

"This is Scout Commander, get over there and see what it is. We're on our way. He handed the mike to the sergeant. "Stay on duty. I'm taking your reliefs with me." He bolted out the door, not waiting for a reply. He made a mental note to reprimand the major for being late. Even one minute would not be tolerated.

______________________

Ollie was a mile from the cabin, standing on a portion of the bluff that jutted out far enough to give him a view of the entire area below. He was mentally trying to reconstruct the events that had occurred here on Saturday, when he noticed a spec turning onto the gravel road. He swore at himself for not planning better. He should have at least thought to bring his binoculars. He heard a dull thump followed by a rumbling sound coming from somewhere upriver. Looking around, he wondered if the sound might not have come from somewhere across the river. With the echoes and distortions of sound in the river valley, he couldn't be sure. But it definitely came from upstream.

The speck grew into the shape of a pickup and then turned blue. It stopped at the cabin and somebody got out and went in.

Ollie watched the cabin for a minute, then started walking upriver atop the bluff. Another sound, definitely an explosion, followed by a longer, more pronounced rumbling, actually shook the ground. It sounded like rocks crashing into other rocks, and he was sure of the direction.

He glanced back at the cabin, thinking about going back to see if they knew what was going on. Maybe they were setting off the explosions. An army jeep was there. Then he remembered that Stewart Rollins had a blue pickup as part of his cover. He hadn't expected the Army to pay any attention to him routinely checking out the area. Maybe he'd been wrong. Unless it was just a coincidence… He doubted it.

He headed upriver toward the explosion.

______________________

Sherri had climbed to the bottom of the hill of rocks where the ravine had been, when she heard a vehicle roaring through the woods toward her. She knew that Tom had to have help quickly, but she couldn't trust anyone in the area. Everybody had tried to kill them. Even the cops couldn't be trusted. She couldn't imagine who could still be here, but she sure as hell wasn't going to trust them.

She quickly weighed her chances of waiting in ambush and trying to get the approaching vehicle to use to go for help. She only had her pistol, and not knowing how many were in the vehicle, or the weapons they might have, made her chances seem very slim. If they killed her, Tom wouldn't have a chance. That made the decision for her. She had to get help from the outside. The State Police or the Sheriff, or even some farmers. Anyone except cops or bikers or people from Big Bend. She ran along the bluff toward the cabin.

She had just passed the ravine that she'd fallen down, when she heard another, maybe two roaring engines coming from the direction of the cabin.

She hesitated briefly, deciding, then chose to climb the bluff and go out behind the cabin. Going up would be easy once she got by the hard part, climbing to the top of the ten foot ledge. Surprisingly, it wasn't even a challenge. Two toe holes and her two desperately clawing hands practically vaulted her to the top of the ledge. Climbing on all fours, she was at the top of the bluff in what seemed like a few seconds.

"Hold it right there, Miss," a loud male voice boomed as she crawled over the edge. Her right hand went for her pistol, while her body was diving left, her eyes searching for a target. The figure was on her and had a grip on her right wrist before she could draw her gun. She rolled over on her back, and surprised at her strength, wrenched free and kicked the man through the air and drew her pistol.

Then it dawned on her. She'd recognize the man anywhere. He was frequently on TV, in the newspapers, and his re-election posters were plastered everywhere. He was, Ollie Matson, the Sheriff of Crawford County.

She jumped up, pointed the gun at his head, wondering if he was one of them.

"Easy now, Miss. I'm Sheriff Matson, and I only want to talk to you." The kindly looking older face, accompanied by a soothing voice, seemed sincere. She offered her hand and helped him up, hoping he was for real, holding her gun back beside her waist out of his range should he try a swipe at it, and her finger snugly on the trigger.

Something in his eyes, or the gentle feel of his hand in hers, or just simply women's intuition flooded her with a feeling of trust. She was desperate for help. Desperate for hope, wanting to believe that there was still someone sane and good left in the world.

"Are you Sherri Blake?" he asked softly.

She nodded, beginning to believe the sincere, concerned look on his face.

"Is Tom…" He stopped, mercifully, the hope apparent.

Sherri had to take a chance. Tom could have some serious internal injuries and need immediate attention, and the rising water…

Holding back a sob, she blurted, "Tom's trapped in a cave-in and needs help, fast."

The sheriff quickly responded, "Where, and are the two of us enough?"

"No. He's pinned under in a huge pile of boulders, and the cave is flooding. We'd never be able to get him out without help or some lifting equipment, and I don't know how serious his injuries are. We need a rescue team with some breathing equipment, and paramedics."

"Let's get to the radio. My car's down below. You explain the details on the way."

Ollie was in fairly good shape, but he knew his limitations and the distance to the car. He led at a quick jog, Sherri practically stepping on his heels.

On the way, she opened the floodgates. Not once did he say, hold it, or slow down, or indicate in any way that he was retarded and couldn't follow her. He patiently let her talk, knowing from experience that he'd get her story much quicker by letting her tell it as it came to her than to have her stop and try to put everything in order.

The first thing he was convinced of was that she wasn't dangerous. She wasn't a maniacal killer. Her mind wasn't messed up, She only wanted help for her boyfriend and to get away from the madness that had tortured her for the last several days. He was convinced that she and her boyfriend were victims, not criminals.

Whether their exposure to the meteorite would create problems in the near future didn't concern him. He didn't like the idea of the government locking them up in a lab and using them as guinea pigs, or worse. He wanted time to think. Getting help for Tom and getting her away from the area were his main priorities. Risking his career and the wrath of the government had little bearing on his decision. He'd deal with that when the time came.

"Sherri, when we get back to the car and I radio in that someone's trapped up here, all hell's going to break loose. There's no way to get anyone in here without the Army knowing about it, but I do want to get a civilian unit in here first, before the Army has a chance to seal off the area. We can't trust the Army to rescue Tom."

"What in the hell do you mean, we can't trust the Army?" she angrily asked, almost yelling.

He quickly explained to her why the government wanted them both, and how, once the government had them, they'd probably never be seen again. "Hell, the way they operate, I might be made to disappear, too. They don't play games, in the normal sense. Their games are all too serious—and final."

Sherri hadn't considered the possibility. Now, who could she trust? John had said to contact the Army. Was the sheriff wrong? "Do you seriously think that they'd actually lock us up and never let us out?"

"I'm sure of it, Miss Blake," he said, grabbing her by the hand and leading the way down the hill toward the car. "I'll tell you what I want you to do when we get to the car."

At the car, Ollie immediately grabbed the mike and called his office.

"…yeah, Beth. This is an emergency. Get me a state helicopter rescue unit completely equipped to rescue someone trapped in a cave that is flooding." He had Sherri explain to Beth exactly where Tom was trapped, then continued, "And get a paramedic unit out here. Then get back to me."

"Roger, one moment Sheriff."

Ollie looked at Sherri. "We've got direct lines to them. The copter will be in the air within two minutes. "

Sherri started to say something as Beth came back on the radio to confirm the mobilization.

"Okay, Beth. Now pick up your pencil. Call Burkholtz and get the SWAT team out here. There is a soldier guarding the road. Have them disarm him and bring him to the cabin. Then get every squad car you can round up and get them over here. I want two of them at the cabin and the rest to blockade the road leading to the cabin. I don't want any military people in here unless I give the word. Got that so far?"

"Yes, but—"

"Just do as I say. Then call Trooper Headquarters and have them set up roadblocks on the highway, one mile on each side of the cabin road. Tell them to stop all military vehicles and wait for further orders from me. Tell them it's a Code Three emergency." He paused for a few seconds to make sure that he wasn't going too fast for her.

"While you're doing that, have somebody get the Mayor and the City Attorney in my office. Then call every major newspaper, TV station, and radio station, and even AP and UPI, and tell them I'm having a major press conference in an hour, at the sheriff's station. Tell them it's about the massacre that happened out here. I don't have time to explain, just get on it, Beth."

A skeptical, yet obedient, "Yes sir," came over the radio.

Ollie smiled at Sherri. The expressions on her face had gone from grief, to subdued relief, to slightly astonished, to totally amazed, then to complete shock. He knew that he'd just made a career decision. If everything didn't go right, his career was over. Even being a dogcatcher would be out of the question. But he was a man of principals, and right was right. And the little girl beside him touched his heart in a strange way. He didn't necessarily believe in psychics, but if there is such a thing, they'd surely see a good aura radiating from this girl. He didn't remember if the color of a good aura was white or blue, but whatever, he was sure that she radiated the good one.

He explained to her what he wanted her to do.

______________________

When Rollins got to the bluff and saw what had happened, he knew that looking for the search area was over, that the real search was just beginning. He grabbed the mike to call the cabin.

"Is Major Enright there, yet?"

"He just arrived, Colonel."

"Put him on."

A slight pause, then, "Enright here."

"We're at the scene of an explosion in sector eleven-charlie. Call the whole squadron in. Seal off the area and find the Sheriff. He's somewhere between the cabin and here. I don't want him to leave until I see him personally. Is that understood?"

The major was looking at the grid map, determining the exact location of sector eleven-charlie, and making notes on the map as he received his instructions. "Yes sir, Colonel."

Sergeant Jacobs was standing at the open cabin door listening to the major talking to the colonel when he saw the sheriff's car coming down the river road.

"Major, the Sheriff's coming now."

"Stop him."

"What?" the radio said as soon as the major released the transmit button.

"Sorry, Colonel, but the Sheriff is coming right now."

"Hold him until I get there," the colonel ordered. The radio went silent. "Yes sir, out," Enright said, knowing that the colonel wasn't paying any attention to him anymore.

The sergeant ran out in front of the sheriff's car, waving both arms.

Ollie stopped beside him. "What is it, Sergeant?"

"The Colonel wants you to wait here for him. He wants to talk to you."

"Tell him to call me at my office in about an hour. I'm in a hurry." Ollie was going to the highway in case the paramedics got here before the SWAT team. He wanted to make sure that the soldier didn't cause any delay.

"I'm sorry, sir, but he insisted that you wait for him." The sergeant calmly placed his right hand on his hip, lightly touching the butt of his pistol.

Ollie knew that a soldier, following orders, couldn't be reasoned with. He smiled and said, "What the hell, I guess a few minutes won't kill me. You got any fresh coffee in there?"

"Sure do," he answered, noticeably relaxing.

"Good. I'll call in and tell them I got unavoidably detained on some very important business and be with you in a minute." He smiled and winked, rolling up his window, ending the conversation.

The sergeant stepped backward toward the cabin, warily watching, waiting.

The sheriff picked up the mike, turned his head away, and started talking.

The sergeant also looked away, to indicate that he wasn't eavesdropping, even though he couldn't hear a word Ollie said.

Ollie wasn't saying anything. He wasn't pushing the transmit button. He was stalling, going over the details of what he'd done and trying to think of anything he'd overlooked. He was glad that the sergeant had insisted that he wait. It gave him an idea. Going over it again in his mind, finally satisfied that he'd covered all the bases, he clipped the mike on the dash, got out and walked into the cabin for his morning coffee.

The sergeant opened the door and he was greeted by an apologetic Major Enright sitting on his desk. He pushed the mike back a few inches and stood up. "I'm sorry, Sheriff, but the Colonel said it was important."

"Major," Ollie said, spying the grid map on the wall, "we've got a man trapped in a cave-in with water rising around him right about here." He picked up a pencil and drew a circle around the section of the bluff where it started turning toward the river, and explained in detail where they'd find Tom. "The man is still alive. Call the Army base and get a rescue unit out here with equipment to move some large rocks, and get some medics out here, also."

"What?" a startled, confused look erased the major's smile.

"You heard me! Now get on the radio or I'll do it myself," Ollie ordered, taking a step toward the radio.

"No, that's all right, Sheriff. This is a military operation…" He picked up the mike and called the Base. Ollie stood looking over his shoulder making sure that every detail of Tom's location and condition was given correctly. When the major was through, he looked at the sheriff, ready to field his first question.

Ollie didn't give him time.

"Now call your men upriver and tell them to locate the cave-in, and the man. Have them do what they can for him, and have them get ready for the rescue unit. You know, clear the area for the helicopter, set out flares, and whatever else they can do to help." To make sure that nobody would drag their feet, the sheriff added, "Oh. The man you're rescuing is Tom Miller. I believe you've been looking for him."

The major grabbed the mike and started shouting orders, subconsciously forgetting that Rollins was supposed to be in charge.

Satisfied that he'd done everything that could be done, Ollie poured himself a cup of coffee. A jeep slid up to the cabin just as he was sitting down to relax.

A hunter, looking like Rollins, burst through the door, his face as red as his shirt.

"What in the hell's going on here, Sheriff? I just heard Enright say that Miller is trapped in a cave-in. I told you to tell me if you found out anything, and goddamnit—"

"Hold on, Rollins—"

"Hold on, my ass," he bellowed. "I wanna know what in the fuck you're doing here."

Ollie casually looked away. Rollins' screaming practically drowned out the faint sounds of a helicopter coming from upriver. Quickly, louder than necessary, arrogantly snubbing Rollins, Ollie laughed. "This is good coffee, Sergeant. What kind—"

Rollins pushed the sergeant away and grabbed Ollie by the front of his shirt. "I SAID, what are you doing here, and how did you know Miller was trapped?"

Ollie couldn't hear the helicopter. Had it landed in the river, or in a clearing among the trees, its sound totally muted by two miles of forest? He stared at Rollins' red, distorted face until the grip on his shirt relaxed. Then he said softly, "Sherri Blake told me."

The grip tightened again. "She's here?" The tugging increased on the shirt. "Where?"

Ollie again stared until the man quit tugging on his shirt. "She went back to the cave to try to help her boyfriend."

"Then why aren't you up there with her?"

I came out to meet the rescue unit so I could lead them back to where he's at." For effect, Ollie raised his voice, convincingly displaying his own impatience and anger. "What in the hell do you think I'm doing here?"

Rollins shook his head and shoved the sheriff back against the desk. "You're pulling some shit, Sheriff," now sure of himself. "Sergeant, go check out the Sheriff's car, and look in the trunk." He turned to look menacingly at Ollie. "He just didn't leave the girl up there if her boyfriend was really trapped. He'd be up there on the radio with them."

When the sergeant left, Rollins looked like he was wrestling with something that was bothering him. Suddenly he reached under his jacket and drew his pistol.

"Sheriff, I'm placing you under arrest until we get this sorted out. Major, get his gun and cuff him."

The major looked like he was going to say something and then decided against it, his memory suddenly refreshed. It was out of his hands. Rollins was in charge.

A fast moving vehicle, quickly decelerating, slid to a stop out front. Multiple footsteps clumped around the perimeter of the cabin. Rollins wondered what his men were doing. With a crash of splintering wood, the front door burst open.

Rollins swung around and saw two men dressed in combat gear, spreading apart just inside the door, their machine guns pointing at his stomach. He froze with his pistol pointing at the sound, the open doorway. Had he expected trouble, he probably would have tried to shoot them, but taken totally by surprise, he wasn't able to act quickly enough.

The words, FREEZE, POLICE, had practically gone unnoticed.

The sergeant appeared in the doorway, propelled forward, one grudging step at a time.

Rollins lowered his gun, pointing it at the floor, not about to let go of it.

"Drop it!" one of the men shouted.

Ollie reached around and grabbed the gun before Rollins had time to make a stupid decision.

"What's going on? Who are you?" Rollins demanded, looking at the men and then to the sheriff.

"These are friends of mine, Rollins. Our local SWAT team, here to help me restore some semblance of order," Ollie said calmly. "And I've been asked by the owner of the property to remove you and you're men."

"You can't do that, Sheriff. I can have you shot for interfering in a matter of national security."

Ollie smiled. "Who's going to do the shooting? You? Maybe the Major here?"

"I've got fifty men on the way and I'm warning you, Sheriff. You're through."

Ollie stood for a minute, listening to the approaching sirens.

"You're right, Rollins, I am through here." He walked toward the door and stopped in front of the dumbfounded sergeant. "Like I said, you sure make a good cup of coffee."

Ollie motioned for Captain Burkholtz to follow him.

Once they were outside, an obviously confused, befuddled Burkholtz asked, "What's going on here, Sheriff?"

Ollie quickly filled him in, told him exactly where Miller was and to see to it that he gets to a hospital, and to keep all military people—except for rescue people—out of the area, and the final thing he said to a stunned, almost disbelieving Volunteer Deputy, was that he was in charge of the whole operation.

Ollie got in his squad car and drove off, leaving a statute of Burkholtz standing in a cloud of dust.

On the way out of the road, Ollie practically ran into a ditch avoiding a speeding paramedic unit and two Olympia squad cars, waved at a bewildered looking Lieutenant Reineke in a trooper staff car, and another trooper in a cruiser.

At the highway, he nodded at his men guarding the road, turned left, drove down around the big right hand curve, made a U-turn and parked on the shoulder. In a moment, a panting, disheveled, blonde-haired girl hopped in beside him.

"Did they find Tom?" Sherri asked him anxiously.

"I've got all the help I could get on the way. All we can do is hope they can get to him in time."

She tried to look pleased, but a worried expression crept over her face. It might be there for a long time to come, Ollie thought.

She started talking. He listened and drove. At the roadblock, he smiled when he saw the military trucks parked on the shoulder, and one of the young officers arguing with three troopers. One of the troopers was holding a shotgun across his chest.

______________________

At the Sheriff Station, it looked like the Annual Town Picnic. Hundreds of people were on the sidewalks, many crowding onto the street, completely ignoring vehicular traffic. The curiosity seekers swarmed around the TV vans and the camera crews. Reporters with satchels hanging on shoulders, press cards pinned on lapels, pocket tape recorders, notebooks and pencils in hand, scurried among the milling throngs, asking questions, demanding answers. What was going on? Who died? Who was arrested? Who killed whom? All sharks in a pool, and not a fish to eat.

"Are you ready?"

Sherri nodded. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

Ollie Slowly turned right onto the side street running beside the station and heard excited shouts from the crowd. He pulled down the street and parked, waiting for the pushing, milling mob to break from the front of the station and race to their story. Just before they could swarm around the car, he pulled forward slowly, motioning for them to follow. They eagerly ran after him, microphones pointing forward, camera lights glaring, their shouts drowning out anything intelligible that might have been said. Two blocks from the station, he made a sharp left turn and accelerated to the next corner and turned left again. He turned into the alley behind the station and screeched to a stop at the back door.

Briefly shedding her look of concern, Sherri gave him a small, thankful smile. He'd masterfully dealt with the part that she'd dreaded. All the nosy people.

A policewoman opened the rear door of the station and beckoned. Sherri jumped from the car and dashed inside, the howls from the crowd growing louder. Ollie got out of the car slowly and watched the people running up the alley toward the station. He sauntered past Beth.

"What's new today, Beth?"

"Nothing much." She locked the door. "Just some madman starting a war with the Army, but we've got a couple men out taking care of it."

"Good men, I hope." He walked by her, then stopped and told Sherri to wait for him. He took Beth into an office down the hall. When he came back, Sherri gave him a troubled, knowing look, but didn't say anything. He escorted her into his office, wondering what the look was all about.

Mayor Simpson, watching his confused flock from the window, whirled at the sound of the opening door. The city attorney, Jim Dodd, sat at Ollie's desk, a dozen questions twitching at his lips, but with a strained sense of protocol, deferred to the mayor.

As soon as he shut the door the mayor started in. "Ollie, what's going on here? Beth said something about—"

"Excuse me, Bill, but we've got a press release to give. Just so you two won't look surprised, I'd like you to meet Sherri Blake. Sherri this is our Mayor, Bill Simpson, and the County Attorney, Jim Dodd."

Sniffing discretely, the men surveyed the filthy, disheveled, pretty, blonde girl in the torn, muddy, wet clothes, their eyes simultaneously stopping at the pistol strapped on her waist.

The point was noted by Ollie. "Sherri, you'd better take that gun off. Instead of looking like the victim, it makes you look like a revolutionary. The boys will take more pictures of the gun than your pretty, little innocent face."

"Pictures?" She brushed a hand through her matted, tangled hair. "Sheriff, can I clean up a—"

"Nope. You look perfect just the way you are." He turned to the two men. "Let's get this over with and then I'll explain." He gently escorted Sherri out the door before they could offer any objections.

Beth met him at the door. "Sheriff, Captain Burkholtz is on the radio. He says that he has to talk to you."

He walked to the radio and picked up the mike. "Yeah, Burk."

"Sheriff, the Army rescue people have taken over down at the cave-in, and more choppers are coming in here, dropping soldiers all over the place. Some colonel came to the cabin and said that he is in charge, and told us to get out. Rollins hit the ceiling and tried to have us arrested. The colonel calmed him down and told us to go. What should we do?"

"Burk, we're through there, for now. You did a great job. Now don't ask any questions, just get your men in the van and get back here to the station as quick as you can." He laid down the mike.

"Beth, get all our squad cars back here and have them surround the station, and call Lieutenant Reineke and have him do the same with all the troopers he can spare."

She gave him a helpless shrug, "He's not going to want—"

"Just tell him that the jail has been taken over and we're being held hostage. That oughta work."

He turned away from her and said to the two deputies standing at the door keeping the mob out, "Tell the people if they get off the steps and give us some room, we'd like to come out and talk to them."

The two deputies went out and relayed the sheriff's words. Ollie smiled at the sight of the people in the front of the mob collectively pushing backwards, and by not wanting to give up their place were doing a remarkable job of crowd control.

When they were off the steps, Ollie led Sherri out, followed by the mayor and the lawyer. TV lights had already been turned on, flashes popped in their faces, mikes were stretched forward, cameras were poked between heads, and an unintelligible barrage of questions filled the air. Who's the girl? seemed to be the loudest, most asked question.

Ollie held up his hands until the crowd noise subsided.

"If you will bear with me, I have a short statement for you. In one hour I will hold a detailed press conference in the National Guard Armory, which is one block north on the other side of the street. It will be open only to members of the press and their crews."

Murmurs of disappointment filled the air, mostly coming from the town's residents. "But for now," he said raising both hands, waiting for their protests to subside, "I have a brief public announcement to make."

He paused again, letting them settle down, then continued:

"This is Sherri Blake, the owner of the property where the massacre occurred last Saturday. She and Tom Miller survived, trapped in a cave in the bluff along the river. This morning, she escaped, but Miller was trapped in a cave-in. An Army rescue unit is on the scene at the present time, attempting a rescue.

"As you already know, a manhunt is presently underway for Dan Jenkins and accomplices. He appears to be deranged from the effects of being in contact with some toxic material he found. It is believed that he hid it on Miss Blake's property. While he was trying to retrieve it, a gun battle occurred between his gang and the Big Bend Police. We are concerned—"

His voice was drowned out by two large Army helicopters coming in low in front of the Sheriff's station, and landing in the street beyond the crowd. As they landed, soldiers in battle dress leaped out and began surrounding the station.

As the rotor noise subsided, Ollie hastily continued:

"We have a dispute with some government officials about whose jurisdiction this case falls under. They have zealously called in the Army to confiscate Miss Blake's property, AND," he shouted, "to arrest her and Tom Miller. They want to take them to some laboratory and use them as guinea pigs. They presently have Miller, and I want him to get the best medical attention possible, not in some lab, but under the watchful eyes of the public.

"At Miss Blake's request, we are going to keep her under protective custody until this matter is settled, and until Mister Miller is released."

The crowd stood in stunned silence for several seconds, then one of the men at the back hollered at the soldiers, "Go home!" Others joined in. It became a unanimous chant from the town's people. The reporters were scurrying for telephones, transmitters in their cars and vans, and the two booths in front of the station, all cussing their cell phones for not working in this godforsaken place.

Distant sirens could be heard over the uproarious pandemonium. Ollie looked down the street to discover that the sirens were only three blocks away, their wails growing louder. The crowd quieted a notch, all heads turning toward the new development.

Four deputy squad cars, followed by the SWAT van, stopped behind the soldiers. The SWAT team and the deputies piled out of their vehicles, their machine guns and shotguns across their chest, and began shoving their way through the soldiers and the crowd.

Ollie backed Sherri, the mayor, and the lawyer into the station, while Burkholtz shouted orders to his men and the other deputies.

Ollie shouted at the captain, "Burk, bring two men through here to guard the back door."

A bullhorn bellowed outside, telling everyone to get off the street. He could see a convoy of Army trucks inching up the street, urging the crowd out of the way.

"In my office," he said, motioning to the mayor and Dodd, pushing Sherri ahead of him.

"Goddamnit, what in the hell is going on, Sheriff?" the mayor demanded, once the office door was closed.

Ollie ignored him and turned to the lawyer. "Jim, can I do what I just said?"

Dodd looked at Ollie, totally flabbergasted. "You didn't KNOW? And you did it anyway?"

"Goddamnit, Jim, answer the question," the mayor demanded.

"Bill, how can I answer a question like that? Hell, I've never heard of a law that says a county sheriff can stand gun to gun against the Army. That hasn't happened since the Civil War, that I know of, and we all know what happened then," his face flickering from disbelief to hopelessness.

There was two raps on the door and Beth poked her head in. "Excuse me, Sheriff. There's a Colonel Rainer on line one. He said it's urgent."

"Tape it, Beth. Without the beep. And take the mayor and Jim with you so they can listen on the monitor." Sherri looked questioningly at Ollie. He nodded and with a flick of his hand included her in the group of eavesdroppers.

"Do you mean you're going to record his call without him knowing it?" the lawyer asked. "You won't be able to use it if you do."

"If we need it we'll add the goddamned beep later."

"What? You can't do that!"

"Don't worry, Jim," Ollie said, holding up his hand. "He's not going to say anything over the phone that we can use." He gently guided them to the door with his hands in the middle of their backs. He closed the door and stood behind his desk for a minute to give them time to get into the operations office across the hall, then picked up the phone.

"Sheriff Matson."

"Sheriff. This is Colonel Rainier, Bureau of Geophysics," he said, using his phony cover, verifying Ollie's suspicion that the colonel wouldn't dare say anything delicate now, over an open line

"Good morning, Matt," as if the colonel was an old friend.

"Sheriff, I'll make it brief and to the point," he said with a despotic air in his voice. "I have been informed that you have captured a fugitive, namely, one Sherri Blake, wanted by the Federal Government for several charges, including, but not limited to, murder, kidnapping, theft and transportation of banned substances, harboring fugitives from justice, and possession of stolen military weapons. I want you to immediately surrender custody of the prisoner to Major Perkins, who is in command of the detail presently at your station."

"Sorry, Colonel, but I can't do that."

"What do you MEAN you CAN'T DO THAT! I'm telling you that you have to do it, and do it immediately!"

"Matt, you and I both know that she didn't do any of those things. I know why you want her and—"

"Sheriff! I'm not going to discuss it with you. Either surrender her immediately, or I will take her from you, using whatever force necessary. And I might add, you will also be arrested on charges of… of—"

Ollie hung up.

The office door swung open and banged against the wall.

The mayor pointed his finger at Ollie, moving it in small jerks as he stormed into the room. "What do you think you're doing? You're not going to start a war with the goddamned Army, not in my town!"

"Calm down, Bill. To start with, this Sheriff's Station is not under Olympia jurisdiction. This is county property and I run the show here."

"Bullshit!" he screamed. "I've got a police force, too, you know. And I'm not—"

Jim put a hand on the mayor's shoulder to interrupt him.

"Bill, he's right when he says that you don't have jurisdiction over the County Sheriff Station."

The mayor turned on him, ready to argue the point. His lips quivered, as if looking for the right words. Nothing came out. He threw up his hands. "Well what in the hell am I supposed to do? Just stand around and watch him start a war on my fucking streets? Watch my town get blown to hell because he wants to play tough guy with the fucking Army?" He slammed his fist down on the desk and glared at the lawyer.

Ollie walked to the window and saw that the crowd had been dispersed and soldiers had taken positions in a circle around the front of the station. He knew that the entire block was surrounded.

He heard a helicopter approach the building from somewhere out of his line of sight. It stopped and hovered above the building for a minute, the noise and vibration noticeably shaking the whole building. Ollie was sure that troops were being lowered to the roof. The helicopter flew away, leaving behind a dead silence, as if everybody held their breath, waiting for something horrible to happen.

Sherri's eyes darted to the ceiling, as if listening to a source of sounds. Ollie heard nothing but silence.

"There are six of them on the roof," she said softly.

They all listened intently, then almost simultaneously, they looked at Sherri, wonderment on Ollie's face, disgust and impatience on the mayors.

Through the window, Ollie saw an officer and two soldiers start across the street toward the station's front door.

The mayor followed his glance and said, "I'm going to call the governor and put a stop to this madness." He picked up Ollie's phone and violently punched a button on an open line.

"By all means," Ollie said, with an open hand showing the mayor to the phone, after the fact. "Give him my regards, and tell him that we might have to have our local National Guard unit put on standby."

"Jim, you're my witness. This man's gone crazy." He started to dial the phone, when Beth's voice came over the intercom, "Sheriff, General Fulmer is on line three."

"Excuse me, Mayor," Ollie said, taking the phone from him and punching line three's button.

"Jake, you old horse's ass, is that really you?"

The mayor's face was beyond expression. He rolled his eyes up, plopped in the chair behind him, and shook his head.

"Sure, I've got the girl here.… Hell no, there's not going to be any charges brought against her. From what I can see, she's going to be a local hero around these parts.… What?… . Sure, I'll go for that. Been wondering if I'd ever run into you again, anyway."

"Beth's voice came over the intercom, "Sheriff, you'd better get out here, right now. There's a couple—"

"Hold on a sec, Jake—, yeah, okay—, Sure. I'll be right back." He pushed the hold button and put down the receiver.

"You might as well come with me." He grabbed Sherri's arm and led the way.

They followed him to the lobby, where he stepped in front of Sherri, stopping between her and three soldiers.

"I'm Captain Luzinski," the young officer said, not offering his hand, "I'm here to take custody of the prisoner, Sherri Blake." He stood at attention, not courteously, more as an authoritative gesture.

"One moment, boy," Ollie said, picking up the phone on the counter. "There's someone on the phone that would like to speak to you." Ollie cleared his throat dramatically and punched the line button:

"General Fulmer, there's a Captain in my office that seems to have gotten his orders confused… Sure, here he is."

The Captain reached for the offered phone reflexively, hesitated a second, then snatched it from Ollie's hand. "This is Captain Luzinski. But— You— Excuse me, but you should know that I'll have to have that order verified." He was smugly unconvinced. "Tach freq, two-niner?" He looked suspiciously at the Sheriff. "It will take me a minute to get to the radio." He handed the phone to the sheriff. "This had better not be a trick." He told the two soldiers to wait where they were and stormed outside.

"Sheriff," Burkholtz said, "they walked in like they owned the place. I didn't know whether to stop them or not. They looked harmless."

"You did fine, Burk."

Burkholtz stepped to the door, then quickly turned. "Hey, Sheriff, there's a jeep driving up. The soldiers stopped it, then immediately let it through."

Ollie stepped to the door and watched the jeep and a bright red baseball cap intercept Captain Luzinski in the middle of the street. They had a few words, the cap bill pointed toward the station. Ollie waved at Colonel Rollins. The cap swung around, as if leading the man under it to the communications van. The captain stayed, turned and watched the station.

Everyone gathered at the windows and in front of the door, watching the captain holding his walkie-talkie up to his tense face as if waiting for the command to push the button to nuke the station. They waited in silence for what seemed like several long minutes. Realizing that it was taking much too long for the general's order to be verified, Ollie ushered Sherri, the mayor, and the lawyer back into his office.

The voice coming from the lobby over one of the soldier's walkie-talkie startled everyone.

"Sergeant, this is Captain Luzinski. Operation canceled. Return to your unit immediately."

Sighs of relief flooded everyone's face, except for Sherri's. She was frowning and looking at the ceiling. "Sheriff…" She motioned up.

Ollie grabbed the radio and hollered, "Burk, there's…" he looked at Sherri. She held up six fingers. "…there's maybe six men on the roof. Get a spotter on them. I want to know what they're doing."

A metallic clattering came from somewhere in the walls and a muffled explosion echoed up from the basement. Glass shattered throughout the station as smoking gas canisters crashed through the windows, spewing their stinging concoction.

Ollie instinctively dove to the floor clutching the radio. Coughing and gagging he hollered into it. "Code four. Code four."

Scrambling to his feet he grabbed Sherri's hand and darted toward the door. "Gas masks… in operation room… not tear gas." He fumbled with the door knob, turned around, his eyes rolling up into his head, and slumped to the floor.

Sherri heard a crash behind her. Spinning around, she saw the mayor stagger into the trash can, then fall to the floor. Dodd fell face down across the desk. Running out into the hall, she saw the shattered front door, several fallen officers in the lobby, and more on the steps. A dozen hooded figures were coming toward the station, machine guns at the ready.

Automatic fire and sounds of splintering timbers came from above. She ran down the hall to the rear, past a stairwell on the left leading up, and one to the right going down, ending at a gate of bars. A tremendous crash reverberated down the stairwell from above. More hooded figures were coming across the parking lot toward the rear door.

______________________

Rollins had his orders. The girl must be captured at all costs, discretely if possible, but caught she must be. He wasn't concerned about the cover-up necessary if he had to use drastic measures. There were a multitude of people who specialized in doing that. Pulling rank on Major Perkins and sending him back to the rescue effort at the cabin was a necessary prerogative that he'd exercised. Telling Captain Luzinski that he'd just talked to the general took care of that trivial nuisance. The captain followed his orders without question.

Rollins never failed an assignment. He'd get the girl at all costs, dead or alive. It didn't matter to him.

______________________

Sherri ducked into the operations room where they'd listened to the colonel's conversation, remembering seeing a door marked, Equipment Locker.

Expecting to find a closet behind the door, she was shocked to see one wall lined with weapons, another lined with closets stenciled with signs, Personal Property, Communications, Pyrogenics—fireworks? she wondered, then realized that it must mean ammunition and flares. Some college bureaucrat got a degree by cheating.

She quickly scanned down the last three doors to one marked, Respiratory & Resuscitation. She grabbed the knob. It was locked! Frustrated, she twisted the knob angrily and jerked. The mechanism crunched and the door flew open. It was the size of a walk-in closet with shelves on both sides. First catching her attention were small, green oxygen bottles on a shelf to her left. There was a valve on top and a small hose running to a clear plastic nose/mouth mask. She grabbed one and clasped the mask to her face and frantically twisted the valve. Sweet, cool oxygen flooded her face. Gulping the life-giving gas, she realized that she really wasn't yet starved for oxygen. Had she held her breath all the while? Why had the others passed out? The sheriff had said that it wasn't tear gas. Why hadn't he held his breath, also? Then she remembered that he'd given orders on the radio and had choked and coughed, probably having to breath in order to give the commands and to tell her about the masks. She spotted gas masks at the far end of the shelf and grabbed two, quickly donning one.

With the oxygen bottle—figuring that it might revive the sheriff quicker—and a mask, she ran back out into the operations room and stopped to listen. Sporadic gunfire came from around the building, but she heard no sounds of anyone entering.

The smoke was thicker out in the hall. What were they doing?

She recognized the sting of tear gas, which bit into all tender skin, not just the eyes as some thought, but the neck and throat and underarms and especially down below. She resisted rubbing, knowing that would only make it worse.

She also knew that tear gas didn't knock one out. They probably used the tear gas to disguise some type of knockout gas, knowing that people generally resist the effects of the stinging tear gas as long as possible, thereby assuring that they would all gulp down a few breaths of temporary unconsciousness. Surely they hadn't used anything more severe, she hoped.

She ran back to the sheriff, strapped the mask on over his face, turned on the valve, then slammed her fist on his chest to make him take a deep breath.

He gasped and began breathing deeply, muffled moans coming from the mask as he exhaled. She shook him, but he remained unconscious.

She racked her brain trying to think of a way to escape or a place to hide. Escape was probably out of the question. The perimeter of the building was surely surrounded by armed soldiers. Hiding would accomplish nothing, only forestall the inevitable. Eventually they'd walk in, tear the place apart while maintaining tight security on the outside.

She began feeling weak. Weren't the masks adequate for the gas?

She shook the sheriff, and got no response. Raising her mask up a bit, she placed her lips to his ear, trying to create a yell to the sheriff while being absolutely silent to anyone outside the window.

He mumbled something, but failed to open his eyes. She began gently slapping his ears with cupped hands, creating a thunderstorm inside his head, while maintaining silence.

The realization suddenly struck her that she'd taken a breath! Was it the first? She exhaled, pulled the mask down over her mouth. Something was wrong! She bolted for the supply room. Dizziness assailed her as she ran down the hall. She staggered through the operations room and into the supply room. A nauseous convulsion wracked her stomach, then as she reached the room with the oxygen bottles, the feeling seemed to fade.

As she fought for the mask and valve, her panic subsided. What was happening? She had breathed in. The others had collapsed almost immediately. She took a deep breath of oxygen, already feeling normal as the oxygen coursed into her lungs. Maybe the gas has already dissipated, she thought. But why hadn't the soldiers already come in after her?

Tossing the mask aside, she grabbed the oxygen bottle and ran back to the sheriff. He'd rolled onto his side, a hand over the mask, his head propped up with the other hand.

Hooking an arm under his shoulder, she helped him sit up. He looked at her with dazed eyes struggling to focus, and started to say something. Realizing how loud his voice would probably be in the eerily quiet, smoke filled building, she squatted down beside him and said, "Shhh," in his ear. "The building is surrounded by soldiers with gas masks." She lifted him to his feet and held him while he wobbly planted his feet.

Looking at her with slowly focusing eyes, a stunned expression on his face, he muttered. "God, you're strong!" He shook his head and craned it around surveying his surroundings.

She shook him and whispered, "Listen to me! We've got to hide! They'll be in here any second." He gave her a blank stare. Giving up on him she said, "Wait here." Spotting her gun on the sheriff's desk, she strapped it on and started for the door.

"Wait." He started for her. "The cells… in the basement." He put a hand on her shoulder and, half leaning on her for support, pushed her out into the hall.

Wondering if he was delirious, she balked in the hallway. "The jail cells?" she asked, stupefied, sure that he didn't understand their situation.

"Only place to hide." He pushed her ahead insistently.

Still confused, but having no idea herself, she relented, grabbing his upper arm, supporting and pulling him down the hall. Going down the stairs, she stayed a step ahead, a hand under his armpit, expecting a stumble, but his strength seemed to be coming back rapidly.

At the bottom of the stairs, to the right, was a small room with a gray metal desk, one chair, and a file cabinet. He ducked inside, a key already in his hand. Opening a tall, narrow, metal door in the wall, he grabbed a long vertical bar and pulled it out a few inches. "Manually unlocks all the cells in case of an emergency," he said, swinging the bar clockwise 180 degrees and snapping it into a clip marked, Unlocked. He quietly shut and locked the door. "We'll hide with the prisoners."

Sitting his revolver on the desk, he ripped off his shirt, removed his gun belt and threw them into a desk drawer. Tucking the gun under his waistband, he covered it with his tee shirt, ruffled his hair and said, "They'll just think we're a couple of drunks sleeping it off."

"I sure as hell look the part." she looked at her rumpled clothes and ruffled her hand through her hair. "If they smell me, they'll think I died two days ago and you guys forgot me."

"You smell like a rose compared to some of them we drag in here," he said, stepping around her and opening the barred door.

______________________

"What do you mean nobody answers on tach two-niner?" General Fulmer demanded, shouting into the phone at the radio operator. "The best goddamned communications system in the world and you tell me that their radio must be turned off! That's absurd, Lieutenant. Hold on a minute, and keep trying."

The General punched up the recording of his conversation with the sheriff, fast-forwarded to the point where he'd talked to the captain, and verified the coded, scrambled channel he'd instructed them to verify on. It was tach two-niner. He angrily hit the reset button on the automatic call recorder and switched back to the communications center.

"Keep trying on two-niner, Lieutenant, and get Major Enright…" He thumbed through the commcode list and gave the operator the necessary instructions. He didn't like to bypass the normal chain-of-command, it would surely be an insult to Colonel Rainier, but time was of the essence. Things couldn't be allowed to get out of hand.

______________________

The barred door opened into a hallway intersection. Straight ahead were several doors to booking rooms, conference rooms and the showers. To the left, the women's quarters, two cells on each side, to the right there were eight cells on each side for the men. They chose the men's side figuring that Sherri, laying on her stomach with her hair tucked under her shirt would be more likely to pass as a man than the sheriff, in a tee shirt and khaki pants would resemble a women, even to a horny soldier.

Twelve of the sixteen cells now had prisoners. Ten, obviously having heard the commotion, had fallen at the bars, one was peacefully asleep in his bunk, and one, with his pants around his ankles, lying beside the john, had apparently been too occupied at the time to run to the bars.

The two in the fourth and, directly across, the number twelve cell had been among the curious, having dropped at the bars. Curled into a near fetal position, hiding snuggled against their stomach was some unusual jailhouse contraband. Their startled twitch went unnoticed as glass shattered above.

They each breathed deep breaths of oxygen as footsteps echoed through the building. Their hearts thumped heavily in their chests as they heard the clatter of several hard, combat boots race down the stairs.

______________________

"No one in here," came the muffled voice of one of the four hooded men checking out the office at the bottom of the stairs.

"Look for some keys."

Squeaky metal desk drawers opened and slammed shut.

"Ain't no keys here."

A rattle and then, "Hey, this damned door's not locked."

______________________

Maybe if the door into the cell area had been locked, Sherri thought, instantly angry at herself for even thinking such a stupid thought. The soldiers would never leave the building until she was found. Why prolong the agony?

"You three check out those rooms. I'll stay here," someone ordered.

Footsteps receded, doors were kicked open, furniture banged around, then the footsteps returned. "All clear down there, Sarge."

"Good. You two check the cells that way. We'll take this end."

Hard-soled boots took a few steps and stopped, then took more steps and stopped.

Sherri pictured them moving from cell to cell, back to back, their machine guns pointing into each cell as they moved along.

"There's nobody in these cells down here," came from down the hall.

Right beside her a voice boomed, "Just wait at the stairs, we'll be through in a minute."

The feet stopped at Sherri's cell. She held her breath. Their time was slipping away. All the soldiers had to do was check all the bodies for one scruffy, blonde girl. The only woman she'd seen upstairs was the policewoman, and she was dark-haired, too old, and much too big to be mistaken for Sherri.

If they tried anything now, the soldiers waiting at the stairs would sound the alarm. But if they waited, it would be too late anyway. Maybe with hostages, she thought, we'd be able to hold them off long enough for the press to bring some kind of pressure.

Ready to spring, quickly running it through her mind what she should do, she realized that she couldn't spin around and get the drop on the soldiers. The instant they saw her move, they'd surely open fire. She could get off the first shot, but unless she shot to kill, it would be suicide. The soldiers weren't the enemy. She couldn't shoot one of them. They were just doing their job. It would be like killing a cop to keep from getting a ticket. But she could shoot the man in charge, the man that wanted to put them in a lab somewhere, the man that would ruin their lives. She could shoot him. Her train of thought became moot as the feet moved on to the next cell.

"Everything all right down there?" an authoritative voice hollered from above.

"Corporal?" came from the bottom of the steps.

A laugh. "Look at this. Do you believe it? The clown musta passed out on the shitter."

"Corporal, she here?" from the bottom of the steps, again.

"No girl down here. Just a bunch of cons taking a nap."

The voice at the bottom of the stairs relayed the answer as the other two walked back past Sherri's cell. Her chance had slipped away.

"Sergeant, leave two men on guard down there. We need you up here."

"Yes sir. Corporal, you and Jones." Heavy boots clattered up the steps.

Sherri twisted around to see if the sheriff had moved. He did the same, his brows above the oxygen mask showing helpless disappointment. Afraid to even whisper, Sherri mouthed her idea.

Ollie wasn't sure that he totally understood what she meant, but as she pulled the blanket from the bunk and piled it beside her, covering the oxygen bottle, then, squirmed around and bent her knees up close to the door, he followed suit, hoping that they had the same idea.

Sherri moaned loudly, took a quick, deep breath, then shoved the mask under the blanket.

"What was that?"

"I didn't hear nothing."

Seeing that the soldiers weren't going to investigate, Sherri pulled out the mask, held her head up to make sure that the sheriff did the same, and took several deep breaths, made a loud guttural, mumbling groan ending in a screeching yelp. Sucking in some air she crammed the mask back under the blanket as she heard:

"There! Come on!" As the man ran toward her cell the other one said, "But there's still knockout gas in here."

Lying on her back, peeking under the arm draped over her face, she saw them check the cells to the right, check hers and the sheriff's then move on.

Just as soon as they'd passed her, she let out a whine of pain.

The soldiers spun toward her cell.

Thrusting out with her feet against the cell door, which swung out to the left, Sherri smashed it into the nearest soldier, knocking him against the other one, sending the first soldier down the hall on his back and the other staggering against the bars on the sheriff's cell.

Ollie's timing with the other door caught the man just as he staggered against the cell, mashing him in front and back, stunning him long enough for Ollie to get an arm through the bars and around his neck in a choke hold, squeezing off any yell he might have made.

Sherri dove on the one in the hall and jerked off his hood and gas mask, ready to deliver a knockout blow. It wasn't necessary. The hood wasn't padded and he'd taken the force of the blow high on the forehead, and already breathing the gas, she knew that he's be out for the duration. She put on his mask and hood, then dragged him into her cell and removed his shirt, pants, and boots, then lifted him onto the bunk and covered him with the blanket. Just another con that slept through all the action.

He wasn't a big man, but looking at the size of his boots, she hoped that she wouldn't have to do any running. She glanced at the sheriff. He had the hood on and was getting dressed, struggling a bit with the man's tight pants.

She stopped to listen. Had they made too much noise? The only really loud noise had been the men's guns clattering on the concrete, both doors having been cushioned by the men. There was plenty of commotion going on upstairs, but none of it seemed to be directed their way. She wondered how long it would be before someone hollered down the stairs to see if everything's all right, since the soldiers were no longer visible at the bottom of the stairs.

Keeping a sharp ear tuned for trouble, she tucked the oxygen bottle and other mask under the blanket, slung the soldiers rifle over her shoulder, then wondered what to do with her pistol. She hated to leave it, but soldiers don't run around with automatics tucked under their belts, and only officers and MP's carried pistols. Reluctantly, she put it in with the soldier.

Thinking of the gun overwhelmed her with thoughts of Tom. She tried to picture his condition. Was he still trapped? Had they reached him in time? Had he drowned? She shook her head, fighting away tears, but somehow she felt that he was, at this very moment, being transported by helicopter to some dark, black, sterile place. Someplace inescapable, but safe. Wishful thinking, or not? she wondered, always trying to paint a pretty picture to hide suspected horrors; a defense mechanism she'd developed with her late husband in order to cope with his job. Eventually, her job, also. She shuddered.

Ollie came out of the cell slinging the soldier's M-16 onto his shoulder, thankfully breaking her train of thought. "No time to talk. You play dead and I'll try to carry you out of here—if I can. I still feel a little weak, but if I drop, just mix in with the rest of them and try to slip out, then get to the Armory."

"The Armory?"

"Yeah. I called an emergency drill. They'll be suiting up right now for a major civil insurrection." He hesitated, pondering something troubling him. "But if I don't get there, they won't believe a word you say."

"Wait a second, Sheriff. You don't need those guns. You aren't going to shoot any of these soldiers, are you?" She saw his startled eyes in the face lens, then his hood shook. He went back in the cell and tucked his pistol and the soldier's gun under the blanket.

Sherri ran into her cell, retrieved her pistol and tucked it inside her shirt into the waistband.

When Ollie walked out of the cell, Sherri grabbed his arm, spun around, and hoisted him across her shoulders in the traditional fireman's carry. Momentarily stunned, he didn't protest until he was up and in her control.

"Bitch all you want," she said, "but you said it yourself. It won't do me any good to get out of here without you."

"But how in the hell can a little thing like you carry me this way?"

"Wheaties," she said starting down the hall, wondering herself what had come over her and why he was so light.

She turned and walked up the steps, gingerly at first, then seeing how easy it was, she practically ran to the top and turned right toward the rear door. Hoods turned and looked.

The one by the door ran up to help. "What happened?" he asked.

In a straining, near-masculine voice, she grunted. "His mask musta fucked up… open the door."

The soldier put a hand on the sheriff as if helping guide the load was a necessary duty, shoved the broken door frame open with his back and stepped out of the way.

Two soldiers ran up, one of them directing the other to help while he asked the same question and got the same response.

"Get him over to the medic van," the authoritative one said, then turned back to the building.

Two medics helped put Ollie in the back, then looking at the business end of a .45 automatic and with a shove from Sherri, they joined the sheriff.

______________________

The reporters, having been herded away from the station, and still expecting the promised press release, had migrated to the National Guard Armory. The place was a madhouse. Guardsmen were trying to get ready to mobilize for the biggest drill ever called, while at the same time, trying to disperse the crowd and establish order.

Colonel Harvey Jacobs, the commander of the Forty-Ninth, was screaming through a bullhorn trying to disperse the boisterous, unruly crowd. He'd received no orders describing their mission except that it was a joint operation with the Sheriff's Department, the Highway Patrol, local police and all civil emergency units. Further orders would be forthcoming. He'd never heard of such a drill, but maybe that was why it was handled that way. Preparation was the name of the game for any military unit.

He assumed that the fake fire and smoke down the street, the helicopters, and blank ammunition being fired was all a part of the operation. Maybe communications were "cut" and he was supposed to wing it on his own. He didn't know what to do at the present, but he was ready to act when the situation required it.

A tug on his sleeve and a yell in his ear almost made him drop the bullhorn, his tool of authority he was tensely holding in his right hand, always looking for a reason to use.

"Colonel, the radio just said that the goings on down at the sheriff's station is for real. Something about the army and the sheriff fighting over jurisdiction of a prisoner."

He looked at Major Clemmons, hoping for a sign that he was joking, but dismissed the thought immediately. The man didn't know what a joke was. He was the most serious, consistent, party-pooper in town.

A siren sounded as a military van with a big white cross on the side nudged through the crowd and headed for the big doors to the barn-like, reinforced concrete, windowless building.

Handing the bullhorn to the major, he bolted back inside, ran through the office and out into the milling throng of guardsmen engulfing the vehicle. His mouth gaped open when he saw the sheriff escorting three soldiers out the rear doors with a pistol in his hand.

______________________

"Captain!"

"Yes Sir."

Screaming and pointing down the street, Rollins demanded, "What's our medic van doing down there?"

The captain looked and shrugged. "Where?"

"You fool! It just crossed that intersection. Get it on the damned radio." Rollins walked over to the line of unconscious bodies that were laid on the grass strip in front of the station. A lieutenant met him, shaking his head. "The only girl we've found so far is this policewoman. Are you sure that she's not the one? Maybe they put a uniform on her."

"Goddamnit, I told you what she looked like. Does that fat old hag look young, pretty, and blonde? What in the fuck's wrong with you? She's still got to be in there somewhere."

The lieutenant looked at the rather attractive, dark-haired, built just right woman for him, and respectfully explained, "But we've brought them all out, except the prisoners, and we've started on that—and there aren't any women prisoners."

Rollins grabbed the gas mask dangling from the man's hand. "Bullshit!" He started for the front door. Two soldiers met him at the door carrying a stretcher with a man wearing only underwear.

"Sir," the lead one said looking over his shoulder. This is Private Jennings. He's one of our men. We found him in one of the cells, and that stuff was under a blanket with him." He jerked his head to a third man carrying an oxygen bottle with a face mask.

"I'll be goddamned," Rollins muttered, throwing down his gas mask. He turned and ran into the street toward the captain, who was standing beside the jeep with a mike in his hand and a shocked look on his face.

______________________

Ollie knew that he'd just made two very serious mistakes. One was to have answered the radio in the medic van, the other, a more serious blunder, was not having ditched the van somewhere out of sight and walking to the armory on back streets, but somehow he'd thought that he could talk some sense into Rollins' thick head. It had backfired on him. Rollins now knew where they were and had threatened to blow the whole damned building away if he didn't turn over the girl immediately.

"I sure screwed up," he said despondently to Sherri. Then to Colonel Jacobs, "You still refuse to resist him, even after what you've just heard? The man's obviously crazy. He'll even shoot law enforcement officers to get her, and she hasn't done a damned thing."

"I'm sorry Ollie, but without the go-ahead from the Governor, I'm technically under the Army's command. If they order me to give her up, that's what I have to do."

"But you outrank him. He's only a Lieutenant Colonel. Just order him to go home, or better yet, have him clean the toilets."

Jacobs looked at him patiently. "If we were part of the same operation, that would be the case, but in the military, all orders, no matter how seemingly insignificant, actually come from the top. Someone in authority tells a General that something must be done. The General delegates to other Generals, or Admirals as the case may be, then they delegate duties to a lesser ranked person and so on. Any one under orders has the power and authority of the one issuing the order to them."

"Hell, Harv. I know that. Remember, I was in the Army. All orders actually have the power of the President behind them, and if you don't believe it, refuse to follow one and find out, and all of that bunk, but I also know that when someone is doing something illegal, you can throw the rules out the window and relieve them of command and arrest them or send them to the shrink."

"That's what has me concerned, Sheriff. If we… well to be quite frank with you. He appears to be trying to arrest someone, for why and who gave him the order does not concern me, all I know is that he appears to be trying to carry out that order. Has he done anything other than surround the station and smoke you out?"

Ollie glared at him, knowing what he was getting at. He shook his head to answer the question, while trying to think of a good argument.

"There you have it in a nutshell," Jacobs continued. "All he's done here is to demand that I, as the one in charge here, turn her over to him. If I resist, then I'd be doing what you're doing." He paused to emphasis his next statement. "Aiding and abetting a fugitive. I'm sorry, Ollie, but that's the way it is."

"Can't you stall until they get the damned governor off that fishing boat and get him briefed?" Ollie shook his head at what he'd just said. He knew that the governor wouldn't act on such a request, even if he was here in person. It would be politically impossible.

"Jake!" Ollie said, then lapsed into thought. What in the hell happened? He was supposed to have called off all of this. How could Rollins continue against orders? Someone must have overridden Jake's orders. But who? Or why? Had Jake lied to him in order to make it easier for Rollins to…

Or had they! The police had gone nuts, he was sure of that. Dan Jenkins had been arrested right before he went wacko. It didn't take any imagination to see that the common denominator with the police was the police station, itself. His mind raced. Rollins might be exposed and acting on his own, irrationally, and berserk, and totally deadly.

"Commander, I've got to talk to you in private." Jacobs looked at him skeptically, his mind already made up and sure that the sheriff couldn't say anything that would change it. "I'm serious. You have to know what we're up against. Just five minutes is all I ask. This lunatic might kill you, even if you give him the girl."

The last statement fractured the colonel's resolve, but the skepticism remained on his face. Ollie grabbed his and Sherri's arms and led them toward the colonel's office.

A bull horn roared outside, "You in there…"

"Major," the colonel shouted to his second-in-command trailing along with them, "stall him a few minutes. Tell him she's been hurt or something and we'll have her out as soon as we stop the bleeding."

Ollie knew while telling the story that it was futile. The colonel wrinkled his brow, said "oh" and "ah" at the right times, and appeared to be following the story told to him, but in the end he still insisted that he had to have the governor's authorization. "I'm sorry, Miss, but the law is the law and I can't change it by myself." He gave Ollie a look, not needing any words to be said.

A helicopter approached the building and hovered overhead. Ollie stepped out of the office and looked up at the skylights, the chink in their armor in the concrete, practically impenetrable building. Impenetrable by anything short of a tank or a howitzer, anyway.

Sherri ran after him. "Sheriff. Give it up. I can't let any of these people get hurt because of me."

Ollie dodged through the startled horde of civilians and guardsmen, reached the van and grabbed the gas masks. The roaring increased overhead as the helicopter appeared to be only feet away. "At least put this on. You don't want them carrying you out on a stretcher, do you?"

She smiled feebly and started to put on the mask.

A faint screeching, turning into a screaming, thunderous roar shook the ground. An explosive, rumbling, thunderous series of enveloping shock waves hit the building. A hundred and some guardsmen, by now in full combat gear, and at least that many civilians and reporters and cameramen and technicians dove for a clear space on the floor. The first down were the most unfortunate. In some crowded areas, the slower ones piled on top, camera and guns and heads and feet colliding.

As soon as the first wave of noise died down another took its place. Then another.

Expecting the roof to come tumbling down, Sherri rolled under the medic van. The sheriff grabbed her hand and tugged. On his face was the biggest shit-eating grin she'd ever seen on a man. She peeked out from under the van.

The sheriff let out a yelping yahoo, helped her up, and practically dragged her through the intermingled mass of bodies to the door.

"That's F15 Eagles!" he screamed over the tumultuous racket. "Ole Jake don't fuck around. Excuse me, Miss," he added, not missing a beat. "Rollins sure as hell ain't big enough to pull those kinda strings. That's the big boys talking." He looked to the sky as if he was seeing God himself.

"But…" Sherri wanted to ask how he could be so sure. Instead, she hugged him, his euphoria becoming contagious, electric, jubilant.

Another sound grew from the diminishing wail of the jets. The whine of large turbines. Many large turbines, then the flapping of giant bird wings, changing to the recognizable whopping sound of large helicopter rotors. Two double-rotor giants rumbled over the building, slowed and drifted sideways as if searching for two football fields to set down in.

Suddenly men poured from them on lines like spider webs. Combat men in full gear dropped to the street, the lines going back up to drop more. They all had on bright red arm bands, distinguishing them from Rollins' men.

Then a smaller one came across, still huge, but dwarfed by the other two. It had three white stars painted on its side. It settled toward the street.

"See those stars," Ollie said. "That's one of Jake's big daddies. That's a Lieutenant General. Probably the Commander over at Fort Mitchell."

Recognizing the bull of a man as he stepped to the street, Ollie grabbed Sherri's hand and ran to him.

"Are you Sheriff Matson?" the General asked, tentatively extending his hand, recognizing the face, but thrown by the clothes.

Ollie grasped his hand and shook it vigorously. "I sure am."

"I'm here to lend you a hand," the General said, glancing around. "That is, if you need it."

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Contents   Prologue   1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9   10   Epilogue   After