Make Me King (Mountain Man Book 5) by Keith C. Blackmore

Author:Keith C. Blackmore
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2019-08-20T23:00:00+00:00

20

“This way,” Davis said. He disappeared into the forest, leading them along a narrow path cloaked in a comfortable autumn shadow.

Clothes dribbling and boots squishing, Gus squeezed his beard free of water and followed. Wet and wretched and all but depleted of strength, it took everything to put one foot before the other. Every step was a wet cement spatter that threatened to pull him down. The shivers grabbed him then, adding to his misery. He staggered along, grabbing at limbs that might support him, hoping to God he didn’t stumble. If he did, he’d fall flat on his soggy-ass and that would be that. There’d be no getting back up. So he wobbled and swayed through that dense patch of woodland, following a rough trail marked by axe and boot prints.

“You okay?” Collie asked.

“Huh?”

“I said you okay?”

Gus nodded.

“‘Cause you look like shit.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered with a wet scowl. He pointed back toward the lake. “They could be… walking along the bottom. Right now.”

“The MBs?” Collie asked.

“Yeah.”

“We’ll be long gone before they get to the surface. That right, Davis?”

“That’s right.”

At that exact moment, Gus’s body ceased to work below the waist. He lurched to a stop and grabbed his knees, unable to go any further. “Oh Jesus. I gotta—gotta stop. Right here. I’m about to drop.”

Collie let him be. Wet and winded but otherwise fine, she placed her back against a tree and gradually sank to a knee, her rifle lowered. In the shade, her sunglasses gleamed, speckled with water droplets.

Gus gasped, spat, and dripped where he stood. With a pained groan, he slowly collapsed on his ass, his knees crackling as he did so.

“Jesus,” Collie grimaced. “Does that hurt?”

Red-eyed and saturated, he shook his head.

“Sounds awful.”

He smiled weakly, oh-so-grateful for the few seconds of rest. He realized he’d planted his backside in a cozy bed of wildflowers. His hands were in what might’ve been tea leaves. He studied the vegetation briefly, wary of poison ivy and pissed-off snakes. Either one would be a fishhook in his ball sack at this point in the game. Seeing neither, however, he relaxed and laid back on his elbows, lowering himself like a broken robot.

“Just gimme a minute,” he panted. “Just a minute. S’all I need.”

“Don’t talk,” Collie told him. “Davis?”

Halfway up the hill, the islander’s head perked up. “Yeah?”

“Go catch up with your people. Tell them we’re two minutes behind. And if I fire a long burst, don’t wait for us. Got it?”

He hesitated. “Got it. We have trucks three hills over. Three klicks from here.”

“Trucks?” Collie asked.

“Three klicks?” a horrified Gus blurted.

“Yes,” Davis answered. “And yes.”

“Gassed up?” she asked.

“Yes, but not much of it.”

“Three klicks?” Gus repeated, positively aghast and staring at his soaking boots. “Fuck me gently. Couldn’t you park them closer?”

“The closest road is three kilometers out. We’re in deep woods here.”

“Oh dear Jesus,” Gus moaned, his head rolling.

“Carry on,” Collie said to Davis. “We’ll be there.”

Davis got up, brushed himself off, and started up the hill. When

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