Not Alone: The Beginning (The Fighter Series Book 1) Read online

Megan screamed. Riley spun around and as she did her attacker’s fist connected with her face knocking her backward. Suddenly she was scrambling to keep her feet under her not wanting to scrape the pavement with her face. He laughed. Again, her shotgun fell, but this time several feet from her reach. It clattered on the concrete. Stars spun and light swirled in her eyes. Attempting to right herself, Riley saw Utah shut the truck door. They pressed their faces to the window again. How long would they last? How long would she last?

  “Let’s see what you got.” He pulled his jacket open revealing the pistol pressed on the inside band of his pants. My shotgun rested under his shoe.

  He topped two hundred plus pounds of burley muscle and fat. Riley thought of her own hundred and thirty four pounds and figured she’d be hamburger in 2.2 seconds. She was in a lot of trouble. Reaching for the nine was out of the question.

  Nevertheless, her training kicked in, but at a huge disadvantage, she doubted she could take him. Women tended to be more flexible and she was planning to use that advantage shortly. She twisted away when he swung the second time. Taking hold of her pistol, she shot. Being big, had no disadvantage to him being fast, the monster dodged the bullet. Ironically, she was once again in a parking lot fighting for her life. Welcome adrenaline.

  He lunged at her and she went mid-air.

  TWELVE

  A rush of cool air intertwined with the wind forced a handful of orange colored leaves into a colorful swirl. Above, a swishing sound of the tree line pressed into gusts. Some remaining foliage rustled playfully holding onto their branches. The sound of horse’s hooves hitting an occasional rock interrupted the chorus of forest chatter. An occasional snort coming from the horse added to the melody.

  Jack pushed Sam fighting back the sick feeling in his stomach, which was taking the pleasure out of the ride. Hooves struck the dry ground and crushing dry leaves underneath them.

  The gelding was irritated. Jack didn’t blame him. The horse’s back was still damp from the ride there. He urged Sam to move on passing by many places they normally stopped. The horse felt his rider’s unease and pushed forward, dodging rocks and branches, keeping his footing steady, but quick.

  Clouds increased overhead. Thunder sounded as the sky promised the coming of a storm. The smell of rain filled the air. Jack glanced upward seeing the deep blue grey filtering in beyond the ridgeline. Thin fragments of white electricity flashed in sessions. It was close to noon now and he was pushing the horse hard.

  They were making good time dipping in and out of trails making the distance shorter than the way he’d come. As the sun became invisible, the trails darkened.

  When the woman stumbled from behind a mound of boulders onto the dry grass in front of them, she nearly collided with man and horse falling forward as Sam’s front shoulder nicked her side. A mass of brown tangled hair slipped past him.

  The horse scrambled away from the woman. Blowing hard through his nose in warning, he bolted to the left kicking dirt and rocks up under his hooves. Jack moved with him and then Sam stopped lifting his head up high and snorted again, but this time much louder.

  The woman brought her hands up over her face protectively and crouched in a squatting position not five feet from the horse’s hooves. Sam calmed and the woman climbed to her feet appearing ready to flee. Then she glanced at Jack looking past him. Neither one of them moved, but then the woman put a finger to her lips asking him to be silent. He gave a slight nod.

  “Here kitty, kitty…” There was a pause and then, “I’m not done with you! Be a good lil pussy and come out.”

  Long strands of brown hair hung in a tangled mess partially covering the woman’s dirt stained face. Blood flecked her lips and bruises branded her face. Wide eyed with fear, she shifted pulling on her bloody and torn shirt. Her jeans were dark from dirt and blood as pale bruised skin exposed her waist up. She was thin, far too thin for her height and frame. She clutched the material tight. He raised his hands gesturing that he wouldn’t hurt her. When she flinched, he thought she’d spring into a full run.

  Jack dismounted. “How many?”

  She said nothing. He stepped away from her, but stopped when she grabbed his arm. She held up three fingers.

  “He’s coming.” She whispered. “You’ll need more than that.” She said glancing down at the rifle in his hands. A slight drop of blood formed on her lips and rolled down her chin.

  In the distance, the trespasser made his way through the trees disturbing knee high desert brush. Thunder rolled overhead. The woman trembled and stepped to the side. A long strand of lightning split off into several fingers touching the ground. Jack pointed at her and then to the boulders. Obeying, she crouched down behind the largest.

  When the trespasser came into view, he had a rifle in one hand and a chain in the other. The hood of his sweatshirt kept his face dark and unseen. He moved toward Jack with intent. The man was as tall as Jack was and slightly wider in the shoulders. Confident, he stopped twenty feet from Jack and stood without fear.

  “This is private property,” Jack said. “Pack up and get off.”

  “Nothing is private anymore partner. Haven’t you heard?”

  “I heard there are no more laws.”

  “My point exactly. Have you seen a kitty running through here, seems I’ve lost her?”

  “Get the fuck off my property!” Jack said. The hood of the man’s jacket slipped back in the wind allowing Jack to see the man’s face. Deep scars ran the length from his chin to his brow bone. Blood splatter covered his sweatshirt. He looked more like a butcher than a hunter. Another crack of thunder released above as the sky dimmed another notch, shadowing the man’s face once again.

  “You don’t want this trouble.” He said. “I’m not leaving without her.”

  “Then you’re not leaving.”

  More thunder. Jack raised his rifle. He didn’t care if his property was the man’s final resting place. A twisted strand of electric fingers popped from the sky and spiraled downward. Jack ignored Mother Nature’s fireworks and waited for an answer.

  From the timber, a rifle cracked. The bullet caught Jack spinning him around, but he was quick to have his Beretta aimed into the tree line. He fired one shot. Branches exploded. Jack turned and aimed on the trespasser. The trespasser had done the same.

  “Where is she?”

  Jack allowed the man to take a few steps towards him making his own show of confidence, but today wasn’t his day to die. Now facing the other, the trespasser glanced at Jack’s blood soaked shirt.

  “Man, you’re hit.” He said. “Here kitty, kitty. Time to go home to your papa.” The man fixated his gaze on Jack. “I’m tired and I just want what is mine.”

  The man swung the chain. Jack wasn’t in the mood for game playing. He pressed the trigger of his .357 Beretta sending a full metal jacket blasting into the man’s chest. Blood and flesh sprayed outward. Big as a bull, the man reached out to brace his fall.

  “I’m tired too.” Jack said.

  Jack stopped his fall and spun him around to shield himself from the sniper in the tree line. The bullet intended for Jack, caught the trespasser in the chest instead. Blood sprayed across Jack’s arm. The man became dead weight against him, but with one good push, Jack let him fall to the ground.

  Lunging behind a set of smooth boulders, Jack tore off his long sleeved shirt to keep the trespasser’s blood from soaking into his open wound. Ensuring Sam and the woman were safe, he moved toward the tree line wanting no return visitors.

  “Two down, one to go. Let’s see how good of a shot you are asshole.” There was nothing except tracks and the sound of the wind.

  He stood for a moment allowing enough time to pass for any more takers and then stepped over to the dead man. He knelt down feeling for a pulse. There was none. He looked at the man’s face.

  “Asshole.”

  Searching pockets, he found nothing. Jack tossed the chain, took the trespassers rifle and walked away. He was tired of d
igging graves and wore out trying to keep the property secure. The two dead men wouldn’t mind waiting for their burial meanwhile the animals could take what they wanted. Jack would bury them later.

  He heard Sam fuss and as the gelding stepped into sight, Jack knew why. The woman was in the saddle urging Sam forward, but the gelding refused to move. She slid from the horse almost falling to the ground and started to crawl away. Jack slid his rifle into the scabbard.

  “Wait.”

  He withdrew his pistol and started towards the woman, but she darted into the brush, scrambling as she fought to stay upright. She stumbled, caught herself and ran. He glanced up at the darkening sky and sighed. The storm wouldn’t be as kind as he had been.

  Swearing under his breath, he had no desire to go looking for anyone. Irritated, he kicked rocks with the toe of his boot, but stopped when he heard the sound of her footsteps behind him. She stepped out into the open, took a step, and then fell to the ground. Jack looked down. Blood was flowing from both new and old wounds on her skin.

  “Can you ride?” He looked down at her.

  She started to push herself up, but her arms failed. He learned a long time ago not to trust anyone not even a wounded woman. He scooped her up, wincing from the wound in his shoulder and carried her to Sam.

  “You killed Rin…...”

  She was dead weight in his arms and he struggled to keep them both from falling to the ground. His shirt was wet with fresh blood from his wounds and that pissed him off even more. He was responsible for an unconscious woman, an escaped trespasser, and two bodies that’d bring every coyote in the county onto his property. More than anything, he hadn’t shook the feeling something was wrong at home.

  The ride back was both fast and awkward. The dead weight of the woman restricted his movement and the sound of Sam’s hooves flicking rock and sand, pounded in his thoughts. The horse never broke his stride. The beat of his hooves joined the clamor of the thunder above. The wind picked up several miles from the ranch making the last part of their trip a cold one. Fingers of white light struck directly in the path they were heading exploding treetops into tiny shards of kindling. As the rain started to fall, the lightning subsided and the thunder uncorked one last rumble. They were about to get wet.

  They rode the last mile in down pouring rain. There wasn’t anything on Jack, the woman, and Sam that wasn’t wet. Sadie and Tank didn’t meet him at the fence. The two ridgebacks were good guard dogs and they would’ve heard Jack coming. It was the red flag, he wasn’t wanting. Struggling to dismount, Jack slipped down from the wet horse gathering the woman in his arms and moved in the direction of the double doors of the barn. Sam followed his reins still wrapped around the horn of the saddle. The woman wrapped her fingers around his neck while long strands of wet tangled hair hid her face. He’d given her his second layer of clothing in order to keep her warm and covered.

  He’d lost some blood causing him to stumble. The barn door creaked open darkness and then a rifle filled the opening. As Ben came into the light, Jack saw the anger in the old man’s eyes.

  “Pop.” Jack lowered his voice.

  The old man let down his rifle looking worried then he swung the rifle around and pointed it at the woman.

  “No Pop, it’s okay.” Jack said.

  “Ryan’s been shot, Lynn’s hurt pretty bad. Nick’s doing his best.” The old man’s voice crackled and then smoothed out. “Who’s she?”

  “Are you okay pop?” Jack asked stepping past the old man. The air smelled of leather, ointments, and hay.

  “Yep,” Ben answered,” got a good lump on the head.”

  Jack laid the woman down and covered her. Ben moved aside while Jack pulled some canned food from the cupboard and handed it to the old man.

  “I knew something was wrong.” Jack said. “I should’ve stayed home. Can you feed her if she wakes up? I have a feeling she hasn’t eaten in a while.”

  Ben nodded keeping his rifle in his hand.

  “There were some bad men chasing her. I got all but one.” Jack said.

  The old man grunted. Ben’s cantankerous character wasn’t enough to keep the trespassers at bay, but it might scare the woman when she woke finding the old man’s face glued to hers. She’d be sure to stay put.

  Jack reloaded both the rifle and pistol and then stopped. “Be nice.”

  “You’re bleeding” Ben replied. “Get in line. Nick will stitch you up too.”

  THIRTEEN

  Riley couldn’t breathe. Something heavy and acrid smelling was holding her down. When she opened her eyes, she saw a fuzzy outline of someone or something moving over her. She reached under her and withdrew her pistol. A small angelic voice spoke to her.

  “Riley, help me push him off,” Utah said.

  Making out fingers tugging at a man’s shirt, she heard material tear. The man’s body shifted. Setting the pistol down, she pushed.

  “Careful.” Riley choked.

  “One, two, three,” Utah pulled hard. The monster’s heavy, foul smelling body rolled off Riley and her lungs filled with air. She choked a few coughs back fearing she might toss cranberries.

  Utah knelt next to her. Riley could almost make out Megan pressed to the inside of the cab window.

  “Shit, he smells like sh……poop,” Riley stopped realizing Utah was looking into her eyes, holding onto every word she was saying.

  “Are you alright?” she asked. She was pointing to something on Riley’s face. When Riley reached up, she felt a deep cut alongside her cheek. It was dripping with blood.

  “I’m calling the manager. Seems this store is not very customer orientated.” Riley said rolling over feeling wobbly. Barely getting to a kneeling position the world spun around her. When she reached out to catch herself, Utah stood up to help her. “My own personal angel,” Riley thought leaning against the truck for support. Things were beginning to slow down and the merry go round was beginning to stop.

  “Let’s get out of here.” There was a goose egg of a lump on the back of her head and it was making her feel a little woozy.

  Grabbing her pistol and shotgun, Riley found the truck door. The inside of the cab was welcoming other than the smell coming off her. It was late afternoon and it was up to her to get them somewhere for the night.

  “You stink,” Megan said leaning forward. Her big blue eyes had traces of tears. “Can I have some more of that minty stuff?” She asked.

  Riley brushed a curl away from her forehead and handed her the deep heating rub. “Sorry you guys had to see that.”

  “We’ve seen monsters before” Megan whispered.

  “I’m sure you have.” Riley wanted the girls to understand when to hurt someone and when not to.

  “She understands,” Utah said.

  Riley looked at Utah who only turned away.

  Wanting to put a hole in the Wal-Mart sign as a symbol of her anger, Riley settled for being thankful they were alive. She retraced her path until they got to the 101 and headed north leaving behind yet another chapter in a book never to be read.

  What would my mom think of me?

  “Your mom is proud of you.” Utah whispered but Riley’s ears were ringing. Utah found something to press against her cheek to stop the bleeding.

  As dusk settled in, they searched for a campground. Against the mountain was a wall of torn and dismantled canopies, tents and camping gear. Eternal campers were parked in million dollar motorhomes nestled in favorite campsites.

  “Free camping for life.” Riley said.

  She headed for the sheriffs hub pulling into the day use parking lot where she expected it to be empty. She parked just under the eaves of the building somewhat nestled to the rolling doors. She wanted to be close to the main road for a quick getaway and far away from the mounds of entombed carnage. On pavement rather than sand, Riley left the trailer hitched to the truck just in case, but unloaded the wildcat. When she picked Megan up in her arms, Utah woke and Max dashed out of the truck toward the bru
sh to do some much-needed business.

  “We can rest here tonight,” Riley whispered. Megan mumbled something and then nestled closer to her. The coastal air held the moisture like a sponge so Riley hugged Megan even tighter sharing some of her warmth. The trailer seemed to trap the cold air. Riley turned on the propane and started the furnace.

  A dim glow shone inside the trailer. Utah went to work on a can of soup and Riley analyzed the wounds on her face. Her head ached. The gash on her cheek oozed with fresh blood. Four inches of opened flesh across her left cheekbone needed stitching.

  “Come here.” Utah poked her head in through the door. She motioned me to the table.

  Riley sat down to steaming hot water, a washcloth, and first aid kit. A twelve-year-old girl was about to fix her wounds. The warm washcloth eased the ache while producing a stinging sensation. She felt like a 24-hour train wreck and looked like one too.

  “I found this in the bathroom.” Utah said.

  “Peroxide. Joy!”

  Utah was about to pour the peroxide onto the wound the door rattled. They both jumped.

  “Max.”

  Riley nodded to Utah who cracked open the door. Max darted in with his tail fluffed up. He hissed, angry that he’d been forgotten.

  “Pussy,” Riley said. He flattened his ears and gave her a “take a hike” look.

  Twenty minutes later and with Utah’s help, Riley had four butterfly stitches pressing the gash closed. All the blood above her shoulders was gone, but the rest of her stunk. These girls hadn’t survived by not being self-sufficient. She however would have to wait until tomorrow for a bath. Exhausted and a lot of sore, she took a washcloth and began wiping down. When she was finished, she slipped into fresh clothes and sat down to eat some soup. Three aspirins, bottled water, and a bottle of wine sat on the table waiting for her.

  Utah was curled tightly next to her sister both of which covered equally by blankets. She smiled wincing at the pain. A child had taken better care of her than her husband ever did. There was no comparison between the two. Mark would’ve told the girls to get out of the truck. He would have left them there, alone. She poured a glass of wine, drank it, and then poured another. Max, no longer angry kept the side of her leg warm.