Hunting Indians - Chapter 13

Chapter One can be found at: https://steemit.com/fiction/@andrewgenaille/hunting-indians-chapter-one

Chapter 12: https://steemit.com/fiction/@andrewgenaille/hunting-indians-chapter-12

1. Chapter 13

Peter moved through the bush at a crouch with his arm out to avoid hitting anything. He waited until he was a good distance away from Damien before he flicked the flashlight on. Now that he could see where he was going he was able to move faster.
It was two hours and five kilometers before he slowed down to a walk, and then finally stopped to take the wrapping off his feet. The cloth was collecting muck and slowed him down. He held the light over his toes to see that they were covered in scabs where the blood dried. There wasn't any swelling though and almost no pain. That was good sign, and he wasn't a stranger to running through the forest barefoot.
He looked around the small area and grabbed some Tiger Lilly. Not his favourite meal but it's edible enough. He started moving again.
It was another three kilometers before Peter heard the sound of water and moved toward it. He came through the trees to see a two-foot wide creek moving down from the mountains through rocks. He grabbed several handfuls of water to drink, feeling for the first time how dry his lips were. The cracks stung a little.
He moved onto the soft mud a distance from the water to spare his feet but still followed the creek as it led him to the Fraser River.
When he saw the river it filled Peter with both hope and relief, enough that he threw his head back and laughed. For I am Sto:lo, the people of the river, for tens of thousands of years this has been the life blood of my race and he knew it better than anyone. The river moved from his left to his right so he knew what side he was on, and he knew it was heading west.
Peter scanned the shoreline with the light in both directions looking for something to identify the area and he saw in it an island where the river bent. The light wasn't bright enough to show him where the river funneled but he could hear the rapids.
"I know where you took me, you son of a bitch." Peter smiled. He was further east than he would've like to have been, much further than the reserve and nowhere near where Karen should've been.
Still, there were homes another few kilometers east, most abandoned from what he remembered, when the mine pit around here shut down. It collapsed with twenty minors inside, and when the rescue failed the place never recovered.
If he could make it there he might be able to find one or two people left behind, which meant there would be food as well as a vehicle. Peter moved from the river to avoid being seen and started trekking.

Nine kilometers the other way, Damien struggled through the forest using the light on his phone to see. He was also using the map feature to find his way back to the car. The GPS signal was weak but he managed to get back to where he could see the car's headlights.
He shut the phone off and figuratively kicked himself when he saw that the lights were dimming. Normally not an issue but considering it was a brand new completely electric car he might've had an issue getting back home.
Damien contemplated phoning for help but put that aside as he didn't want to explain royally screwing up again, not right after just making it out of his last punishment for screwing up. Here he let his prisoner escape, and with his car almost dead.
Damien climbed into the driver’s seat and decided that he would handle this alone. He'd get this guy. How hard could that be? He's injured and just as lost as Damien. Plus he's not armed.
Damien pulled up the map on his phone again, looking at the world from above as he wondered where Peter would've gone, and what was close enough that he could get power from. He smirked when he saw the nearby town as it pretty much answered both his questions.
Out here in mining country, he might actually find some hunters that wanted a free shot at an Indian as this is where he knew most of the volunteer militia came from.
He started the car on and turned it around to head for that town.

"No, I don't think I'm coming home tonight." Mark said into the phone at his desk. On the other end of the line was Amanda and she didn't seem amused.
"Why not?" She asked. At the moment she was curled up on the couch. She had just calmed down from being angry with him from before when he called.
"They're calling everybody in." He didn't want to tell her why, mentioning that two of his fellow Agents were murdered tonight might not go over big with her.
"You've been up for almost twenty four hours. Are they serious? You were in a fucking gun fight today. Do they not get that?"
"They know..." Mark sighed, "Somebody got into our files...and this guy...I have to catch him, Amanda before he does something worse."
"You're not the only agent there."
There was awkward silence between them, "I know. I'm sorry. I'll see you...when it's over."
"I'm starting to think it's never going to be over." She said and hung up.
"Me neither." Mark said to himself as he put the phone down, he turned around to find Ryan standing there.
"She threatened me."
"Who?"
"Beth. She told me that I should remember that she's my boss. I told her not right now she wasn't. She said when this is sorted out she will be again, and that she'll make my life a living hell if I go through with this."
"What did you say?" Mark leaned back.
"I'm willing to live with it." Ryan smirked.
"Do you think she did it?"
"I'm pretty confident she did, and ten minutes with the Inquisitor we'll definitely know for sure."
"Ok. They're bringing her computer back here so Jessie can break into it. He says we'll be able to get a look at what this guy went through. Find out what he's after."
"And you didn't want to just wipe them off the map." Ryan asked.
"What?"
"Just hear me out. I'm going to take this to the brass today and I'm going to want your support on it." Ryan let it sink in. "We've already killed and burned what they had in the bush, how is that any worse than doing the same to the reserve?"
"You want to burn the reserve?"
"Back in the day, when they were having trouble with the Indians, they didn't go racing all over the place trying to track down a few of them. They went to the village with an army, they killed who was there and burned the homes and salted the earth. They made it so those warriors had no place to go back to. We do the same thing here. If we take away their reason for fighting, they stop fighting."
"Buddy, you're talking genocide."
"It's not genocide. Somebody always survives, and there are other reserves across the country. We're taking out maybe one fifteenth of what there is. Tops."
"They won't go for it. I wouldn't bother." Mark wasn't persuasive but didn't have the energy.
"You never bother, that's why you never get anything done. They'll go for it and I'll be the one walking away with all the medals." Ryan smiled, "I'm going to go take a nap. Come get me when that computer gets here."
"Yeah." Mark nodded as Ryan moved off. Mark turned his chair back around to face his computer, exhausted as he went back to work.

The first three houses Peter went to were boarded up with old timber. Their paint was almost non-existent and in one case a refuse for bats. The area couldn't really be called a town. It was just houses built on a hillside overlooking the river. There was a small school and one general store attached to a gas station. Peter's hopes were slightly dashed when he found that the store was also boarded up and the station’s front windows were already smashed in.
He could see why though, at fourteen dollars a liter, the people that were still using internal combustion engines on long trips were going to be ticked. The world was running out of fuel and these people were still clinging to it. Sometimes it amused Peter and sometimes it made him angry. The Indian wars started over oil and gas, now in an age when people had no choice but to go electric, the Indians were still being pushed aside.
The inside of the station was no different. The shelves were empty and everything was covered in a layer of dust. Peter stepped back outside and looked over the hill. He smiled as he spotted a house with lights on. It was hidden by some trees but the glow was unmistakable on a pitch-black night.
When he reached the two-story house, Peter noticed that the inside lights were off. He searched for an unlocked or open window, which he found in the back. The owner must've been trying to cool the house down. Peter climbed through and turned on his flashlight. He found himself in a back room with boots and jackets. He looked for the inner door.
He found the kitchen and went straight for the fridge. He opened it to find left over food in Tupperware containers. He wasn't really sure what the brown beef type food was but he didn't care as long as it was edible. He heated it in the microwave and popped the door open before it beeped. Grabbing a spoon from the drawer, he devoured the food quickly.
It tasted like crap but after several days eating cell food designed to keep him always hungry, it was pure heaven to him. He literally licked the bottom of the container to get the last bit of it before he looked through the fridge again and picked out a yellow dish.
Peter tensed up when he saw the confederate flag magnet on the freezer right in front of him. It had a history on its own but to the Indians up North it became the unofficial symbol of the militia movement. They patrolled the edges of the reservation. Next to it was the official symbol, a man holding a shield with one arm and a rifle in the other.
Peter decided that it was time to leave and searched for a bag of any kind, but only came up with blanket shawl on the couch that he grabbed. He figured that he could wrap some food in it and tie it off. He grabbed only items that would last and the can opener on the counter. He put them in the blanket and swung it over his shoulder wrapped as if it were a sling for a child. He paused as headlights pulled up at the front of the house. Once the car pulled in, the porch light came on and he recognized the car instantly.
Definitely time to leave.
Peter moved to the back of the house and climbed out the window one leg at a time. He brought his head out as two bright flashlights lit up where he paused.
"Well, don't that beat all." A gruff voice said from behind one of the lights. Peter squinted but still couldn't see past the bright light. "We spent the last six hours out looking for strays, and there's one right here waiting for us."
"Looks like he's stealing from us." A second voice stated, this one female.
"Yeah," Peter considered his options as he kept one foot inside the house. "This is all one big misunderstanding."
"Is it?" The first voice said. "You look Indian. We shoot Indians. That's how I understand it."
"In that case, maybe we are on the same page." Peter moved his head back into the house and shoved himself away from the window as the shotgun went off.
Damien ducked at the front door at the sound of gunfire as he was just about to knock. He backed up and pulled out his pistol. Two more shots went off so he stepped down from the steps and considered what he should be doing in this situation. He wasn't being shot at but it was clear that he hadn't been trained for this type of situation.
A form came around the side of the house with a bright light and he aimed, "Freeze! Indian Control!"
"Don't shoot." The form lowered the light to reveal a forty-three year old red head, slightly overweight, in hunting gear. "Gale Preston, member 2127 of her royal militia contingent."
"Right, okay. Who are you shooting at?" Damien didn't lower his gun just yet.
"My hubby and I've got a god damn tree nigger holed up inside. I'm covering the front." Gale moved forward as Damien lowered his weapon and looked at the door.
"Inside? Is he wearing a jumpsuit, no shoes, bandages?"
"That's the one. He yours?"
"Unlock this door." Damien ordered as Gale moved up to the door. She dug out her keys.
Inside Peter raced up the stairs and stopped in the hallway as he heard the front door open with a slow creak. He closed his eyes to calm himself and then looked down the hallway. There were always options. He just has to figure one out.
Peter started checking doors. The first door was a bathroom. The second was a kid’s room for a tween girl. The third one was the linen closet. The last door was the master bedroom.
Peter moved into the room to look around, then dropped to the floor to check under the bed and pulled out various leather sex toys. He shoved them back under and moved to the closet. He opened the inner door and found what he was looking for, rifles and shotguns leaned against the wall.
He grabbed a shotgun and checked to make sure all the pieces were in place, but when he looked for shells in the closet he found nothing. He turned his attention to the dresser on the far wall.
Downstairs Gale and Damien met up with Burt as he came from the kitchen.
"What the hell, Gale?" Burt said. He was a heavy man of five foot ten in his mid forties and was thick bearded. He says he's lost his Indian so we're going to help him get it back." Gale let Damien go ahead.
"Dead or alive?" Burt asked.
"What use to me is he alive?" Damien answered back. His anxiety of not getting his man was gone now. Despite their appearance, he was pretty sure his two new allies knew what they were doing.
Burt chuckled and moved to the stairs. He held his shotgun at the ready with the light on top turned on. Damien stepped up after him while Gale stayed on the first floor.
Peter found the shells in the bottom drawer under some socks and starts putting them into the weapon. He looks over at the light bouncing off the wall down the hall and chambers a round.
Peter walked to the door and moved around the frame as little as possible while still able to aim. Peter watched as the light reached the top of the stairs and turned down the hall. He reached out and flicked the hallway light on.
The new light blinded Burt for a second and he shut his eyes. Peter fired. The shot-gun slug hit Burt in the chest and sent him back into the wall. Peter chambered another round to shoot again but Damien came around and fired off fifteen rounds.
A ricochet hit Peter in the hip. He didn't feel it at first and fired back at Damien, but the Agent pulled back out of the way.
"Burt!" Gale screamed as her husband’s body came down the staircase while Damien reloaded.
Peter staggered back into the room and looked down at his leg, the round created a hole going in but none going out. He pushed around it and winced in pain as the surrounding area started to react, but he learned what he needed to know. The round was still in there but wasn't deep. He could feel it just under the skin an inch from the opening.
Damien aimed around the corner again. He fired off three rounds as he moved to the bathroom door. He used it for cover and now had a better angle on the master bedroom.
"Peter. Drop the gun. There's no way out of here for you." Damien yelled, hoping Peter picked up on the logic.
Peter moved to the window and looked out at the slanted roof that went over the front porch. He smiled to himself that Damien was wrong. Now all he had to do was get down without breaking an ankle.
"Peter, I'm going to count to three and we're coming in."
Peter put the shotgun out first and pulled himself up and out. He leaned on his good side as he slid down to the end of the roof. There he stopped with one foot in the water gutter and looked at the grass below. He tossed the shotgun first.
"Well," Peter said to himself, "On the plus side, all I have to do is aim for the ground." He slid a bit further, collected his courage and pushed himself over the edge.
He tried to put most of the force on his good leg but there was no way to avoid the shot leg from taking some of the impact. A bolt of lightning ripped from his thigh throughout his entire body as his legs collapsed under him. He dropped to his front, as his nervous system was completely overwhelmed. His vision blurred, everything tensed to the point he couldn't open his balled up hands. His stomach clenched hard enough he had to will himself not to puke, sucking in enough air to release the muscles. He was able to not hyperventilate as he waited for the pain to dissipate, and decided he didn't have time so he grabbed the shotgun then forced himself to push up to his feet again.
Peter started down the hill toward the river.
Inside the house, Damien moved down the hall and aimed into the bedroom. He flicked the light on and scanned the room before moving to the open window. Outside he made out the form of Peter limping off and fired at him.
Peter ducked a bit at the first shot but realized that was pointless at the distance. He reached the first of the trees and continued.
Damien raced for the stairs and took them two at a time but slowed to get past Gale cradling Burt.
"Who does this? What kind of monster would do this?" Gale screamed at Damien but he was single minded and darted out the front door.
Peter reached the road and tripped. He caught himself and climbed up to his feet, he looked at the slant in the road heading past two more houses toward the river. Normally he could've easily taken it, but without proper stabilizing muscles he had to take it slower.
Damien dashed at a fast sprint across the lawn, his legs stretched out as he propelled forward. He reached the trees in a quarter of the time that it took Peter. It took him even less time to reach the highway where he also stopped.
Damon fired a few rounds and started down the hill.
The one good thing about this guy, Peter thought as the rounds streaked past him, is he will always let you know when he's around.
Peter turned back and fired, sending the other man off to take cover behind the first house. Peter began limping backwards as he aimed toward the corner of that house.
Damien came around to aim but a second shot forced him back again. He looked around to see that lights flicked on at some of the other occupied houses.
Peter reached the bottom of the hill and looked the water over. There were two small fishing boats tied up to the bank that he could make out in the darkness. Little ten foot metal ones made for two or three people at most. Peter shot a hole into one and grabbed the rope for the other. He climbed into that one and used the single paddle to push away from shore.
Damien looked around the corner again. When there was no return fire he started down the hill, still barely able to see anything in the darkness. All he could hear was the sound of the river and decided to move closer. He spotted the sinking boat and pieced together what happened. Damien searched the river. It was too dark to see anything even ten feet in front of him.
Peter reached a point where he couldn't feel the bottom of the river anymore and felt the current catch the craft. Peter wobbled to the back of the boat and felt around for the engine only to find there wasn't one there. "I didn't think this one out enough."
He was at the mercy of the river and couldn't see the shoreline even if his life depended on it which it did.
Peter sat down between the two benches and tended to his wound.
Damien struggled back up the hill and ran into the locals as they came out of their houses with giant lights and firearms. Most of them gathered at Damien as he held up his badge.
"Department of Indian Control," Damien said, causing them to lower their weapons. "I've got an Indian on the loose, and he just killed your friend who lives in that house there. I need a boat, and I need to get up this river after him."
"Forget the boat, take the road down river twenty kilometers. He's going to either get stuck on the sandbar or you can shoot him from the bridge." Clark suggested. He was a hunter in rubber boots holding a high-powered rifle.
"Ok, let's do that then."
"Alright, come with me." Clark said, "Sandy, you go and grab the dogs in case he gets on foot."
Clark led the group back toward the lit houses as Damien fell in line with them.

Chapter 14 can be found at: https://steemit.com/fiction/@andrewgenaille/hunting-indians-chapter-14