Hunting Indians - Chapter 18

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

Chapter 17: https://steemit.com/fiction/@andrewgenaille/hunting-indians-chapter-17

1. Chapter 18

Damien was getting tired and it was starting to have an impact on his body. When he didn't focus on something else he started to feel the aches and pains. His right hand was a mixture of pain and numb areas as it started to swell to twice its normal size and changed to a darker, red colour.
"You should get that looked at." Clark said from behind the wheel of the truck, taking them down the highway toward the city.
"Mind your own business." Damien replied. He looked back out the window as the truck kept pace with the train. Occasionally they would lose it as it moved off behind trees or through a town, but when it came back they matched speed so Damien could keep an eye on Peter.
The first hour of the ride, Peter didn't move from his position on his back. He stayed laid out on the grill walkway. Nearing the city, the train moved off and when it came back toward the road Peter was gone, causing Damien to get worked up but the Indian just moved to the middle of the train to sleep there.
"I don't know where I'm going" Clark said as they pulled up toward the city. He checked his rear view mirror to see that the other two cars followed them.
"Follow this road, at the end of this line is a train yard. It'll have to stop there before crossing the border." Damien watched as the train started pulling away from the highway, heading behind industrial buildings. "He tries to jump before then and it'll kill him. We'll get him there."
Clark pressed down on the gas, following Damien's directions as the buildings got more industrial. They occasionally glimpsed the train in the distance as it began to slow down. High fence lines bordered the tracks now.
Clark pulled the truck around a bend in the road as Damien pointed out the turn that took them to the large gates of the train yard. Jessie, the overly thin guard, moved to the driver’s door as Clark rolled his window down.
"Private property," Jessie said, "You'll have to back up and..."
Damien held up his badge, "Department of Indian Control. We're on official business. Open that damn gate."
Jessie stared at the badge as he considered his job security. His voice became unsure. "This is a secure facility. I'm going to have to check with my supervisor on that..."
"Open the gate, man," Damien put the badge down, "I swear to god..."
Jessie backed up. He grabbed his portable radio and talked into it as Damien looked into the train yard. The oil train came in through the main gates. It slowed down among the other hundreds of train cars parked for storage and engines that awaited inspection.
"Drive. Take it down, just take it down." Damien ordered. Clark smirked and looked toward Jessie still on his radio. Clark hit the gas and sent the truck through the large gate. Sandy and the others followed behind as Jessie stood in stunned silence.
The three vehicles moved around train cars and over tracks fast enough that they bounced and jostled about.
"Stop here, stop here!" Damien grabbed the door handle and the truck skid to a stop in front of the train engine. He climbed out quickly with his berretta. The others followed suit and he motioned. "You! Go up this side! You! Come with me this way."
Damien moved along the train cars heading for the one he knew Peter had been riding on. Clark checked between each car and underneath with his shotgun. Damien reached his car of choice and had to stop when he realized he couldn't climb with a busted hand and the gun. "Get up there."
Clark repressed rolling his eyes at the idiot and slung the rifle over his shoulder. He moved up the ladder quickly. He looked both ways and then back down to Damien. "He's not here."
"Son of a bitch...spread out! Everybody spread out!" Damien backed away from the train as the others started checking the other trains. "Someone cover that gate...get it closed."
Damien looked toward the sun and estimated that they had about an hour left of light. Once the area was shrouded in darkness this Indian would have plenty more hiding places. He considered calling in for backup. In reality the office was only twenty minutes away and he could have the area swarming with Agents trained to find these pests. He would also watch as his career prospects dissolved.

Kevin escorted Karen through the back streets and alleys of the city as they headed back to the mission. The sun dipped behind the larger buildings so it was easier to blend in.
This wasn't as hard to do as one would imagine, for the last seventy years people were programmed by Hollywood to see Indians as molded from one cast, usually dark and chiseled. It was unusual for a white person or other non-native race to know there was an Indian in front of them even when presented, a moment of disbelief. To those they passed Kevin seemed somewhat Asian, perhaps a half white half Filipino while those that saw Karen thought Spanish or Greek.
Arriving at the mission, Karen moved to the corner as Kevin walked about the forty or so homeless people searching for Reed. In Kevin's eyes though, the people tended to blend together as greys and greens. He found Reed in the back corner with his head down eating some sort of roast beef sandwich with soup. As Kevin sat, Karen took it as her cue to walk over, ignoring the looks she got as she passed.
Reed looked up at Kevin and raised his eyebrows. He wouldn't have expected the other to just stop by and the look Kevin gave him was full of determination. "You look like you have something on your mind."
"I need your help." Kevin said.
Reed chuckled. It was a moment he never would've dreamed would present itself and for a moment didn't believe it. It's been a lifetime of guilt and shame for things too horrible to speak of, looking for ways to make his life balance out. He took note as Karen sat next to Kevin.
"I told you before, I'm here to help." Reed said.
"And how many other people feel the way you do?" Karen asked.
"What are you looking to do?"
"We want to shut down a building." Karen explained, "The Department of Indian Control."
Reed chewed on his lower lip when he heard the name of the building. He looked at the man to his left who slid away when he realized what the conversation was about. Reed looks back to the Indians.
"That's a big building."
"It's just a building." Kevin states.
"Know what the first four floors of that building are?" Reed paused for a reaction. Karen shook her head. "Oil. Oil companies pay for that building. Know why? Control the Indian, control the Oil. Also lumber and water rights. They've all got offices in there. They've all got a stake. You go near that building, anybody goes near that building and they'll see it as an attack on their business. And they don't like people fucking with their business."
"Are you telling me you're backing off? You didn't want to really help?" Kevin challenged.
"I'm telling you that you're going to have a hard time finding volunteers. When are you looking to do this?" Reed stirred his stew as he considered who he could ask.
"Tonight." Kevin said.
"Tonight? You think I can pull this off tonight? How connected do you think I am? Would I be living here if I was?" Reed put his spoon down looking from Karen to Kevin and back. "I don't know anybody that could pull that kind of people together. Maybe if we had a week and time on the web..."
"Please." Karen spoke up. Reed stopped talking. He could see the pain in her eyes. "In that building is the woman I love. For the last fifteen years she's put her life on the line for us and now they have her. To them she's a traitor. If we don't get to her tonight, they will kill her. We have to try tonight, and will even without help but we need that help. Please."
Reed studied her face for a moment. "There's a group. They meet in secret, computer hackers, hippies, lawyers and weird types. I don't know where, but they protest for you guys. Never had much affect because guys in power just ignore 'em. They ain't that well organized, mostly because everybody hates what they have to say."
"Where do we find them?" Karen asked.
"I'll find them." Reed said.

The sun was nothing more than orange rays over the curve of the earth. The train yard was covered in deep shadows and made Peter’s hiding spot pitch black. He was laid out on top of the roof of a semi-truck unloading dock. Its triangle roof allowed him to lay on one side unseen, with the second floor of the warehouse behind him. Anybody that looked in his direction wouldn't be able to see past the bright lights below him that aimed downward.
In comparison all Peter had to do was look over the top of the perch and he could see those in the yard as they searched for him. The local security was now involved and everybody had their flashlights out, but lucky for him they seemed to think that he was incapable of climbing drainpipes.
Peter smirked. The drainpipe was about the width of a small birch tree, something you tended to climb a lot when growing up in the woods. Damaged leg or not.
The large gates were closed and covered by two men while the vehicle gate was torn down, but also covered. He was going to need to find another way out. What made this worse for him was how close to the border Peter knew he was. It's the last stop on this side before the trains crossed over. It was teasing him.
"Get some light over there." Peter heard Damien nearby, and looked over the top to see. "Anybody check inside? That should've been done."
Peter smiled as he looked down the sloop of the roof to see the top of Damien's head, looking the other way. The Agent seemed to be staying in the light as if that would make it easier for him to see into the darkness. People moved about setting up halogen lights wired to the buildings but left the nut case by himself.
Damien turned and moved under the roof as he headed into the warehouse.
Peter looked behind him as the second floor lights turned on. He quickly moved to the wall. He pressed back against the building so if anybody looked out the small office window they wouldn't see him.
The light from inside hit the roof in front of him, giving him a shadow show when someone inside moved past. He could tell by the roundness of one that it was a militia or guard that moved past. Peter waited there for a few minutes in silence and then moved slowly to the edge where the drainpipe was. He looked over the side to make sure it was clear and then climbed down.
The sound of boots on gravel behind him sent Peter to the building’s corner and the safety of darkness. He looked around to see that it was Damien and a fat Guard coming out the door. The guard moved off leaving Damien by himself.
Peter watched Damien's shadow where he could clearly see the outline of a gun in Damien's left hand. There was no way for him to run from this spot without alerting the other. The other’s shots might not hit their mark but would bring others.
Damien spit at the ground and turned back into the building. Peter made a spur of the moment choice. He moved from his hiding spot and followed Damian through the door.
Damien was filled with frustration as he followed the signs leading him to the bathroom. He tore notices from the wall as he passed and ripped them to shreds.
He shut down a train yard and people were going to start noticing. It was going to start costing them money. He had to let them out and call in help. Tough choice, do it now or wait, either way his career was done. Nobody could overlook letting the situation get this far out of hand.
Damien pushed on the washroom door and stepped in but was slammed forward as Peter hit him hard from behind. Damien rammed into the inside washroom wall with a thud. Peter's full force followed him up.
Peter grabbed him from behind and twisted, pushing him across the three-stall washroom into the hand dryers.
Peter punched Damien in the back of the head twice, sending his face into the wall. His front teeth cracked from the impact and the loose one came out.
Peter looked at Damien's hand for the gun but it was gone, so he searched around and saw that it was dropped over by the door.
Peter took a step but Damien spun around moving towards him, Peter turned back to catch him but the Agent was too fast. They fell back into the sinks hard, and hit the ground with Damien on top.
Damien used his good left hand to choke Peter while his broken hand fended off Peter as he tried to reach up.
Peter could feel the nails cut flesh on his throat from the grip. He pulled at the hand with all he could muster but couldn't break the lock as Damien used his entire weight behind it. Peter grabbed Damien at the bend in his elbow and pulled. The unlocking of his arm caused Damien to drop forward.
Peter grabbed Damien's head and twisted, causing the other to follow the movement with his body over onto the floor. Peter broke the grip on his throat and followed up with a few punches to Damien's face who was also swinging back. It was a wild bar brawl without the booze. Splatters of their blood hit the floor.
Peter darted for the gun as Damien grabbed at him, but the Indian got far enough to grab the weapon. He turned back and aimed. Damien backed away, the two of them had no control over their breathing.
"You fucking Indian." Damien said through gritted teeth, he spit blood out and moved back to the wall for support.
Peter didn't move. Carefully aiming was all that he wanted to do right now. Pull the trigger and send him to hell. Pull the trigger and it would end here.
Pull the trigger and his friends come get you. You kill him, they kill you, everything is wasted. Good situation Peter, good thinking.
"Yeah, well, Department of Indian Control spells Dick." Peter said in response to Damien's Indian comment.
Peter tried to rise to his feet, winced from his leg as it started to bleed again. He put his hand on the wall and slid down to the floor.
Damien smiled.
"Put it down. It's over." Damien stated.
Peter looked at his leg. The bullet wound and the dog bites were bleeding profusely. He wondered how much blood the body held and how much of it you could lose before it affected you. He looked back to Peter. "You'll just kill me."
"You're dying anyway."
"Yeah...yeah but at least this way, I get to take you with me." Peter watched as Damien's smile disappeared. "Oh come on, we've had quite the adventure together. It's fitting it ends like this. I kill you, they kill me. It's poetic. It's how they did it back in the day. King Arthur and his son, read about them. Died on each other's swords, I like it. You like it?"
"I don't think you're funny."
"That's ok. I'll give you a minute to make peace with your gods, then I'm going to blow your brains out." Peter chuckled to himself as Damien stared back, then looked away.
Peter started counting sixty seconds in his head as he watched Damien, while at the same time willed the energy to move to his muscles. When he reached zero he managed to push himself back up to his feet. "Okay, get to your feet."
"Why?"
"Because you're going to get me out of here."
"Why would I do that?"
"Cause here you die, out there you have a shot at getting away. Wouldn't you rather have that chance?" Peter said partly to Damien and partly to himself.
"Why don't you just give up?" Damien yelled at him. "Just stop now! You can't win. You can't get away. It ends here. You're stuck, so stop!"
Peter paused as he listened to the desperation in Damien's voice, it was hidden behind anger and hate but Peter recognized desperation when he heard it. It was how he felt.
"Oh, to live your life," Peter said after a moment, "A life of privilege, and never having to face defeat. You don't know what to do with it when you do. My people have been through far worse than what you've done to me today. We've been fighting for our very existence for six hundred years and we're still here and do you know why? Write this down when you get the chance, as bad as things get, you don't fucking give up."
Damien stared at him.
"Get up. It's time to go." Peter motioned and Damien climbed up to his feet. Peter moved him toward the door and stepped behind him with the gun pointed at the others head. "Okay, open the door."
Damien did as he was told and Peter pushed him forward into the building toward the yellow metal door leading out to the train yard. Peter looked around as they moved, searching for members of the Militia.
"What are you going to do? Walk out the front gate?" Damien asked when they reach the open door.
"Drive. We're going to drive out." Peter put his hand on Damien's collar to stop him. "Someone left the car running."
They could see the flashlights move around the train yard in the distance. Peter collected his courage and prodded Damien forward.
Peter kept their backs to the wall of the warehouse, following the shadows as best he could. Damien considered darting for it but the barrel just behind his ear reminded him Peter didn't have to be a good shot at this distance. Peter for his part, watched the lights and shuffled his feet carefully. Muscle weakness at the wrong moment and he'd end up on the ground.
The running car came into view and Peter stopped Damien, giving himself some time to judge the distance. Most of the way was out in the open, some of it in shadow but with areas lit up by portable lights and street lamps.
"Geronimo." Peter said softly and shoved Damien forward, this time using the train cars for cover. It was sixty yards, which they covered halfway before Peter stopped them in the shadows to catch his breath. Flashlights aimed their way but were too far away to light them up.
"What's stopping me from just shouting for help?" Damien asked.
"Death." Peter replied.
Peter nibbled at his lower lip. He started them walking again, painfully aware of the way his foot scraped the gravel. The lights inside the car were a beacon of hope for him, the hum of the engine still too far away, taunting him.
"Stop there." Clark ordered from the side. Peter turned Damien. The Militiaman stood five yards away aiming at them but Damien was blocking his shot.
"Shoot him! Shoot him!" Damien yelled.
"I've got no problem with you friend. I'm just going to be on my way." Peter said, pretty sure it wasn't going to work. He found in the past it was hard to reason with a racist.
"Yeah, but I've got a problem with you." Clark tried but couldn't get a shot.
Peter played out five possible scenarios in his head quickly, none of them led to him getting out of this alive. He decided on the one with the best possible out-come and started stepping toward the car with Damien.
Clark aimed up and fired, the bang echoed throughout the train yard and flashlights began turning in their direction. Peter froze.
"Now what?" Damien challenged Peter.
Peter aimed forward and fired, the round snapped Clark back as it hit him in the forehead. He dropped to his knees and forward. Damien tensed up and grabbed his ear from the pain as he realized that Peter was racing for the car.
Damien moved for Clark's rifle. He grabbed it and spun around to aim. The rifle was held over his forearm as he pulled the trigger with his good hand.
Peter grabbed the door to the car as he felt something sharp through his left side; he staggered but held the door to stay on his feet. He looked back at Damien who was trying to reload with one hand.
More in shock than anything, Peter climbed in behind the steering wheel.
"In the car..." Damien instructed the others as they collected around him. They started firing toward the car as Peter put it in reverse and slammed on the gas.
The car scraped Clark's truck, changing the car’s angle as guards jumped out of the way. Peter hit the breaks, shifted it into drive and turned the wheel as he hit the gas again. He scanned the darkness for the main gates and aimed the car, ignoring the sounds of the bullets pounding into the vehicle.
The car bounced over the gate, then hit true pavement as Peter struggled to get control of the vehicle. Not bad for someone who had only ever driven dune buggies.
"Now where's that border?" Peter chuckled to himself as he headed for the main highway. Following the highway signs until he saw the one marked 'Border'. He realized that his breathing had sped up and he tried to slow it down by taking deeper breaths, hoping it was just his adrenaline from the situation. It slowly dawned on him the less blood meant less oxygen getting through his system. His lungs were trying to compensate.
He looked down at his left side and the red soaked through his jumper. It was enough to be seeping at the top of his thigh as well. He could feel the numbness of his extremities as his body tried to compensate. "Oh come on..."
Up ahead Peter could make out the shape of the flags that hung above the border crossing but they were becoming blurry in the night sky. Underneath them was a large building for walking through while built out from it were the booths for the Boarder Guards. Nine booths, each with twenty to thirty vehicles lined up as they waited to enter the United States for the weekend.
"I can see you..."
Peter didn't react fast enough to apply the breaks and his car smashed into the back of a minivan. Both vehicles buckled up as they were designed to. Four airbags went off around Peter so he was protected from the impact, and then slowly deflated so he could lay his body forward onto the steering wheel. He felt he needed to rest for a moment, only slightly aware as people got out of their cars to make sure everybody was okay.
"No, I can't rest," He stated to himself. "Not this close, not this close."
The door was opened by a concerned citizen and several others with him. "This guy's going to need an ambulance...someone call for one."
Peter felt that he was being grabbed and moved, but then they paused for a moment. Someone yelled, "He's an Indian..."
That's my cue, Peter thought as he opened his eyes and stood up as best he could. The people backed up as they realized he was on the run, and being brown he was most likely dangerous. He mumbled to them, "Thank-you, I'll be going now."
Peter started walking toward the border as he held his side and dragged his foot. He couldn't see them but the American Border Guards noticed him and were watching carefully. Not able to legally cross the border they stayed put and exchanged information.
Halfway there Peter heard the screeching of car tires and knew immediately who it was, but he didn't look back. He was running out of time and he knew it.
Damien climbed out of Clark's truck as the other Militia stepped out from the other vehicles. He pushed past the onlookers who moved quickly when they noticed he was armed with a rifle. "Get the fuck out of my way."
Damien aimed down the sites toward Peter, first on the Indian’s back but then he decided to aim lower for the legs. Even with kickback he'd still have a chance of hitting something. Damien fired, the round smacked Peter in the left shoulder and sent him to the ground.
"Shots fired! Shots fired!" Peter was close enough to hear the guards yell to each other. He could hear the screams of bystanders as they took cover or ran for loved ones. All he could see was darkness. He knew he was on the ground but couldn't feel the cement.
No. No, no, no.
Peter opened his eyes and tried to push up but his left arm wouldn't respond, his right didn't have the energy. He wanted to scream in desperation but couldn't pull in enough air.
Please help me. Someone help me.
He surrendered and let his body go limp, resting on the ground as he stared at the tires of the nearby car.
He had nothing left.
Damien put the rifle under his arm so he could use his good hand to pull Peter over onto his back. The dying man looked up at him but remained expressionless as Damien readjusted the rifle so the barrel rested on Peter's throat.
"It wasn't worth it, was it?" Damien said. He didn't get an answer, just the stare from Peter. "Was it?"
"Drop the rifle!" Damien looked up to see several border guards, all with weapons aimed at him. In the front was Bob.
"I'm with the Department of Indian Control. This man is my prisoner." Damien shouted back.
"You have until the count of three and we will open fire." Bob stated. Peter heard the voice and recognized it.
Peter's heart filled with hope. He didn't know how much he missed that feeling until it was gone.
"I'm on Canadian soil!"
"That's not what the report will say."
Damien studied Bob and calculated how serious the man was. "This is a matter of the Canadian Government..."
Bob fired twice and both rounds smacked into Damien's chest, causing him to stagger back.
Damien looked surprised as the pain behind his Kevlar vest took his breath away. He took a step forward and Bob fired again. The round sent up a red mist around Damien's head just before the body fell over backwards.
Bob moved across the borderline to stand over Peter, who looked up at him.
"Why do people keep thinking I care about what your government thinks?"
"You didn't count to three..." Peter said softly.
"I didn't say I would do it out loud."
Peter tried to chuckle but couldn't. He could feel the other guards move around him to give medical help. One of them used a bullet punch on the bullet wounds, specially designed gauze that filled in the wound to create a pressure seal. He wondered if it would be enough as the world started to fade around him.
Bob kneeled down next to him. "Here's what I want you to ask me for. You want to enter the United States and you're looking for Political asylum."
Peter watched him for a moment as he tried to talk. All that came out was "Help me..."
Peter closed his eyes, but he heard "Close enough" before he blacked out.