Red spots danced before his eyes. He felt the Vulture’s grip tightening on his throat. “Mrs. Gable, jump!” Mike wheezed, trying to give his neighbor a chance.
But the woman was paralyzed. Suddenly, from below, a fierce bark erupted. A dark shape flew upward, launching off the woodpile stacked nearly to the eaves.
Blue. The faithful dog, despite his wounds, had found a way to his master. He couldn’t jump onto the roof itself, but he reached Vance’s dangling leg.
The wolfhound’s powerful jaws clamped onto the Colonel’s ankle. There was a crack and a wild scream. Vance, howling in pain, loosened his grip on Mike’s throat to try and shake the dog.
“You damn beast!” he screamed, kicking at the dog with his free foot. That was the opening Mike needed. He took a deep breath of freezing air and gathered his remaining strength.
While Vance was distracted, Mike delivered a strike with the edge of his hand to the man’s throat. A strike designed to crush the windpipe. Vance gagged, clutching his neck.
His eyes bulged, his mouth opened in a silent scream, but no sound came out. He started to fall back, losing his balance. Blue, sensing the enemy was done, let go and dropped back onto the woodpile.
Vance took a step back, trying to steady himself, but his foot hit the icy edge. He flailed his arms and plummeted into the darkness. The dull thud of his body hitting the frozen ground ended the story.
Mike lay on the roof, staring at the black sky as large snowflakes fell. He breathed heavily, every breath a struggle. “That’s it, Mike. It’s over,” he whispered to himself.
He rolled over with effort and crawled to Mrs. Gable. “Mrs. Gable, you okay?” he asked, touching her shoulder.
The woman opened her eyes, full of tears, and whispered a prayer. “Mike! You’re alive! Oh, Lord, that was terrifying!” “I’m okay. You’re okay. Let’s get you down,” he comforted her.
The descent took time. Mike had to find a ladder in the shed—luckily, the mercs hadn’t burned it—and help his neighbor down. Once on the ground, he went straight to Blue.
The dog was lying in the snow, licking a gash on his side, but his tail was wagging. Mike checked him over. He’d be fine.
Scars build character, for men and dogs alike. Then he walked over to Vance’s body. The Colonel lay in an unnatural position, his neck broken from the fall.
His eyes, glassy and empty, stared at the sky. Mike felt no triumph. Only exhaustion and a strange emptiness.
He searched Vance’s pockets and found a satellite phone. This was important. Mike dialed a number he’d remembered for fifteen years, though he hadn’t called it once.
It rang for a long time. Finally, someone picked up. “Go ahead.”
The voice was dry, lifeless. “This is Ghost,” Mike said. “Code Sunset ’98. I have a mess here. A big one. And the Vulture is down.”
There was a pause. A long one. “Copy, Ghost. Clean-up crew is en route. Sit tight.”
“And…” “Welcome back, Major.” “I’m not back,” Mike said and hung up.
He went back into the cabin. It still smelled of smoke and fear. But the stove was miraculously intact and still giving off heat.
Mike opened the cellar hatch. “Alright, heroes, come on out!” he called. Jimmy’s head appeared first.
He was pale as death, shaking uncontrollably. Tiny and Scar followed, groaning and cursing. They looked pathetic.
Dirty, beaten, terrified by the sounds of the battle above. They saw Mike. In his blood-stained jacket.
Rifle slung over his shoulder, face smeared with soot and blood. To them, he wasn’t a man anymore; he was a legend, a mountain spirit that couldn’t be killed. “We… we didn’t… we’ll leave…” Scar stammered, forgetting his broken jaw.
All his bravado was gone. Mike sat on the bench, resting the rifle on his knees. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said tiredly. “I burned your car. I shot out the tires on the other one.”
“You won’t make it a mile in this snow. You’ll freeze or the coyotes will get you. And the coyotes are hungry tonight, believe me.” The thugs looked at each other…
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