Suddenly, he sank to his knees in the snow and he fell forward, catching himself on his hands. He got up, yanked off his gloves and shook out the snow. He wiped down the flashlight and turned to look back at the cruiser. It looked small and far away. Ollie, standing by the driver door, looked even smaller.
As he neared the drum, he could smell gasoline and hear the faint crackle of the fire. He aimed the flashlight at the drum. The snow at its base was packed down, but he still could see no prints leading anywhere.
The voice pierced the quiet and he jumped. Edna…Christ, it was just Edna, her voice coming from the portable radio on his belt. She was asking Ollie for a code-4 to make sure they were all right. He heard Ollie respond.
Louis stopped a few feet short of the drum and scanned the snow. Now he could see prints, sloppy and distorted in the snow, as if someone had moved around the drum at length. The prints led off toward the pines.
He picked up a stick and stepped forward, poking the stick into the drum. It hit something solid, sending a blizzard of orange embers up into the sky and the fire blazing to new life. He lifted a burning rag out of the fire and tossed it into the snow. Damn it. He couldn't tell what was in there. It could be a body for all he knew. He had to put it out.
“L-8,” he said, calling Ollie from his portable, “I’m going to throw some snow on it to see if I can determine what’s burning.”
“Ten-four.”
Louis threw the stick aside and stuck the radio back on his belt. He bent down to scoop up some snow.
Something snapped in the distance. What was it? A branch? An animal?
Louis looked back toward the cruiser. A chill prickled his spine and his hand jerked to his radio.
A loud crack fractured the silence and at the same time, something hit him hard from behind, slamming him to the ground. He couldn’t breathe. Frantically, he tried to raise his face from the snow and immediately felt a sharp pain somewhere near his spine. He coughed, fighting for breath, trying to wipe the snow away.
God, God…he was hit.
Another crack pierced the quiet. Struggling up on his elbows, he wrenched his radio from his belt and keyed it with trembling fingers.
“Central! Central! Shots fired! Shots fired! I’m hit!”
Edna immediately hailed Ollie. There was no response from him. Louis lay still, trying to think. Head back to the cruiser? Wait for backup? The radio trembled in his hand.
“L-11, where are you hit?” Edna demanded.
“In the back!” he gasped. He keyed his radio again. “L-8! L-8! Do you copy me?”
There was no answer and he lowered his head, his fingers tightening around the radio. He had to get back.
He forced himself to his knees and ripped his gun from his holster.
He crept behind the oil drum, facing the pines. He peered into the dark wall trying to slow his racing heart. Slowly, he realized the pain in his back was not getting worse. Christ, the vest! The bullet had hit the vest. But Ollie had a vest, too. Why hadn’t he answered?
Edna’s voice crackled over the radio, still trying to raise Ollie. Another rifle shot zinged overhead and snapped branches far to his right.
“Central,” he said. “Sniper fire. Repeat, sniper fire, no visual, no visual.”
“L-11, what is your location?”
“Road 329…in a field. We’re separated!” His voice sounded hollow, almost feeble. The sound of it sent a spasm of terror through him. He was scared. Jesus, he was so scared.
Edna called to Ollie. “Advise code-4, Loon-8.”
Louis stared at the radio. “C’mon, man, answer,” he whispered.
Edna came back to Louis. “Loon-11, what is your condition?”
“I’m okay! I’m okay!”
“What is your proximity to Loon-8?”
“I…about eighty feet.”
Louis took a deep breath, his heart pounding. He wiped his face, keeping his eyes trained on the trees.
“Loon-11, advise. How many shots fired?”
“Three…no, four!”
“Do you have a direction of fire?”
Louis looked at the trees to his left. “Shots fired from the east, Central. It’s quiet now.”
“Can you determine shooter’s location?”
Louis wet his lips. “Negative. Negative.”
Edna came back, her voice steady but underscored with fear. “Loon-11, be advised Loon-5 and 6 are 10-8. ETA seven minutes.”
Visions of the shooter ambushing the units raged in his head. He wanted to scream into the radio but he forced his words out slowly. “Central, repeat, no location on shooter. Advise all units to proceed with caution.”
The oil drum at his back was hot, but he shivered as the wind swirled the snow around him. He rubbed his hands on his thighs, his fingers tingling. He had to get back to the cruiser.
The fire in the oil drum was slowly dying out, but he needed the cover of darkness. He scooped up two handfuls of snow and tossed it in the drum. The fire sizzled and died.
