He saw me and stopped. I did the same. I was ready to pull the Walther out of my pocket and start shooting, just in case he tried to ambush me.
“I’m glad you came,” Pappy said. “Wasn’t sure you would.”
“I told you I’d be here.”
“I was afraid I was going to have to hunt you down in Knoxville. It would’ve been hard, but I would’ve gotten to you eventually.”
“I’m saving you some trouble, then.”
“Are you ready to die, Darren?”
“I am. Are you?”
“Not today.”
The snow had stopped completely, but the wind continued to swirl. I took my gloves off and dropped them on the ground. As I looked at Pappy, I noticed something that seemed a little unusual. He was wearing a short coat, but he appeared even bulkier than usual. I cursed under my breath. The son of a bitch was wearing a bulletproof vest.
“You’re wearing a vest?” I said.
“And you’re not?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then how stupid are you? Who comes to a gunfight these days without a vest?”
I should have known he’d do something like this, and I cursed myself for being so naive.
“I thought this was supposed to be old school,” I said.
“It is, but we’re not using flint-lock pistols and musket balls, are we? I reserved the right to use the technology available to me, although I don’t think I communicated that to you very effectively.”
I’d planned on aiming for center mass and trying to pump as many hollow points into his chest as quickly as I could, but now I’d have to aim for his head. He had a large head, which helped, but at thirty feet and in poor light, it would make things more difficult.
“How’s your ear?” I said.
“Fuck you, let’s do this.”
We walked toward each other slowly. He’d always made me feel small, but walking toward him in the dim light in the mountains, knowing what was about to happen, made him appear gigantic. The gun in his right hand looked to be a nine millimeter, and I was sure it was, like mine, loaded with hollow-point bullets that expanded on contact so they inflicted maximum damage. Neither of us said a word as we approached each other. I watched his gun hand intently because I didn’t trust him. We came within inches of each other and he turned around. I did the same.
“Five paces,” he said, and I walked off five paces. I turned back around to see that he was doing the same.
“Pistol toward the sky,” he said, and he raised his right arm.
“Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . ,” he said. I wondered for a brief second whether he was counting down the last ten seconds of my life, but then I began to hone in on my target. I breathed deeply and slowly.
“Seven . . . six . . . five.”
I was surprised to realize that I wasn’t frightened. It was as though I’d accepted whatever outcome the universe had in mind for me. I wouldn’t question, and I wouldn’t try to force anything. My heart was beating normally, and my hands were steady.
“Four . . . three . . . two . . . one.”
I saw his hand begin to drop as he took aim. I did the same, and I did it quickly. I fired two shots before I heard his weapon explode. I felt the concussion as a bullet whizzed by my left ear. I fired again, and again. Was I missing him?
He fired two more times. The second shot knocked me backward onto the ground as I felt my right collarbone shatter. The pain radiated through my arm and chest like fire at first. It was so excruciating I almost passed out, but then it eased and turned into a dull, aching throb. My pistol immediately fell to the ground beside me, and my right arm was rendered useless. I reached over with my left hand and picked up the gun, which caused pressure on my right arm and sent pain shooting through me again. I expected to see Pappy hovering over me with the nine millimeter pointed at my forehead. Instead, I looked over, and he was on his knees, clutching at his throat with both hands. I couldn’t see his pistol.
I managed to get to my feet and staggered toward him, raising the Walther with my left hand. I held my right arm against my stomach, but pain still shot through my shoulder, arm, and neck. When I got to within six or eight feet of him, I could see he’d been shot through the throat, and blood was spurting from the wound. There was another bullet hole in his right cheek.
He looked up at me with an expression of pure hatred as his throat gurgled. I took a few more steps and was less than three feet away. His pistol was on the ground by his right knee. He started to reach for it, and I fired one last shot with my left hand. The bullet went into his forehead just above the bridge of his nose, and he went straight over on his back.
“No quarter,” I said out loud, and I turned and began to walk slowly toward his car.
CHAPTER 59
I was relieved to see Big Pappy’s keys were in the ignition. I sat down in the driver’s seat with the door open and the interior light on and began to examine my wound. The entry was almost directly in the middle of my right clavicle. I was certain the bone was broken or fractured. It was bleeding, but not badly. I cursed myself for not thinking to buy and bring along a first-aid kit. I’d known the chances of my getting shot were pretty high but honestly hadn’t expected to survive if I was wounded.
I removed my coat and shirt and started feeling around my upper torso with my left hand for an exit wound. I found it beneath my right armpit, about halfway down my rib cage. It, too, was bleeding. There wasn’t a torrent of blood coming from the wound, but there was more than was coming from the entry wound. The entire right side of my upper body was throbbing in pain. It radiated in waves from the collarbone, down my arm and through my rib cage. I took some deep breaths—which hurt like hell—and tried to think. I reached down and pushed a button, and the trunk popped open. I forced myself to stand and walk to the back of the car. I started going through the trunk with my left hand. There were several weapons—pistols and knives and assault rifles—enough ammunition to fight a long battle, some bags of dehydrated food, several gallons of water, a tent, a wad of cash, and, to my great relief, a first-aid kit. I pulled it out and opened it.
Two things caught my eye immediately: antiseptic wipes and rolls of gauze. I opened the antiseptic swipes and wiped down both the entry and exit wounds. I had to do it gingerly because of the pain. When I started stuffing gauze into the entry wound and applying pressure, I thought I might pass out. Once I had both wounds cleaned and stuffed with gauze, it was time to empty the trunk. It took me about ten or fifteen minutes, but I eventually got everything out and laid it in a pile beside the car. I stuck the cash in my pocket, got into the car again, started it, and drove it over to where Pappy’s body lay. I backed up to him, got out, and spent another ten agonizing minutes loading his 270 pounds of dead weight into the trunk. Once I had him loaded, I got into the car and headed for Gatlinburg.
I pulled up in front of Granny Tipton’s house around eight thirty in the morning. When she opened the door after I knocked, the color drained from her face.