There was a whoosh. The oil in the broken bottle exploded in flame. A flash of yellow and orange lit up against the hay. Smoke immediately started to rise.
Hauck could make it back to the window and jump, like Robertson had said. It was maybe twenty feet. The remaining Alpha man was out there. Hauck would have only one shot—if he could even hold on to the rifle in the fall. He’d be a sitting duck.
Below, flames shot up. Dark smoke quickly began to rise. As well as the temperature. Hauck’s shoulder hung limp like meat on a rack. He had no idea what had happened inside the house, if Watkins was dead or alive. He just heard the crackle of flames and felt the heat against his skin. He knew he had to get out of there. Smoke was already seeping into his lungs. He’d have this one chance.
“Think I’ll just step back a bit and watch the show, if that’s okay …?” Robertson called out, pulling back the action on his M-16.
Suddenly Hauck heard the siren. The same emergency call he had heard the other day. Watkins! So he was still kicking. The barn was engulfed in flames now. Robertson stood back against the tractor, his gun readied, waiting for Hauck to show himself. Which had to be soon. Hauck grabbed the Remington with his good arm and took hold of the loading hook. He drew it back as far as he could, positioning himself with his back against the barn wall and his feet against the row of hay bales third from the top. Then he let the hook go. It swung as if on a pendulum right across the barn, hitting the top of the tractor with a resounding clang.
Robertson spun toward the sound with his gun raised.
Hauck pushed with everything he had against the bales. In a minute or two the entire barn would be a fireball. Straining, his shoulder in agony, the row of bales began to give way. It dislodged the ones above it like a house wall about to collapse, the whole thing suddenly caving in as Robertson looked up, seeing it all just a second too late, the heavy bales tumbling down on him like boulders in an avalanche.
Hauck leaped down.
Robertson fired at him, a wild spurt from under the rubble as he tried to extricate himself. Hauck dug his gun through the bales, trying to locate Robertson’s body. The hunting rifle would only give him this one shot. Robertson kicked a bale off him and Hauck fired. The Alpha man yelped, the bullet seeming to graze him on the side, not the direct hit Hauck needed. Hauck drew the rifle back and frantically went to load another round into the chamber, while Robertson tried desperately to kick himself free. Robertson’s gun snaked through the bales and Hauck realized it would take too long to load and fire again, his other arm a mess, so he tossed the Remington aside, diving where Robertson was trying to break through, and grabbed on to the shaft of the M-16 and tried to wrench it away.
His shoulder felt like a molten hot rod was being stuck in it.
He seized the stock and swung it hard into Robertson’s jaw. The Alpha man grunted and fell back, his mouth filling with blood. The fire had reached the roof now. Outside, the signal continued to wail.
They wrestled for control of the gun, Hauck realizing he couldn’t hold on much longer. A burning bale of hay fell off the wall and came to rest close by. Robertson squeezed his leg around Hauck, trying to wrestle him off. Hauck felt himself start to slide. He knew if Robertson managed to get on top and got the gun free, it was over for him.
With everything he had, he forced the rifle over Robertson’s head, both of them straining to hold on to it with both hands. The Alpha man grunted as his arm brushed the hay bale that had tumbled down that was caught on fire.
Robertson strained to pull the gun back toward him, but Hauck kept pushing it farther away, closer to the burning bale.
Hauck knew he couldn’t hold on much longer. The Alpha man tried to head-butt him, seeing what he was attempting to do. With a final thrust, all he had left, Hauck jerked the rifle upward, pinning Robertson’s arm against the flaming bale. The Alpha man screamed, the smell of seared flesh immediately noticeable.
He let go.
That’s when the other Alpha man who’d been stationed outside ran in, hearing Robertson’s distress. Hauck wrestled the gun out of Robertson’s singed arm and rolled off him.
“Take him out. Shoot him,” Robertson shouted at this team member.
The man hesitated. He was around fifteen yards away and Hauck and Robertson were pretty much entangled. If he fired he could hit either of them. Flames were darting in all directions; smoke was filling the barn. The guy pointed the gun and said to Robertson, “Get away from him. Let him go!”
Hauck kicked Robertson free and squeezed. A burst of four rounds shot out and the Alpha man fell back, his stomach dotted in red. Robertson dove toward Hauck and made a desperate lunge for the gun. Hauck swung and struck him in the head with the shoulder stock and Robertson slumped back, bloodied in the face. His arm almost dead, Hauck scrambled up to his feet. He pointed the muzzle of the gun at Robertson, who just lay there, breathing heavily. “So who’s steak now, asshole.”
Robertson held on to his burnt arm. “Fuck you.”
Just take him out, Hauck said to himself. What you promised Watkins and Dani you were here to do. The miserable shit had locked Dani in a tank of rising water. If this situation was reversed, he wouldn’t hesitate a nanosecond to do the same to you.
“Go on,” Robertson said, his contempt fading into a look of final resignation. “It’s what you came back for, isn’t it? For me. So go on. Do it, dude. If you have it in you.”
Hauck stepped up and placed the muzzle of the gun squarely over the Alpha man’s chest. One burst and it was what he deserved. What else was there to do? Turn him over to Riddick? RMM would have him out by dawn. Then who’d be next? Him? Dani?
The man was right. It was what you came back here for …