The Fort (Aric Davis)

choice, but if they were brash enough to just walk up on him like that, who knew what they might try? He’d wanted to bring Amy with him, but it hadn’t been possible. She wouldn’t move when he’d gone down to the basement, and there was no way he could carry her, not with his injuries. The leg was bad enough, but the fever was making everything so difficult, even focusing on a simple task had become nearly impossible. That changed when he got to the woods.
    He knew if he could make the abandoned VC sniper’s position he’d be fine. It was easily defensible, even with a handgun, and if more of them came there, he’d be ready. It was hard to move quickly in the woods with his leg, but he had to do it if he was to survive. He was dripping with sweat and almost there when he heard running behind him, crushing fallen sticks and leaves as they ran through the forest. There was no way it could have been a coincidence—they were already coming for him. Hooper increased his pace but allowed himself to look back over his shoulder every few steps. The noise was only getting louder, and then a dark form emerged from the popples he’d hidden in with Amy. Hooper drew the 1911 and fired twice at the form.
    The man in pursuit of him was holding a pistol and dressed in a suit. VC officer, most likely. Hooper didn’t know if he’d hit the man or not, but the pussy was hiding behind a tree and Hooper couldn’t get another shot at him. Turning his head, Hooper could see the fort. He fired twice into the tree where the dink motherfucker was hiding, and then began moving as quickly as he could toward the fort. He stopped to catch his breath, and he was close to it, almost in its shadow.
    “Matt Hooper!” called the officer. “Surrender now or I will be forced to use deadly force! You need to drop the gun now!” Hooper could hear more noise now, more men entering the woods. “Drop your gun!” called the officer again, and Hooper shot at him three more times in return, locking the bolt back on the semiauto. Hooper hit the magazine eject and let the mag fall to the forest floor. He replaced it, looking up as the VC officer moved closer to hide behind another tree. Hooper fired twice more, then left the tree behind. He could see more VC appearing like ghosts from the popples.
    Hooper fired twice over his shoulder as he ran, and he could feel and hear bullets tugging the air around him. Then he was at the ladder. Something in his leg had burst, and he could feel it draining a too-hot liquid down his calf and over his shoe. Ignoring it, Hooper holstered the 1911 and began to climb, his arms forced to do all of the work as his dead leg swung back and forth. He could see the opening at the top when a voice from below called to him.
    “Hooper, come down now! I’ve got you dead to rights, just get down so this can end!” Hooper ignored the VC officer, though he did look back at him. The man was pointing a black pistol at him. Hooper drew the 1911 and then felt something hit him hard, twice, in the chest. He dropped the gun as a third punch was delivered to his body. All sound was gone, and Hooper let go of the tree. He fell to the ground, and the war was over.

55
    Van Endel hovered over the body. He was waiting for the rest of the cops to catch up to him before he attempted to secure Hooper. Seeing the leg injury up close, Van Endel was shocked the man had been able to move as quickly as he had. Red lines of infection ran up the leg as far as Van Endel could see, and he had no desire to inspect it further.
    Van Endel thought of the boy he’d left in his house, and didn’t want to imagine what else a thorough inspection might find.
    Finally, two uniformed cops caught up to him, his friend Walt Summers, who was breathing far too hard for a man his age, and Mike, from the trailer park. “I’ll keep a gun on him,” he told them. “Cuff and flip him so we can see if he’s still kicking.”
    Walt leaned against the tree Hooper had fallen from while Mike cuffed Hooper, then turned him. Van Endel didn’t check for a pulse, nor did he need to. There were three ragged holes punched in Hooper’s chest, two of them right over his heart, the other one a few inches below. Any of the three would have been a likely kill shot; the three combined were a guarantee. Van Endel smiled thinly.
    “Leave everything as it is,” he said in a very tired voice. “Don’t touch shell casings or anything else. Just keep everyone away until