Ring of fire

Something happened to my counterpart for a certain Kentucky run once, so my boss directed me to replace him.

I didn't like having to work a region completely unknown to me, as that heightened the risks for me personally. Every region can have its own unique quirks, and here I'd have no time to learn them. Well, except maybe for one: I found it was possible here to come around a curve and find a pickup truck halfway blocking the road, where its owner had backed it up against the mountain bank on one side. Why? To get some free coal from an exposed vein. You just backed your truck up to the mountain and chopped a bit with your pick to get a load, then took it home.

I had to admit my hometown place didn't offer free coal to folks nearly as readily as this one. But such free coal access also made for dangerous road hazards for those who might come around a curve too fast...!

I also got my boss' call on short notice, and so had no chance to obtain US Geological Survey maps of the area. I had to take the job with nothing more to back me up than a road map such as was available at any service station in the region. Agh!

And I'd have no time to 'warm up', or get to know the roads a little via direct experience before the run, either. That was definitely bad news for a smuggler's escort driver like me.

One last downside to all this was I also didn't have the time to acquire a local guide: some young man native to these parts, which I could hire as a ride-along to give me tips about where cops liked to hide, short cuts, and convenient hidey holes for outlaws. Preferably a fellow who tended to skirt the law himself on occasion too, and so would be unlikely to reveal anything to law enforcement or others unless compelled.

Older guys could work too of course-- but they posed bigger risks for jobs like this, being as they tended to have their own hidden agendas and wider connections than the younger ones. And they often demanded better pay, too.

It usually required at least a few days to find a suitable guide. Days I just didn't have in this case.

But to my vast relief, the run got called off not long after I arrived in the area. Because of a forest fire causing mass evacuations and other disruptions in the region.

I was notified of the change by the truck driver I was supposed to escort. He'd stayed at our rendezvous point after word of the cancellation for my sake; because the mountains interfered with him or others getting the news to me via CB.

So I never did end up escorting a truckload of smuggled goods through there. That didn't mean I was entirely off the hook though. For there turned out to be a whole other kind of escort job waiting for me nearby.

The combination of my out-of-date road map, ignorance of the region, and random road blocks by police to enforce and facilitate evacuations got me all screwed up trying to go back home after the job got canceled. I ended up completely lost on some back road in the boondocks.

My worst mistake was likely waiting too long to ask for directions. For after a while there simply was no one around whatsoever but me. I even tried going back the way I'd come, but only got further lost, among all the twists and turns and unlabeled country road intersections. And although occasionally I'd hear some static-ridden conversations over the CB, my own signal couldn't seem to get out to anyone.

The countryside here reminded me a lot of home, with its mountainous forested terrain, and long stretches of road where man-made structures were sparse. But one big difference was this was coal mining country. So in many spots it was evident big business and government had been in a hurry to strip the place of its mineral deposits, and so been fairly brutal in building roads in and out. There was something like a giant 'cookie-cutter' effect visible in many places along the way. My own home region sported very few scenes like that. What few we had tended to be concentrated in interstate highway passes through rough mountain terrain. Here in Kentucky, it seemed far more prevalent for road-building in general.

So anyway, I resolved that the very next person I saw, I was going to ask them for directions to anywhere but here!

Maybe an hour later I finally came across a boy walking along the road-side. He was awfully dirty and forlorn looking. I wondered if he'd missed evacuation or something.

He acted oddly, too. When we first spied one another from afar, he skedaddled off the road and out of sight into the trees, which lined both sides here.

I wasn't driving fast to start with, and slowed a whole lot more in the hopes of getting some directions from the little guy. But when he ran and hid, I had to wonder what the heck was going on.

Shadow was practically just idling along after that, I was moving so slowly. And the kid emerged from the woods again on his own, as I reached his location.

The kid's erratic behavior worried me; I wondered if it indicated some sort of trap or ambush coming together here.

But I badly needed directions, and I hadn't seen another living soul besides the boy for quite some time now. My CB was all but useless. My escort duties had been canceled-- so rival smugglers shouldn't be after me here: plus, they shouldn't even be able to identify me as a target (being I was new). Any cops around were tied up in evacuation-related road blocks, and so were unlikely to be waiting for me here. Everybody else civilian-wise was supposed to be gone or leaving. And it was difficult to see a lone little kid as being any sort of threat to me (he had no weapon, and there was no sign of him having accomplices). One stomp of the gas pedal, and I could almost instantly escape anything I could imagine happening here in the next minute or so. And atop all that, I was heavily armed and dangerous, compared to your average driver lost in the country. Anybody aiming to ambush me here and now would soon wish they hadn't.

Now the kid began frantically waving his arms at me to stop. First he hid, then he makes a spectacle of himself. What gives?

I pulled just a bit off the road in what leeway was offered by the terrain (but not enough to much hamper a fast getaway). The kid came running up to my driver's side window. I still could detect no threat of any kind from him or our surroundings-- and I was very wary of such, in that moment.

"Mister! Mister! You got to help me!" the boy exclaimed.

"Whoa, kid! What do you mean? You need a ride out of here?" I asked, even as I kept sweeping the environment with my eyes in all directions: my 180 degree rear view mirror over the windshield helped me do that in a very unobtrusive way.

"No! I mean yes! Mister, it's my family! They're trapped in Kutton!"

"Trapped by the fire?"

"No! It's the Hamlins! They don't like us, and they decided to kill us now while everybody else is gone!"

Yikes! That sounded like way too plausible a scenario from my own neck of the woods! Could it be I was in another place a whole lot like home here? Only completely ignorant of the local conditions and players? Yikes!

Of course, this was just a kid. He could be mixed up or exaggerating. Or even playing a prank on me. But he sure looked serious. And like he'd already been through some sort of ordeal.

"What's your name, boy?" I asked him.

"Charley. Charley Sowders. My family needs help bad, mister! Please help us!" Now tears started to flow down his face. If this kid didn't believe what he was saying, he sure was a fine actor.

"Okay kid. I'll help," I told him, as I reached for my CB mike in my overhead console. But the surrounding mountains turned out still to be blocking my transmissions. As it'd been a while since my last attempt, I'd figured a new test might bring better results.

"Kid, I can't get anybody on the radio. But we can go get help-- if you know the way. Can you help me get to the nearest town around here?"

The kid thought about it for a moment, and shook his head in the negative.

"I don't know mister. All I know is how to get to Kutton, and my family's going to die if you don't help us!" He started crying again.

"Well kid, can you lead me to the closest house around here? We can use their phone to get help."

Charley's face brightened up, and he urged me out of the car, leading me by the hand for a moment until he couldn't stand it any longer and took off running. I had to run after him.

To be a pudgy little guy, Charley was quite a runner.

There turned out to be a house not far from the road at all, hidden by the trees. There was nobody home. Due to the evacuation orders most likely.

As the kid acted like it was a life and death situation-- and there was for a fact an evacuation order in effect due to forest fires for these parts-- I figured nobody would get too peeved at me for taking the kid at his word, and breaking into the house to use the phone.

So I busted a window and we climbed in. But the telephone was dead. The electricity and water worked, but not the phone. I didn't like that at all. It seemed like way too much of a coincidence, considering what the kid had told me.

Maybe the bad guys had cut the main phone line running out of this area, so their victims couldn't call for help. That was often easy to do for isolated communities in the mountains; for there just wasn't much redundancy in such things. Damn it!

Of course, it could also be the fires had something to do with it instead.

"Charley, what about the cops? Are there any cops around here we could talk to?"

He looked confused for a moment.

"No, there's no cops. Everybody's gone because of the fire. We tried to leave too, but the Hamlins caught us, and we had to come back this way."

"How come you're not with your family, Charley?"

His tears started flowing again, and he went incoherent for a moment. I did my best to comfort him back to legible speech again.

"They shot my uncles, and caused us to wreck our cars. We had to get away then, and I couldn't go with everybody else because of all the shooting. I yelled at momma and daddy I'd try to go get help, and they said okay."

"So you got separated from your family when you crashed?"

"Yes. And now I've found you! You'll help us!"

Oh wow. This poor kid and his family. My own tears threatened to flow after his story. But I had to try blinking them back; I couldn't let the little guy see me cry. He expected me to somehow do something about all this!

"Charley, do you know where your family is now?"

"Yes. Well, maybe. Dad told me they were going to try to get to the post office in town. Because it wasn't far away. And dad has a key 'cause he works there part of the time."

"Charley, how many are there in your family? The part that might be at the post office, I mean?"

"Um, there's dad, and momma, and uncle Gene, and my aunts Alma, Ruth Ann, and June, and my brothers Ronnie, Johnny, and my cousin Eddie. And my other uncle Harvey."

"That's all of them?"

"That's all of them now." And with that the boy started crying again. Damn! He must have lost somebody before the crash, or during it.

That list was more bad news: for it was way too big for me to have any hope of dashing in and getting them all out in Shadow. I mean, maybe we could have crammed them all into the car somehow, if we weren't under fire, and had plenty of time to do it. But in the midst of a fire fight, we'd be lucky to get half of them out that way. And with bad luck, we'd all of us lose our lives in the attempt.

Oh man! I really needed the police in here bad! I wasn't set up for a rescue mission! And what could one guy do? Hey! Maybe if there weren't too many bad guys...

"Charley, do you know how many Hamlins are after your family?"

"All of them!"

"But I mean, can you give me a number? A count? A total?"

"Um...I think it's twelve. Yeah. Twelve."

Damn! But wait a minute: maybe fewer than that were able-bodied adult men...

"Is part of that twelve women, Charley? Or young boys like yourself?"

"No. It's all big guys. Men as big as you and bigger."

Damn it! Well...maybe they're only lightly armed? We had to get a break somewhere! Plus, there would be no point in trying to save them at all, if it'd only be a suicide mission. I mean, simply getting myself killed sure wouldn't help them any. In that case, the best thing I could do would probably be to get myself and Charley as far away from the massacre as possible. I was sure Charley's parents would agree with that.

"Do they all have guns, Charley?"

"Yes." The bad news just kept on coming!

"But your family has guns too, right?"

"Yes. But not as many," Charley shook his head. "We didn't know the Hamlins were coming to get us."

Well, at least they could shoot back a little! For a while. Hopefully, that would have helped them make it to the post office. But if they hadn't prepared for a siege, it was unlikely they had enough ammo to hold off the gang for long there.

My mind wandered to the ammo box in Shadow, with its over 200 rounds of ammunition for my 38 pistol and 12 gauge pump. Plus the additional rounds I kept in my scramble vest. Charley's family could probably sure use all that, right about now.

"Charley, did your family have lots of ammunition for their guns?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, did they have some in boxes? Or did they only have some in pockets?"

"Pockets, I think."

Damn it! I hated the thought of Charley's family being trapped and outgunned like that! And some of them were more little kids, like Charley himself!

If I was going to do anything to help Charley's family, I had no time to waste. But what the hell could I do? Just going in blind would merely get me killed, and be of no help to Charley's folks. Somehow I had to get the Hamlins' attention, so that the Sowders could sneak out of town...

Oh man. I needed a hell of a distraction! And a whole lot more.

"Charley, how much do you know about Kutton?" I asked. Turned out he knew quite a bit. And we threw together a plan...

It turned out sort of lucky for me too that I'd happened upon Charley when I did. For otherwise I'd have innocently putt-putted right into town not long after, and maybe been killed without even knowing why. For that's how close the little burg was.

The whole place was only maybe a dozen or so blocks in size. Partly because the local terrain severely limited its growth prospects.

The main road through the center of town was the tail end of the very same one on which I'd met Charley. There were a couple other roads parallel to it, inside city limits. But that was it: the whole place was barely big enough to make for a decent walk around its perimeter.

And the main road was the only way in or out that went anywhere. So Charley's folks would need to come out this same way to escape.

I tried my CB again. And broke into a different house to try its telephone, too. But still got zilch results. Yeah, occasionally I'd hear a little something from my police scanner. But that helped not at all.

So it looked like it was up to me and little Charley.

Yeah, the situation still looked bad. But just maybe it rated a notch above suicidal-- now that we had a plan.

I hated like hell putting Charley in danger again, but it looked like we had no choice. And it was his family after all. He badly wanted to rescue them, no matter what.

Basically I figured on Charley and me arranging some transport for his family, where they might be able to get to it while I distracted their foes. We also rigged up a few impediments for the Hamlins where we could, in and around town.

It helped me and Charley a lot that the Hamlins were all concentrated around the post office at the far end of town (Charley's family had apparently made it there after all), and hadn't even left any look outs anywhere else.

We began ratcheting up a distraction that might loosen the noose on the post office, so that Charley could get in and inform his folks of the plan.

I did have some experience with situations somewhat like this one. Charley and I were too out-manned and out-gunned to go in together to try a rescue. Therefore, a big and dynamic distraction was essential. That meant one of us had to fulfill that role. Another had to go in and contact the family and tell them the plan. I was a stranger, and unlikely to be trusted there. But they'd surely trust Charley. Plus, they knew he'd gone for help.

Yeah, Charley sure had a dangerous job to do there. But I did too. For I was meaning to get much of the Hamlin gang looking for me, in order to loosen their stranglehold about the post office. And keep them occupied long enough for Charley's family to get from the post office to a large delivery van, and then make their escape. A van complete with ignition key, that we'd found a couple blocks away.

Charley and I covertly set up various obstacle courses for most of the routes leading out of town. Charley was to guide his family out the only one we'd left clear.

Yeah, I'd try to get the Hamlins' attention and hold it for as long as I could. And if I was still kicking after the Sowders got out of town, I was going to try to act as their rear guard. Stay between them and the Hamlins, for as long as I could. I had a few ideas of things to try then, depending on how everything went. But there sure was going to be a lot of luck involved in all of it.

I kept Shadow parked in a hidden spot just outside of town. Charley and I had sneaked in on foot to scout around and set up our surprises for the Hamlins. Of course, all this took some time. But so long as we could hear a sporadic gun shot in town, I was fairly sure Charley's family hadn't bit the big one yet. I used that, plus how I figured the plan was our best chance for saving them, to keep Charley going along with my scheme. Such entreaties were necessary, to prevent Charley from charging in prematurely on his own (for the little guy almost couldn't abide the delays required for the preparations).

Charley and I placed some empty looking paper bags and cardboard boxes at spots in certain streets-- with cinder blocks and bricks or other hard and weighty items inside. We were trying for a pattern where drivers would either have to run over some of them, or else exit their car to manually move them out of the way. We also ran thin, sometimes hard to see steel cables at varying heights across some streets, securely anchored on either side to objects unlikely to give when a mere four wheeled vehicle tugged on them, even at speed.

It was easy to round up such supplies in a deserted small town. Heck: some places weren't even locked up!

The main road inside town was trickier, because its entire length could be seen from the siege location itself. So there we just threw out a hellacious number of big-headed nails, when we figured no one was looking our way (leaving clear the sections Charley's family's escape van would need, of course).

One block over and several away from the surrounded post office, I doused a pile of old tires behind a service station with flammable liquids and set them afire. It'd take a few minutes for them to really start stinking and smoking up the place. And the Hamlins might not even realize the growing haze wasn't coming from the forest fires talked about by the authorities.

I say I used "flammable liquids" because the gas pumps were turned off, so I couldn't get any actual gasoline by which to start my fire. Luckily the gas station was also a working garage, and had plenty of volatile stuff on the shelves inside.

I figured smoking up the town would help reduce visibility, and improve the chances that the Hamlins would encounter the maximum trouble possible with the obstacle courses we'd set for them.

I'd also hoped to sabotage the Hamlins' vehicles. But I was only able to locate one that I figured was safe enough for me to tackle. And even then all I had time for was to mangle the rear brake lines, and put a leak in the short rubber fuel line connecting the tank to the metal line running underneath the car.

When it came time for Charley and I to part ways, we each took one side of town and began smashing windows on those businesses we figured might have alarm systems, in order to get at least several different sources of noise going at once. We also turned on some radios and TVs along the way, dialing their volumes up as high as they'd go.

We began our little covert rampage as near to the siege location as we could, so that we could work our way outwards again for greater safety after the racket began.

I'd had an idea of flooding the main street with water and then running gasoline atop it, so I could suddenly create a river of flame through the middle of town on cue-- but the road's incline was against me (as first allowing some pilfered candy balls to freely roll around showed me). Plus, all the pumps turned out to be switched off, as mentioned before.

It was just as well. For I guess I might have ended up burning the whole town down with that. For some reason that seems more evident to me now than it did then. Keep in mind my priorities at the time were far more immediate.

A lot of politically correct folks circa 2010 won't like this next part: I loaned my snub-nose 38 Special to Charley for his trek in to get his family. It was fully loaded, plus I gave him another couple of complete reloads worth of ammo to tote in his pockets. I tried to give him a crash course in its proper use and safety features, and warned him of the recoil, and how it was unlikely he's be able to hit anything with it farther than ten feet away without awful careful aiming, and holding the pistol firmly with both hands.

I urged him not to use it unless absolutely necessary, as that could alert the Hamlins to our plan and ruin his family's chances for escape. I also instructed him to immediately hand it and the extra ammo over to one of his adult relatives once he reached them.

I figured they might desperately need another firearm and more ammo in order to make their escape.

Charley assured me he was familiar with revolvers, and it seemed to be so. But still I worried intensely the whole time after he left that he'd accidentally shoot himself with it, or someone would take it away from him and use it on him.

I sorely wished I'd had a 22 pistol to give him rather than a 38, so the recoil wouldn't spoil his aim so badly. But hey-- you can't be prepared for every contingency. Never in my wildest imagining had I ever thought I might need a gun better suited to arming a little kid. Agh!

I guess I should mention here that Charley was ten years old.

A couple minutes after we'd started several alarms going, I fired one buckshot round in towards the Hamlin gang to draw their attention away from Charley's side of town. I did so from as near the center line of town as I could, and from as near to a Hamlin as I dared.

I was glad Charley wasn't there to see me. For my knees starting shaking right before I loosed my first blast. I knew I could very well die in the next few minutes-- even if I made no mistakes at all.

I immediately moved away from the town axis after my first shot, found another vantage point, and fired again. This time with a flare, so they'd definitely see where it came from. I was trying to lead their attention away from Charley's path. I immediately followed that up with another buckshot blast.

Neither the buckshot or flares at that range represented major threats to the bad guys. But they were sure enough to make them mad.

My little gambit may have worked too well. For after that at least eight of the Hamlin men began swarming over my side of town.

I knew Charley needed me to distract as many of them as I could. But eight armed men was just too many for one...!

I had to retreat immediately in the face of that-- though I did occasionally fire another shot to enforce some caution on their part about coming after me.

(Even under these circumstances, I hoped to avoid killing anyone. Partly due to knowing only Charley's side of the story here, and partly just on general principles. E.g., by this point in my life I was trying to act in ways I could better explain in a court of law if necessary. Plus, I didn't have all that many good opportunities to 'take out' some of the shooters anyway, early in this battle. The Hamlins made good use of cover once alerted to my presence, and the gun and ammo I was using was better suited to close range combat, than sniping. My first shots had also been more to get their attention and draw them to me, than do harm. Plus, if I had immediately dropped several of them, they might not have come after me so rapidly; and I was trying to quickly pull a maximum number away from Charley's path)

I now moved back towards the town's main street again. When I felt it safe to do so, I briefly ignored the nearer swarming Hamlins, and sent in a 12 gauge slug rather than buckshot to smash into the engine compartment of one of the Hamlins' cars I'd been unable to sabotage before, closer to the seige's center. I wanted the gang members still around the post office to be too worried about me to watch too closely for Charley sneaking in from elsewhere. Shooting up their cars meant placing slugs awful close to individual Hamlins too at times-- and so was helpful to my ends in more ways than one.

I squeezed off another slug into a different car, and then took off again: my position was fast getting untenable, with converging Hamlins.

My burning tires a few buildings over were helping to smoke things up. This was helpful to shield me and Charley visibility-wise from the Hamlins, but unhelpful in regards to me getting many more chances to put their cars out of action from a distance.

Oh man: the present side of town ran out quick! So I had to switch. Thinking to try to head deeper in once more, to help Charley's family get out and to the delivery van.

But I couldn't do it. The Hamlins were homing in on me. Damn! I just could see no way to keep them suitably distracted any longer. I mean, if I was dead, that was the end of the distraction.

So I beat a hasty retreat completely out of town, using what cover I could for protection and concealment of my course, and loosing another buckshot blast at my pursuit as seemed wise for delay and further distraction. I hoped to God Charley had gotten through, and that his family had made it to the van.

The frequency of gunfire increased in town after that, but I was unsure if it was related to me or Charley or something else. I did linger a little near the edge of town just in case I might be able to help Charley a bit more, but I saw no opportunity to do so (the Hamlins were literally chasing me out of the place).

After a few more minutes I began the short uphill trek from town to where Shadow was hidden. I could hear something happening in town. But only barely. Some yelling, and more gunshots, over all the din of alarms, radio, and TV noise Charley and I had set loose previously. The smoke from the burning tires was really clouding up the center of town too. So visibility there from my present location was practically nil.

I hoped the Hamlins were sufficiently disorganized and confused to be shooting at each other now.

I reached Shadow, got in, cranked him up, and switched on his own siren to add to the racket for a while (and hopefully give the Hamlins something else to worry about-- if it made them think there might be police on the way).

I maneuvered us out a little from our hidey hole to where I could better monitor the only road leading out of town.

I let the siren run for maybe 10-15 minutes before I shut it off again. Heck: even as loud as it was, maybe it still couldn't be heard in town over the other racket. And I just couldn't stand the close-up wailing any longer. Plus, the siren might prevent me from hearing something more important in the present environment.

After more than an hour had passed since I'd left town, I began to despair that Charley and his family had been unable to move to the van. That maybe now Charley too was trapped-- or dead. Maybe he'd never reached his family at all.

There was still sporadic gunfire to be heard over the racket coming from town, though. So I had some hope left.

What the hell could I do now? I racked my brain for a new plan, as it didn't appear Charley's family had been able to make it out after all.

Damn it!

I tried the CB several more times while I waited; still to no avail.

Then I noticed movement some distance down the road, at the edge of town. A single man with a long gun was cautiously making his way out of town in the general direction of my present position. He seemed to be exercising all his care towards possible gunfire from my direction rather than town, so I figured he was likely one of the Hamlins. Still searching for me because of my earlier activities.

I could see no others, but figured they were likely spread out in something of a search pattern. Damn! What if all eight of the original search and destroy crew were coming?

Damn it! Now even if Charley's family did come out in the van, they'd have guys out here to shoot at them as they came through.

Damn it! Damn it to hell!

Well, I definitely couldn't sit here and do nothing; the fight was coming to me. I either had to fight or run.

There was still some gunfire going on in town, so at least some of Charley's family were likely still kicking. I sure didn't want to run away after I'd told Charley I'd help him rescue his folks.

I made sure my Remington was fully stocked with buckshot in the magazine, with some extra stuck in the stock sock supply. I also confirmed I still had several pen flares in my scramble vest-- along with still more shotgun rounds.

Then I quietly and unobtrusively disembarked from Shadow. Staying low, I crept to a better vantage point over the approaching gunman. I also tried to keep an eye out for any widely dispersed companions.

I was sure I'd get plenty of return fire from more than one direction, once I let loose. I saw no reason to be in any hurry: the hurry would come later.

I situated myself in the best spot I could find, and surveyed the entire area as best I could for other shooters. The one guy continued to slowly and cautiously make his way up the road towards me.

Man! I really wished I could locate at least one other guy before I fired my first shot! Or that Charley's family would come speeding up out of town immediately!

I heard something behind me. Oh shit.

I slowly and quietly turned (fast movements more easily catch the eye).

I saw another shooter. Apparently he hadn't yet seen me. He was staring intently at Shadowfast, parked and idling some 20 yards/meters away (it was my habit to leave him running in times of danger, even if I wasn't in him). The shooter himself was only some five yards/meters from me. I eased my gun around...

He saw me! I had no time to aim, and had to just let loose with a blast in his general direction. My awkward position magnified the recoil on me too, but it couldn't be helped.

I stayed down low but quickly twisted around to a better firing position, continuing to pump and fire as fast as I could at him, trying to allow him no chance to do so himself.

Real life moments like that are guaranteed to cause recurring nightmares for years after the event-- at least for people like me. I would re-live that moment countless times afterwards in dreamscapes. Only usually there it happened differently, with my shotgun jamming on me just before I got shot to pieces.

But in truth, my Remington 870 pump 12 gauge never ever jammed on me: it was one fine weapon. The double-slide rails seemed much more reliable than some cheaper shotguns of brands I won't mention here, which possessed only single rails.

I sure was glad I had the extra big ammo magazine on my 12 gauge that day. Unfortunately, I was bereft of my 38 for backup, if my shotgun ran out at an inopportune moment (which made things still scarier for me than they might otherwise had been).

I wasn't sure if I hit him. He ran like hell. I don't think he got a single shot off at me. I surely bloodied him, but I can't say that for certain. Heck: maybe he was like a squirrel who got shot and ran away perfectly well for a minute or two, then suddenly fell over.

With the one guy in apparent full retreat, I turned my attention back to the other, and was surprised to see he'd begun running full tilt up the road at me when the shooting started. Damn! Didn't he know you were supposed to run away from a shooting, and not towards it?

He saw me almost the same instant I did him. I had sort of sat up, and was considerably uphill from him by maybe 20 yards/meters.

One big difference was I was sitting nearly stock still, while he'd been in full running mode when we spied each other.

I managed to squeeze off a much more stable and calculated round than he could, and first. He fired too, but wildly: bits of tree branches and leaves fell about me from above. I got him in the shins, and he went down.

Apparently I got him with a ricochet off the road, as I didn't see large or concentrated spots on him indicating a direct hit.

Just as I was about to have to make a terrible decision on what to do next, lots more shooting noises erupted from town, and out of the smoke I saw the Sowders barreling out in the delivery van!

That was one of the most welcome sights I ever saw in my life!

I decided I didn't have to shoot the road guy again, and rushed back to Shadow. I believe I was down to a single round left in my gun, and requiring a reload soon.

The van passed the road shooter, then my own position. I drove out to get behind them in order to bring up the rear. Hoping all the while the shooter who'd fled into the woods wouldn't manage to take out me or a Sowders as we came through.

Hopefully too, little Charley would be sure to inform them I was a good guy in the blacked out Mustang suddenly appearing behind them: otherwise I might get shot with my own 38! Or worse!

I did hang back some for a while just in case of a mix up (once I felt we'd traveled a sufficient distance that I could relax about the shooter in the woods).

Man! Little Charley had made it in!

At that point I realized I couldn't hang back too far, or I'd lose the Sowders and be lost again myself. Yikes!

The big delivery van sure was all over the road-- I hoped it wasn't damaged, and going to leave the Sowders stranded somewhere. I also hoped that whichever adult was driving wasn't so badly injured they'd crash the vehicle somewhere, and thus give the Hamlins another chance to finish them off.

Soon after we'd all beat it out of Kutton, I spied pursuit in my rear view mirror. It was a station wagon (soon I'd also notice it possessed wood paneling on the sides), its several occupants armed to the teeth, from what I could tell. It was coming up fast.

Recall I was bringing up the rear for the delivery van, so I couldn't run away.

Indeed, I switched on my stealth lighting circuit-- so the wagon crew wouldn't see brake lights-- and then actually slowed down some to help them get caught up faster than they were expecting.

Shadow's full-on blacked out treatment sometimes seemed to help even in daytime, in terms of slowing people's responses to his rapid maneuvering-- especially when the stealth circuit prevented any additional hints from brake lights.

When I figured they were in prime targeting distance and speed range, I wagged Shadow's tail some, even as I accelerated once more, and loosed my tire poppers upon them.

They slowed down a lot after running over the spiky road hazards, and I lost sight of them around a bend.

If it hadn't been for me needing a guide out of there, I would have maybe stopped somewhere around that point to shoot up any more of the pursuit cars as they came. But as it was, I'd have been totally lost if I let the Sowders get too far ahead of me. And it turned out to be a good thing I didn't stop too soon to cover their retreat-- for their van soon ran out of gas.

It'd been reasonably well stocked when I'd checked it in town. But the fuel tank had apparently gotten holed during escape.

We all pulled over to remedy the situation way too near to where I'd disabled the station wagon. Like maybe just a half mile away. At least we were out of sight though. I informed the family of this when I met them for the first time, being sort of rapid-fire introduced by Charley.

I couldn't help it: I had to hug the little guy! He'd performed as bravely as you could ever hope of a full-grown man. And he was just ten!

We all knew we weren't yet out of danger, so we did the best we could to set up for defense even as we tried to figure out what to do next. Thankfully though, the station wagon never showed up again.

I learned why the van had been driving so erratically: ten year old Charley had been at the wheel! Getting his first driving instructions ever from an aunt, as he tried to save his family's lives.

The little guy had trouble reaching the pedals, and one aunt was helping by shifting gears when he used the clutch. Charley pretty much had to stand on the pedals and hold himself up on the steering wheel to drive the thing, else he couldn't see out the windshield!

Just about everybody in the clan was hurt, I was sorry to see. Some of them pretty badly, and in need of medical attention just as soon as could be arranged. I turned Shadow's first aid kit over to them, and they immediately put it to use (previous adventures had taught me the usefulness of such a package).

We still needed the van to transport everyone-- especially with so many of them injured. Else I'd have to try to take just the kids and maybe one or two of the worst hurt adults in Shadow, as a last resort.

I knew Charley would never agree to leave the grownups behind, though.

I inspected the van tank, and found the biggest problem to be a bullet hole near the very bottom-- no wonder it'd ran dry so quick! I went through Shadow's onboard parts collection, and found a large bolt I was able to get threaded into the hole to patch it, and some gas-resistant sealant to put around it as well.

Now, if only we had some gas...!

I'd installed an anti-siphoning spring in Shadow's own filler neck some time before-- so it was no easy task to get gas out of him now. Significant disassembly was required. Then reassembly afterwards. This consumed maybe ten or fifteen precious minutes. But the only alternative was to go shoot it out with the station wagon bunch to get hold of their gas.

I transferred roughly four gallons to the van, and kept one more in the old anti-freeze jug which had helped with the relocation. I had a notion I might want to set a fire somewhere in a hurry, if we had any more trouble with the Hamlins. Like maybe set fire to the road, or something.

The gas transfer still left me with over half a tank in Shadow, as I always filled up before escort jobs. And Shadow got 24 miles per gallon when he wasn't at full gallop. The old jug was one of two I always kept in the trunk, normally filled with plain water (of course, you couldn't use water stored in an old anti-freeze jug for drinking purposes; but it could help with other matters).

Thankfully, it appeared that our miscellaneous tricks in town had helped to stall or set back the Hamlins' various means of transport and pursuit. As so far all they'd been able to muster was the one station wagon. Maybe too it'd taken them a while to figure out just exactly what had happened in town. Perhaps many of them had felt compelled to search the entire place, before deciding their prey sure enough had escaped them.

I was presently concerned about the mounting delay in continuing the Sowders' escape. For that was giving the Hamlins more time to try salvaging their planned massacre.

I informed the adults that I intended to try guarding their rear once they were underway again. They returned my 38 to me-- they'd used every single round supplied anyway, in what may have been the biggest single combat or defensive use that pistol ever got in my ownership. They did have a couple of 12 gauge shotguns, for which I was able to help re-supply them ammo-wise (I always kept at least a hundred 12 gauge rounds in an ammo box onboard Shadow, completely separate from my gun stock and vest supplies). I gave them entirely buckshot rounds, as those were best for short range defense. That still left me some slugs and buckshot, too.

I gave them my water-filled canteen for the wounded, and urged them to get back on their way again. I also did my best to get some directions from them about getting back to civilization again, in case I got lost.

It took a bit of cranking to get the fuel line refilled again, but finally they were moving once more.

Armed with the Sowders' direction instructions, I felt more confident about my own escape, when (and if) the time came. And decided it'd be all right to stop any further pursuit cold.

Not long after we got back on the road again though, another Hamlin vehicle made its appearance. This time it was a large truck with a wooden fenced flatbed. It looked to be hauling the whole crew from the previous station wagon, plus more. This was much worse than the wagon, as here some shooters could easily stand in the back and shoot over the cab at me with long guns.

As the Sowders' van was just ahead of me, and my job was to stay between them and the Hamlins, there was only one thing I could do.

I pulled an immediate stop in the middle of the road, to make use of the fact the truck was still some distance away (though closing fast). The Sowders' van continued on. I jumped out of the car, laid down on the pavement to steady my aim, and began firing 12 gauge slugs at the big truck's radiator and motor and windshield-- the whole front end. Just as fast as I could load and fire.

That made them run off the road quick. I was sure I'd at least ruined their radiator (and terrified those in the cab), if nothing else.

It was entirely possible I'd done more than that. For those slugs striking the windshield would have went clean through the cab, and into the bed where the small army was riding. Heck, where the circumstances were right, my lower-aimed slugs might even have penetrated the engine compartment firewall too, providing some possibly lethal surprises for folks inside the cab. What I most hoped for of course was a dead engine, or at least a destroyed cooling system.

Yeah, I was almost certainly hurting people now with my shooting. But the Hamlins could stop coming after us any time they wanted, and avoid my fire that way. They could let us go, or get shot: it was up to them.

The Hamlin army immediately jumped off the truck as it came to a stop, and took cover to start returning fire.

Needless to say, by that point they were much too close for my liking-- and my health! So I sure didn't dally there after that. As soon as it was apparent the truck was pulling off the road, I jumped back into Shadow and took off again, squealing the rear tires, and briefly flipping on my strobe lights too in hopes of spoiling their aim.

The delivery van sure seemed slow. I caught back up with it soon after. At which point we quickly came to a narrow bridge crossing a good-sized stream. It seemed like a decent pursuit bottleneck to me, so after reaching the far end, I parked cross-ways there, and prepared for a temporary stand. In case any more Hamlin showed up.

Although my position faced an incline back the way we'd come, I would still enjoy a fairly long distance view of the road and the woods alongside, up the long hill. All the way up to where the ruler straight incoming road crested the hill up top.

I guess the very top of the hill was near a quarter-mile away. This was perhaps the longest straight-away for many miles around in this country.

I figured I'd hang out there for a while. From what the Sowders had told me, they'd surely reach civilization soon, and no longer need my protection. I didn't have a scope. But I did have binoculars. Cheap ones. And used them to closely watch the hill top, after I'd dug them out of storage.

It wasn't long before something crested the hill. It was the big truck again. The one I thought I'd put out of commission before.

It was smoking though. Both blue smoke and steam, from the looks of it.

I immediately wasted a couple slugs shooting at it while it was still way too far out of my accustomed range with my Remington. But I was feeling squeamish; if that thing made it all the way to me, it could easily ram its way past me. And it was now on a downhill trek. So in theory, even if the motor quit, they might could let it coast in to ram me.

And maybe half a dozen men could be shooting at me from the thing, the whole way in.

I don't think the truck crew had binoculars. But at least one had a scoped rifle, and began sending an occasional shot my way. His first shots were wide misses, but I knew he'd probably get lots more accurate quick, if I let him. And his effective range was likely much farther than my shotgun's slugs.

(Yeah, I had my 38 pistol back again, but that snub nose was pretty much worthless past a hundred feet or so)

I'd kept roughly one gallon of siphoned gas in an anti-freeze jug for my own use after transferring some to the Sowders' van. Just minutes before, I'd figured to maybe use it for the last stages of any confrontation at the bridge. But now I seemed to need it right off the bat!

I quickly pulled up the narrow strip of black shag floor carpeting which normally lay behind my front seats and underneath the front-most inclined panel of my rear interior shelf (none of this stuff was fastened down, being held in place instead by gravity and strategic design), grabbed the gas jug, and ran to a spot about three car lengths from Shadow, between the approaching truck and my car.

I'd also pulled loose the knot in the cord holding the bottom of my driver's seat back steel plate, and pulled it up and off my seat to carry as a shield while I was exposed (I'd added the plates because of gunfire penetrating my car's sheet metal in some previous bouts).

Yeah, I wasn't sure it'd stop a direct hit from a high powered rifle bullet, but it still made me feel better carrying it ahead of me by its plastic-coated wire loop at top (the loop normally allowed the plate to hang behind my seat, from the head rest; a similar plate protected the passenger seat).

Crouching behind the plate (it was much shorter than me), I laid the maybe five foot long carpet strip across the middle of the road and poured all the gas on it, trying to soak it down well (of course a single gallon isn't a whole lot of fluid for something like this). Then I lit it.

A pretty decent little wall of flame erupted, accompanied with some thin black smoke, and I retreated back to Shadow. Hopefully the fire and smoke and heat waves in the air would help spoil the truck gang's aim a little.

I sure hoped the tactic was worth the awful smell of burning gasoline and nylon-- or whatever the heck that carpet was made of. Yuck! I literally could not breathe downwind of the flaming strip!

By that point the truck had gotten considerably closer, and I was finally able to get in some decent shots at it again.

I had no choice but to concentrate on the cab with my slugs now, while possibly erring on the side of more rounds into the engine compartment (they were still far enough away that my shooting wasn't nearly as on target as I'd have liked).

Once again, the big truck ran off the road immediately after my shots began hitting home, this time to my left, with its passengers all dispersing into the woods on both sides of the road, at least a hundred and fifty yards away.

All right, I thought. The ramming truck threat seemed to be gone. But now they could all just approach on foot in the woods and snipe at me from the far bank at their leisure. Or so they thought.

I knew it'd take a while to get a good fire roaring on the forested far bank, so I immediately retrieved my single shot flare gun, and fired a burning magnesium load into the woods on the left, across the stream. I repeated the process for the trees on the right. More flares followed in a well spread pattern, as I wanted to make sure my attackers got a mighty warm welcome as they approached the stream bank.

Soon I'd successfully created my own mini-forest fire, and it was spreading.

I ejected all the remaining rounds from my shotgun, in order to completely reload it with buckshot instead.

The fires now raged on the opposite bank, gradually spreading up the hill to meet the gang as they descended towards me.

The fire wasn't a complete savior: some men managed to get past the fire line and closer to the bank. But the fire had destroyed much of the natural cover there, and so they didn't have that much of an advantage over me and my shotgun. And any of them which chose the open and non-burning road to come at me enjoyed even less cover than the others. Plus, all the smoke over there was giving lots of them plenty of breathing and vision problems.

Emboldened by my steel plate shield, and easier breathing and clearer vision compared to my foes (plus preferring to give my attackers an often moving target), I moved about as I wished to gain aiming advantage over the gang.

I also realized my plate shield would likely work better at an angle than vertical. That is, the closer to horizontal the surface was when a horizontally traveling bullet hit it, the more of the bullet's penetration power would be drained away by the bullet's mass trying to continue its present course with minimal interruption/resistance. Newton's laws of motion and all that. Basically, a glancing blow from a bullet on my shield was less likely to result in penetration than a straight-on, perpendicular impact. And staying crouched low for movement and lying prone on the ground for firing allowed me to better exploit the angle tactic. At least all this was true in theory-- based on my college engineering classes.

It didn't take long for what was left of the crew to give up and retreat in the face of fire and smoke and buckshot-- and little opportunity for effective retaliation. Plus, they likely had a significant number of wounded needing attention.

As by then I had them too scared to fall back in my easy view of the uphill road (though it was getting pretty smokey by this time), I had to just surmise their actions from the eventual complete cessation of gunfire and sightings, even via my binoculars.

Carrying my steel plate shield with me, I moved about some on my side of the stream for differing views of the other bank, trying to verify they were now all gone, and/or leaving. And also to try to make certain none of them attempted to swim across the stream to surprise me-- or were simply lying in wait like snipers to pop me if I let down my guard while leaving myself.

After the last shot had been fired, I hung around for another full hour to intercept any further vehicles or on-foot assaults. But none came. So I carefully packed back up and left.

Yeah, I left a whole new forest fire behind me there. But hey! The locals were already alerted to forest fires in the area, and bringing in firefighting equipment and crews. So what better time to start a fire than that?

Plus, I figured only a jury made entirely of local Hamlins would convict me of anything in this case.

The Sowders had given me directions for the full course they expected to take to reach the nearest neighboring town hospital. That'd seemed the most practical instructions at the time, as that would in theory allow me to re-trace their course all the way to safety even if I got separated from them, plus help me get aid too if I needed it after my tussles with the Hamlins.

So I was able to meet up with the Sowders at the small hospital to which they'd fled.

When I got there only Charley and the other kids of the clan were in the waiting room (Charley was the oldest child in the troop). All the adults were undergoing treatment, and had basically filled up all the emergency room beds in the place (it was a small facility).

The kids had some injuries too, but thankfully they were all relatively minor, and amenable to a little TLC from a nurse attending them in the waiting room.

The nurses allowed me to talk to some of the grownups too, after a while.

After I'd established that they were more or less all going to be okay, I made it a point to ask them to please not tell the authorities any more about me and my role than they absolutely had to-- and why (I was a heavily armed smuggler's escort, remember). They all assured me they'd be glad to do me that favor in return for my help. I told them I appreciated that, but they should all remember that Charley did at least as much as I did-- maybe more. He was one fantastic little guy.

I kind of wanted to leave him my 38 Special as a gift. But even under these circumstances it seemed a questionable act to give such a dangerous weapon to a child. Plus, I was still a long ways from being rich, and so could ill afford to give up such an expensive tool. So I didn't.

So what was the final tally on Charley's folks? I got it a couple months later in a long distance phone call.

Two killed. That was before I showed up. Yes, most of them got hurt-- the adults badly-- in the melee which followed. But no more died. One of Charley's aunts lost part of one hand, and I think his uncle Gene lost an eye, and his dad permanently lost some use of one arm when all was said and done. But that was the worst of it.

I didn't ask for any info regarding the casualties on the Hamlin side, because I was afraid of what I might hear. Better not to know, I figured. Even if they had been asking for it.

Charley's family thankfully kept my identity and true car description out of the police report, basically just telling the law a mountain hermit stranger in an old black truck had appeared out of nowhere to help them, then faded into the wilderness again afterwards.

Yeah, the Hamlin men probably did their best to identify me, but they didn't get nearly as good a look at me as the Sowders, plus their accounts were contradicted by the Sowders, and other evidence around Kutton made it obvious who had ambushed who. Plus, that trip would be the one and only time me and my blacked out car were ever in those parts: making actual sightings of us by anyone else about as rare as hen's teeth. So Shadow and I never got into any trouble from all this.

It also didn't hurt of course that it could be downright difficult to pin point what kind of car Shadow was, in any description. All blacked out, sure. But make and model? And year? Hmmm! He was truly one-of-a-kind back then.

I know some country folk will point out to me that I didn't bother to learn what the feud between the two families was about-- and maybe that could change the outlook on all this a lot.

But I personally can't imagine anything which would justify wiping out women and children too.

And no matter what people fight about, the killing has to stop somewhere. Otherwise the cycle goes on into perpetuity, with sooner or later definite innocents getting hurt or killed along the way by accident, if nothing else.

And defending yourself is far different from attacking others. The Sowders and I were running away from the Hamlins: they didn't have to continue to come after us like they did. It was solely up to them as to when we'd all stop hurting each other there. I'd have preferred them to let us all stop earlier than they did. But they wouldn't. So they were the ones who kept us all pulling triggers.

Heck: this one I didn't even tell my boss about! Just in case...(I had been technically off-duty at the time I got involved).