Chapter Twenty-Six
Wes drove his truck to the counseling offices. Not finding Eleanor there, he walked across to the stables. “Hey, Luke, have you seen Ellie?”
“Yes, sir. She went for a ride on Linus with Brandon and Hazel,” Luke said.
As Wes pulled his phone from his belt, it flashed. The pre-programmed announcement played across the screen.Employee VA429 in need of assistance. The message was followed by a set of coordinates.
The SEAL in him kicked in as he turned to Keith Hartung, who had ridden with him to the counseling offices. “Keith, I have an urgent issue.”
Panic got people killed. He dialed Communications. “I need the name of employee VA429. I also need the geolocation.”
As he waited, he could hear engines rev as they headed onto the outer roadway surrounding the Center. Luke yelled for him. Wes’s heart fell when Bert, the horse Brandon was riding, returned bleeding and riderless.
“Do you know where they were headed?”
“No, sir. I should’ve asked,” Luke said.
“Saddle Alamo’s Pal. I’ll be there in a moment. He turned back to Keith Hartung to let him know the situation, then he ran toward his house. Kicking off his shoes, he stepped into his cowboy boots. Outside, he popped the Tahoe trunk and pulled his medic bag free.
During the run toward the stable, his phone pinged. It confirmed his gut; the beacon was Eleanor’s. The location was near the pond.
Wes gave Keith the location before he mounted Alamo’s Pal. As he rode, he dialed Communications again. After providing his identification numbers, he ordered a Delta Alert for an all-hands search for Hazel, Brandon and Eleanor.
Heart in his throat, he urged his horse faster. A large mound rose up from the fog. He slowed to a walk and withdrew his gun, doing his best to survey the area. The fog hindered his sightline to less than twenty feet. When the mound came into view, it was a chestnut horse, and fifteen feet from it was Hazel.
Wes hopped down. Shuddering, he confirmed Hazel was gone as well as the horse she was riding, a bullet to the side of its head.
He transmitted the situation and position. Climbing back on his horse, he continued walking away from Hazel’s body toward the pond. About fifty yards further, he heard a weak cry for help. Wes jumped down, and with his medic bag, followed the sound of the voice. “Brandon, it’s Wes. Keep calling.”
Brandon lay on his side. He’d managed to slip an arm from his jacket to provide direct pressure to a chest wound. “Ellie…I told her to run. They killed Hazel,” he grunted.
“I know. Let me help you.” Wes covered the hole with an occlusive dressing topped by a bulky trauma dressing and wrapped him with a silver rescue blanket. “Help is coming.”
“Find Ellie. Heard them call…her name. One more shot.”
Wes radioed Brandon’s location and went in search of Eleanor. According to Communications, her phone was no longer pinging. On foot, he called out, “Ellie.” After each call of her name, he listened. “Ellie?”
This time he heard a horse snort. In the distance, he saw a disruption in the fog. A horse was circling something on the ground.
“Ellie.” His anguished call echoed in the wind.
“Wes…” she choked.
He approached the horse that was pawing the ground with its front hoof. “Good boy, let me help her.”
Dropping to his knees, he stared into her eyes. “Hey, Curly.” He took her hand and felt her pulse. She was shivering, her breaths coming in short, labored puffs, and her pulse beat rapidly beneath his fingertips.
“This is Crockett; I have Eleanor West.” He radioed his location and began his survey.
“Hazel…God. Brandon?” she sniffled.
“I found him. Help is coming. How’s the pain?” Blood seeped through the threads of her sweater. Cutting it apart, he could see the one wound that went through her left flank. “Sorry… this may hurt.” He sprinkled a powder onto the wound before his hands pressed onto it to curb the bleeding.
“I’m okay,” she hissed, then groaned. “Wes, I’m sorry.”
“This isn’t your fault, Curly. Did you see who did this and where he or she went?”
“Past the pond. There were three.” She reached for his hand. “I’m sorry. I…”
