The Long Road

JANUARY 18, 2014

Ridgecrest, CA

Gordon’s entire body hurt. From his feet to the throbbing wound on his face, he ached. Only his will to find Rahab and avenge his son kept him going .

He was walking through the desert, parallel to the highway. Being alone, he felt it safer to keep his distance from the roads.

He saw the small community as he cleared a low rise. He wasn’t exactly sure where he was, but from the map he’d found at Rahab’s camp, he was assuming he was in Rivercrest.

Walking into a neighborhood was not what he wanted to do, so he squatted and took off his pack.

In one of the side pockets was a bottle of water. Grabbing it, he took a long drink. His aching legs finally convinced him it was time to sit down.

So many thoughts were flashing before him. Hunter for the most part consumed him. He had to fight the visions of his son’s death. The one thing that distracted him was focusing on finding Rahab.

He opened the pack and pulled out a large piece of paper. When he unfolded it, a map of Oregon and Washington State appeared. There was some writing scratched in the right column—“Rajneeshpuram.” He had no idea what that meant. Maybe it was a place, maybe it was a person.

After Nelson had left him, two days ago, he had spent the entire day tearing the base apart, looking for any clues about where they might have gone. In Rahab’s quarters he’d found this map among scattered papers on the floor. It was all he had going for him.

His plan was to track Rahab down, kill him, then carry on to Idaho. The one thing he needed was a car, but that would not be easy to come by.

Thoughts of Samantha and Haley came into his mind. He was so conflicted about his mission, but he had to avenge Hunter. He had to make sure no one else suffered at the hands of this butcher.

Rahab had been right: He would look in the mirror and see the scar, but the wound only reminded him of his need to kill Rahab.

A scream from the community over the rise made him look up from the map. He quickly folded it and put it back in his pack.

He grabbed the binoculars that Nelson had left him with and low-crawled to the crest of the hill.

Another scream echoed out.

It was hard to see through the thick creosote plants and fencing around the houses.

The screams were those of a woman.

Now a child’s scream was added.

He kept looking, but he could not tell where it was coming from; he saw no movement at all.

Again more screams.

Gordon’s first instinct was not to get involved. Don’t deviate from the plan, he told himself.

Again the screams erupted; now they weren’t just screams but calls for help.

“Just stay put, this isn’t your business,” he told himself out loud.

He kept scanning the houses as best he could, but he saw nothing.

The cries for help now sounded different. At first they had sounded muffled, like the people were inside; now he could tell they were outside.

The child screamed out, “Mommyyyyy!”

“Goddamn it!” he bellowed. Gordon rolled over, tucked the binoculars away, put on the pack, and grabbed the AR-15 rifle that Nelson had given him. He stood up and began to run toward where he heard the screaming.

He got to the fence that bordered the community in about a minute. Fortunately, part of the fence was down. He made his way through and ran up to the side of the first house.

All the homes in this neighborhood were single-level ranch-style houses. Many looked similar on the outside but for the colors of the stucco siding and the composite roofs.

The house he was next to was at the end of a cul-de-sac. He walked toward the front to get a view of what or who he was dealing with.

Reaching the corner, he peered around and saw about five men but no woman or child.

The screams and cries had stopped. He wasn’t sure why.

Again he thought, Gordon, just leave, there’s too many of them.

The screams he had heard from the child were what had prompted him to get this far. He imagined the child shaking in fear, crying, scared.

“Fuck it, let’s get some,” he said to himself as he headed back toward the rear of the house. He wanted to move down the backyards until he got to the home the men were standing in front of.

He cleared the rear corner and headed quickly, rifle at the ready, to the second home. He stopped briefly and listened.

Nothing.

As he walked he made sure to look inside each home. No one, empty.

He was about to move toward the third home when around the corner came a woman and a boy of about five. Her protective attitude told Gordon he was her son.

The woman was about to scream when Gordon grabbed her and covered her mouth. “Sshhh. I’m not here to hurt you.”

She struggled to break free.

Gordon grabbed her tighter and repeated, “Please, be quiet. I won’t hurt you. I’m here to help. I heard you screaming, so I came to help.”

Her resistance ebbed as she heard the other men coming closer. They were inside the third house, and the sounds of them crashing furniture confirmed that they were looking for her and her son.

“If you want me to help you and your son, stop.”

She finally stopped struggling and went limp.

Her son looked terrified and had a white-knuckle grip on her hand.

“I’m going to uncover your mouth. Screaming would be stupid. There’s no one but me here to help. Tell me how many men there are,” he whispered into her ear.

“I don’t know, maybe six or seven.”

“Okay. What we’re going to do is walk back that way,” he whispered, nodding toward the first house he’d come to. “From there we’ll make for the desert.”

She acknowledged his command with a slight nod.

They all turned, but someone came up behind them and grabbed the boy.

Gordon reacted quickly by punching the man in the face, causing him to fall backwards with the boy in his grip. Gordon pulled Nelson’s sheath knife and jumped on top of the man, plunging the knife through his throat into his head.

The man coughed up thick, dark blood and died instantly.

Gordon pulled the knife and resheathed it without cleaning it off. He grabbed the boy and motioned for them to go.

They ran down to the first house and stopped near the corner. Gordon didn’t want to just make a run for it without knowing if anyone was there.

He peered around the corner but saw no one; however, his ears picked up sounds near the front of the house they were using for cover.

“Damn, I think someone is there,” he whispered.

The boy and woman clung to each other, both shaking.

“I wish we had a car; this on-foot stuff is bullshit.”

“We have a car,” the boy said quietly.

Gordon’s eyes lit up. “You do? Does it work?”

The woman answered, “Yeah, that’s what they first came for.”

Excited by this news, Gordon said, “Our plans have changed. Do you know how to shoot a gun?” he asked the woman.

She shook her head no.

“It’s easy. Just keep pulling the trigger at anyone trying to kill you,” he said as he handed her a Glock 9-mm. “Where’s the car?”

“Our garage,” the woman said as she stared at the pistol in her hand.

“Let’s go,” Gordon said, moving to a crouch position. “Stay right behind me. And whatever you do, don’t shoot me,” he said to her.

She gave no response. Her eyes were wide open with fear.

With his rifle back at the ready, they turned back toward where he had killed the man who’d grabbed the boy.

Sounds of breaking glass, voices, and more tossed furniture came from the second house.

“Stay here,” Gordon commanded, then went to look inside. He saw one man walking through the house grumbling to himself.

Seeing only the one inside, he made his plan.

He entered the house through the unlocked back sliding door that opened to the kitchen. He slung his rifle and took his knife back out. Tiptoeing, he made it to the edge of the kitchen and hallway.

The man was walking back toward him from one of the bedrooms.

When the man cleared the corner, Gordon jumped him. He slit his throat and gently laid him on the floor.

Gordon walked in the direction the man had been going, the front of the house. The hallway opened up into a living room with a large bay window that looked out onto the edge of the cul-de-sac. From there, he had a view of most of the street and the three men out front.

With two dead and a guess of six or seven total, that left Gordon four or five.

He needed a way to draw them out, and he now thought he had the plan.

Making it back to the woman and the boy, he explained his idea.

She at first refused. But with a lot of pressure she agreed.

Gordon went back into the house and set up a sniper’s position at the bay window.

“C’mon,” he whispered loudly. He had the rifle firmly against his shoulder, but he kept peering out of the corner of his eye to see her.

Suddenly one of the men in front of the third home yelled out. “Her and the boy are here!”

The three men made their way toward her but stopped when she brandished the pistol.

“That’s a girl,” Gordon said to himself.

“Stop right there. I have the keys, but after I give them to you, you have to leave!”

“Hey, boss, she has the keys!” one of the men called out.

“Toss the keys to us now, bitch!” another man yelled at her.

“C’mon,” Gordon said again. The situation was tense, but it escalated when one of the men drew his pistol and pointed it at her son.

“I’ll kill your fucking boy, now toss me the keys!”

“C’mon!” Gordon said louder.

Like God had answered his prayer, two other men came onto the street with guns drawn. They were walking quickly toward the woman.

Gordon didn’t know if this was all of them, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He aimed and squeezed off the first round, hitting the first man with the gun in the head. The man instantly dropped to the ground. Gordon slightly turned and took another shot, hit; another, hit. The last two men didn’t know where the shots were coming from, but that didn’t stop them from shooting in all directions.

Gordon took aim on the fourth man and shot him in the chest; the force of the round pushed him back, and he fell down dead. Gordon had taken aim on the last man when a shot rang out, this time from the woman.

She shot at the man, missed him at first, but kept shooting. The second and third rounds hit him squarely.

He turned to face her, but she kept pulling the trigger. Three more rounds burst forth from the pistol and hit him in the torso.

He dropped to his knees and fell face first into the pavement.

The woman stopped firing after he fell. Her son was standing behind her with his hands covering his face.

Gordon’s ears were ringing after the shoot-out. He shook his head thinking that would clear his ears, but like every time before, it didn’t. He stood and left the house.

The woman looked at him, still standing in the exact spot from which she had fired.

Gordon walked over, took the pistol out of her hand, and said, “Good job, very good.”

The boy came around to the front of his mother, and she held him close. His long, brown, curly hair was tucked into a black beanie.

Gordon looked at her; she was a young woman. He guessed she couldn’t have been older than twenty-eight. Her copper hair was partially hanging out of a scrunchie that was holding the rest back. Dirt, grime, and dried tears were smeared across her freckled face.

“You two are all alone, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, my husband died a couple weeks ago. These guys had been his friends.”

“I’ll make you a deal. Let me borrow your car and I’ll take you both with me to Idaho. I have a safe place to stay up there.”

“Okay, but what’s your name?”

“I’m Gordon, Gordon Van Zandt. Come on, let’s go to Idaho.”