Ambush on the Ranch
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Tina Wheeler
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19.7K
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20
One
Help! God, please help me! Janel Newman -dodged one pine tree, then another. Her lungs burned with each breath as she pumped her arms harder, forcing her feet to run faster in the cowgirl boots she hadn’t fully broken in yet.
A bullet whizzed over her shoulder, splintering bark off a tree in her path.
Panic struck, and she jolted in a new direction.
Every muscle resisted her effort to move another inch. She ached from head to blistering toes. How much more of a beating could her body take before it failed, leaving her a helpless target?
Racing toward a copse of overgrown bushes, she spotted a boulder barely visible in the dense Northern Arizona forest. When the moment was right, she circled back around the huge rock and crouched as low as her tired, cramping legs would allow. With only enough energy left to breathe, she leaned against the hard granite for support.
Why hadn’t she minded her own business? None of this would have happened if she’d driven straight to work instead of making that U-turn.
The encroaching sound of pounding footsteps warned he was coming closer.
Fear consumed her.
He suddenly stopped, and silence hung heavy in the air. She strained to listen. Where did he go? In her mind, she pictured the murderer scanning his surroundings from beneath his sunglasses.
She pulled her elbows in closer—a desperate attempt to shrink lower behind the boulder, the only thing between her and certain death.
His footfalls started again, and he drew nearer. He was coming straight for her.
Her thumping heart echoed in her ears.
She shoved aside the intense urge to run because he’d shoot the second she stood.
Life. She was choosing to live—if God wanted her opinion on the matter.
The man who wanted her dead stepped even closer.
His shadow fell over the boulder onto a patch of snow inches away from her boots. She froze, afraid to move, to breathe, to even think.
Seconds later, the sound of someone else traveling through the forest carried on the chilly breeze. The shooter’s shadow disappeared as he ran in the newcomer’s direction.
She waited and waited, then pushed off the rock and sprinted away. Her destination: the trees with the widest trunks, hoping they’d provide protection.
A shot rang out.
The bullet missed, and she continued fleeing as fast as she could. A grunting sound made her glance back long enough to see the shooter trip and fall. Hoping to take advantage of the situation, she fought to quicken her sprint. She had to get away.
Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a horse in the distance. Was she hallucinating? Or did her pursuer have an accomplice coming to join the hunt?
Zach Walker glanced about as he quickly guided his chestnut-colored quarter horse through the dense forest in search of a suspected murderer: a man wearing a black hoodie who’d escaped into the forest seconds after a landscape worker had been shot and killed. Their suspect had a twenty-minute lead, but the sound of two gunshots gave them a general direction to home in on.
The other Mounted Fugitive Retrieval Team members were riding toward that area from different parts of the forest. Zach, a Sedona rancher, was the only fully trained volunteer, sworn in and given a badge. He could perform the same duties as any other county deputy sheriff when needed.
After covering another half mile, Zach pulled the reins to halt Copper. He pushed back the brim of his hat and listened for sounds of movement. A breeze carried the scent of pine, and the sun’s rays filtered through the thick branches of evergreen trees. The signs of a peaceful winter day belied the threat that could strike at any second, around any turn.
Another gunshot fired, and the forest sprang alive with the flapping of wings from birds soaring off their perches. Copper bobbed his head.
“Let’s go, boy.”
The pair adeptly navigated the terrain with a sense of urgency, closing the gap between them and the shooter. A petite blonde emerged from the shadows fifty feet away. Her presence surprised him. There was no good reason for her to be here.
He was about to yell to her when another shot startled Copper and propelled the woman in a new direction. Zach’s pulse raced as he dismounted and secured his horse behind a boulder. He removed his Glock from its holster and peered around the jagged granite concealing his position.
The woman glanced back over her shoulder, and he caught a full view of her face. Janel? From church? Was the fugitive trying to shoot her? As he watched, her sweater caught on a branch, and after jerking it free while still trying to run, she smacked into a sturdy tree trunk. She bounced off and collapsed into a heap on the ground.
Zach cringed. He desperately wanted to help her but couldn’t risk moving closer. Not until he’d dealt with the shooter. Suppressing his concern for Janel, he quietly radioed a quick update to his team.
A bullet whizzed through the air, high above her still body.
The sound of boots crunching a pine cone on the forest floor gave away the shooter’s location. He must not have detected Zach’s and Copper’s presence.
Zach needed to draw the man away from Janel before he risked engaging in a confrontation. Coming across a rock the size of an orange, he threw it at a towering pine. The branches swayed, and another shot discharged.
Taking cover behind a bush, he waited for the shooter to step out into the open. The team was working on the premise that this shooter and the fugitive were the same person. Through his radio’s earpiece, he heard the team converging on his GPS coordinates. They would be here soon.
Another footfall revealed the shooter’s new position. Zach held his weapon tight as he shifted to the other side of the bush to get a better view. All he could see of the man hiding behind a tree was part of a black hoodie and reflective sunglasses...and the pistol he lifted.
Zach identified himself as a sheriff’s deputy. “Drop your weapon!”
The fugitive aimed.
Zach fired.
A jerking motion and guttural response told Zach he’d hit his mark—the man’s shoulder.
Copper snorted and pranced in place.
Voices in the distance, accompanied by hooves stomping over dirt, sent the man fleeing.
“I see him!” a deputy shouted. “Average height and build, still wearing the hoodie.”
“He’s heading north,” another responded.
Zach rushed back to Janel, keeping an eye out for the shooter in case he tried to sneak up on them. She moaned. A slight utterance, but it signaled she was alive. His breathing relaxed.
“Help’s on the way.” He crouched and pushed strands of her long hair away from the goose egg growing on her forehead. This was all too surreal. During their many conversations at church, she’d mentioned more than once that she wasn’t into hiking or camping, so what was she doing deep in the forest?
Her lids fluttered open, and she stared up at him as she lifted a hand to her head. Her sky blue eyes held no recognition. “Where am I?”
When she tried to sit up, he stopped her. “You might have a concussion.”
Zach radioed for medical assistance while continuing to glance about for any sign of danger. From what he heard next through his earpiece, he suspected the fugitive was racing toward the freeway. While the mounted team headed in that direction, the lieutenant gave the all clear for EMTs to move in.
“My head hurts. A lot.” Janel closed her eyes again and repeated, “Where am I?”
“You’re in the forest near Flagstaff. Do you remember why you’re here?”
She gave a small groan. “No. I don’t.”
“Do you recognize me?” He hoped so. Zach first met Janel six years ago at a fall festival they both spearheaded. He’d been impressed by the Sedona art gallery owner, who had the business connections to secure donations and find vendors. It hadn’t taken long for them to develop a casual friendship. She was kind and generous, not to mention beautiful, with her heart-shaped face and flawless complexion. He would have asked her out if she hadn’t been dating an instructor at the university in Flagstaff. Was her boyfriend nearby?
Janel peered up at him, her lids partially open. “Should I recognize you?”
“We’re friends from church.” He prayed her memory issues were temporary. The possibility of brain damage worried him. “Try to relax. The medics will be here any minute now.”
His gaze shifted to her Western outfit beneath the heavy brown sweater. Why would she trek through the middle of nowhere wearing a knee-length denim skirt and cowgirl boots? None of this made any sense.
Janel wasn’t the type of person murderers chased down to kill. She must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Zach placed his hand over hers. Was she safe now? Or were her troubles just beginning?
