Dead Shot (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 1)

Chapter 30

Chapter 30

"Get on now!" Cal screamed, straddling the bike and stomping on the kick start.

Kelly almost beat him to the bike. Cal revved the engine and released the clutch, hoping to minimize the distance their assailants could gain before coming up with a good escape plan.

Cal looked over his shoulder. They were 300 yards away and closing. Cal's bike still hadn't reached top speed, and his pursuers obviously had several hundred yards back. Kelly pulled close. Cal headed west.

With nothing for several miles in either direction, Cal's goal was to make it to the edge of the wooded area with enough vegetation to hide out. It wasn't a fail-proof plan, but it was a plan.

Now they were getting dangerously close. Only two more miles to go. Cal wondered if he could make it to the woods with enough time to hide?

Over the next mile and a half, Cal gauged that the pursuers hadn't gained much ground. Cal then began shouting his idea over his shoulder to Kelly.

With about 50 yards to go, Cal noticed that the back perimeter fence of Cloverdale Industries adjacent to the wooded area had a sizeable hole beneath it. The only problem was an eight-foot-deep creek bed that was about six feet across and presented a moderate challenge to reaching the other side. They could try to lay low in the brush and hope the gunmen didn't find them. Or they could try to jump across the creek.

As Cal quickly surveyed the approaching woods, leaping across the creek seemed like their best option. He instructed Kelly on what to do.

The gunmen were still pursuing them at full speed.

Cal drove 30 yards into the woods, sufficient to obstruct the closing gunmen's view with thick brush. He and Kelly jumped off the bike. Cal revved the engine and shoved it in the opposite direction, hoping to gain a few more valuable seconds for their getaway.

They ran to the edge of the bank. Kelly gasped.

"I don't think I can do this, Cal."

"Don't think about how far across it is right now. Just jump. Come on."

Cal backed up a few steps for a running start and leaped, landing on the other side of the bank with relative ease.

The engines buzzed louder with each passing second.

"Come on, Kelly. Trust me. You can do this."

Kelly tossed her backpack over to Cal and backed up a few steps. Cal looked east through the woods and saw the gunmen within about five seconds of reaching the woods. Kelly took off running.

As Kelly reached the lip of the bank, she stepped too far out on the edge. The loose dirt gave way and Kelly went feet first into the creek.

The small splash she made in the ankle-deep water was inaudible to the gunmen, who were still on their motorcycles and combing the area where Cal had shoved the bike. They never heard her or her colorful language.

"Come on, Kelly. Give me your hand," Cal said barely above a whisper.

Kelly sloshed across the creek toward Cal's outstretched hand. Cal could only monitor her progress with his peripheral vision as he never lost sight of the gunmen. He had to save Kelly but he also had to tell this story, one no one would ever hear about it if they were murdered in the woods. If Statenville treated their deaths like they had the deaths of the three teenagers, nobody would ever care about how these two reporters died-nor would anyone ever discover the truth. There would be no TV news special to answer the unexplainable disappearance of two up-and-coming journalists.

Cal heard the men yelling at one another. Their bikes idled as they fanned out and searched on foot. They still failed to look in the direction of the creek.

"Hurry up, Kelly!"

For Cal, each second lasted as long as a day of typing obituaries.

Kelly finally made it to Cal. She grabbed his hand tightly as he hoisted her slender frame up an additional three feet and onto the other bank.

"Go, go, go," Cal said, shoving Kelly underneath the fence.

Cal continued to keep watch as she crawled onto Cloverdale Industries property. Once she was through, Cal began slithering backward under the fence. The gunmen then turned off their bikes but continued to search in other directions.

As Cal began to get up, Kelly delivered a swift kick to his leg. "You forgot my bag!" she whispered.

While Cal preferred to escape with his life first in order to tell the story, he figured no one would believe him if he didn't have proof. He shimmied about halfway through before using his long arms to reach for Kelly's camera bag and pull it back with him.

As Cal was pulling the bag underneath the fence, one of the bag's elastic strings caught on the fence and caused the fence to clang as the string snapped free. The noise didn't go unnoticed.

"Over there!" one of the gunmen shouted.

"Go, Kelly, go!"

Cloverdale Industries maintained pristine landscaping. For this successful multi-level marketing company, no expense was too great to project the appearance of wealth. After all, that was the lure of drawing people in to sell their products. Sell enough organic detergent, cleaners and liquid magnesium to your friends and you too can live in the lap of luxury. That nauseating idea permeated Statenville, but it served Cal and Kelly at the moment.

The southwest corner of the property contained about an acre of densely wooded area thanks to a heavy irrigation effort by Cloverdale. It provided ample cover for Cal and Kelly.

"When we get to the edge of these woods, we've got to sprint as fast as we can to the corner of the loading dock," Cal instructed. This wasn't his first time on the property. Cal covered Cloverdale Industries on a regular basis and was always making trips to the corporate headquarters to get the latest story.

"Got it," Kelly said.

They were near the edge of the woods and about 200 yards away from the unoccupied loading docks when Cal heard the chain link fence rattle. The gunmen were now on the property too.

Cal could hear the men furiously combing the area, yelling back and forth to one another. He was still terrified, but maintained a clear head about what he needed to do to keep Kelly safe. It was the only thing he could do. His adrenaline surged.

Cal pointed to Kelly where they were headed, choosing to remain silent. But it didn't matter.

"There they are!" one of the gunmen yelled, simultaneously taking off on a dead sprint.

Cal and Kelly didn't hesitate. They reached top speed in about 10 strides and didn't look back. . . until the shots rang out.

BANG! BANG!

Cal hit the ground.