CAN I GET A WITNESS?

CHAPTER 7: ON THE ROAD AGAIN

AN: Here's the next installment for your reading pleasure. Enjoy!

OXOXOXOXOXO

Walter landed with a thud. His foot slipped on the duffle bag and subsequently got caught in one of the straps. He turned his ankle as he was trying to free himself and regain his balance. He gritted his teeth to combat the urge to cry out, his eyes watering with the effort to keep silent.

He came to the hasty conclusion that his initial assessment during Scorpion's mission to Hechnia was correct. Slides are stupid.

His eyes struggled to adjust to the near darkness even as they busily roamed around searching for his family. Paige's hand grasped his elbow and startled him. He could hear her accelerated breathing near his ear.

"There's someone else here." Her whispered observation was barely audible.

Walter's thoughts on that development were much louder. So, it was the worst possible scenario. Fantastic.

Without answering Paige, he quickly reached out and found Ralph pressing close on his other side. He pushed them both behind him, silently willing mother and son to be quiet and still while he listened with all his might for another intruder. Or perhaps the same one as they hadn't heard any more shots fired since they'd slid down the laundry chute into the basement.

Suddenly a bulky, dark shadow limned with moonlight skulked past the window well. The elongated image on the floor showed the unmistakable outline of a gun clutched in the shadow's hands. Paige gasped and her fingers dug into Walter's arm.

"Cabe?" She whispered hopefully.

"I don't think so. Wrong dimensions," he murmured softly back. "Luckily, it appears he's moving in the opposite direction of the exit."

Walter crouched, grabbed the duffle then hoisted one strap over his shoulder narrowly missing Ralph's nose in the process. They soon readjusted positions and as one unit the trio crept toward the short flight of stairs leading up to the kitchen.

Ralph hadn't said a word since their decent into the basement. Despite his earlier bravado and the lecture about being treated like an adult, the youth was obviously petrified. He clung ferociously to both his mother and Walter. The boy's fingers felt clammy and shaky on the older genius' arm.

They moved across the pitch black space feeling their way slowly, partly because they were striving to be stealthy and partly due to Walter limping on his twisted ankle, his jaw clenched tight against the pain. They slinked up each stair carefully knowing the smallest creak could give away their position.

Eventually, they made it to the top. Walter stopped and eased the door open a crack. The moonlight streaming through the kitchen windows made the room appear bright as day compared with the cave-like atmosphere of the basement.

The coast seemed to be clear, so Walter stepped noiselessly out and motioned for his frightened family to follow suit. They rushed to comply, afraid to lose contact with each other for even a moment.

Not so many years ago, Walter would've declared unequivocally he didn't feel fear. But on this particular night, his palms slick with cold sweat, trembling all over with the adrenaline pumping rapidly through his pounding heart, he recognized fear at its most primal in himself. Luckily, in spite of the physiological aspects, the adrenaline also forced his brain to fixate on one task and one task alone: getting the most important people in the world out of that house.

Sticking to the shadows as much as possible, the three of them skirted the periphery of the room, creeping their way toward the outside door. Walter's mind was already internally mapping the most efficient way to get to the rendezvous spot where Cabe and Allie would meet them with the truck.

That had been the plan anyway. If nothing else went sideways.

When Paige had tripped the locks in the panic room, technically it should've set off an alarm alerting Cabe. However, with the power outage, Walter couldn't be sure. Coupled with the fact he couldn't detect the sound of a running engine anywhere no matter how alert he was to the smallest noise. The odds certainly didn't look good. He purposely wouldn't allow himself to calculate the probability that the gunman had gone to the bunkhouse first. The fleeing family would cope with that worst case eventuality if and when it became necessary, but he couldn't deal with the disturbing thought and concentrate on the best escape route at the same time, so he refused to consider it and put all of his focus on the task of getting Paige and Ralph away from imminent danger.

One by one, they slipped out the door and into the cool and deceivingly peaceful, starlit night.

That's when Walter felt someone grab him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides. Even with his arms rendered immobile, he struggled and fought with all the strength he had, stomping on his captor's feet and ramming his heels again and again into the attacker's shins. Agony from his damaged ankle radiated up his leg and still he blindly kicked at this captor while barking instructions at Paige and Ralph, urging them to get away, to run. And in a zigzag path so it would make it harder to take aim at them.

Walter couldn't understand why they weren't fleeing. "You can't help me. Go!" His tone turned pleading. It was odd they didn't seem to be trying to help him either. They both stood frozen, staring at his assailant as if they'd turned to stone. Perhaps they were in shock.

He heard a grunt as his heel connected with the brute's leg again. A large hand covered his mouth and a gruff voice grated close to his ear, "Shut up and hold still, will ya?"

It was Scooter.

Walter instantly went still but his mind was whirring trying to process the strange set of circumstances.

"I'm going to let you go now if you'll stop squirming. Okay?"

The big man set Walter on his feet. The genius gasped sharply when he put his full weight on his now aggravated injury, but ignoring the pain, he immediately whirled around and backed up, keeping his body between Scooter and Paige and Ralph.

Where did the hayseed farmer next door go? This man was decked out head to toe in black. A pair of night vision goggles was pushed up on his forehead and he held a lethal-looking, obviously military issue Glock 19 in the hand he used to scratch at his sweaty bangs under the black stocking hat he wore to hide his fair hair. The gun scraped a pale streak in the camouflage grease paint on his face.

What the hell?

Scooter motioned for the group to duck down and follow him. Paige and Ralph started to comply, but paused when Walter stood there stubbornly staring, his arms crossed firmly over his chest.

"How can we trust you? I don't know you and I don't know where you're taking us. This wasn't part of our plan," Walter hissed, "And where is Cabe?"

Just then they heard a loud boom, the echo of which they felt deep inside their chests. Debris from the bunkhouse rained down all around them causing all four to instinctively hit the ground and cover their heads as the night was overcome with flaring bright orange light. Oily black smoke poured skyward from the place where the bunkhouse used to stand.

"Grandpa?" Ralph whimpered softly, giving voice to the alarm everyone else was experiencing.

"Don't worry, kid. He and your grandma are with your truck over at my place. There's no time to explain now. We need to get out of here before those bastards figure out you aren't hunkered down in the closet slash panic room anymore. And after all your loud-mouthed hollering a while ago Hoss, I'd say there's a damn good chance they already know." Scooter stood and nudged Walter with the toe of one combat boot. "Come on." He offered the other man his hand to help him up.

Ignoring the gesture, Walter got up on his own steam. He resumed his defiant stance and wouldn't budge.

Scooter sighed heavily then continued, "Look, if I wanted to shoot you, I could've picked you off one by one as you came out the door."

It only took a second for Walter to analyze that logic and find it sound. He still looked at Scooter with narrow-eyed suspicion, but he decided to fall in line. For the moment.

The four of them made their way together, sticking to the tree line and bushes as much as possible because the flickering firelight removed most of the shield of darkness. Anyone looking the right way would be able to see them and track their progress. It was slow going until Scooter and Paige propped Walter between them and helped him navigate the uneven ground.

They soon reached a dirt road that ran between the two properties. There was no help for it. They had to cross which would expose them for a few precious seconds. Going around through the woods would take hours and they would risk getting turned around or lost. Not to mention, Walter's ankle was in no condition to stand up to any more abuse.

Walter noted the military garb his neighbor had on included a bullet proof vest, so the genius insisted he and Scooter should act as body armor for mother and son. Paige tried to argue but her arguments fell on deaf ears as she was rushed into position. They made an odd looking clump of humanity as they hurried across, but no one offered any more objections. Scooter and Walter stayed in between the other two and the farm house they'd vacated where the shooter or shooters presumably were still searching for them.

Just as they were passing into the tree line on the other side of the road, they heard a shout then the report from a rifle. A little mote of dust puffed up behind Walter's heel where the bullet struck the dirt. Scooter all but shoved them the rest of the way into the trees. A few more bullets whizzed past them into the dense woods as they took temporary shelter behind the thick trunks.

The group heard more shouts. Their pursuers were getting closer by the minute so the rancher motioned sharply for them to move.

Paige and Ralph took off running while Scooter half carried half dragged the injured genius the rest of the way onto his own property, scaling a fence as if it was nothing in his haste to make sure they all got away.

Walter had never seen such a welcome sight as Cabe and Allie sitting in that old farm truck in the circle drive in front of Scooter's house. The motor was humming in readiness for escape. The three fugitives clambered into the back of the truck, Scooter giving Walter's backside a necessary push and tossing the go bag in after him. They barely had time to shout a quick 'thank you' before Cabe slammed the accelerator to the floor. The truck burned rubber, speeding out of the driveway and hurtling down the street likely going faster than it ever had since the day it rolled off the assembly line floor some two decades before.

It looked like Scooter's promised explanation would have to wait.

It wasn't long before they zoomed past a dozen police cars and a volunteer fire truck, red and blue lights blazing, sirens screaming, heading toward the nightmare they'd only barely escaped.