Find Mercer. Kill Mercer.
It used to be that he could come up with three goals without having to work all that hard, but these days he was happy with two. These days, things had a way of blowing up in his face. Like with Gillian, like with Jordan…
Jordan…
He wished he could say watching someone he cared for bleeding out was a new thing. Over the years, he’d learned to detach himself, to avoid making friends, and to tune out when they started talking about their families “back home” or their dreams. A nod here, a forced smile there was all it took. Most of them just liked to hear themselves talk anyway, never mind if anyone actually heard them.
There wasn’t a whole lot he could do about the last few days of his life. They were done and gone, beyond his reach. All he had left was what was ahead of him: a place in the middle of nowhere called Lochlyn, Texas. Such a minor town that it was barely a blip on the map he carried in one of the pouches around his waist.
What were the chances Mercer was even in Lochlyn? God only knew (not that he believed in God or anything), but it gave him a place to go, a target to focus on. Keo was always at his best when he had someone to go up against. Pollard, Steve, and now Mercer. Men who brought death and misery. It was a good thing he was used to such men. Hell, if you were to ask some of the people he’d known in his life, they would say the same thing about him.
Find Mercer. Kill Mercer.
The former was going to take some doing, but the latter, well, he was an old hand when it came to that. The trick was to find the man first, though. It would have probably helped if he knew what Mercer looked like, but then Keo reasoned a man like that, who controlled an army of fearless killers (and they’d have to be fearless, to bring the battle to the collaborators, to scatter across the Texas countryside in two-men kill teams like they were doing right now) would stand out.
Pollard had. Steve had, too. They all did, if you knew what signs to look for. And Keo did. He had been around enough of them and taken orders from their ilk more times than he could stomach. They were always easy to spot.
The leader. The alpha.
So all he had to do was reach Lochlyn and go from there. No sweat. It was as easy as following the map, using the sun as his compass.
Find Mercer. Kill Mercer.
About four hours before nightfall, there was a noticeable drop in temperature. It had gotten colder these days, but Texas in December was still perversely illogical. Anywhere else and he would be freezing, but here, moving through a field of grass burnt brown by the sun, there was just enough wind against his exposed face to give him a slight chill.
It had taken him too long to get this far. A day now since he had buried Jordan in a nondescript part of the countryside under a grave of rocks to keep the elements (and other dead things) from desecrating her. He wished he could have spent more time, made a better (decent) final tomb, but he’d wanted to flee that place before it was too late.
“Too late” for what, he didn’t know, even now. He just had to go.
There wasn’t a lot around him now except large patches of untilled fields and the occasional house and accompanying red (always red) barn in the distance. He had lost sight of the highway or anything resembling a paved road about five miles back. Lochlyn was somewhere up ahead of him. Unless, of course, he had gotten lost and didn’t know it. That was entirely possible, too. A lot of things were possible these days.
He’d thought about checking the buildings for clues to his exact whereabouts but decided to bypass them. If he was hurting for guns, ammo, or food, he might have taken the time, but he was carrying enough of all three to last for a few weeks if he conserved. So he kept moving. Besides, if he were still running around out here a week from now, that probably meant he hadn’t found Mercer. Worse, he had no clue how to find Mercer. Either way, if he couldn’t locate and kill the man in the next couple of days, then the mission would be a scratch—
A man’s deep voice, arriving with a sudden gust of wind from up ahead: “How many?”
“She said three,” another voice said. Also male, but younger sounding.
“Shit, we lost three so far?” the first one said.
“That we know of.”
“More?”
“Maybe.”
“Shit.” Then, “On the upside, The Ranch’s going to be less crowded when we get back.”
“Dude…”
“What, too soon?”
Chuckling from both men.
Keo was already on one knee, the unslung AR-15 in his hands. He carefully eased off the rifle’s safety while listening to the conversation in front of him. How far? Twenty meters? Thirty?
“You got it?” Deep Voice asked.
“Again?” Younger said.
“I like listening to it.”
“You in love with her or something?”
“Or something.”
“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?”
“What’s so weird about it?”
“What if she’s fat and ugly?”
“She doesn’t sound fat and ugly.”
“What does fat and ugly sound like?”
“I don’t know, but not like that. Besides, it’s better than talking about our MIAs. That shit’s just depressing.”
A short laugh, followed by a brief moment of silence.
Keo counted one second…five…
…twenty…
What the hell were they doing up there? He hadn’t moved since he heard them, but now he let his breath come out in short spurts, in tune to the sporadic gust of wind blowing through the stalks of dying grass around him. It wasn’t much cover, but the field did go all the way up to his waist, and on one knee he was almost invisible. Not entirely, but good enough that whoever was up there hadn’t spotted him yet. Some of that elusive luck was working in his favor for once, with the men not looking in his direction when he nearly walked right up to them like a blind idiot.
One minute became two, and still nothing.
What the hell are they doing?
He reached down to make sure the handgun was in its holster at his hip before rising back to his feet and, bent forward at almost a seventy-five-degree angle at the waist, took one step and stopped to listen.
Five seconds…ten…
Nothing.
He took a second step, then a third…
There was just the rustling of grass against the wind and the soft crunch-crunch of his boots on the sun-hardened ground. Every step sounded like banging drums, and Keo spent just as much time cringing at the noise he was making as he did trying to reassure himself it was just his mind magnifying them, that it was just his imagination on overdrive…
Shit, you almost convinced yourself that time, pal.
The sun was still high in the sky, the warmth giving him just enough assurance to keep moving steadily forward. Nightfall was coming, but it would be a while. He had plenty of time. Plenty of time…
Five meters…
A soft mechanical click, very clear against the natural countryside around him, froze him in mid-stride, and Keo went down on one knee for the second time.
“Almost out of batteries,” a voice said. Younger. “Did you bring yours?”
“Nah,” Deep Voice said. “You’re out?”
“Yup.”
“Ugh.”
“Sucks for you.”
A grunt. “You won’t believe this, but there was a time when these things could only hold ten songs at a time, and they cost twice as much.”
Younger chuckled. “You’re right; I don’t believe it.”
“It’s true.”
“How long before— What?”