Page 64 of Battle Mountain

Chapter Fifteen

In the bedin the dark room, Mark Eisele painfully turned over to his right side. The restraints made it difficult, but he was able to press his weight into the old mattress firmly enough to get some slack in the nylon straps. The wound in his left butt cheek throbbed from lying on it, and it was a true relief when he was able to complete the half turn. The problem was, when he did so, the wound on his right shoulder screamed at him until he was able to adjust his upper body slightly.

It was good to know that there was a little more slack in the straps then there had been at first. Apparently, they’d stretched out a little. He doubted he could wriggle out of them like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, but the idea gave him a shot of hope.

The band of light under the boarded-up window was pale orange, meaning dusk was approaching. It also meant that he’d been in his medically induced coma since very early that morning, when Double-A had delivered the shot.

As Eisele slowed his breathing and relaxed his muscles tofurther ease the pain, he recalled what he had witnessed in a fog that morning. Two men in combat fatigues had entered the room with headlamps on and unfurled a thick plastic body bag on the floor next to his bed. One of them had asked the other, “Where we gonna take him, anyway?”

“Axel said the old meat cellar.”

“Ah.”

Through hooded eyes, Eisele had watched the two men lift Spike Rankin’s body from his bed and lower it into the open body bag. They’d done so with ease, and Eisele had gotten a glimpse of Rankin’s thin white arm hanging under him like the tail of a comma. Then one of them bent over the body bag and zipped it up.

Eisele recognized the two men from his first encounter with them on the rim of Battle Mountain. They’d been with Double-A.

—

Although he hadevery reason to doubt the veracity of his memories at the moment, he thought he recalled overhearing several conversations through the door from the room next to his. Through his narcotic stupor, at different times during the day, he’d been slightly awakened as people gathered in groups for chitchat and discussions. The subject matter had varied depending on who was out there.

One group of both men and women had complained about the exercises they’d been doing outside. A woman said that if she heard “Fire, move, fire, move” or “Aim like it’s a pumpkin on a post” one more time, she’d lose her mind. They discussed the weaponry they’d been using, and a man had quietly explainedhow to switch his weapon from semi- to full-auto. Then the voices had faded, or Eisele had slipped back into unconsciousness.

Another, smaller group talked about the building they were in as once being called the Summit Hotel. Apparently, Eisele was in a room off the old lobby area. He’d heard someone start to ascend some stairs and another call out to be careful because some of the steps were rotten.

There was talk among a few men about how they had eyes on and inside the ranch. That the operation was getting close. Eisele heard the words “tomorrow night.”

None of it made a lot of sense to him, but he discerned that the number of people coming into and out of the Summit Hotel lobby numbered around twelve to fifteen. There could be more outside, or in other structures, of course. Either way, it seemed like a lot of people for this operation, whatever it was. He also guessed that the people he’d heard talking belonged to distinct groups. The mixed-sex group sounded younger, and they were very talkative. The woman who’d complained about the repetitive commands uptalked in a way that made every statement sound like a question. Were they college-age?

The others were men only, and in groups of three or four at most. They spoke in low tones and came off as businesslike and serious.

Although Eisele came to no firm conclusions, he thought that the information he’d overheard could be important if he got out of there. If he could escape this chrysalis, the first thing he’d do is warn the governor.

And then ream him up one side and down the other for getting him into this situation in the first place.

—

When a keyturned in the door, Eisele feigned sleep. Someone entered, and he recognized the footfalls and breathing as belonging to Double-A.

He stayed still as she gently pushed him to his back again, and he felt a tightening of his upper restraint as she pulled it tight. No more rolling over for him, he thought.

He felt her warm fingers as she pulled back his shirt to examine the shoulder dressing, then tugging gently at the waist of his loose scrubs to look at the other wound. She did both moves carefully, and he felt a wave of unexpected affection. He had no idea, until that moment, how much the touch of a woman could mean to him. She probably didn’t care anything about him, but it meant everything to him at the moment.

Did she know what he was feeling? he wondered. Did she know he was faking sleep?

He wanted to show her he was awake and lucid, and ask her questions, but before he opened his eyes, the room filled with another, more malevolent presence. Axel Soledad was back.

Eisele didn’t move. He didn’t want to speak or do anything that might provoke Soledad. Spike Rankin’s display of weakness was likely what had led to his ruthless murder. Eisele didn’t want to do the same. In fact, he didn’t want Soledad to even notice him.

“What’s going on?” Soledad asked. His tone was sharp. “What are you doing here?”

Eisele felt the beam of the headlamp move from his face as Double-A turned to greet Soledad.

“I’m on a break,” she said. “It’s time to give him morphine, and then I have to get back.”

That seemed to placate Soledad, and his tone softened. “Is everything on track?”

“Yes. Everything is on track.”

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