Original Fiction Post: The Shot · 7:59am Mar 15th, 2014
Here's a short story I wrote this week for my Short Fiction Class at my university. Enjoy!
NOTE: Rated "Teen" for language.
The Shot
The desert wind slapped at the scarf around Matherson’s face as he drove the little four-wheel drive ATV down into the dry lake bed. The engine rumbled beneath him and sent vibrations up his legs and back and caused a metallic rattle to emanate from the tan duffle bag strapped securely to the back of the ATV. Matherson glanced back at the bag, reaching back with one hand to shove it slightly. The rattle quieted, and Matherson faced forward again, focusing once more on the drive. To the south, a high plateau of red rock loomed large, casting a long and shimmering shadow that stretched across the white sands and dry wash. To the west, near to where Matherson was driving, a chimney of stratified rock, worn smooth from countless sandstorms, pointed precariously into the air.
Matherson shifted gears in the ATV as he moved over a steep incline in the dirt, the engine groaning in protest briefly before the shift took and gave it the power it needed to push on. The ATV’s beat-up cushion caught at Matherson’s thighs as he shifted back in his seat in anticipation of cresting the ridge. The ATV heaved itself over the lip of rock, the wheels skidding briefly as they hit some loose scree before catching and pushing onto the decline. Matherson cursed quietly at the steep descent, shifting farther back on the seat and leaning backwards to help the ATV maintain a better center of gravity. He pumped the handbrake in careful tugs, applying just enough pressure to prevent the ATV from losing control, but not so much as to stop midway down the decline.
The rumbling machine hit the bottom of the rise, front wheels meeting level ground and gripping gratefully onto the hard packed dirt. Matherson shifted gears again, pushing a toe into the accelerator and gunned the engine. He leaned forward slightly into the wind as the staccato tics of airborne sand bounced off his goggles and his light tan jacket. His eyes could track the path of the gusting currents by the patterns of dry sand and dust that swirled across the lakebed, and he quietly marveled at the dervishes of grit and particulate that flew on thermal currents rising off the hot sand. The day was clear, which meant hot and windy here, and even with the thin fabric of the jacket and the acceleration of the ATV pushing air into his face, sweat had started to drip down the small of his back and collect along his forehead where his hatband met his brow.
Matherson reached up and tightened the hatband keeping the short-brimmed boonie hat in place, the matte light brown canvas hot to the touch. He’d been driving the ATV for nearly a half-hour, from where he had disembarked from his truck at a rest stop almost 15 miles back across the desert. The mid-afternoon sun hung in the sky, spearing him with its inescapable rays, and Matherson yearned for the air-conditioned interior of his truck. He’d done his fair share of work in the sun, and this was just one more jaunt out into a sandy stretch of nowhere for him.
At least this time the pay was good.
With a sigh, Matherson sat up straight on the seat, stretching his back muscles and twisting left and right in place, feeling a satisfying pop from somewhere in his lower spine. Grunting in approval, he leaned forward once more, reaching down to the small pack on the side of the ATV and retrieving large plastic water bottle. The condensation on the outside of the bottle dampened his work gloves, soaking through the light leather and cooling his fingers slightly. He got a careful grip and pulled the bottle up to his lips. Without bothering to lower the thin cloth of the scarf from over his mouth, he gripped the pop-top in his teeth through the speckled fabric and pulled gently, opening the little spout. He sucked the water through the fabric of the cloth, ignoring the briefly gritty taste of dust that filtered through the fabric along with the water, before tapping the lip closed against his chin and tucking it back into the saddlebag.
Thirst quenched, Matherson refocused, checking his watch. The digital readout indicated that he was precisely on schedule, and he nodded to himself. The chimney of crimson rock rose over him to his left as he drove the ATV around the side, heading for a stand of old buildings in the desert, previously hidden from view by the spire of rock.
Matherson shifted the ATV more south, following a route he’d driven many times to reach the abandoned clutch of buildings. He maneuvered his vehicle through a hole he’d cut in the barbed-wire fence that surrounded the buildings, slowing only long enough to check for any tracks. Nothing stood out to him, so he pressed onward, driving the ATV into the middle of the dirty buildings.
The place had been a military complex of some sort at one point, perhaps a live-fire range judging by the large amount of old shell casings buried in the sand and the pockmarked walls and faces of the buildings. There were no windows or doors, just open portals that let in the elements and had allowed sand to pile in drifts along the bare concrete floors. Matherson parked the ATV alongside one of the buildings and set the break before turning the key. The engine sputtered and cut, leaving behind only the sound of the wind slipping through the yawning mouth of the nearest building’s entrance. Matherson undid the bungee cables that he’d placed around the duffel bag on the back of the ATV, leaving them hanging loosely by their hooks, and hefted the bag onto one shoulder. He walked towards the central building, a concrete square with no distinguishing features, outside bearing bullet holes far in excess of the other buildings and a second story. Ignoring the open door inviting him into the shaded interior of the large building, he instead walked around to the north face of the building.
A ladder leaned against the building, it’s fresh aluminum and clean surface sticking out like a sore thumb against the decrepit and faded gray of the structure. Matherson tapped the aluminum gently, feeling the heat of the metal through the gloves he was suddenly glad he’d had the foresight to wear. He gave the ladder a gentle shake, checking that it was set properly, and then stepped up onto it, climbing slowly and balancing the duffle bag as he moved. He reached the flat roof of the building in short order, dropping the bag on the concrete and moving to the south side of the building.
A few cardboard boxes sat at the edge of the building, brittle and dry in the sun. He kicked them away, revealing a small pile of sandbags, which he began hefting and repositioning, building a small berm against the lip of the roof. He shifted the sand around in the bags, punching them and molding them, and finally nodded to himself, satisfied with his work. He moved back to the bag on the roof and opened it, revealing a tan blanket and a pair of high-powered binoculars. He grabbed the blanket and binoculars, bringing them to the sandbags on the south side. He spread out the blanket on the ground and set the binoculars there, popping the lens caps off of the front and rear viewing lenses. He returned the duffel bag, reaching deeper in and retrieving a squat tripod, which he affixed to the bottom of the binoculars. He set up the stabilized binoculars at the edge of the sandbag lip he’d created, pointing them southward, and he lay flat, peering through the lenses.
The distant desert leapt into his view, the scrub and brush some hundreds of yards away coming into partial relief. He twisted the focus on the binoculars, bringing clarity to the view, and he shifted the binoculars slightly, adjusting the view until it was centered on an old barn in the distance. The high-powered binoculars showed Matherson the paint chips on the walls of the barn, the rust on the corrugated tin roof. He smirked as he adjusted the view ever-so-carefully to the font of the barn, and then backed away, returning to the duffel bag.
Reaching in almost reverently, he retrieved a long black case. He set this at his side, and pulled out a second, smaller black case. He gripped the zipper on the smaller case, toying with the metal tab briefly before finally opening it. He pulled the main body of his Canon EOS 5D Mark III High-Definition Digital Camera, carefully checking over the sleek black machine for any issues. The battery was set and charged, the lens was clean, and the digital display popped on with the press of a button. Matherson smiled at the camera and set it down gently in the bag, shifting his attention to the longer black case. He unsnapped the metal clasps and pulled open the hard case, revealing his Sigma APO 1000mm Telephoto Lens.
He gripped the massive lens and tipped it onto it’s point, removing the lens cap and wiping away any particulate dust with a special cloth. He grabbed his digital camera and carefully affixed the telephoto lens to the camera, and then attached a small bipod to the furthest end of the lens. Finally, he carried the camera and lens over to the sand bags. He lay down and stretched out on the blanket on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows as he positioned the camera lens on the sandbags and peered through the apparatus.
As powerful as the binoculars were, they were like a desktop magnifying glass in comparison to the strength of the telephoto lens. He adjusted the focus and zoom, the high-powered telephoto lens telescoping out to bring the barn some six hundred meters south of his position into fine detail. He played with the lens and camera for a few moments, adjusting digital filters and setting up the shot, checking the lighting settings and re-checking that the camera had plenty of space for the mass of photos he was about to take.
Finally satisfied, Matherson brought the duffel bag over to his hide on the roof and set it nearby, along with the cases for his camera equipment and lens. He reached a final time into the duffel bag and pulled out a light-blue lunchbag. He pulled a turkey and cheddar sandwich from inside the bag and pulled it out of the plastic bag, tucking the trash into the duffel. He unwrapped the scarf from around his face, letting it hang loosely around his neck, and took a bite of the moist bread and flavorful layers.
Delicious.
He lay down on the blanket, chewing thoughtfully on the sandwich, his smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes and his slightly chapped lips smacking as he ate. He rubbed at his neck, scratching his black stubble and grumbling to himself in a good-natured manner as he mused shaving in the next day or so. He sat forward, shifting onto his stomach, and peered through the binoculars, panning their view around the area. He spotted nothing of interest outside a small, skinny hare, which lolloped lazily around its burrow, nose working as it nibbled at a bit of yellowed scrub grass.
Matherson sighed, checking his watch.
A column of dust appeared in the distance, and Matherson watched as it grew larger. He shifted his position, peering through the binoculars, adjusting the focus until it brought a dusty gray Dodge truck into view. The truck jostled over the dry dirt, vibrating over dips in the level desert floor and bouncing over mounds of earth. The windows were tinted heavily, and Matherson sighed as he imagined the air-conditioned interior, wiping a gloved hand across his face in a vain attempt to get the sweat out of his burning eyes. He grunted as his cell phone in his pocket buzzed lightly, shifting onto his side and digging the electronic device out of his pants pocket. He tapped the screen lightly and cupped it to his ear. “Matherson,” he answered, voice low.
“Matherson, it’s Connery. We’re ready. Are you all set up?” asked the voice on the other line.
“Yeah, got everything good to go. Where are you?”
“We’re out on the main road, in an unmarked blue panel van. We’ve got State and Local here too, but they’re staying away until we call them.”
“Sounds good. I’ll get you what you need. Who’s our guys?”
“They’re in a green jeep. You should be seeing them soon.”
Matherson shifted his position, peering into the binoculars again, searching the horizon. A second vehicle, a light green jeep with a black hard top, was moving into view, heading down the same road as the gray truck. The truck was pulling up to the old barn, and Matherson scooted on his elbows to his camera, speaking quickly into the phone. “They’re here, I’ll talk to you after. Good luck.”
“You too.”
Matherson tapped the screen and shoved the phone into his pocket. He exhaled slowly, reaching up to his camera equipment and peering through the aperture. He shifted the focus and began to tap the shutter.
Click
The truck was brought into stark relief, the dark gray like a shadow, out of place against the whites and browns of the desert. Streaks of dust coated the wheel wells, the particulate matter clinging to the metal siding. The windshield was streaked and messy, reflecting the sun in shimmering streaks that dazzled Matherson’s eye. He checked the first picture on the digital display and quickly adjusted the brightness settings slightly, before nodding and returning his focus to the aperture and his subjects.
The gray truck pulled to a halt alongside the barn, rocking slightly as whomever was inside shifted and moved. After a minute, the passenger door popped open, and a man stepped out.
Click
He wore a navy blue Diamondbacks ball cap over short brown hair, and aviator sunglasses. He was a clean shaven and had a slightly sunburnt look to his features, as if he disregarded the use of sunscreen on a regular basis. He wore a blue t-shirt with some company logo on the front, faded blue jeans, and cowboy boots.
The driver’s side door opened.
Click
Matherson adjusted the focus on the vehicle’s second occupant. Another man, this one wearing a wide-brimmed brown cowboy hat, a dirty white button down shirt with rolled sleeves, jeans, and cowboy boots. Matherson idly wondered if the cowboy boots were actually for utility, or if they were a fashion statement. The driver had a stubbly, bristly jawline and had darker complexion, and wore sunglasses. Matherson’s focus shifted and he zoomed in close on the man’s side, where a gun sat in a holster. Black matte metal reflected none of the sunlight off of the exposed textured grip of the gun. The safety clasp on the holster was undone, the button bouncing loosely.
Click
“I hope you have a permit, cowboy,” muttered Matherson, as he zoomed out and refocused on the man’s face.
Click
The two rear doors opened simultaneously, two more men stepping out. They both wore plain white t-shirts and jeans, and also sported sunglasses and cowboy boots. One wore a black ballcap, and the other had no hat, revealing a buzz cut. The man with the black ball cap reached back into the truck, retrieving a shotgun from inside and examining the barrel and stock.
Click
“Two guns. I guess it’s probably a good plan, considering,” Matherson said to himself.
The camera continued to click and whir as Matherson worked, getting shots as the men moved around, speaking to one another, glancing at the oncoming green jeep. It took about five minutes for the jeep to arrive, in which time Matherson got plenty of shots of the truck, men, and surrounding area. The four men crowded together along the tailgate of their truck, the man with the Diamondbacks ball cap stepping up into the bed of the vehicle and sitting on a large toolbox mounted there.
The green jeep pulled up a few yards from the truck, and a moment later two men stepped out. One was blond, wearing expensive designer sunglasses and a black windbreaker jacket, and looked young. The other was an older man with leathery features, calculating dark eyes, and wore a brown workman’s jacket. The two men stood outside their jeep for a moment, talking to each other, and then approached the four men and their truck.
The man with the brown jacket stepped forward, meeting the man with the cowboy hat. They talked briefly, shaking hands, and then the man in the brown jacket reached into a pocket and retrieved a thick roll of money. The man in the cowboy hat smiled and gestured back to the man in the Diamondbacks cap.
Matherson zoomed in on the toolbox as Diamondback opened one of the lower drawers. “Show me something good.”
Click
The shutter fired rapidly as Diamondback retrieved two large plastic gallon bags of milky-white crystalline material. Matherson chuckled, “Ah, good ‘ol meth. Trashiest drug in the states.”
The camera continued to work as Matherson watched carefully. The two men from the jeep examined the material, peering at the crystals and discussing with each other. The man with the brown jacket began counting out bills. Matherson zoomed in on the exchange, smirking as the camera clicked rapidly. “You’re fucked now, cowboy.”
The man in the cowboy hat checked the bills, smiling, and tucked them into his shirt pocket, before gesturing to the two men. They laughed, and one with the black windbreaker pulled out a pipe from his pants pocket. The man with the brown jacket rolled his eyes and gave him a shove, before handing him one of the large bags of meth. The man took it, bouncing it slightly in his hand, and returned to the jeep. The man with the brown jacket took the other bag opening it and reaching in to peer at some of the crystals, before nodding and zipping the bag back up.
The cowboy and his crew moved to their truck, packing up quickly, as the green jeep and it’s occupants drove away. Matherson’s camera whirred and clicked as he documented the final moments of the hand-off. The gray truck’s doors slammed shut, and it turned east. Matherson frowned, squinting into the aperture, and then reached for his phone, dialing a number quickly. “Connery, it’s Matherson. Green jeep’s headed your way, but the cowboy and his posse are heading east, probably going to four-wheel out a ways and cut for a different road.”
“Shit. We’ll check the maps, maybe there’s a dirt road or something they’re heading for.”
“Fuckin’ smart of them, taking a different route out,” said Matherson, peering into the camera aperture and watching the truck drive into the desert.
“We think we know where they’re headed. Little dirt access road that runs east-west and intersects with the highway a half-dozen miles out. We’re gonna route the State and Local there now, and we’ll wait for the jeep here.”
“Need me to do anything?” asked Matherson, shifting back into a sitting position and stretching slightly.
“You should just head back to the station. We’ll catch you there in a few hours. Get those photos transferred to the case lead.”
“All right. Have fun. Oh, the cowboy and his posse are confirmed armed. I saw a shotgun and a handgun,” said Matherson.
“Jee, thanks, asshole. Maybe you could have volunteered that information sooner. I’ll pass that along to the controller.”
“Hey, the file said ‘assumed armed,’ you knew what was up. Just letting you know your assumption was on the money. Be careful, yeah?”
“Yeah, yeah. Catch you soon.”
Matherson tapped the screen and tucked away his phone again, and began to pack up his equipment. He carefully tucked the camera’s memory card into a protective case, and tucked that into the hard case with the telephoto lens. He finally slung the duffel bag over his back and headed down the ladder, returning to his ATV. He loaded up his gear and started the engine. The ATV’s motor sputtered briefly, then caught, rumbling to life. Matherson tapped the gas slightly, warming up the engine, and then released the break and shifted into gear. The ATV drove out from between the buildings, back through the hole in the barbed wire fence to the west.
He’d been driving for only five minutes before his phone rang again. Letting his foot off the gas and coasting down a gentle incline in the desert floor, he answered it. “Matherson.”
Connery’s voice was on the other end. “Green jeep spooked. We’re chasing them back into the desert. They’re headed towards you, think you can catch ‘em?”
Matherson sighed. “You kidding me? Come on, those two guys looked like pushovers.”
“Yeah, well, they zipped off, and we’ve got two trucks after them. If you can head them off, it’d help out. Should be easy.”
“Fine. Jesus, you guys are useless.”
“Fuck you too. Good luck.”
“Yeah, I’ll be careful,” Matherson answered as he jabbed the screen of his phone, cutting off the call.
He pulled the ATV into a turn and headed back east, driving the ATV up a steep slope to get a better view of the area. Cresting the ridge, the desert opened up around him, revealing a column of dust rising from the north and east. He gunned the engine, racing to catch up with the cloud. He heard the chase before he saw it, the rumbling of tires on rocky terrain and the shrill of sirens.
In only a few minutes, he pulled his ATV over a small hill and came upon the green jeep, bouncing over the terrain as it raced across the desert. A hundred yards back, two brown trucks pursued, blue and red light banks flashing and sirens going, their sides emblazoned with the mark of state troopers. He gunned the engine on his ATV, the smaller vehicle zipping with relative ease over the rough terrain, and gained on the jeep, intercepting it in a matter of moment. Reaching into his shirt’s neck, he pulled a dangling badge out, letting it hang loose and jostle against his chest. The jeep swerved away from him, but he followed it, losing some ground as the powerful jeep pushed ahead.
Matherson reached beneath his coat and withdrew a small concealed revolver from the shoulder holster there. He took aim at the rear tire of the jeep, thumb snapping off the safety, and fired, emptying all five rounds towards the wheel and wheel well. Most missed, impacting the desert floor, but a two hit, one penetrating the tire. The tire exploded violently, sending rubber scraps and tread flying into the dirt, and the jeep skidded as the bare wheel dug hard into the sand. The vehicle shuddered to a halt, and Matherson braked hard, coming to a stop a dozen feet from the jeep. He reached into a jacket pocket and produced a speedloader, one hand readying the fresh rounds while the other snapped open the revolver’s cylinder. He shook out the empty cases and slid the fresh bullets home, and then snapped the cylinder shut and raised his weapon. The two men in the jeep stayed in their vehicle.
Matherson’s foot slammed the parking break and he cut the engine of the ATV, and then hopped off, striding across the desert. “Get out of the vehicle and get on the ground! Keep your hands where I can see them! Get out of the vehicle!”
The roar of two engines approached and cut just as quickly, and four police officers approached the jeep, all shouting commands. The two men exited the vehicle and knelt down on the ground, hands in the air, and the officers rushed in, pushing them into the dirt and grabbing their hands, cuffing them rapidly and securing the two men.
Matherson exhaled slowly, stepping back and holstering his revolver. One of the officers approached him. “Thank you, sir. Nice work.”
“Yeah, you bet,” Matherson said, a grin sliding across his face, and he laughed as the adrenaline in his system began to ebb.
“I can’t believe you made that shot. I’ve never had to shoot the tire out on a vehicle before.”
Matherson laughed, leaning back against the ATV, “I can’t quite believe it either. I knew it was a long shot, but their jeep was going to outpace me if I didn’t do something.”
“Well, nice work. Too bad about the paperwork, though.”
Matherson sighed, his smile fading. “Yeah, thanks for fuckin’ reminding me. Paperwork. Shit, I fired five times. That’s like… five forms.”
“In triplicate,” joked the officer, and they chuckled.
“Let’s get these two loaded up,” called one officer.
Matherson stepped away, letting the four state police officers take the two perpetrators into one of the trucks. The truck, two of the officers, and the two handcuffed men in the back drove away. The other truck stayed behind, and the officers began to search the vehicle, retrieving the two bags of meth in short order. Matherson watched, sitting on the seat of the ATV, as one of the cops radioed in. He pulled his his cell phone out of his pocket and started to dial, when one of the officers called him. “Hey, DEA, check this out.”
Matherson glanced up. The officer was holding a massive silver revolver in one blue-gloved hand. “This was tucked between the seat and the console.”
“Holy shit,” breathed Matherson, eyes locked on the gun.
The officer opened the chamber and retrieved one of the rounds from inside, looking at the bottom of the case. “Three fifty seven magnum. Jesus, DEA, you’re lucky they decided not to use this.”
Matherson sat in stunned silence, staring at the gun as it was photographed and carefully unloaded, and the weapon and bullets placed in separate evidence bags.
His cell phone began to buzz in his hand. Matherson stared at the screen for a second, staring at Connery’s name on the display, and then dropped the phone onto the sand and stepped on it, hard.
Crunch.
Man, that was the best original work I've read in a long time. The descriptions and slow reveals were awesome. 10/10
1928395 Thank you! I really enjoyed writing it, actually. Felt good to not be constrained by canon and character expectations that fanfiction naturally comes with.
1928395 I don't get it, did Connery do something?
1930165
“Yeah, well, they zipped off, and we’ve got two trucks after them. If you can head them off, it’d help out. Should be easy."
And then they had a handgun loaded with .357 Magnum rounds. That shit make ballistic vests look like paper.
1930210 Oh, I thought, he got set up or something.