Free Omega Days (Book 3): Drifters by John L. Campbell

will alert the men you seek long before you find them.”
    Halsey stood up from his crouch. “He’s right. They’re most likely headed this way already. The dead, I mean, maybe the biker trash too, ’cause there’s no telling who saw you fly in here. Pray to God it doesn’t attract the Stampede.”
    Angie nodded and looked at the Russian. “You’ll need to stay with the bird, you know that.”
    “Being the only pilot here, I have come to that conclusion,” Vladimir said, not unkindly. It made the woman smile, despite the fact that it was the last thing she felt like doing. “You have your radios,” he said, “and when you call for an extraction, I will come.” There was no bravado in his voice, and the others knew that this tall, homely man who had spoken so simply would keep his word. Even if Vladimir Yurish had to fly into the fires of hell, he would come when called because it was his mission. And he would probably have a sarcastic remark for the devil when he got there.
    “Staying here’s no good,” said Halsey. “You can park that thing at my place, if you like. It’s out of sight, and we can see anything coming from a good distance off.” The cowboy smiled, his face seamed with lines. “Hope you don’t mind simple chow. Don’t have any caviar, I’m afraid.”
    The Russian thanked him and shook the cowboy’s hand. “An adult beverage, perhaps?”
    Halsey grinned and winked. “Now
that
I can deliver.”
    •   •   •
    T he ranch hand gave up his Polaris Ranger, and Angie, Skye, and Carney unloaded their gear from the Black Hawk and piled it in the short rear bed. They would use back trails and fire roads, entering Chico—where Angie was convinced Dean had gone—without being detected. Hopefully. Halsey would ride with Vladimir and guide him into the Broken Arrow Ranch from the air.
    And then the Black Hawk was airborne, slipping over the tops of the pines and out of sight. Angie knew the terrain, so she drove as Carney rode shotgun and Skye settled into the back among the gear, facing backward with her rifle between her knees. The Barrett fifty-caliber, still in its hard plastic case, was so long that it stuck out the back.
    As the Ranger churned along a dirt road, heading for the shadows of the tree line, a blue teething ring bounced around Angie’s neck on its chain.

SIX
    January 11—South of the Skyway
    Halsey suggested the landing zone, and after circling the ranch, Vlad agreed and set the Black Hawk down about halfway between the mass grave and the cabin. It had been a short flight, taking them past the charred ruins of a mansion and over a hill before reaching Halsey’s place. There was only one walking corpse in view, out across the fields about half a mile, slowly making its way in.
    Vladimir grabbed his bag of personal gear but left the rest of the supplies—spare ammo, extra weapons, and food—strapped to the deck of the troop compartment. Together the two men walked slowly toward the cabin.
    “What is this place?” Vladimir asked. “The large house that burned?”
    Halsey spat tobacco. “Pepper’s Broken Arrow Ranch. Carson Pepper’s place, one of his places, anyway. He has several. One for every million in the bank, I expect.”
    Vlad didn’t know who Carson Pepper was. The look on his face said as much.
    “Pepper Boots,” Halsey said as an answer to the unspoken question. “Kinda like Tony Lamas, only lots more expensive. Cowboy boots of the stars, Pepper used to say.” The ranch hand stopped and lifted a boot. “Wearing a pair right now, only they’re a little beat-up. Pepper used to give me a new pair every year for Christmas. I could never afford to buy them myself, they cost over a thousand dollars, and I wouldn’t spend that kind of money on boots anyway. I gave ’em away as presents. I’ll get four, five years out of a pair, and hell, they’re not even broke in for two.”
    The pilot nodded. To him they were boots and he had still never heard