Next World Series by Ewing, K. (white hot kiss .txt) 📗

the dirt farm road, with a few bumping over something they couldn’t make out in the dark, and kept moving. The lead truck turned right on the paved County Road 27, headed unknowingly to the northern border of their soon-to-be battle opponents.

They stopped, single file, 100 yards from the barricade, with Mike walking up to meet Sergio. The drivers idled the trucks, with most not openly questioning the last-minute late-night move.

“I can’t believe this worked,” said Mike, trying hard to keep a straight face.

“I know Baker is going to flip his lid!” replied Sergio.

“Get these trucks turned around now!” demanded what appeared to be the lead guy on duty at the entrance to the Valley over a megaphone.

Mike reasoned with him quietly as Sergio watched his negotiating skills with approval, and Hanson looked on.

“Who’s in charge right now?” asked Mike, “and who’s second-in-command?”

“I am…me too,” was the reply, both having recognized Mike from the other day.

“One from each group, I assume?”

“That’s right,” said the lead guy Mike didn’t recognize.

“Okay, I don’t know much about you two, but both your groups are the praying type. I know that,” stated Mike. “Have you been praying lately? I mean, really praying about the battle coming up?”

Neither man answered, and he continued. “Of course, you both are, and so are your families and friends. Remember the story of the man caught alone in the middle of the ocean who says to God, ‘Please send me a sign that you will save me’? Anyway, remember, He sends a boat, then a helicopter, and something else I can’t remember, and the guy refuses help and ends up drowning. He talks to God after it’s done and says, ‘Why didn’t you send me a sign?’ ‘I did,’ God tells him—‘a boat, a helicopter, and the last thing…’ Remember that story, guys?”

“Yes,” they both said. “But what’s that got to do with these trucks?” one asked.

“Everything. These are both the boat and helicopter; actually, the helicopter part is literal, plus some planes. This is the help you have been praying for, and we’re running out of time. All you have to do is open the gate, and you will both be the heroes of your respective communities. What do you say?”

“Give us a minute,” the lead man said, returning minutes later with an “I’m on your side but still have to get approval.”

“He’ll want your head for this, the Baker guy, you know,” said Hanson quietly to Sergio.

“No worries,” replied Sergio. “He already does. This little stunt will just take some of the confidence out of him. It’s not everything they have, but it’s about half of it, I’m sure. He may just save us all the trouble and have a massive coronary right on the spot when he realizes what happened.”

“I’m going up to talk to Lance,” said Mike, walking back to his group. “It should be no more than 30 minutes. Hold tight, and I’ll get us inside.”

* * * *

Mike ran and walked the mile, holding his stomach, only recently resown at The West hospital, recalling his days running from bullies with his brother, Arthur. They both got fast, real fast, but in the end, ten or more guys are bound to catch up sooner or later. Still, he counted the seconds to minutes, announcing “15 minutes, 41 seconds” when entering the Ranch property and waving to the night guard.

“Everything all right, Mike?” the woman on security asked.

“Uh, yes, ma’am,” he replied, out of breath and holding his side. “Just out for a run.”

I heard a knock on my apartment door—not any knock, but a Mike special. I didn’t realize it but had heard it many times on the hood of a car or truck when our caravan got moving after a stop for something or another. I looked through the peephole out of habit and saw him standing alone.

“Hey, Mike,” I said, opening the door and asking if everything was okay.

“Sure. Actually, I have some news—good news that can’t wait.”

We stepped outside to discuss what waited just outside the gates to the Valley.

“Thanks for coming to me first,” I said. “Let’s get Bill, John, Mac and Cory, for sure, as I’m guessing they are all still up at this hour, and see what the verdict is.”

Getting the main four took no time at all, and they met at John’s with a few of the Council members wanting to hear the news firsthand. Only Samuel was missing. John and Bill had concerns about taking what didn’t belong to us and thought Samuel would agree. I saw their point but didn’t want an opportunity to level the playing field to go to waste either. Mac and Cory convinced everyone to hold off until morning for a decision, after trying to reach the real Colonel. Mac gave Mike and me a ride back down to the barricade, and he instructed the men to let the trucks inside, at least for tonight.

“Park them 100 yards up on the right side of the road, single file,” Mike told each driver as they passed. “Leave the keys in the ignition and meet me right back here,” he instructed.

The trucks, single file, lumbered under the weight and lined up as instructed. The 12 men didn’t ask any questions, and Sergio told them he would meet them back at camp later. Ten walked without looking back, with two staying put.

“I said you can go back now,” Sergio told them, sounding annoyed.

“No, we can’t, sir,” said one.

“And why is that?”

“Because we know this place. Exactly one-half mile up the road is the Saddle Ranch Farm, where we worked as teenagers for four summers in a row. And one-half mile beyond that sits Saddle Ranch and many people we have come to know over the time spent there.”

“Both of you?”