The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set by Ernest Dempsey (non fiction books to read TXT) 📕

rifle discharged. The thunderous boom echoed through the valley, rolled up into the mountains, and dissipated.

The bottle atop the fence post exploded into a hundred pieces. For a moment, the other three could only stare in disbelief.

John was the first to say anything. "Bam! Looks like you two owe us a hundred bucks a piece," he exclaimed. The usually stoic giant let the thrill of victory overcome him.

Tripp merely stood there speechless. Steve shared his sentiment, staring slack jawed across the vast field at the fence post. He raised the binoculars he held in his right hand and peered through them just to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

Satisfied with his workmanship, the shooter stood up straight, grabbed his bottle of beer from the ground at his feet, and took a swig. He swallowed and clicked his tongue. "You can look through those all day, Steve. You won't find much of that bottle left."

Steve lowered the binoculars, shaking his head. He looked over at his pal and swore. "I ain't never seen anyone shoot like that before, Tyler. I mean, I knew you were good, but that's insane. And with a breeze, too."

"You have to compensate for that," Tyler confessed. "Little trick they taught us when we went out to the sniper range."

"I went to the wrong college," Tripp said, finally able to find the ability to speak.

"Maybe."

"Nah, I've never seen anything like that. None of us even came close."

That part was true. The other three took two turns each at the bottle before Tyler stepped up to the plate. The empty shell casings littering the ground at their feet reminded the other three of their failure, though John didn't seem to mind. He'd put his money on the winning horse.

Tyler shrugged. "You boys want to go double or nothing?"

He gauged Tripp's interest, though Steve appeared to know when to tuck tail and run. Tripp was about to respond when they heard the crunch of tires on gravel and the accompanying sound of a patrol car's engine.

The men spun around in time to see the county deputy's car pull up. The driver blipped the siren for a half second to get their attention, as if he didn't already have it, then parked near Tyler's, concrete-gray four-door Jeep Wrangler.

"Great," Steve spat.

The deputy cut off the engine, stepped out of the vehicle, and put his police-issue hat on. He slammed the door and sauntered around the hood with one hand resting on his belt near the pistol.

"Got a call about some gunfire coming from out here at the old Huxley place," the deputy said, stopping twenty feet from the four men. "Now, I don't suppose you four would know anything about that. Would you?"

"If it ain't Deputy Andy," Tripp groused. "Why don't you just scurry on back into town and see if you can't catch some speeders? I'm sure someone's going four or five miles an hour over the speed limit."

Steve snorted at the comment. "Yeah, Andy. We're not hurting anyone. And no one lives here anymore."

"Makes me wonder who called it in," John added.

Tyler inclined his head and leaned the rifle against the fence rail. "I'm surprised you're working today, Officer Eller," he said casually. "I thought Mathews was on duty."

"Glad to see you're keeping tabs on the county's business," Andy said. "Officer Mathews called in sick. I'm covering for him."

"That's a shame. Be sure to tell him I said I hope he gets to feelin' better soon." Tyler's words oozed with venom, full of unspoken warnings.

Andy didn't say anything at first. He knew Tyler and his cronies had Brad Mathews in their back pocket. Brad was too easy on them; let them get away with pretty much everything. Rumor had it the newcomer, Tyler Mumford, had been slipping little rewards now and then—sometimes cash, sometimes other, more subtle bribes of a more feminine persuasion.

"I'm sorry, Tyler," Andy said, his words catching in his throat. "I'm going to have to confiscate that rifle. And your beers."

"My rifle?" Tyler sounded hurt.

Andy did everything he could to stand strong, to not let Tyler and the others intimidate him.

"And the beers?"

The deputy gave an exaggerated nod. And with the threat, he inched his thumb closer to the pistol. The men couldn't see the move since his body was turned slightly.

"Yep," Andy said. "The beers too. That's what I said."

Andy stood as tall as Tyler, maybe a half inch taller. Their lanky frames mirrored each other, though Tyler's arms rippled with veins and sinew from his years in the military. He clearly kept up at least a semblance of his former training regimen. The deputy, on the other hand, appeared slimmer, though not weak in his own right.

Tyler nodded, pouting his lips in a sort of mocking surrender. "Well, all right then." He lifted the beer and drained its contents down his throat in less than three seconds, then tossed the empty bottle at the deputy's feet. It hit the ground with a clank and rolled to a stop when it hit the tip of Andy's boot. Tyler looked at his friends. "You heard him, boys. Give him your beers."

The others followed suit and chugged their drinks until the bottles were empty. They rolled them to the officer and then stood defiantly, waiting to see what he would do next.

Andy swallowed and nodded. "Rifle," he said, his voice only half-full of resolve. "You fellas step away from it. Nice and slow."

Tyler's eyebrows descended, feigning offense. "Now, Andy, you afraid I'm going to do something with that rifle? I wouldn't think of it."

"Just step away, Tyler. All of you."

Tyler licked his lips. This cop had no idea who he was dealing with. He'd seen the deputy alter his stance, which meant he was prepared to draw that pistol if the need arose. What Andy didn't know was that he'd cornered a venomous snake, fully coiled and capable of flipping that rifle over and blowing his head clean off before the deputy's pistol was above his waist.

That wouldn't do,