A Betrayal of Principle
Part Two
"Rise and shine, love." Trent pecked Carlos on the cheek to wake him. Carlos looked so adorable with his hair all messed up from sleep; he almost didn't want to wake him, but the day was quickly advancing and he wanted to spend as much time as possible out in the open with the man he loved.
"This is supposed to be a vacation; why are we getting up at the crack of dawn?" Carlos attempted to hide his head underneath a pillow.
"I wouldn't call nine in the morning the crack of dawn. Come on, let's go for a hike, get the blood pumping."
Carlos snagged Trent's closest arm and pulled him back onto the bed. "I can think of ways to get our blood pumping that don't require us getting out of this bed."
Trent gave him a playful shove and rolled off of his lover. "Come on, I don't want to be cooped up all day. It's beautiful outside ... let's go do some communing with nature."
Carlos sat up. "I'd rather commune with you." He pulled Trent into a quick
kiss.
"Is that *all* you have on your mind these days?"
Carlos grinned.
"More or less."
"You are insatiable, you know that?"
"Yep, won't deny that in the least. But only when it comes to you." Carlos
pecked him on the nose.
"I've created a monster." Trent got up off the bed and pulled Carlos with him. "Come on, you go shower and I'll pack a lunch. Breakfast is almost done, too."
"You just really like to cook, don't you?"
"Just enough to make sure you don't keep considering buttermilk donuts and chili dogs food groups." Trent headed for the kitchen, the called out so Carlos could hear him. "Oh, I warmed some towels by the fireplace; they are on the edge of the tub."
Carlos smiled again, silently thanking God for bringing such a joy into his life. He lazily wandered into the bathroom to take care of business, then started his shower. He contemplated the huge tub for a few moments, wondering if they were at a point in their relationship where they might share it. He decided not to push, but if the opportunity arose ...
Emerging freshly washed and shaved, Carlos was greeted to a hearty breakfast and an even heartier kiss, then they were off. As they passed by Trent's car on the way out, Carlos stopped.
"What, you forget something in the car?" Trent had gotten a few steps ahead of Carlos before he realized his lover was no longer following.
"Just want to get my service revolver."
"What on earth for?"
Carlos retrieved his gun and caught up with Trent. "Because, my dear friend, we are out in the middle of no where, surrounded by wild animals. I, for one, wouldn't want to come across a hungry mountain lion."
"I do see your point, but you do realize that most animals are hibernating now? Plus the fact we are still very close to civilization; man has driven out most large carnivores."
"My motto: 'Be prepared.'"
"Carlos, you were never a Boy Scout."
"I'm a cop; close enough." Carlos hooked his holster onto his belt, quickly kissed Trent on the cheek and gestured for Trent to start up the hiking trail.
Trent just shook his head and they started off, hand in hand.
They were still oblivious to the watchful eyes.
*************************
Ol' Harry Summers put down his binoculars in disgust. This was *his* mountain, dammit, and he wasn't going to let some pansies come in and take over. He shook his head, his dog tags glinting in the sun. He didn't spend three years in 'Nam and eight months of those years in a Viet Kong prison camp to allow this corruption to invade his God-fearing U.S. of A.
//Those two probably dodged the draft; the good U.S. Army wouldn't take them anyway, them fairies. They'd probably sing like canaries if the Viet Kong got a hold of them.// Nope, he'd have to take care of those two faggots himself; make them an example of what happens when perversion tries to gain a foothold on his territory. He picked up his bag of tricks and headed up the trail to lay his snares.
************************
Once Harry finished placing his trap just so and in just the right spot, he sat down on a log to rest, contemplating just how he was going to off the two intruders once the trap got them. Suddenly, his mind reverted back, his world turned back to the hell he lived through years before. The cool breeze turned into hot and humid air, sweat pouring off his face. He was surrounded, he knew that, but he wasn't going to give up easily. He aimed and fired at the noises eminating from the jungle, knowing he got at least a couple of the Commies. He turned to head out, back toward camp, when he was fired upon again. This time, there was no escape as searing pain flared up his leg. He'd been hit, but he wasn't going down easy, no siree, not this hot-blooded American fighting against the Red Menace.
He picked himself up as best he could and hobbled through the jungle, but he wasn't fast enough. Two Viet Kong got the drop on him and down he went, this time, there would be no getting back up.
The next thing he remembered was waking up in a dark, damp prison cell, with only the most rudimentary bandages on his wounds. He examined them and cleaned them as best as his meager medic training would permit; but he did note that they seemed to be only flesh wounds. Baring infection, which was a *real* possibility in this rat and roach infested place, he'd keep the leg and live. He found a sharp rock and scratched a line in the wall. One line for every day he lived through this torture.
Two-hundred and forty-eight days later, he was let go in a prisoner exchange. He had the unfortunate surprise of finding his status was MIA and presumed dead; the army didn't know he was the lone survivor of his squadron until he was released. He was sent home, back to a place that didn't care he'd almost given up his life to fight for democracy, back to a place where rioting against the war was common. There was no ticker-tape parade for him; no heroes welcome, just a 'Dear John' letter and formal divorce papers from his now ex-wife who had re-married to his best friend two months after he was declared deceased.
He shook his head to clear the memories of time gone by. He was in charge of defending *his* mountain; he didn't survive 248 days of hell to allow some fags to take over. Nope, he'd take care of them, get rid of them two fairies, good riddance. He brushed off his hands and moved out of sight so he could view his handiwork from a distance.
*************************
It wasn't too long before the trail became a bit too steep, so Carlos found a decent stick to use to help him along. It was absolutely beautiful up here, so clean and pure, and not anyone in sight that would take offense at the two men holding hands, kissing, and overall enjoying each other's company. They stopped about a mile up the mountain to have a snack, then lay back, side by side, and watched the clouds float by. It was almost surreal, right out of a bodice-ripper romance novel, and Carlos began to chuckle at the thought.
"What's so funny?" Trent rolled over to his side and propped his head up on his hand to stare down at his lover.
"Us ... this ... here ... right out of a paperback romance book." Carlos
grinned at Trent's 'I am not amused' expression.
"Okay, so which one of us is the heroine in this little fantasy of yours? Gotta be you, you have the longer hair." Trent teased as he reached down to brush a stray lock off Carlos' forehead.
"Why you ..." Carlos playfully grabbed Trent's arms and rolled them over so that Carlos was straddling Trent. They wrestled for a bit, neither one really caring who gained the upper hand, just as long as they were touching and playing. They both stilled when Carlos dipped his head close to Trent's face ... and their lips touched and the world stilled for a moment, both men lost in the kiss that bound their souls together.
They kissed for a while, then both realized they'd have to get moving if they were going to hike to the summit and back before dark. They headed back up the trail, Carlos moving along in front of Trent as the trail narrowed and all but disappeared as they reached the top. He was about to step over a fallen tree trunk when Trent called out.
"Hold up a sec, I need to tie my boot." Trent kneeled down to re-tie the boot as Carlos sat down on the fallen tree trunk. Once the task was accomplished, he extended a hand to help Carlos to his feet. "Ready."
Carlos nodded and placed his walking stick on the other side of the log when a loud snap was heard and a clawed bear trap snapped his stick in two. Both men visibly jumped back.
Carlos looked at the end of the tattered stick, at once realizing that could've been his leg if he had stepped over without the stick. "What ... Damn."
Trent examined the now closed bear trap. "Some hunter must've left it here during hunting season last year and forgot to retrieve it when the season ended. Good thing you had that stick."
Carlos was still visibly shaken. "Yeah, ... good thing."
Trent moved to put his arm around Carlos. "You okay buddy?"
"Fine ... I'm fine, just hope we don't run into any more of those."
"Nah, chances are one in a million. You want to finish going up or are you ready to head back down?"
"We've come this far, might as well finish it."
Carlos looked around for something else he could use to walk with ... this time for a totally different purpose.
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//Damn!// Harry watched from his vantage point high above them. He was not pleased his best bear trap didn't work and he was even less pleased with the flagrant displays of affection. He was thoroughly disgusted and knew those two had to be taken care of, and quickly. He got a sudden glint in his eye as he decided to take both of them out at the same time. Get rid of the two sissy boys once and for all. He scooted down the trail to lay his trap for his prey's descent down the mountain.
*************************
The view from the summit was breathtaking, and the two men enjoyed the view in silence, sitting side by side, fingers intertwined and it was peaceful. But with the setting of the sun, they knew they had to get a move on to get back to the cabin before dark. Neither one wanted to be out after dark in unfamiliar woods.
The light grew dim as they headed back down toward the cabin. The shadows grew long and the path became treacherous with unseen holes and tree roots. They decided to err on the side of caution and walk one in front of the other, carefully making their way through the rich underbrush. Trent was a few feet ahead of Carlos, trying to discern shadows from potential tripping hazards. They were about halfway home when Trent placed his foot down carefully onto a dark shadow, only to have the shadow spring up and clamp down on his foot. He went down with a yell to Carlos.
Carlos had been following Trent, trying to make sure he stepped where Trent did, so not to trip over any holes in the trail. He heard the metallic snap and watched as Trent went down, felled by a smaller, but still dangerous, claw trap. As Trent was partially hidden in shadows, Carlos found a more lighted path to his lover, not noticing the thin, clear wire that was strung between two trees. He tripped the wire and a huge leafless tree branch came barreling at him, hitting him square in the chest. He was knocked backwards and down, his head striking a tree root as he fell with his back toward Trent.
Trent tried to move to get to Carlos, but could only reach Carlos' back. He didn't want to try to move Carlos in case there was spinal damage, so he went back to trying to free his foot then reach his friend. He did notice before turning back, that Carlos was breathing ... that had to be a good sign.
Trent examined his foot and found the claw teeth hadn't broken through his boot; he wouldn't bleed to death, but there would be one hell of a bruise there, plus possible tendon damage. He tried to pry the jaws apart, but before he could get very far, a dark shadow crossed his vision. He looked up and found a rifle pointing straight at his head. He swallowed hard.
"You might want to be careful with that thing, it might go off. Um, we were just up here on vacation, not bothering anything and have run into some ..." It suddenly occurred to Trent that the claw traps and tree branch were no accidents. "If you'll just help me out of this trap, I'll get my friend here and we'll be on our way."
"Don't you mean your lover, faggot? Gotta wipe your kind off the face of the earth, yep, that's what we gotta do." Harry was quite pleased with himself; he'd taken care of two fags with relatively little effort.
"Look, sir, you don't want to do that. He's a cop; he helps people, makes sure our streets are safe ... he's one of the good guys." Trent rolled closer to Carlos, forcing back the pain from his ankle. Carlos was beginning to come around, but not soon enough to help the situation. Trent knew he'd take his dying breath to try to save his friend and lover.
Harry moved his rifle to point at Carlos' head. "More the reason to get rid of you ... corrupting the good Texas police force ... such an abomination." He leveled the gun.
Trent rolled as far as he could over Carlos' body, trying to protect him with his own. He felt something hard poke him in his side and he noticed Carlos' service revolver that had been attached to his belt had unsnapped in the fall; it was about to fall off his belt entirely. Trent contemplated his choices and was terrified at all of them. Allow Carlos and himself to die at this insane man's hands or ... His body reacted before his mind could make a choice, as he heard the rifle being cocked to fire. His fingers twisted around the cool metal, and with one swift motion, he grabbed the revolver, holster and all, switched off the safety and fired.
The shot rang forever through the woods and through Trent's mind. His heart was trying to beat out of his chest as images of Billy's death ran through his mind's eye. He could feel and smell the blood all over again, watched as Billy fell in front of him. The smoke cleared and he was surrounded by death. His hands shook as the world literally stopped around him; he not aware that Carlos had regained consciousness.
//Was that a gunshot I heard?// Carlos attempted to shake himself out of the stupor he found himself in. //OW! Note to self ... DON'T DO THAT!// He carefully opened his eyes to see he was laying on the ground, his head not so comfortably resting on an exposed tree root. He picked himself up slowly, only to discover his lover frozen; his own service revolver in Trent's hands and an apparent dead body lying a few feet away. //This is *not* good.//
"Trent? Hey buddy, want to give me the gun and tell me what happened?" Carlos kept his voice as even and quiet as possible. "Trent?" Trent wasn't moving, was barely breathing and it worried Carlos. He had no clue what had transpired; what would make Trent *shoot* somebody for God's sake? He slowly placed his own hands around Trent's, feeling the slight tremors run through the powerful arms and hands. He was able to remove the gun from Trent's hands and flick the safety back on before laying it down on the ground. His total attention was toward his lover; how to reach him, how to find out what happened and get them off that mountain and find some help.
Trent was vaguely aware that someone had taken the gun from him. Slowly the world came back into focus, the pain from the claw trap on his ankle helping him center himself even more. As if he was hearing through water, he heard his lover call out to him, begging him to come back.
"Querido, can you hear me?" Carlos moved carefully to embrace him, careful of Trent's still trapped foot and his own injuries. He heard Trent's steady breathing and gently pulled Trent's head down to his shoulder, muttering soft reassuring words, trying to comfort him.
Trent reached out to grab onto Carlos; Carlos was his lifeline to sanity now. "Oh God." His voice was a mere croak.
"Querido, can you tell me what happened?" Carlos continued to stroke Trent's hair, very concerned about the pale pallor of his friend's face..
"He was going to kill you ... I ... I had to ..."
Trent's voice died out as he turned to hug Carlos tighter; he winced as his trapped foot tried to follow his body.
"Trent, we need to get that off of you, okay? Hold still." Carlos let Trent go, very reluctantly, but the trap had to be removed before it did any more damage. As carefully and swiftly as his own injured body would allow, he pried open the steel jaws and Trent was able to pull his foot out. Carlos was relieved to see that the hiking boot had taken most of the blunt force of the trap; now they had to worry about broken bones. "Can you move it at all?"
The color was returning to Trent's face ... a good sign ... and Trent nodded,
his ankle moving slightly as pain crossed his face.
"I ... I don't think it's
broken."
"Do you think you can walk if you lean on me?"
Again, Trent nodded.
"Okay, hold on a sec. Carlos walked over to the body lying in the brambles. He was middle-aged, possibly in his late forties, dressed in military fatigues. He took note of the name on the dog tags as he felt for a pulse at the carotid artery and found none. He looked over to Trent and their eyes met, Trent's unspoken question hanging in the air between them. Carlos shook his head no and went back over to his troubled lover. Gradually, they got Trent to his feet and Trent noticed the large bump on Carlos' forehead.
"What about you? Are you okay?" The worry was evident in his eyes.
Carlos looked into his lover's deep blue eyes. "I'm fine, querido; a few bruised ribs and bump on the noggin isn't enough to keep me down. Remember, you keep telling me how hard-headed I am."
A ghost of a smile spread across Trent's face.
Whatever had happened, Trent was suffering, and in the usual Trent way, was suffering in silence.
"Wait." Carlos stopped and watched as Trent picked up his backpack and pulled out his jacket. Trent carefully unfolded it and placed it over the dead man's face. He knew that it was Trent's way of dealing with whatever had happened ... giving the dead man some respect in the end.
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They made their way slowly down the mountain to the cabin, Carlos settling Trent into the passenger's side seat and driving them back into town where they stumbled into the local hospital and asked for the sheriff. Trent hadn't said a word since they made it down the mountain.
Trent was down at x-ray when the sheriff showed up. "I'm Sheriff Conti, you must be Detective Sandoval, correct?" The sheriff was in his late fifties, with salt 'n pepper hair and a deep tan, his tall lanky frame completing the country sheriff look.
Carlos looked up from the paperwork he was signing. "Yes, I'm Detective
Sandoval."
"Can you tell me what happened here? Dispatch said something about a shooting."
"I'm not certain. My friend and I were out hiking when he got caught in a claw trap of some kind and I was knocked out by a tree branch. When I regained consciousness, there was the body of a Harold Summers next to my friend. He said Mr. Summers was going to kill us; there was a rifle in his hands."
"Who and where is your 'friend', Detective?"
"Trent Malloy; he's down in x-ray. I expect him ... " Carlos noticed they were wheeling Trent back as he spoke. He quickly got to Trent's side and placed his hand on Trent's shoulder.
"How ya doing, buddy?"
"It's not broken, just severely strained with a lot of bruising and swelling. They say I'll be fine. How about you?"
"Bruised ribs, bump on head, nothing severe. I'll be sore for a few days, but no permanent damage." Carlos wanted to brush away some of the stray blonde locks that had fallen over Trent's forehead, but refrained. "Um, Trent, this is Sheriff Conti; he'd like to ask you some questions, okay?" Trent nodded.
Sheriff Conti stepped forward. "Care to tell your side of what happened?"
Trent cleared his throat. "We were hiking when I stepped in a claw trap. Carlos stepped forward to help me and it triggered some sort of snare that lowered a tree branch on him, knocking him down. He hit his head on an exposed tree root and was knocked unconscious. Before I could help him or myself, this man came out of the shadows and pointed a rifle at Carlos. He was going to shoot him. I grabbed Carlos' gun and shot him first." Trent's voice never wavered; no emotion showed through.
"The man, a Harold Summers?"
Trent nodded. The sheriff wrote down the information and shook his head.
"Figured something like this would happen one day. Ol' Harry never really came back from 'Nam if you know what I mean. Was released from the Viet Kong in '72 to come back to a wife that had left him and a country that couldn't care less about its veterans. Pity." Sheriff Conti put his notepad back into his pocket. "You two stick around for a day or so until we clear this up, all right?"
Carlos nodded. "We're staying at the Mountain View cabins; you can reach us by my cell phone." He handed over one of his business cards to the sheriff.
"Sorry all this happened. It's normally a quite peaceful town. I'll send a team up the mountain to retrieve Harry and check out his cabin. I'll be in touch." The sheriff headed out, leaving Trent and Carlos to their thoughts.
Go on to Part 3