Authors: Steven Konkoly
Frozen by the sudden, unexplained annihilation of Hillebrand’s squad, the sound of automatic gunfire pounded Eli’s ears and jarred him into action. He lifted his rifle barrel and sighted in on the man leaning out of the window. A booming explosion shook the ground and knocked the red dot off target as he pressed the trigger, sending a short burst of automatic fire high and to the right of the window. He didn’t bother readjusting his aim for another burst, instead opting to dive behind the barn and take cover behind the foundation. Bullets ripped through the barn, some passing inches over his back. When the incoming fire stopped, he crawled back to the corner of the barn and grabbed his radio. The not-so-distant explosion meant one thing—time to “get the fuck out of Dodge.”
***
Ed crawled around the kitchen island, ignoring the shards of glass and ceramics that dug into his hands. He prayed that the sandbags protecting his family hadn’t disintegrated under the intense gunfire. The floor shook from a boom, which he could barely differentiate from the rifle fire inside the house. Rounding the island on his hands and knees, he emerged in time to see Alex charge into the open and throw his pistol. Ed poked his head above the granite and witnessed one of the most bizarre moments of his life. The pistol bounced off the furthest man’s head, knocking him off balance as he climbed over the toppled sandbags and dropping him to the floor.
Alex collided with the second intruder, knocking him against the kitchen table. The two men grappled and slammed each other against the column at the edge of the hall wall, stumbling toward the safe box. Movement on the floor caught Ed’s eye; the man on the other side of the table kicked one of the chairs out of the way and grabbed the table. Having left his rifle behind, and carrying no other weapons, Ed felt helpless—until he saw the barrel of Samantha’s shotgun sticking up behind the sandbags. He sprinted forward and reached inside, trying not to expose his body to the gunfire still penetrating the walls.
“Sam, I need the shotgun!”
“It’s ready to fire!” screamed Samantha.
The warm barrel pressed into the palm of his hand, and he pulled it over the side. Without hesitating, he shouldered the 12-gauge shotgun and fired around the sandbags, knocking the man down. Ed racked the slide and fired under the table, shredding the table legs and splattering the half wall with bright red gore. Three additional 12-guage blasts stopped all movement and groaning on the porch.
One more.
He shifted the smoking barrel toward the desperate hand-to-hand battle on the floor fifteen feet away, but saw no way to shoot the insane-looking redhead without hitting Alex. Screw it. He’d put the gun right up against the dude’s head. Ed stood up and was immediately struck in the right hip by a bullet passing through the kitchen cabinets.
***
Alex grabbed both of the redheaded attacker’s wrists, trying to keep him from grabbing the pistol on his thigh or the loaded rifle hanging across his chest. One fact became obvious as soon as they tumbled to the floor in the kitchen. He couldn’t beat this guy in a straight grapple. Red was either too strong, or Alex was too tired. Either way, the result would be the same. Afraid to release either wrist, he held tight and tried to roll on top of his growling assailant. No good. Bullets continued to splinter the wooden trim and shatter plates in the kitchen as they lay on their sides kicking at each other.
His grip on the man’s right hand slipped, changing the melee’s dynamic in an instant. Red struck his face with the bottom of a closed fist and rolled on top of him, pinning him to the floor. Unable to effectively block the torrent of punches directed at his face, Alex pushed upward with his right hand and twisted his hips. The desperate attempt to turn the tables failed miserably, and Alex lost his grip on the man’s left hand. It was time to even the odds.
Alex jammed his right hand under the rifles pressed between their chests and dug between Red’s legs. Squeezing and twisting what he could grab through the camouflage trousers, Alex shot his head forward and caught Red’s nose with his forehead. Red screamed and pushed away, breaking Alex’s death grip on his crotch. Blood pouring from his nose, Red rose to one knee and fumbled for his pistol. Alex kicked his raised knee from the ground, knocking him backward against the basement door and scrambling after him.
Alex slammed him into the door, pinning both hands against the bullet-riddled wood. He was back where he started, holding both wrists in a struggle he couldn’t win. Except this time Red held a semiautomatic pistol in his right hand. A quick knee to Red’s already obliterated groin yielded nothing but a snarl and a return knee, which Alex deflected by turning his hip. Red’s strength surged, pulling him toward the foyer hallway. He couldn’t go to the floor again, not with a pistol in Red’s hand. A bullet penetrated the door a few inches from their heads, causing their eyes to dart to the hole.
That might work.
“Mom! Shoot the door! Shoot the door!” he screamed past Red’s left ear.
They shifted a few more inches toward the foyer opening.
“Shoot the fucking door, Mom!” he yelled and buried his head under Red’s chin.
Two rapid blasts scattered slivers of wood over their shoulders. A sharp sting bit into his right shin as Red’s body shuddered and weakened. Alex let go of Red’s left wrist and wrenched the pistol free with both hands, throwing himself behind the safe box as bullets continued to plow through the house. Red stumbled a few feet away from the ragged, bloodstained door and dropped to his knees, staring blankly at the mass of dead men in front of him. His right hand drifted slowly to his rifle while his gaze shifted to Alex’s outstretched, pistol-bearing hand.
Click.
The pistol dry-fired. Red’s fingers seized the rifle’s grip as Alex frantically racked the slide and checked the safety. A single hole appeared in Red’s chest, followed by the distinctive boom of a .308 caliber rifle. Tim Fletcher’s M14 rifle barrel protruded from the bullet-peppered half wall. Red stumbled into the foyer and crashed face first into the wall, leaving a thick red trail as he slid to the floor beyond Ed Walker. His neighbor lay flat on his back, bloody hands pressed into his right hip. Ed looked at Alex and winked. Seeing Ed reminded him of Charlie, whom he’d last glimpsed at the bottom of the stairs.
“You okay, Dad?”
“I’ve been better!” responded Tim, peeking out far enough for Alex to see the brim of his camouflage hat.
“Ryan! Send your status.”
“
I can’t talk now,”
Ryan responded, followed by a long burst of automatic fire.
“I want you out of sight. The backyard threat has been neutralized,” said Alex.
“Copy.”
“Kate, anything?’
The mudroom exploded in gunfire before she responded.
***
“We’re almost in,”
Eli heard through the earpiece and scowled at the radio, like it was defective.
“Liberty Three, I don’t think you appreciate what I just said. McCulver reported two armored tactical vehicles headed your way. That’s too much firepower. Pull your men out and head to the secondary extract point.”
“They can’t get the vehicles into the compound, Eli, and it’ll take them at least five minutes to work their way through the trees. I have seven guys ready to breach. If the initial breach fails, I’ll pull them out. If it succeeds, we’ll sweep through the house and be on our way to the secondary extract before they reach the eastern tree line. We won’t get another chance like this,”
said Brown.
Eli hesitated. Any chance to properly avenge his brother and nephew was worth losing a few more men. Regardless of the final outcome, he’d spin this in his favor, explaining the drastic loss of life as irrefutable evidence that the government had planted secret agents and platoon-sized kill teams among their own citizens. Of course, his militia had emerged victorious, and anyone that wanted proof could take a trip over to Gelder Pond to see for themselves, and be graciously shuttled over by one of his own members. Word about this attack would travel far and wide. The further, the better. He just needed to make sure he survived to spread the good word.
“Liberty Three, this is Liberty Actual. Proceed with the attack. Watch the second floor. You have one shooter armed with an automatic rifle in the northwest corner, out.”
Chapter 40
EVENT +75:31
Limerick, Maine
Kate fidgeted, trying to find a comfortable position lying on the wet tile floor. Razor-sharp pieces of porcelain and glass dug into her knees and thighs, rendering the effort pointless. At least the fragments hadn’t spilled the entire length of the mudroom. Her elbows rested in a thick puddle spreading from the entryway into the mudroom. She braced her rifle against the doorframe, using the wooden trim to shield her left shoulder and part of her face from the mudroom door. This was the best she could do to protect herself, and judging by the holes in the trim above her head, it wasn’t much. Oh yes—sandbags protected her feet.
Wonderful.
All compounded by the fact that she had no idea what had happened in the kitchen. She heard a ton of shooting, then nothing. Her radio was somewhere in the sitting room, detached from the earpiece that still dangled from her ear.
It didn’t matter at this point. She had a job to do. A shadow slightly darkened the mudroom. Bullets penetrated the door, concentrated on the door handle and deadbolt, and slammed into the wooden shoe storage rack attached to the wall. A few bullets ricocheted in random directions, but most of them plowed into the same one-foot-by-one-foot section of the shoe rack, giving her a solid idea where the shooter was standing. She aimed at the wall to the left of the mudroom door and fired several projectiles through the drywall and siding, hearing a muffled scream from the porch outside.
A fusillade of bullets tore through the mudroom, forcing her to press into the doorframe as glass, drywall and wood showered the tile floor. A figure rushed in front of the obliterated door, rapidly firing his rifle at shoulder height into the mudroom. She placed the holographic sight’s reticle center mass and fired as he kicked the door loose of the locking mechanisms. A second man wasted no time following the door in, proficiently advancing and firing through the mudroom door and kitchen entryway. Kate’s rifle killed him before he realized his mistake.
A cylindrical gray object glanced off the door and bounced on the tile, rolling in her direction. She had no idea what it was and had no intention of finding out. All she knew was that when people threw things during a gunfight, they usually exploded. She scrambled to her feet and sprinted through the kitchen doorway, colliding with Alex.
***
Four bullet holes dimpled the right side of the refrigerator in a tight pattern facing the mudroom. Alex depressed the bolt release button, chambering a round from a fresh magazine, and switched hands in anticipation of firing onto the porch from a position on the right side of the kitchen doorway. Kate burst through the opening as he arrived, knocking him into the broken pantry door, which crashed to the floor.
“Grenade!” she yelled, yanking him toward the sandbags.
Alex stumbled for a few steps, gaining his balance in time to push Kate over the side of the safe box onto the Walkers. As soon as she disappeared, he dove behind the sandbags and waited for the explosion. A few seconds later, when the house didn’t shake, Alex clambered to the corner of the safe box and aimed at the mudroom. Thick, red smoke poured into the house, followed by several .223 bullets fired from men positioned around the doorframe. He fired back, but his hastily delivered bullets failed to find targets. Focused semiautomatic fire forced Alex to stick his rifle around the sandbag corner and fire Jihadi style for the first time in his life. He emptied the magazine and scurried around the other side of the box, reloading as he approached the far end of the kitchen island.
The mudroom fusillade continued as Alex checked the kitchen island corner and confirmed that he was screened from the mudroom doorway by the refrigerator. He edged along the stainless-steel appliance, plotting his next move. He could stick his rifle past the refrigerator and blast away, hoping that the shock of the unexpected, close-up blasts sparked a panicked retreat, but then what? Charge into the mudroom? He had no idea how many men waited for him. As the scarlet smoke intensified, he decided to wait for the marines—if the enormous detonation he’d heard a few minutes ago hadn’t taken them out of the picture. He just hoped Kate and the Walkers stayed in the safe box. A dark cylindrical object arced past the refrigerator, on a trajectory that flushed his decision down the proverbial toilet.
If the grenade landed in the safe box, Kate and Ed’s family would panic, jumping right into the sights of several militia guns. Alex lurched past the refrigerator, pressing the trigger twice before slamming into the pantry shelves. Dropping to the floor, he aimed up at the right side of the doorway and fired at a dark red mass behind a protruding barrel. A foot stepped into the kitchen, and Alex shifted his rifle left, firing again into the opaque cloud. Confused voices and jumbled commands quickly turned into return fire. Alex felt a bullet connect with his upper right chest, knocking him flat on his back. Another grazed his left thigh. He brought the mangled HK416 over his chest and fired the rest of his magazine into the smoke.
Chapter 41
EVENT +75:33
Limerick, Maine
Jeffrey Brown crouched at the tree line, ready to sprint to the house, when his radio crackled.
“Brown, we can’t break through the mudroom. Request permission to withdraw,”
said a coughing voice over heavy gunfire.
Thick plumes of red smoke billowed out of the mudroom door, hitting the porch ceiling and dispersing over the roof into the stark blue sky. The idiots weren’t supposed to pull the pin on the smoke grenade.
“I’m on my way. How many men do you have left that can fight?”