by Lopez, Rob
*
Packy was patting his pockets for another cigarette when he heard the gunfire break out. He’d already suffered one scare when a burning raider had tumbled from the balcony above. He’d stared mesmerized as the man twisted and thrashed in the snow, trying to put the flames out. Losing his battle, the man eventually lay still, patches of clothing still burning.
“Cool,” murmured Packy.
Block A was well alight now, so he decided to make another attempt to scale the wall. Limping forward as fast as he could, he stretched up to the top of the wall and tried to haul himself up. Straining until his eyes bulged from his face, he managed to raise himself two inches before falling back down.
*
Rick had been feeding the bullets into the machine gun until he ran out of belt. The box had only been half full.
“Let’s go,” said Scott, dropping the machine gun.
Sprinting out the door, they made their way down six flights of stairs. When they reached the foyer, however, they found the raiders had got there before them. Retreating back up the stairs, they exchanged gunfire until the black space was lit up by flashes.
*
Lauren threw the rest of the Molotovs until she had none left, but only one shattered against a tree trunk. She counted three possible assailants out on the greens, but they had semi-automatic weapons, and they peppered her position with near misses. Flinching under the barrage, she tried to focus her sights on individual gun flashes, but the crosshairs wavered as she fired individual shots, working the bolt for each round, and the return fire was unrelenting.
*
Jake was holding them off at the front, but the raiders were getting bolder. A fusillade of shots forced him back from the edge. Vivian was curled up in the corner, her hands over her ears.
Jake leaned over again, discharging shots. “Git some,” he roared.
The raiders, trying to advance from the corner of Block B, retreated again, firing back.
Jake released his empty magazine and loaded a fresh one. Putting the rifle to his shoulder again, he sat up, aiming down the sights and pulling the trigger.
“I got one,” he yelled, turning to Vivian. “Did you see that? I got him.”
Vivian, visibly shaking, forced a smile.
“They ain’t gonna get us, darling,” he said. “We’ll stop them, we will.”
A Molotov cocktail sailed over and crashed onto the sloped roof nearby, the flames running down to the rain gutter.
“Hah! They missed,” he said.
Leaning out again, he pumped three more shots down, causing another raider to jerk and fall.
“Heeya,” he cried.
Before he had time to pull back, a bullet punched into his chest. Bewildered, he sat back, struggling to breathe.
“Honey,” cried Vivian, crawling forward.
Jake keeled over, coughing up blood. Vivian clutched his face. “Jake. Speak to me. Please speak to me.”
Jake tried to roll over, drooling red saliva. “Oh crap,” he said.
Vivian placed her hands over the wound on his chest, trying vainly to stem the bleeding. “Please don’t go, baby. Please don’t go.”
Jake sagged back, choking. “The gun,” he managed. “Get the gun.”
Vivian panicked, picking up the gun then dropping it again when she saw the blood on her hands. Jake’s eyes stared up at her imploringly. Taking up the weapon again, she looked down to locate the trigger, and tentatively pointed it over the edge.
A raider, closer to the building now, aimed upward and put a bullet in her skull. Vivian fell across her boyfriend, her eyes staring upward with him.
*
Chuck hovered near the window of the boardroom, seeing the raiders below running across the parking lot. The light from the flames outside lit up the inside of the room. Gripping the shotgun, he could feel the sweat emanating from his palms. A raider paused down below, turning as if responding to some shouted instruction. Chuck pointed the shotgun at him and fired. The window shattered and a hail of shot skipped up the snow around the raider’s feet. Clutching his neck, the raider spun around, lost his footing, and tumbled down.
A series of shots from outside smashed the rest of the window glass, and Chuck felt a burning kick to his shoulder. Spinning around like the raider had, he toppled over. Lizzy screamed and Sally crawled over the broken glass to get to him.
Chuck had never felt such pain before, and began hyperventilating. Kneeling over him, Sally ripped open his shirt and began wrapping a dressing over the wound. “Slow your breathing down,” she said earnestly. “Relax. I’ve got this.”
Packy’s parents stared in horror, Daniel hugged Lizzy, burying his head in her chest. Bella barked and barked.
42
The cacophony in the foyer of Block C was deafening. The raiders tried to rush the stairs, but Rick and Scott forced them back with automatic fire, leaving one raider dead at the foot of the steps. Another raider lay prostrate in the doorway. The plaster from the walls was almost completely stripped away from bullet impacts, and a dusty haze hung in the air, lit by the gun flashes. The three remaining raiders stayed outside, offering only fleeting targets as they fired inside.
“I’m out,” shouted Scott, indicating he’d fired his last magazine. He drew his Glock.
Rick’s ears were ringing so much, he could barely hear him. All he knew was that this was taking too long, and he had no idea what was happening at the clubhouse. They had to get out of here.
With his pistol in one hand, Scott pulled out a blue grenade from his pouch.
“That’s not real,” yelled Rick.
“They don’t know that,” replied Scott.
Rick hesitated for a moment, then gave Scott the nod.
Pulling the pin, Scott tossed the grenade. It bounced on the floor and rolled through the doorway.
The raiders scattered and the practice grenade detonated with a polite little pop, issuing a single puff of smoke. Rick and Scott were already on its heels. Running outside, they turned in opposite directions. Rick fired two tight bursts, catching two raiders as they ran away, their bodies arching and falling. Scott dispatched the third with two shots to the chest.
“Go, go, go,” called Rick.
*
The firing from the clubhouse had stopped and the raiders seized their chance.
“You guys,” shouted Axel, pointing to a distant running group carrying sledge hammers, “circle around to the other side. The rest of you take the front. Use the grenades on the front door and blow it in.”
*
In the foyer, Harvey waited. The silhouettes running past the flames outside looked like devils dancing in hell. He crossed himself and hunched down behind the sandbags, breathing steadily and muttering a prayer.
Two metallic clinks thudded against the outside of the double doors. There was a pause, then the grenades, real ones this time, exploded, blowing in the lower part of the doors. A figure appeared and kicked open what was left of the doors. Harvey rose and blasted him with the shotgun.
“Lord, forgive me,” he murmured.
Another figure appeared at a window, looking in to try and find a target. Harvey blasted him too.
“Forgive me again.”
Raiders took cover behind the pillars of the portico and fired wild shots into the shadows of the foyer. Harvey fired back, blowing chunks from the pillars. A Molotov sailed in through the doorway, smashing on the marble floor and erupting in flame, but Harvey was safe behind the sandbags, and he shot the leading raider as they rushed in. There was a heated exchange of fire as rifles barked, and Harvey got another shot off. Then he took a hit to the head and went down.
*
Josh witnessed the exchange from the top of the stairs. In the light of the flames he saw Harvey lying motionless, blood seeping from the side of his skull. The raiders stepped over the body and fanned out into the building.
Josh didn’t fire a shot. He was shaking so much, he could barely stand. A rai
der caught sight of him and took aim. The wooden gallery rail by Josh’s head splintered. He told himself he needed to run, but he couldn’t move. His brain made the necessary adjustments, but his legs didn’t respond.
Another shot hit closer still, and Josh lost control of his bladder. It was only when he saw the raider approach the stairs that he galvanized himself into action, running away as fast as he could.
Dashing through passageways, he dived into a room and curled up behind the door, breathing hard.
*
Lauren was having a hard time dodging bullets. Intermittent flashes of gunfire issued from the shadows of the greens, but she only had one bullet left, and was no longer able to suppress her attackers. Peering over the sandbags occasionally to see what was happening, the cracks as the bullets whistled past her ears forced her down again.
She had caught sight of one figure running forward, however. With periodic glances, she witnessed the raider approach the barbed wire, coming fully into the light. With a pair of welding gloves, he was attempting to pull apart the point where two rolls met. Lauren waited until he had committed himself, then leaned over, fixing the crosshairs on him.
A single squeeze of the trigger, and the rifle boomed. The bullet traveled true and the raider fell forward, his body bouncing on the wire.
Dropping the empty rifle, Lauren ducked back down as retaliatory bullets smacked into the sandbags. Drawing her Beretta, she slithered toward the ladder.
*
April winced as the sledge hammers pounded the side door. Keeping the shotgun barrel trained on the door, she shivered. She imagined the kick inside of her baby, but knew it was just her stomach churning. She was certain something had happened to Scott. Whatever plan they had was failing. The raiders were getting into the building and she didn’t want it to end like this. She had to get hold of Daniel and get out.
The door cracked and April let out a frightened moan. She could smell burning, and smoke was drifting into the kitchen.
The door fell inward and April opened fire, the boom bouncing shock waves off the walls. As she racked another cartridge into the chamber, the raiders poked their guns in and fired. April felt a bullet passing through her hair. Blasting a wildly aimed shot, she took off, leaving the sandbagged emplacement and running into the cafe. Pounding feet followed behind her. Diving behind the serving counter, she racked another round and then curled up as cups and saucers were shot up around her.
*
Packy got his arm up over the wall and heaved. The burning building behind him sent waves of heat at his back. Sweating and straining, he pulled himself high enough to be able to lean over, then he swiveled and dropped gracelessly on the other side. Flames danced on the clubhouse parking lot, and rifles cracked.
“Out of the frying pan, Packy,” he murmured to himself.
Lifting himself up, he limped to the broken side door, seeing the discarded hammers. Inside the kitchen, he heard a fusillade of shots nearby. Dragging his leg, he peered around into a short service corridor, seeing three raiders crowded together in the cafe entrance.
Remembering where the safety was on his Mac-10, he steadied himself against the corner and fired from the hip. A tongue of flame leaped from the stubby barrel as the magazine emptied itself in two seconds flat. The raiders twisted and turned, flayed by bullets until they were just three bodies lying in a heap.
“Oh man, I like this gun,” said Packy.
Limping into the cafe, he found April. She looked shocked to still be alive.
Shots echoed in the building.
“My baby,” she cried, turning to run out of the other door.
Packy rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome,” he said.
Hopping after her, he made his slow way up the stairs, then decided to check on Jake. Arduously climbing the ladder to the OP, he reached the top and then stopped, leaning on the lip of the hatch and looking at Jake’s and Vivian’s entwined bodies.
“Aw, hell,” he said.
Vivian’s hand had fallen onto Jake’s, and it looked like they were gazing hand in hand at the stars.
“That there, Packy,” he murmured, “is true romance.”
He gave them a final salute and descended the ladder.
At the bottom he bumped into Lauren.
“Where’s everyone?” she asked.
Packy scratched his forehead with the Mac-10 barrel. “Well,” he drawled. “Jake and his good lady didn’t make it. But April ran off in that direction.”
Lauren turned to run.
“I saved her life, you know,” added Packy.
Lauren disappeared.
Packy threw up his arms. “Doesn’t anybody have any gratitude in this place?”
*
A Molotov crashed against the mesh on the outside of the broken boardroom window, smashing open. Burning gasoline splashed through onto the wooden floor. Seeing the flames, Lizzy, already on the edge of her nerves, gripped Daniel tighter and dropped lower behind the sandbags
Sally rushed to pick up the bucket of sand.
Reginald and Martha stared at her as she doused the flames and picked up a fire extinguisher to finish the job. Dropping the extinguisher, Sally wiped her brow. The gunfire seemed to have intensified, and it was clear the clubhouse was no longer safe.
Grabbing her medical bag, she helped Chuck up, trying to support his weight.
“We’ve got to go,” she said.
Packy’s parents continued to stare, traumatized.
“Don’t just sit there,” said Sally. “Pick up Janice’s cot and carry her out!”
Reginald and Martha remained stark still.
“Move it,” shouted Sally.
Snapped from their catatonic trance, the two hurried over to Janice, dithering over who would take which end.
“Come on, come on!”
Making their mind up, the two picked Janice up and staggered toward the doorway. Chuck sagged, and Sally strained to hold him upright. A raider appeared in the doorway, stopping Reginald and Martha dead. A burst of automatic gunfire from his weapon cut them down. Sally stared, stunned, as the weapon turned to face her, then Bella jumped up and barked savagely at the intruder.
The raider lowered his rifle and shot the dog.
*
Josh heard footsteps go past his room. Cringing, he waited until they were gone, then hated himself even more. His shame seeped through his pants. His father had trained him, had told him what he needed to do, yet here he was, cowering. He was meant to carry out a vital role as messenger, even amid the terrifying chaos.
And he was meant to protect his sister.
The footsteps, he realized suddenly, had been heading toward the boardroom.
“Takes more than wearing camos to be a man,” came the memory of Scott’s words. “Takes responsibility.”
And he’d been shirking his.
Legs wobbling, he stood up. His throat was so dry he couldn’t swallow. Biting his lips hard until they bled, he ventured out into the corridor.
Smoke drifted through the gloom. Looking through the window of the room, he saw the eastern sky was lightening with the dawn. Gripping his rifle, he put one foot in front of the other until he was hastening down the passage. His heart faltered when he heard the ripping burst of automatic fire, and he slowed, wary of what he was heading into. Then he heard Bella’s yelp as she was shot.
Up ahead, the light of flames illuminated the boardroom doorway, and in the doorway was silhouetted the figure of a gunman. Josh froze, afraid that the gunman would turn around and see him.
Don’t hesitate.
The gunman raised his rifle to shoot something else in the room. In synchronicity, as if in a dream, Josh raised his own rifle. It was impossible to miss, provided he kept his aim steady.
He’d shot smaller targets farther away than this.
Josh squeezed the trigger, then, remembering his father’s last piece of advice, rapidly worked the trigger four more times. The quick action of the Ruger delivere
d the bullets in quick succession as the weapon cracked repeatedly. The gunman jerked and dropped to his knees, cursing and moaning. He still had the automatic rifle in one hand. Josh stepped forward, gun trained on him. That’s when he saw the bodies in the boardroom, including that of Bella.
He pulled the trigger and put a bullet through the gunman’s head.
*
Lauren raced through the clubhouse, skidding to a halt when she reached the boardroom. April had got there before her and was already hugging Daniel. Lizzy, seeing her mother, dashed out and embraced her legs, nearly knocking her over. Inside the boardroom, Reginald and Martha lay stretched out in unnatural poses. Chuck, a bloodstained bandage across his shoulder, sat sobbing over Janice, who lay still with a visible wound in her chest, no longer coughing. Bella lay next to him, staring at the infinite with dead eyes. Sally sat on the floor, her face riven with exhaustion and shock.
Lauren’s eyes were on Josh, however, standing over a dead raider.
“I did it, Mom,” he said without looking up.
Lauren wanted him to look up. Wanted to see that he was still her boy, and that he hadn’t changed into something else.
Not yet.
“Josh,” she said.
“I finished him off,” he murmured. “He was still a threat.”
“Josh.”
“I don’t know how to feel about it, Mom.”
Lauren sighed in relief. He sounded so lost, but it was what she wanted to hear. He was too young to be certain about these things. These dark things.
She took him into her arms. “It’s okay,” she whispered.
*
Packy sat in the kitchen, his bad leg propped up on the sandbags, a cigarette in his mouth, underneath a No Smoking sign. Outside he heard cracks of gunfire, then silence. Propping the Mac-10 in the crook of his elbow, he pointed it toward the door. Running footsteps approached, and Rick and Scott appeared in the doorway.
“Well, hey fellas,” said Packy.
“Where are the others?” snapped Rick.