Looking Back Through Ash

by Wade Ebeling

  “No. I’m good for now. I just want to get out of here,” John pleaded.

  “Alright, let’s go. I’m going to take a look at it when we get back though, okay?” Allen said, turning to head back to his truck.

  “Sure…” John said quickly, with just a hint of abhorrence laced in with it.

  “We ready?” Derek asked impatiently, getting back into the driver’s seat.

  “I guess so. Follow me down to the apartments. I don’t know about you guys, but I need a drink,” Allen said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  A short trip later, the two trucks stopped suddenly when Sunnybrook came into view. Building D, along the west side of the complex, was on fire, and they could hear sporadic gunfire echoing across the parking lot.

  Chapter 15

  Maggie Moore was in pain. There was a deep ache, laced with sharp stabbing agony, whenever she tried to move. The four men had brutalized her in every foul manner, and they had done so repeatedly. Drying blood speckled the sheets and ran cracking paths down her thighs and from multiple, shallow stab wounds. Even as she struggled against the bonds that held her fast, she worried. Not for herself, but for her son.

  Maggie’s right arm was broken in two places, as were several ribs. The shattered ribs, caused by vicious kicks, had punctured a lung and pierced several blood vessels. The lashings binding her feet had cut off the circulation to them; they had grown numb and black. The clicking in her neck told her that one of her vertebrae was fractured, and her eyes were swollen shut and her lips split open. Still, all she wanted was a minute alone with Danny. He needed to hear that this was not his fault.

  After Allen had left, Danny begged to go outside. The thirteen year-old had been quite clever in forming his rouse. Danny said that he wanted to go help water the garden for his father. Allen loved when Danny helped with the garden, of course, and Danny knew that his mother knew this, too. Maggie agreed that a few, short trips to the creek, just inside the wood line to the east, could not hurt. Keeping her boy cooped-up inside this past week had been as hard on her as it had been on him.

  Only minutes after Danny had gone outside, Maggie heard him crying out for her. As any parent will tell you, you can instantly tell when a cry is real or fake. This one was real. If she had been thinking clearly, Maggie would have looked out the small window before opening the door. But her child was in distress, screaming for her in obvious pain, and she was not thinking clearly.

  Maggie heedlessly flung open the door, running headlong into the chest of the largest brute. The dirty, smelly, inner-city thug, and three other cackling teenagers, dragged her, kicking and screaming, back inside. She had only caught a brief glimpse of Danny outside, nose bleeding profusely, before the door was slammed shut. An eternity’s worth of pain and humiliation followed.

  Guns firing and people screaming out their deaths, finally ended her torture. The animals scrambled away, toiling with their pants and shirts as they went. Maggie hoped against hope for one more chance to talk with her son before she died.

  ……..

  Allen quickly formed a loose plan. Jason would stand outside the truck to cover both ends of the parking lot, and to ensure that the trucks didn’t get ripped off. John was sent hobbling away to the northwest opening, to overlook the courtyard from between buildings A and D. Jason could also make sure no one was sneaking up on the tottering man from his position. Derek was tasked with covering the northeast corner, between buildings A and B. Allen would swing down to the southwest opening, between buildings C and D, trying to draw most of the gunfire to him. The Brown brothers and Jason were to keep people from outflanking Allen, and shoot anyone who exposed themselves to fire at him within the courtyard.

  As soon as Allen reached his designated opening, he could see Danny sitting outside their apartment door; his face bloodied. Anger coursed through his body with the realization that people had, most probably, already breached his home. ‘Why else would he be sitting outside?’ his mind started to reason.

  Then, from across the courtyard, he saw a pudgy, out of place, black youth leaving one of the upper apartments on building B’s south end. Training took over for Allen, and the rifle rose up instinctively. Before coming over, he had flipped up the MBUS battle sights, and the co-witnessing red dot hovered just above the front post, centered on the teenager’s face.

  Allen had already fired three times before the smiling, pistol and bag holding looter had descended half-way down the stairs. The first round smashed through thug’s nasal passage and spinal column. This dropped him, the brains signals no longer reaching their destinations, causing Allen’s next two rounds to sail high. The thug’s body tumbled the rest of the way down the stairwell, clearly dead, before bouncing off the hard landing, scattering canned goods from the bag out into the grass.

  Smoke and heat from the fire in building D billowed across the courtyard, obscuring visibility with thick, grey-black wafts. Allen stood out in the open now, waiting for another target to emerge. A loud, high-powered rifle cracked, the sound driving across the ground from his left, followed by howls of agony.

  “John must have got one,” Allen muttered, still scanning for more threats.

  Another rifle report sounded from the exact same direction, which was quickly followed by another further off to his right. Allen knew that the Brown brothers had found a better vantage point to see from, being on the other side of the smoke. He stepped back to the corner of building D, as he stood more chance of getting shot accidentally by one of the brothers, than he did of seeing across the smoke-filled courtyard for what they were shooting at.

  Someone was howling an unearthly death throw. Another crack of a rifle abruptly ended it. From behind the corner, Allen could not tell which of the brothers had fired the killing shot.

  Fifty feet away, from the center of the courtyard, a small-framed black girl ran out from the cover provided by the smoke. She was carrying a chromed pistol in her right hand, and, as a result of the smoke choking her, had the inside crook of her left arm held protectively over her nose and mouth.

  Allen did not hesitate. Shooting from the hip, he fired twice at the girl.

  The girl was so short that his first shot carved a crease across the top of her braided head leaving behind a bright red, contrasting trail. The second shot missed her diving body altogether. The girl screamed shrilly and started to writhe around in the grass of the courtyard, her left hand probing cautiously around the wound on her head. Allen snap shot at her again and again, puffs of grass and dirt flying up when he missed. Enough of rounds struck home, however, and her flopping stopped shortly after.

  A few more crisp rifle shots and pistol shots, deeper and more hollow by comparison, sounded out across the grounds from somewhere out of view. After those died away, all that could be heard was the crackling of the growing building fire, and the high-pitched whine in Allen’s ears from firing the rifle without hearing protection. He called to Danny, but the youth still had his head buried in his arms where he sat on the ground, and gave no indication that he had heard his father’s hail.

  The wind briefly settled, allowing the smoke to rise vertically, slowly clearing the courtyard. Allen saw two bodies lying on the stoop outside of Lynn Donner’s ground floor building D apartment.

  “Good for her,” Allen thought, as he changed to a full magazine, tossing the nearly spent one into the dump pouch on the back of the vest.

  John saw him from across the miasma still hanging in the air, shouting as he stood up, “We get ‘em all?”

  “I don’t know,” Allen replied thickly. “Keep an eye out for anyone else.” He scanned the shadows patterning the buildings, whispering to himself, “What a dumbass.”

  Lynn came out of her apartment, her three children clinging to her sun dress. All of them were carrying bundle sacks of clothing and food. The heat of the fires, set upon both sides of her apartment, chased them hurriedly away. Allen could now make sense of what he was seeing; the marauders could not get
in, so instead, they tried to burn her out.

  “Go that way!” Allen called, pointing north for Lynn.

  Lynn just responded by gathering her children around her and turning to head towards John’s position.

  “Look out!” Derek warned, in a high, frightened pitch. He was looking to Allen’s right, and was struggling to line up his rifle at whatever had scared the masculinity from his voice.

  Allen dropped to his knees as he spun right to face whatever threat had appeared. Four thugs, all in various stages of undress, stumbled out of his apartment door. Danny started scampering, crawling around the far corner in an attempt to get away from the teenagers. One particularly ugly thug spotted Allen first. With a mouthful of yellowed and twisted teeth below the wide nostrils of his brutish nose, the snarling, snaggle-toothed thug let his pants drop around his ankles, trying to bring to bear the AK-47 that he was holding. He had nearly managed to get the rifle aimed, albeit in an off-balanced shooting position.

  Allen immediately understood why the repulsive thug had his pants unbuckled. Snarling right back at the rapist, he started shooting. Subconsciously aimed, his first three bullets hammered into the man’s pelvic and groin area. The brutes face contorted in pain as his knees wobbled before giving out. The next three shots stitched their way up from the stomach to the chest, the last completely shearing off the right superior pulmonary vein. Death came for the man after four more fluttering beats of his scalped heart.

  Derek’s scoped rifle finally barked. The last gangster to make his way out through mud room door started clawing at his flabby chest, as his body pitched forward, in a strange reflex, his leading foot lifted, flailing as it missed a nonexistent step. Landing straight on his round face from a height of six feet, his fleshy jowls made a bone-grinding smack as they impacted with the concrete walk.

  The remaining two thugs now had had their attentions divided. The one closest to Allen started firing wildly. His arm trailed out behind him, as he tried to dash back into the apartment, a Hi-Point .380 pistol blazing away. The one further away, and by far the biggest of the lot, turned and sprinted for the wood line, moving at an incredible pace given his size.

  A bullet burned through the top of Allen’s left forearm, the round expending the last of its energy into the doubled-up magazines on his vest. Adrenaline kept the pain and shock of the freshly seared skin and bruised ribs at bay. Somehow managing to keep his grip on the rifle, Allen quickly leveled it back off. Leading the thug before he started firing, Allen managed to hit the man once in his right thigh as he made an ungainly dive across the threshold.

  “No fucking way,” Allen promised, with tight lips.

  All of Allen’s focus went into getting his frozen-in-place legs moving again. Even Derek’s next rifle report slapping across the courtyard barely registered as he gave chase. Stopping his momentum by slamming into the left side of the doorway, he did not have to look far for his quarry. A short blood streak marred the linoleum floor. The tell-tale trail led right to the injured gang member.

  In his scramble to get away, the hoodlum had pulled the star-spangled curtain down onto himself. He was currently attempting to kick it off with his one good leg, only managing to lose control of his pistol. He could do nothing as it slid just out of arm’s reach.

  “Wait…I didn’t do nothin’. We was just…just,” the thug drawled out. His eyes were white, wide with terror, and he was still trying to slide himself further into the kitchen.

  “What? You were just trying to do what?” Allen inquired, slowly articulating each syllable with seething anger.

  “Don’t,” the doomed boy managed to get out between his sniffling and sniveling.

  Allen took one step into the mud room to have full view of the pleading teenager. Very calmly, he shot him four times. The first round blew a stripe of blood-laced brain matter across the kitchen flooring, the rest, while being completely unnecessary, sure felt like they were needed.

  Indecision and pain overwhelmed Allen. His body struggled with the adrenaline dump, and his mind struggled with the choice of whether to check on Danny or Maggie first. Hearing another gunshot outside made him spin around. Fearful of what might still be aiming a gun at him, he decided to race around the exterior corner. Without having to make a decision, he was already on his way to making sure that his son had made it through the firefight alive.

  Before he made it to the corner, Allen watched Derek crashing through the thin strip of woods, chasing after the escaping gangster. With Derek in the way, he could not chance a shot at the giant man, who was bobbing and weaving like a professional athlete. A child’s sobs drew Allen’s eyes away from the pursuit, and onto his son. Danny was on his side, curled into the fetal position. Bloody snot was strung from his nose to his hands and ground.

  “Danny! Are you alright? Are you hurt?” Allen pleadingly asked.

  Danny rocked back and forth, mumbling something so incoherently that Allen could not make it out.

  Rushing to kneel beside to him, Allen asked again, “Are you hurt?”

  “It’s…all…my…fault,” Danny sobbed out.

  “What do you mean? This is not your fault, Danny. How could these men showing up be your fault? It’s not, you understand me?” Allen implored, sitting his boy up to gently start wiping the gunk from his face.

  “I just wanted…to go…outside,” Danny cried, looking at his father with a deep sorrow. “They…they grabbed me in the woods.” The boy started crying uncontrollably.

  “You see me nail that guy?” John asked with a wide grin, as he limped around the corner.

  Danny grabbed painfully onto Allen’s injured arm at the surprise of the new voice. Allen pointed at the woods. “Your brother went running off after one of them. You better go see if he is alright,” Allen seethed. He was really just asking to be left alone with his distraught son.

  He waited for John to be out of earshot before he softly continued, “What happened after they grabbed you? Did they hurt you? You can tell me. It’s not your fault...”

  Danny seemed to compose himself enough to finish his story. “They punched me, and twisted my arms so they hurt. They made me, Dad. They made me…call for Mom.” Danny’s eyes and face filled with a deep shame while saying this.

  “Stay here. Do not come inside. You listening to me?” Allen said firmly, while standing up and pointing at Danny to ensure his compliance.

  “That big fucker got away! Went runnin’ down some damn tunnel!” Derek yelled, from somewhere past the trees. “Big Boy could move…”

  Allen paid him no heed. As he moved, not knowing if he would get another chance, Allen changed magazines again, dropping the half full one into the dump bag. Training had him slowly cross-stepping back into the apartment, rifle following the movement of his eyes. He made small, careful steps around the body in the kitchen, careful to not slip on the blood-slickened linoleum. Checking every corner as he went, Allen looked in every room until all that remained was the master bedroom. The door was open, and the room’s contents lay strewn across the beige carpet.

  Allen froze at the sight of Maggie. She was naked, face down, and tied to the four corners of the bed. The areas of her body not covered in blood held deep, purple bruises. Her feet were swollen, and had turned an unnatural grey-black color. The bindings had acted like tourniquets twisted too tightly, and she had pulled at the cords so hard that they cut into the swollen skin around her wrist and ankles. Darkened, thick blood oozed out from her toenails. There was no doubt in his mind, she would lose her feet.

  The rifle nearly dropped from his hands, so he set it on the ground near the foot of the bed. He then pulled a folding knife from his pocket, flicking it opened to cut the electrical cords that held her appendages. Maggie seemed to wake at the noise, crying out as he approached.

  “It’s me. It’s just me, Maggie,” Allen assured. She still recoiled when he touched her wrist to steady the first cord. Allen circled around, cutting and freeing her from the bonds as he w
ent.

  Maggie made no attempt to move after being released. She just moaned in agony; too many injuries to know where to start. Allen retrieved the comforter from the floor and gently covered his wife’s lower half. He wanted to sit next to her, but he knew the bed jostling would just cause her more grief.

  “Maggie…I’m…so sorry! I never should have left!” Allen cried out, not knowing what else to do.

  Maggie managed to turn her head towards the sound of his voice, uttering one clearly identifiable word, “Danny?”

  Allen couldn’t stop his face from cringing when he saw the true state of her. Her nose was smashed to the side and both of her eyes were completely swollen shut. Splinters of broken teeth had shredded her lips, and the raised welts of cuts on her face would have made identification impossible. All that remained of his wife was the shock of bright red hair, which had dried semen staining it.

  “Maggie,” Allen sighed. His word was filled with the pain that he knew she must feel. “Oh, Maggie.” Allen sat next to her, wincing as she did. He didn’t know where to try and touch his wife in a futile effort to comfort her. It seemed impossible, but there was not an inch of unmolested skin left to stroke. He stayed his hand, not wanting to cause her any more pain.

  “Is…Danny?” Maggie implored.

  “No. He is fine. He is outside…saying that this is…well, his fault,” Allen answered.

  Maggie endured the pain long enough to shake her head ‘no’ before her arms and legs began to shake uncontrollably.

  “Please!” Allen yelled imploringly at the ceiling, knowing full well that no reply was coming.

  This roused Maggie from the brief fit, and she reached out with her hand, searching for his. Allen scooped her twisted hand up from the bed as gently as possible.

  “You tell him…You have to tell him. This is not his fault,” Maggie groaned, and then seemed to lose consciousness for a few moments. She woke with a startling shiver. “Allen?” she asked, concerned that she was alone again.