Shane winced. Corbin was offering himself as bait to protect the family. He would have hugged the kid if he didn’t feel so guilty about it. Still, he dared not refuse. It might save their lives.
“Thanks, Corbin. I know you’ll do the right thing,” Shane said. “I’ve always been able to count on you.”
Corbin gave an awkward grin and ducked his head.
“James, Mike, let’s go.” He pulled the shotgun off the shelf and handed it to Mike. Then he grabbed the Glock and gave it to James. Though he was more familiar with the Glock, there was something viscerally satisfying about the thought of shooting at the gang with the AR-15. “Maybe we can round up a few more townsfolk along the way. A bigger force can hit harder.”
It was a terrible plan, and everyone knew it was a terrible plan. He could see it on their faces, but it was all they could do. They had to rescue Owen, and if, in doing so, they could save the town as well, so be it. Even if they failed, Shane was determined to give this gang such hell that they would rue the day they’d ever crossed paths with his family.
24
Not everyone had gone to the high school. They found a number of people huddled in their homes, keeping watch from windows or doors. James tried to talk them into joining their march on the high school, but he didn’t have much success. Finally, they found themselves standing at the front door of a small house that was within sight of the school. The homeowner was a hugely-gutted gentleman was a great, gray beard. James knew him, of course, as he knew most people in town.
“Gary Morde,” he said. “We believe the gang is making its way to the high school right now. Once they secure the building, they will go through the whole town house by house. We’ll all be easy pickings. This is our last, best hope to defend the community.”
“Okay,” Gary said stroking his beard. “Count me in. I go get my old Henry rifle. Just a second.”
He shut the door but returned shortly with a Henry .45-70, a lever-action rifle that looked like it had seen many a hunting trip. The wood stock was dinged up and age-darkened, but the scope mounted on top seemed quite a bit newer. Gary was shoving bullets into his shirt pocket when he stepped outside.
“I’m ready,” he said. “Let’s do this.”
James nodded his head in the direction of the school, and they resumed walking. They stopped at a few more houses along the way so that by the time they drew near the school, a small group of locals had joined them, marching along behind Shane, James, and Mike like a small army. They were all armed, carrying a strange array of guns and rifles. James recognized a few of them as people who had been hostile to him at the last town meeting, so he was impressed that they had decided to fight.
“We’re still outnumbered,” Mike said, glancing over his shoulder at the dozen or so who followed behind, “but if we’re careful, we’ll have the element of surprise.”
“No one’s taking anything from us,” Gary Morde said. “I owe these guys for shooting up my car and killing one of my passengers.”
“They’re an ugly bunch of man-apes,” Mike said, “but they’re not bulletproof.”
Just before cresting a low rise and coming in sight of the school, they cut across a field, avoiding the big glass windows along the front of the building. James took the lead. He was, after all, the only one with any real experience in this kind of situation, though he’d never faced off against so many. Shane pulled the AR-15 off his shoulder and nodded at James.
“Keep an eye out,” James said. “We have no idea when they’ll get here. The second you see the gang, take cover and start firing. Don’t hold back. A swift and unexpected attack is our only advantage.”
He looked at the people behind him to make sure they got the point.
“Just be careful where you aim,” Shane said. “Don’t hit my son or any other townsfolk. Pick your targets.”
“It if looks like an ugly Neanderthal, shoot it,” Mike added. “If it looks human, don’t shoot it. Trust me, I’ve seen these people. They’re one step above swamp monsters.”
James skirted the edge of the property and approached the rear corner of the school. It was the safest approach, as the wall on this side had the fewest windows. Still, as he led the posse out into the open, he scanned the windows. He saw nothing moving inside the school. When he reached the wall, he pressed himself up against the warm bricks. The others followed suit. He was impressed to see the locals moving together, as if they’d been trained in formation. They lined up along the wall with their weapons at the ready.
“We’re just checking the perimeter,” he said quietly. “Keep your eyes and ears open.”
He peered around the corner, looking to the far side of the building where the gym protruded into a field near the football stadium. Immediately, he spotted dark figures pacing in front of the gym doors. Three of them, all dressed in black leather and black boots, they were as Mike had described them—rough men. James eased back behind the wall.
“They’re already here,” he said.
When his followers began to react, he frantically motioned for them to remain silent. Shane was practically shaking with rage, a glint of pure hatred in his eyes. James held up a hand to signal him to wait.
“What’s the distance?” Mike asked, checking the double-barrel shotgun to make sure both barrels were loaded.
“Maybe thirty yards,” James said. “They are guarding the gym doors, but they don’t seem particularly vigilant.”
“You said it before,” Shane said. “Surprise is our only advantage. Let’s rush them now and open fire. No reason not to.”
Shane looked from face to face, as if daring anyone to disagree. Instead, he got mostly nods of agreement.
“No,” James said, as forcefully as he dared. “If we rush them with guns blazing, we’ll draw every armed member of the gang. That’s a good way to get us all killed. We need to try to rush to their position and subdue them quietly.”
“How in the world are we going to manage that?” Shane said.
James peeked around the corner again. The only cover between them and the gym was a large industrial HVAC condenser at roughly the halfway point.
“Crouch, move low, and head for the air conditioner unit behind the building,” he said over his shoulder. “Make as little noise as humanly possible. From there, we rush them, grab them, and shut them up. Got it?”
“They’ll hear us,” Shane said.
“Well…” James held up the Glock. “Then we go to Plan B. Move fast, people.”
“You ever read about the Battle of Gettysburg?” Mike said. “Pickett’s charge, specifically?”
“Pickett led his men across more than a mile of open field toward the Union position on Cemetery Ridge,” Gary Morde said. “Most of them died in the process.”
“Exactly, Gary,” Mike said. “Exactly. That’s kind of what this feels like.”
James shushed him. “Just move low, fast, and quiet as possible. Here we go. Now!”
With that, James charged around the corner, bringing the Glock up as he ran for the condenser unit. There was a moment, just as he stepped out into the open, where the reality of what he was doing sank in, and a whole-body horror washed over him. He heard the others following, making far more noise than he’d hoped. When he dared a quick look, he saw them fanning out like an actual Civil War charge, creating an enormous target.
He turned back around, still at least twenty feet from the condenser, and realized they’d already failed. The guards had either seen or heard them. Two of them drew guns from their jacket pockets, and the third made a run for the gym doors.
“Open fire! Open fire!” James shouted.
He began shooting just as the bikers returned fire. Distant flashes of light let him know his life was in danger. The townsfolk began to fire as well. Some stopped, crouched, and took aim. Others continued to run. The sound of the guns, all of them different makes and models, created a deafening symphony.
One of the bikers reached the gym doors, b
ut the others held their ground. Being out in front, James felt terribly exposed, his skin crawling as he expected at any moment to be hit. People were shouting and cursing behind him, but he couldn’t tell if they were in pain or not. As he neared the big AC unit, he dropped onto his knees and slid. Just before he fell out of sight of the bikers, he saw one of them slip through the gym doors.
Going for help, James thought, in his fear-fragmented state of mind. We’re doomed.
Others townsfolks reached the AC unit and dropped down beside him. Shane and Mike came first, and he turned to make sure they weren’t hit. Shane was uttering an endless string of profanities at the top of his lungs as he fiddled with the AR-15. When he saw James looking at him, he said, “It jammed! Looks like it tried to feed two bullets at the same time. Can you believe it?” Mike sat on the grass and opened the shotgun, fumbling with shells from his shirt pocket as he attempted to reload.
Gary Morde came last, and there was something strange in his stiff-limbed gait. Just before he drew up next to James, he stopped in his tracks, and the old Henry rifle slipped from his grasp. As he started to fall, the side of his windbreaker swept open, and James saw the massive amount of blood soaking through the shirt underneath. He hit the ground without trying to break his fall, a loud, long groan escaping him.
“Keep shooting,” James told the others, as he reached for the wounded man.
Shane finally got the jammed bullet out of the chamber, and he angrily cast it aside. Then he rose above the AC unit and took a few more shots. Mike joined him, firing both barrels of the shotgun in quick succession. Other townsfolk joined in.
“Gary.” James called his name as he rolled the wounded man over. It was a lung shot. Blood bubbled from his nostrils and mouth. As James dragged him close, he saw the glassy look and knew Gary Morde was already slipping away. “Damn.”
“We hit one, missed the other two completely,” Shane said, dropping back down behind the AC unit. “Twelve people firing at three men, and we missed two of them. So much for all of our training.”
Mike dropped down then as well, setting the shotgun between his knees. All shooting ceased, and a terrible quiet descended over them.
“They went inside,” Mike told James. “Do we give chase?”
“No. No,” James replied, “hang on just a second. Reload. Let me think.”
He rolled Gary on his side. Then he peered around the side of the AC condenser. He could see where bullets had eaten away at the bricks of the gym wall. One of the bikers lay on the ground near the doors, curled up with his arms around his head as if he’d tried to shield himself. The other two were gone.
“Did we just make things a hell of a lot worse?” Mike asked.
“No,” Shane said. “We have to chase them into the building. We have to take out the rest of these guys.”
“Gary is dead,” one of the townsfolk cried.
“We’ll all be dead if we don’t deal with these guys right now,” Shane said. “We’re giving them time to regroup. They could come at us from multiple angles.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” James said. “We have to see this through.”
He started to rise, the Glock hot in his hands, when he heard a familiar voice calling to them in the distance. At the sound, Shane gasped and almost dropped the AR-15.
“Dad!”
James leaned around the corner and saw Owen in the open doorway of the gym. A large man stood behind him, forcing him outside, one hand clamped down on Owen’s upper arm, the second holding a gun to the side of his head.
Shane rose then, bracing the AR-15 against the top of the AC unit, but the man behind Owen was using him as a shield. James could see enough of the man to realize he was enormous, a broad-shouldered beast in a black leather jacket and boots designed for an elephant.
“That’s Trent, I assume,” James muttered. “Their leader.”
Shane continued to aim, staring through the sight of the AR-15. James watched him, afraid he was going to try to take the shot. Hadn’t they all just proved how bad their aim was?
“I know this is your son,” Trent said. He had a coarse voice, hardly human. “He’s told me everything. Don’t get him killed.”
Trent kept coming, walking away from the gym with Owen in front of him. James sensed others moving in the darkened gym.
“Let’s make a trade, daddy,” Trent said. “Drop your weapons and surrender, and I’ll let the boy live. Now, does that sound fair?”
James could hear Shane’s breathing, an almost guttural sound of rage. Shane still had the AR-15 trained on the distant figures.
“Dad, don’t get your nice boy here killed,” Trent shouted, jabbing the barrel of his pistol repeatedly against the side of Owen’s head. “Put your gun down and let him live. He’s so young. He’s got so many years ahead of him. Come on, now. You walk over here and surrender, daddy, and I’ll let your son go free. Isn’t that a fair trade? Wouldn’t you do anything to save him?”
Finally, with a snarl, Shane set the rifle on the ground at his feet. “I’m not a good enough shot,” he muttered. “Can’t be sure I’d hit the right one.”
“Are you going out there?” James said.
“Of course,” Shane replied. “What else can I do?”
Shane rose and marched around the side of the AC unit, his arms held out to his sides to show he had no weapons.
“There you go,” Trent said. “Come over here and get your son, and let’s stop all of this foolishness. What are we shooting at each other like maniacs for? There’s no reason for it.”
James watched as Shane marched toward the gym, and he felt helpless. He couldn’t just let Shane hand himself over to these people, but Owen made for a rather large human shield.
“Don’t hurt him,” Shane said. “I surrender.”
Trent laughed at this. James hated the sound of the man’s laughter, a low breathy wheeze like some blood-crazed animal.
“What do we do?” Mike said, stepping out from behind the condenser to watch. “They’ll kill ’em both. He can’t just turn himself in, Sheriff.”
Before James could answer, the sudden crack of a gunshot cut through Trent’s laughter. The thug leader stumbled backward, grabbing his shoulder with his free hand. He brought the pistol up and returned fire blindly, and Shane dropped.
25
Shane couldn’t tell who had fired at whom, but Trent released his hold on Owen and stumbled toward the gym doors. As he approached the darkness, hands reached out and grabbed his leather jacket, pulling him inside the building. The doors swung shut with a bang. Shane had dropped to his hands and knees at the sound of gunfire, but he rose now and rushed at Owen.
“Owen, are you hurt?” he said, helping his son to his feet.
Owen had clearly been roughed up. He had a fat lower lip and scrapes and bruises on his face. His red eyes indicated that he’d been crying. It was enough that Shane couldn’t yell at him for his foolishness, even though he very much wanted to.
He put an arm around his son and turned to guide him back to the others. When he did, he saw a lone figure standing a few feet away from the AC unit, a Tikka T3 hunting rifle in his hands. He stood there in a camouflage t-shirt and cargo pants looking like some kind of commando, and for a moment, Shane was speechless.
“Corbin, where the heck did you come from?” he said, finally. “Did you just take that shot?”
Corbin lowered the sleek black rifle and came toward him. “Yes, sir, he was a huge target. I would have gone for his head, but his shoulder was the clearer shot.”
Shane might’ve hugged the kid if it wouldn’t have been awkward.
“You were supposed to be guarding the house,” Shane said. “What made you come here?”
“Jodi had a bad feeling,” Corbin replied. “She wanted me to come and help, so I did.”
James called Shane’s name, and Shane knew by the tone of his voice that there was a serious problem. He rushed over to the AC condenser, where he found the townsfol
k clustered around two bodies. One of them was Gary Morde, who was clearly dead. He had taken at least two bullets to the chest, and he now lay in a pool of blood, his eyes open and lifeless. The second body was Mike, who was curled on his side, clutching his right leg and writhing.
“Mike, did you get hit?” Shane said, kneeling beside him.
“Trent shot the guy recovering from cancer,” Mike said, through clenched teeth. “Can you believe it? Animal!”
James peeled Mike’s hands away, revealing a long tear in his fabric of his sweatpants. The bullet had grazed him, cutting a shallow, bloody trench along the outside of his thigh.
“It’s just a flesh wound, my friend,” James said. “It might hurt, but you’ll survive. You probably won’t even need stitches.”
“Are you sure I’m not dying?” Mike said. “It feels like I’m dying.”
“Not from this, no,” James replied. “Still, we’d better get you back to the house. You’ll do no good here. Let’s help him up, guys.”
As townsfolk rallied around Mike, others dragged the body of Gary Morde—no easy feat considering the size of the man. Corbin rushed over to help, but Shane stepped in front of him.
“What’s going on at the house?” he asked.
“Everything’s fine there,” Corbin replied.
“Well, your timing was excellent,” Shane said. The townsfolk had begun to bear the bodies back toward the parking lot. “Folks, I have to get my son back home. He’s injured.”
“What about the others inside the gym?” one of the townsfolk said. Shane thought her name was Claire.
“We’ll retreat and regroup,” the sheriff said. “Shane needs to get his son home, but some of you can come with me. We’ll come at the school again from a different direction.”
“Are you sure about that?” Shane asked.
Surviving The End (Book 3): New World Page 23