The third house from the corner was not only abandoned, it had been burned as well. He went through its back gate and lugged his heavy weapons bag into the back yard and up to the charred remnants of the house.
The rain was moderate now. Enough to limit visibility on both sides, but not so much he wouldn’t be able to use all the weapons at his disposal. He’d never fired his crossbow under such conditions, and he wouldn’t had there been a driving rain. But in a moderate rain he saw no potential impact on his bolts as they flew swiftly through the air, other than maybe taking a slight drop.
And he could adjust for a little droppage.
He took the crossbow from the bag and set it aside, then loaded his bolt rack, then the weapon itself.
He was tempted to take a hand grenade. He hadn’t used one since Fallujah, but he remembered their impact. Not just on the unfortunate bodies which got in their way, but on the morale of the men who’d just seen their buddies torn to shreds.
He suspected that the sentries, knowing they were fighting a man with such weapons, would drop their guns and scatter like the wind.
The problem was, an explosion would attract attention and take away another ally: the element of surprise.
No, this first assault had to be silent. He couldn’t announce his presence. Not just yet.
He guzzled a bottle of water, then another. His backpack was unnecessary weight and would be left behind with the weapons bag. And he didn’t know how long his campaign would last. This would be his base of operations, this shell of a house hidden behind a six foot privacy fence. He might be in Crazy Town for only a few hours. Or it might be days. In any event, he didn’t know when or how often he’d get the chance to come back here. He couldn’t allow himself to become dehydrated if it was many hours.
He took a third bottle of water and shoved it into the upper pocket on his right leg.
Into the calf pocket on the same leg he put two magazines for his 9 mm handgun. He didn’t expect to use it. It was a close range weapon. But he couldn’t afford to run out of ammo if he did need it. He didn’t mind dying against a superior aggressor in a fair fight. But he didn’t want to die the humiliating death of an idiot who didn’t plan for every scenario.
Into each pocket on his left leg he placed two magazines for his AR-15.
He shoved the weapons bag and his backpack beneath a half-burned piece of plywood and made his way back to the alley, where he exited the yard through the same back gate he’d used minutes before.
The alley wasn’t paved, and the wheel ruts from once-frequent garbage trucks were muddy from the rain.
He’d have left very visible footprints if he’d moved down the center of the alley, so he stuck to the grassy areas next to the fences.
They provided much better cover anyway.
A few minutes later he was within spitting distance of the checkpoint sentries, sizing them up from his cover behind an abandoned Subaru.
Chapter 52
If the men he was watching had been his Marines, Dave would have been pissed.
Since they were the enemy, not so much.
In fact, Dave couldn’t have been more pleased, for it was apparent they hadn’t learned anything from his excursion into the camp two nights before.
One was standing outside the Town Car, holding an umbrella in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. He was wearing a black Old Navy hoodie and his rifle was slung over his shoulder. He was leaning against the car and giving maybe half his attention to his job.
And he was actually humming to himself, to some tune Dave couldn’t quite make out through the raindrops.
Dave wondered how many others were in the car.
It was impossible to tell. But he had to assume they had working radios, even though he couldn’t see one on the smoker. It may well have been hidden beneath his clothing to protect it from the rain.
He had to dispatch all of them. If he hit only one, the others would raise the alarm as soon as they found him. If he just bypassed them and went on to hit the headquarters, the HQ would call them in as reinforcements.
No, he had to take them all out.
The smoker put out his cigarette and checked his watch. Then he sauntered over to the car and rapped twice on the passenger side window.
The door opened and a second man stepped out. The umbrella changed hands first, and then the rifle. The smoker took his turn inside the dry car and the new man started pacing back and forth outside.
There were at least two of them, obviously rotating shifts in the rain. The trouble was, Dave didn’t know how long the shifts were or how many more men were waiting in the car to take their turns.
He could answer both questions by waiting patiently. He hunkered down and tried his best to relax.
Exactly thirty minutes later, the second man went back to the window and rapped on it.
Dave was happy to see the man in the Old Navy hoodie step out to take his turn again.
There was only the two of them, taking turns in the rain every thirty minutes.
He checked his watch. It was, by his reckoning, five minutes after midnight.
He moved to a new position, a bit closer and with the light wind at his back.
His firing position.
Dave wasn’t sure what impact the rain would have on his crossbow’s bolt as it flew through the air. Maybe none. Just to be safe, though, he’d assume a bit of droppage was inevitable as the bolt flew the twenty yards or so between him and his target. He’d shoot just a bit high to allow for that.
He also had to fire when the man was far enough away from the Town Car not to fall on it or against it. He couldn’t alert the man inside there was anything amiss.
His aim would have to be true. He had to drop the man in a single shot. He couldn’t afford to allow him the opportunity to call out, or to fall against the hood of the car, or to fall out of Dave’s sight and let him use his radio to call for reinforcements.
This might well be the most important shot Dave had ever made.
Of course, weren’t all of them?
Luckily, Old Navy seemed a nervous sort. Or maybe he was just bored. He spent a good portion of his watch pacing back and forth.
Dave checked the time frequently.
There wasn’t much else to do. His crossbow was already charged and ready to fire.
He was already in position, behind a 1974 Camaro which looked very much like the one his best friend owned in high school. All he had to do was rise, brace himself, and fire.
Old Navy was pacing, back and forth, first walking directly toward Dave, then doing an about face and walking away from him.
He was several feet from the front of the Town Car.
At twelve twenty five the rain picked up considerably and Dave started to wonder if he should aim his shot even higher on his target. But be decided not to. The bolt would fly at great velocity. Certainly too fast to gather a lot of water. Certainly not enough to weigh it down appreciably.
He hoped.
At least the rain would help deaden the sound of the man as he fell. And any sound he might make when he was hit.
He looked at his watch one last time. It was twelve thirty.
Go time.
His target was still pacing back and forth. It would have been easier for Dave to just shoot the man in the back as he walked away from him.
But Dave wasn’t that way. He could not, would not, shoot a man in the back under any circumstances.
It wasn’t considered civilized or fair back in the days of the old west. And in Dave’s mind it still wasn’t.
As the man walked with his back to Dave, Dave rose up from behind the old Camaro and leaned over its hood. He braced himself, held his breath and got ready to fire.
Old Navy turned and began walking back toward Dave, although he had no goggles and had no idea he was getting ready to die. From that distance, in the dark and with the rain beating down upon both of them, he couldn’t see Dave or his crossbow.
Dave squeezed the
trigger, aiming at the top of the man’s heart.
The man gasped and dropped his cigarette, a look of surprise overtaking his face.
He fell to his knees, then face forward onto the pavement in front of him.
He made no effort to turn his head or close his eyes for he was dead before his face hit the street.
Chapter 53
So far so good.
Dave left the crossbow on the hood of the Camaro and drew his knife from his boot. He made his way to the window of the Town Car and checked his watch again.
At twelve thirty five, exactly half an hour after the sentries had last changed positions, Dave rapped on the window of the car.
He heard cursing from within the car. The second sentry obviously had no desire to get back out into the downpour.
And in that regard, Dave would help him. For he wouldn’t have to.
As the man stepped out, Dave’s first thrust was to the throat.
It was quick and on target, and meant to keep the man from crying out.
As he expected, both of the man’s hands went immediately to his throat and his face expressed a feeling of terror.
With his chest left unguarded, it was easy for Dave to ensure his second thrust was true as well.
Straight through the heart.
The man fell backward, his upper body in the car, his legs still being pummeled by the rain.
He got half his wish, anyway. Half of him would remain dry.
Dave took the man’s handgun from its holster. Then he went to Old Navy and relieved him of his own handgun and the AK-47 he’d worn over his shoulder.
Dave didn’t need the weapons.
But he couldn’t afford to leave them either.
He knew nothing of the enemy’s strength, or their firepower.
They might have hundreds of men, and hundreds of weapons.
Or they might have so few weapons they had to share between them.
In any event, leaving the weapons here would mean they might be used against him.
And that just wouldn’t do.
He retrieved his crossbow and ran into the yard of the house on the corner. There he heaved the rifle and the handguns onto the house’s roof.
He knew where they were, and could retrieve them later if he needed them.
But the bad guys would have no clue where to find them.
Chapter 54
Beth Speer was wise beyond her eight short years.
She knew that she was an outsider. That she didn’t belong to these people. That she was taken against her will and without her mother’s knowledge.
Taken away to a place far away from everyone she’d ever known and loved.
It wasn’t right, that they’d taken her. She knew that. But she’d also sensed the old woman had needed her. That in the old woman’s eyes she was someone else. Someone who’d brought the old woman so much happiness.
Beth could also see that she could fill that role. She could bring the light back into the old woman’s eyes. And she was more than willing to do so.
Because Beth was just that way.
And after all, the woman she called Grandma Nellie was kind to her. As kind as anyone had ever been.
Beth was happy to ease her pain. To coddle her and pretend to be someone she wasn’t. It hurt nobody, but made Nellie so much happier.
But now Nellie was gone and things had changed so much.
Now it was the old man’s turn to be in a miserable state.
Sal had loved Becky as much as Nellie did. He was just as torn as she when their little granddaughter died.
The difference was that Nellie was wracked with dementia. In her mind Becky and Beth were one and the same. In her troubled mind Becky never left her. In her troubled mind the little girl who held her hand and told her things were all right was the same Becky she’d rocked to sleep as an infant.
Sal, of course, knew better.
Sal knew from the beginning that Beth wasn’t his granddaughter, despite Nellie’s protestations that she was.
Sal knew it was wrong to purchase Beth from Sanchez. Although Sanchez talked a good game about running an orphanage for children, Sal could see him for what he was.
A con man, through and through.
Sal was able to keep his guilt at bay by convincing himself that maybe the child was indeed an orphan. That Sanchez certainly was no advocate for her needs and certainly ran no orphanage.
But maybe, just maybe, if she really didn’t have any parents, maybe he and Nellie could fill that role.
And certainly if she had parents, they’d have come running out of the house that day to prevent Sanchez’ sale of the child to Sal and Nellie.
He also kept his feelings of guilt at bay by seeing the difference Beth had made in Nellie’s life.
Beth made her smile for the first time in months.
Beth put the gleam back in Nellie’s eyes.
Beth gave the old woman life once again.
Sal convinced himself that, regardless of the circumstances in which Beth came to live with them, it was better for all concerned.
Nellie became vibrant again. She was her old self once again.
The child was in good hands. Hands which would care for her and protect her. And keep her away from men like Sanchez.
And if Beth really did have living parents and a family back in Kansas… well, they should take solace in knowing that she was placed with a couple who’d do right by her.
After all, Sal had only Beth’s word that her mother was decent and kind and cared for her.
For all Sal knew, the exact opposite might be true.
For all those reasons, Sal had felt little guilt and lost little sleep in knowing they’d purchased a human being and taken her away under nefarious means.
All that changed when Nellie died.
Sal no longer had to pretend he’d legally adopted the child.
And the guilt finally hit him hard, like a sledge hammer.
Then the depression. As though Nellie’s death wasn’t bad enough.
He’d kept it a secret from everyone else in the compound. Sure, Beth wasn’t shy about telling the other children, and even some of the adults, that she wasn’t really Sal’s granddaughter. That her name wasn’t really Becky. That she had her own family somewhere else.
Sal had countered her claims merely by denying them. He said she was merely a troubled child who’d suffered a lot of trauma in seeing her family murdered in front of her. That her claims were just the acts of a lonely child who was desperate for love and attention and sympathy.
Sal’s brother Benny was one of the few adults in the compound who knew the truth.
For he’d known Becky.
And he knew that Beth wasn’t her.
“What are you going to do with her?” he’d asked Sal several days after Nellie was laid to rest.
“I honestly don’t know,” Sal had replied. “I suppose I could take her back to Kansas City. To return her to the place where I got her. But the trip was so harsh. And I’m so old. I’m not sure I could make that journey again. And I’m still not sure the situation she’s in now isn’t better than the one she was in. I mean, the man she calls Sanchez… he was an evil one through and through. I could see it the moment I set eyes upon him. A big part of me thinks she’s better off here than going back to that man, who might do God-knows-what to her.”
It was, of course, rationalization in a classic form.
But it made it much easier to justify in his own mind why it would be easier and better for all concerned to just leave Beth where she was.
“Besides,” Sal continued, “I’m not even sure I could find that place again if I did take her back. When we found it we were just wandering around in the dark looking for a horse to buy, not paying much attention to road signs or landmarks. I might take her back on a fool’s journey, unable to reunite her.
“I think she’s better off here. I can still raise her and provide for her, just as well as anyone back th
ere could.”
Benny, for his part, was a God fearing Christian man. He didn’t like any of it, although he tried very hard to understand his brother’s reasoning for buying the girl.
Sal looked to Benny for advice, and got an earful.
“You’ve got to take her aside and apologize to her. Explain to her that it was wrong to purchase her. That you know that now. That you were blinded by your desire to make Nellie happy.
“You’ve also got to explain to her that you’re sorry. That you did a very bad thing, but that you cannot take her back. But that the least you can do is admit to one and all she’s not your granddaughter. That her name really is Beth. And that she came to you under the worst of circumstances.
“Then you must tell her that even though you cannot take her back, that you’ll raise her as your own. That she’ll want for nothing. That in time her former family will become just a distant memory, and that she’ll learn to accept and love her new family.
“She won’t like it. And neither of us can blame her. But under the circumstances she’ll have little choice but to accept it.
“This blackout has been hell on all of us, in different ways. We’ve got people living amongst us who have lost every relative they ever had.
“It may sound very harsh, but this child is better off than many. At least she’ll grow up knowing her family was still alive when she last saw them. It’ll give her hope that maybe when she’s grown, the world will be a different place than it is today. Perhaps in her lifetime people will be able to get about easier. Perhaps in her lifetime she’ll be able to go back and find her first family, if that’s what she desires.
“Tell her that. It’ll give her hope and help sustain her in the months and years ahead.
“And tell her in the meantime you’ll protect and provide for her, just as though she really was Becky.
“Answer me this, Sal. Do you love this child?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. We started out on rocky footing. But she’s grown on me. She’s a special child in so many ways. And yes, I love her.”
“Then go to her. Tell her you’re sorry for the circumstances which brought you two together. Tell her you believed Sanchez. That you thought you were legally adopting her. Make her understand you had only her best interests in mind.
On Desert Sands: Alone: Book 6 Page 15