Aftermath (Book 1): Aftermath

by Donovan, J. S.

  Taking one of his brother’s pistols, Conner shambled out into the yard.

  Dean watched Naomi work the lock. “You better be right about this.”

  “Shoot me if I’m not,” Naomi said impulsively.

  Dean looked at her with both shock and a hint of respect before slipping out the front door.

  Calvin entered the hallway, leading the two girls. Naomi released the last lock and opened the basement door. She ushered the girls inside, giving up her candle. The teenagers descended into the darkness.

  “Stay quiet and stay hidden,” Naomi told them from the threshold. “I love you, Trinity.”

  The girl was too much in shock to reply.

  Naomi shut the door and fully relocked it.

  If Naomi didn’t make it out of this, at least the girls would have enough food to last them months.

  In the darkness, Calvin stood in front of her. She could only see his silhouette and the wind blowing in his hair. “Naomi, we need to run.”

  “Get a long rifle from upstairs and get outside,” Naomi commanded.

  “You’re not listening to me,” Calvin said.

  “Just go!”

  Calvin, unable to win this fight, hurried up the steps.

  Naomi took a breath and jogged to the dining room. Allen wasn’t there. Cathleen was. She hadn’t moved.

  “Hey,” Naomi said, approaching her. “Join the men outside.”

  Cathleen turned to her, her face hollow, just like it was when her husband died. “I want to stay with Becca.”

  “Too late,” Naomi replied coldly.

  Cathleen cast down her face.

  Naomi grabbed both her shoulders. “Now!”

  Shaken, the woman ran out of the room.

  Peeved, Naomi twisted back and entered into hall. Her face slammed against Allen’s barrel-like chest.

  He looked down at her.

  “Get me a gun,” Naomi said firmly.

  They went upstairs.

  Taking two hunting shotguns from his cabinet, Allen armed Calvin and Naomi.

  Calvin gave her a kiss and ran back downstairs.

  Naomi and Allen headed for the balcony. “I hope you know what you’re doing, letting the Ryans go like that.”

  Naomi pushed open the door outside. Her hair brushed against her cheek as she held the door and let Allen move to the railing. She shut the house behind her. She was dressed warmly, but not warm enough for the shrieking wind. The cold cut through her clothing, covering her with goose skin. She shuddered and set the shotgun’s stock against her shoulder.

  “Buck or slug.” she asked.

  “Buck,” Allen said.

  “Good,” Naomi cocked the gun and used the railing to support the barrel.

  From the balcony, she looked at the front yard and over the outer wall. The shapes of many trees, a dark road, and distant mountains stood out.

  Naomi watched the surroundings.

  The aluminum cans strung between the oaks clinked to the together. Most of that was from the wind. It was the tight wire that connected to the golden bell that concerned Naomi. Her breath misted. Her alert eyes scanned the tree line.

  She watched.

  Waited.

  Conner was on the workshop side of the house, hunched behind a table and watching the wall. On the other side, Calvin concealed himself in the greenhouse.

  Naomi assumed Dean and Cathleen were in the back.

  Allen and Naomi held opposite corners of the balcony.

  No one made a sound.

  Something moved in the woods about ten yards out from the house. Naomi slid her finger over the trigger.

  “There,” Allen said in a gruff whisper.

  Naomi scanned the wall.

  She saw it.

  The top rung of a ladder appeared on top of the wall.

  Naomi took aim.

  The shadowy figure’s poked his head up.

  “Hold,” Allen said.

  Naomi trembled, keeping the sight on the figure.

  The figure put the upper half of his body over the edge. He scanned the area.

  Naomi’s heart raced. “When?”

  “Hold,” Allen repeated.

  The figure slung his leg over the fence and then slung his other leg, so he was sitting. He looked back and forth and dropped. His feet fell through the brush covering the ground and the man screamed. Though Naomi couldn’t see it, she knew that sharp sticks had impaled his legs.

  Naomi’s stomach dropped as she listened to the helpless, blood-curdling cries.

  “Let him scream,” Allen whispered.

  Naomi’s eyes watered as she listened. She wanted to close her eyes.

  The injured man shouted. “Don’t climb the wall! Don’t climb the wall!”

  He sobbed.

  A fire lit up the woods outside of the gate.

  “There,” Allen pointed out.

  “He’s yours,” Naomi said, surprised by her calmness.

  The small, torch-sized fire ran toward the wall at rapid speed.

  Allen took aim. Steading his breathing, he squeezed the trigger.

  Bam Bam Bam!

  His fully automatic rifle rained down toward the running flame.

  A man yelped, tumbled, and crashed onto the dirt.

  After a second, the fire died out.

  Suddenly, as if stirring a hornet’s nest, shadowy shapes shifted quickly between the trees in the woods. It was anywhere between three and ten.

  Allen burst-fired into the trees.

  This time, the adversaries fired back.

  Bullets zipped by, peppering the walls of the house and breaking one of the upstairs windows. By the randomness of the gunfire, it appeared that the shooters couldn’t see them. Yet.

  Naomi noticed movement toward the right side of the wall. She turned the shotgun that way, turned her will to steel, and pulled the trigger. Only that she didn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to squeeze. Sweat dampened her body. She watched the shadow strafe between trees as clear as day. She knew she could hit it. She was trained to hit it; only she couldn’t bring herself to pull the trigger.

  “Naomi!” Allen commanded her.

  Drawing in her breath, she pulled the trigger. The recoil thumped against her shoulder. A small fire burst from the barrel. The buckshot pellet hit the tree, missing her target by five feet. Naomi quickly cocked the weapon. In the cold, it took considerably more effort.

  She fired another shot.

  Miss.

  The target took cover behind a tree and blind-fired a pistol.

  The wind broke near Naomi’s ear, sending a chill rippling down her body.

  Gunfire erupted behind the house.

  Suddenly, more torch-like fires lit in the woods. Instead of running forward like the first, they were thrown and shattered against the wall. Smoke drifted upward from the impact zone. Soon, tongues of fire climbed up the surface and leapt over the edge. More flames were thrown at different points all over the wall.

  “Molotov cocktails!” Allen shouted.

  Incoming gunfire zipped overhead.

  Naomi moved down the steps. Allen followed, shooting the man stuck in the spikes.

  They reconvened with Conner in the yard. His shallow neck wound had started to scab over. He held his pistol low and in both hands. “They’re going to burn the whole place down.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.” Allen replied sarcastically.

  The fire crackled. A gust of wind battled it, but as soon as the breeze passed, the fire doubled in size and crawled farther across the walls. Bullets punched holes through the wood.

  Conner ducked his head, splitting open the cut on his neck. “What do we do?”

  “The walls will fall soon. Keep an out eye for any breaches,” Allen commanded, gesturing to the place where the fire had spread. “Don’t let anyone through.”

  “Okay.” One hand on his neck, Conner moved to the workbenches near the edge of the building and concealed himself behind a tipped table.

&n
bsp; Allen and Naomi took cover behind the tanning rack with full view of the north side of the wall.

  “Stay here,” Allen commanded as soon as Naomi squatted next him. “I’m going to check around back.”

  “Allen,” Naomi said as Allen stayed in a partial crouched position and raced from cover.

  He vanished behind the side of the building.

  Fear clawed at Naomi’s chest. The weapon grew heavier the longer she held it. She put her hand in her pocket, feeling the extra shotgun cartridges inside. They were still there. She knew they would be but had to check. She had four left in the gun and ten spares. Having been to gun range, she knew how easy it was to burn through ammo. She had to make her bullets count. Thankfully, the front door wasn’t far. If she needed to fall back, she could do so quickly but without much cover.

  A seven-foot section of wall near the gate crackled and blackened. Dark smoke drifted up into the night sky like the presence of death. A second fire danced on the far corner of the north wall while a third fire rose up from behind the entire eastern wall by the greenhouse. Naomi was ignorant of the south wall’s condition.

  The pops of pistols and bangs from rifles died down. The intruders knew that Naomi and Allen had left their vantage points, and weren’t going to waste any more ammo. Apart from the dim light in the dining room, the only source of illumination was the growing flame.

  Naomi glanced over to the Land Rover. She wondered if she should just make a run for it. She had the keys. All she needed was Trinity and Calvin. The Ryans could keep the house and the darn supplies. Now that bullets were flying, canned food and water bottles didn’t matter. Her only goal was to survive the night. Whatever it took.

  The burning seven-foot wall began to bend and fell inward, only held up by the diagonal beam the Ryan brothers had planted into the ground. However, the part of the wood that hadn’t been supported snapped to the side. It opened like a door, allowing a three-foot sliver of the wall. The fire was too bright to see through the gap. Her only reassurance was that fire also hid what was inside.

  The far corner of the north wall suddenly fell in on itself, leaving a ten-foot hole between the west and north walls. Naomi stayed concealed, not wanting to take aim at either gap until she knew where the enemy was coming from. The east wall became a wall of fire. It wouldn’t stand for much longer.

  Gunfire sounded from behind the house.

  “Breach!” A distant voice yelled from the backyard. She didn’t know if it was friend or foe.

  The fire on the north wall spread, lapping up part of the gate and also spreading farther eastward.

  The situation hit Naomi like a train. She wasn’t a soldier. She wasn’t a hardened warrior. She was a thirty-nine year old shrink. Less than a month ago, she lived in a nice house on a nice street in the nice part of town. This wasn’t right.

  “Survive,” she mumbled to herself.

  She got out of Philly, she reminded herself.

  Sections of the north wall collapsed. A flaming five-foot slab slammed into the body of the poor, dead soul in the spike pit. Fire danced across the off-kilter slab, and being unable to spread, flickered and started to die.

  “Survive.”

  Time lost all meaning. It could’ve been a minute or it could’ve been ten.

  “Survive.”

  A human-shaped shadow moved behind a standing section of the wall.

  “Survive.”

  The wind killed the fire in the crushing slab. The burning diagonal support beam toppled forward.

  “Survive.”

  The shadow leaned around the corner.

  Naomi took aim. The fire reflected in her glossy blue eyes.

  “Survive.”

  The shadow hunched and started to dash over the blackened slab.

  Boom!

  The stock punched Naomi.

  The man flew backwards, his scream quickly silenced.

  A moment of quiet fell over the front yard. A barrage of gunfire quickly followed it.

  Naomi dropped to her belly as bullets zipped through the tanning rack and punctured the wall behind her. It was mostly low-caliber pistol and rifle ammunition, so it wouldn’t breach the walls fully.

  Holding the shotgun in both hands and moving like a worm, Naomi crawled across the mulched dirt and headed to the front door. Holding her breath, she quickly got to her feet and ran inside. She slammed the door behind her.

  She propped her head on the wall, allowing herself a moment to breathe. Bullets thumped on the other side. She quickly moved to the barred window. A bullet had already cracked the glass. She aimed out between the bars and fired two thunderous shots through the gap in the flaming fortified wall, and quickly got down. With shaking hands, she reached into her pocket and fed more cartridges into her weapon. She dropped a shell, but didn’t bother getting it.

  She glanced outside of the window, seeing three figures run through the breach and scatter. Naomi cocked her weapon and shot. It was a miss, but some of the scattered pelts took a man in his backside. He screamed, kept himself from falling, and continued his sprint to the greenhouse. Another shotgun sounded from inside of the greenhouse and sent the wounded man recoiling back. His body flopped down the ground, very dead.

  Naomi lost visual on the other two. One had run to the left of the house and the other to the right.

  Someone shot at the greenhouse. Bullets shredded the plastic walls, ripping through one side and out the other. Naomi’s heart skipped a beat, knowing her husband was inside. Part of her wanted to run out there, but she knew that would be suicide.

  Naomi heard the house’s back door fling open.

  She quickly turned back as hasty boots raced into the house.

  As quiet as possible, Naomi darted to the nearby stairs. She ascended into complete blackness.

  Wind whispered through the broken upstairs windows. She backed away from the steps and moved into the study. She kept the door cracked enough to allow her shotgun barrel through and took a knee. Beads of sweat slipped down her nose and cheekbones. She locked a cough behind closed lips.

  A door slammed on the first floor.

  Boots clacked.

  Muffled voices spoke quickly. Friend or foe, Naomi had no way of knowing.

  The wheel on the leather chair squeaked behind her.

  Naomi felt a chill race up her spine.

  She reared her head back to the study. Even though her eyes had adjusted, she could only see the vague black shapes of the furniture. Her whole body trembled as she looked for a moment. Maybe the sound was in her head.

  Her throat was full of splinters. She whispered. “Hello?”

  Another squeak. Naomi twisted back fully this time and took aim.

  A female voice whispered. “Wait!”

  Naomi lowered the gun. “Cathleen?”

  “Shh. They’ll hear you,” Cathleen replied.

  “You’re supposed to be guarding the south wall.”

  “And you’re supposed to be watching the north. Now quiet!”

  Shaking her head, Naomi turned back to the crack in the door. No one had tried the stairs.

  A shape passed under one of the two broken balcony windows.

  Naomi turned her weapon that way.

  The balcony doorknob jiggled.

  Naomi’s skin crawled.

  The knob stopped jiggling. A silhouetted figure peeked the top of their head over the broken glass. Naomi couldn’t tell who it was. For all she knew, it could be her husband.

  Naomi adjusted her grip on the weapon.

  The person lifted their head a little higher.

  Cathleen moved inches behind Naomi and aimed her gun pistol over Naomi’s head. One shot from that close and Naomi would be deaf in her right ear.

  The shadowy figure reached their hand through the barred and broken window and to the doorknob.

  Naomi had a clear shot, but she had to be sure. “C-Cal?” She called out her husband’s anem.

  The figure froze.

  A
bead of sweat dangled at the peak of Naomi's nose.

  Suddenly, the figure drew out a pistol and fired. Something warm speckled the back of Naomi as she squeezed the shotgun’s trigger. Part of silhouetted head popped into the air. The body sank out of view.

  Something heavy thumped behind Naomi.

  She twisted back. “Cathleen?”

  Naomi quickly drew out a lighter and flicked it alive, illuminating the bullet hole in the woman’s left breast. Cathleen grimaced. Every breath was a sharp wheeze. Punctured lung. Naomi felt her will leaving her body. Tears rolling down her face, Cathleen lifted a shaky hand to Naomi’s cheek. “B-becca… I lov…”

  Her hand fell limp. Cathleen wheezed and then became quiet.

  Naomi grabbed the woman’s pistol and kept it close. Not looking back, Naomi retrained her gun at the stairs and balcony.

  She waited.

  Something thumped loudly downstairs.

  Someone was trying to get in.

  Hurried footsteps started moving up the steps.

  Naomi took aim and got ready to shoot.

  A large figure moved up the steps first.

  “Bedroom,” he said as he reached the top step and moved along the walls. He watching his corners and tactically sweeping his rifle back and forth.

  A second figure followed behind with a heavy revolver.

  “Allen,” Naomi whispered.

  Both figures turned to her, aiming.

  “It’s Naomi,” she said quickly.

  “Move to my bedroom,” he whispered.

  Naomi shut the study behind her as Dean rushed to the bedroom door and unlocked it.

  A door busted open downstairs.

  Allen turned back to the stairs. “They’re in.”

  Dean quickly moved into the bedroom, Naomi followed, and then Allen.

  He quietly shut the door behind them.

  “Dresser,” he whispered. Naomi and Dean found the tall rectangular shape, lifted it an inch, and put it in front of the door. The dresser nearly covered it entirely.

  Allen slung the rifle on his shoulder and turned on the hand-cranked lantern.

  His beard had dirt and blood in it. Naomi didn’t ask. Dean had mud across his belly but otherwise looked unharmed.

  Allen glanced around the room. “Help me barricade.”