The man to his left screamed as well, pulling at his leg with both hands, his rifle discarded on the ground nearby. He screamed in panic as he struggled to free his foot, all the while shredding his calf and Achilles’ tendon on the razor wire in the trench.
The first man turned to see how far away the log was just as it arrived, slamming into his body, crushing his rib cage and breaking his back with its force. The end of the log struck the other man as well, hitting him in the back of his head, knocking him out while pitching him forward, where his torso smashed into a large rock. The rock broke his ribs, causing one of the bones to puncture his left lung.
The log bounced over the two men and hit the embedded spikes, stopping it in place as the two men lay on the ground, their lives slowly departing them.
To the right, the two other men froze, afraid to move after what they’d witnessed. The taller one, a red headed man named Scott, whispered to the other. “See anything?”
“No! You think there are more traps?”
“Dunno,” Scott replied as he gathered the strength to step forward gingerly.
Whoosh!
He dove for the ground, fully expecting something to come for his head. When nothing came, he slowly got up, shaking his head. “What the fuck?”
The other man walked over to him slowly. “I think these people got lucky with that one trap. Probably messed up that one - ”
Twang.
Terrified, they ran towards the fence as the log barreled down on them, their concerns about other traps temporarily suspended. The red-haired man looked to his left to where the other man had been crushed by the first log and timed his jump, leaping over the trench.
His momentum carried him into the embedded spikes at the base of the fence, where one penetrated deep into his thigh, grazing the bone as it embedded itself into the muscle. He screamed in agony as he fell forward, his face and hands sliding along the length of razor wire.
His partner tried the same leap, but failed in the execution, jumping too late. His foot slid down into the trench, somehow avoiding the spikes, but the unexpected fall pitched him forward.
His right eye found one of the spikes, giving way as his momentum guided the splintered wood into his brain, killing him instantly.
The log rolled over his prone body, and smashed into the man named Scott, forcing him further onto the spike.
Near the corner of the street below the cabin, Sheriff Halwell heard the screams of his men as they died on the hill. It filled him with a rage he hadn’t felt in years.
Things were supposed to go his way.
“Son of a bitch!! I’ll fucking kill these motherfuckers!!” Turning to the twelve men he’d kept back with him, he barked, “Alright, fuck this. We’re going in full force. Diesel, Luke, I want you two leading the charge from that side.” He pointed up the hill towards the right side of the cabin, then towards a group of three men. “Take these three with you.” Nodding, the two bikers strode forward, rifles in hand. The other men followed.
Turning to his long time friend, he jabbed his finger at the man. “Ricky, Harold, I want you to hit ‘em from the other side. Take those two with you.
“Find the woman and the girl. I want ‘em both. Bring them alive.”
Looking at the last three men, he snarled. “You three, come with me. We’re gonna light ‘em up from the front.” Getting into his cruiser, he motioned for the others to follow the other vehicles. “Follow me. Park ‘em in front so we can fire from behind them.”
Inside the cabin, Daniel was cautiously optimistic that their defenses would be enough to make a difference. Peering through the scope of his rifle, his optimism was put in check. He saw the unmistakable shape of the giant biker leading a group of four men forward, angling into the trees on the left side of the cabin. Another group of four, which included the sandy brown-haired man and the black man who Sheriff had called Harold, headed past the front of the cabin, then angled up the hill to Daniel’s right.
The Sheriff’s SUV, followed closely by the black truck and a silver Toyota 4Runner, slowly crept forward before coming to a stop directly in front of their house. Watching the Sheriff exit the SUV, he briefly expected the man to use his bullhorn to communicate with Daniel, but when he saw the man lift a rifle from his vehicle, he knew the time for talk was behind them.
With the house quiet, he called out in a low voice, “They’re coming. Get ready!” Looking over at his daughter Ashley, their eyes met. “Just like we practiced,” he told her.
Nodding, she steadied her rifle against the window sill and her shoulder, bringing her head down so she could see through the scope. To his surprise, she asked, “Can I shoot first?”
Smiling to himself, he thought, ‘that’s my girl,’ as he brought his eye down to look through the scope on his rifle.
“If you have the shot, take the shot.”
Looking at the three men, Halwell was calling out orders when the first shot rang out, ripping off the top of Clive’s head and sending the fat man to the ground. The red mist of blood lingered in the air momentarily before dissipating as Halwell’s mind wrapped around what happened.
“Get behind the vehicles!” He shouted, cursing to himself. Bringing his AR-15 up, he steadied it against the hood of the SUV, switched the selector to full auto, and sent a stream of bullets towards the cabin.
Brenna heard the bullets striking the front of the house as she peered through the tall, plus sign shaped opening at the window. She held the bow down at her side, an arrow fitted and kept in place by her hands as she watched the men move towards the cabin.
‘Don’t think, just act,’ she repeated to herself as she waited for the opportunity to shoot one of the men. Heart thudding in her chest, she watched as the massive man looked over at one of the men with him and pointed forward. The man hesitated slightly, then began slowly stepping forward towards the fence. Expecting a trap, the man alternated between looking towards the cabin and looking at the ground.
As the man drew abreast of a pair of trees about five feet from the fencing, he saw the long stretch of wire that joined them, hanging six inches off the ground. Pointing at it with his gun, he looked back at the others, making sure they saw it, before lifting his leg and swiveling sideways to step over it. With his foot descending, he shifted his weight forward to step over the wire. When the leading foot made contact with the ground, it gave way underneath his foot, sending his foot, with nearly all of his weight behind it, onto the barbed wooden spike. The rubber sole of the man’s boot was insufficient to stop the man’s downward momentum, and the spike ran up through the bottom of the man’s foot, breaking the numerous small bones within before ripping through the skin and the upper fabric of the boot. Off balance, the man fell backward, his body falling into the trench, where his left shoulder met a similar fate as a wooden spike tore through him, cracking the bone as it ripped through the muscle.
The man screamed as he laid there thrashing, his body half-in, half-out of the trench. Behind him the two men in biker clothing barely acknowledged him as they stared at the house. The other two men with them stepped forward, intent on trying to help the man, but the giant man motioned for them to remain in place. He pointed towards the other biker, then one of the men, and motioned for them to head farther up the hill. As they walked away, the big man brought his rifle to his shoulder, aimed at the window Brenna was looking through, and pulled the trigger.
Dropping to the floor, she stayed low, keeping her body behind the reinforced section of wall as her father had told her to. The bullets smacked into the plywood, sending splinters of wood and bits of dried mud into the air, but none of them penetrated the house.
When the shooting stopped, she took a deep breath, verified the string of the bow was still set in the arrow’s nock, and stood, setting her feet shoulder width apart. Keeping her back straight, she squeezed her buttocks as she used three fingers to pull the arrow back towards her face.
‘Don’t think, just act.’
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She released the arrow, hearing the soft whistle as it flew through the opening in the window.
Diesel brought his rifle down, grinning. “That’ll keep them in check.” Looking over at the man with him, he motioned forward. “Step over your friend there so you know where not to step.”
The man looked down at his friend, who was still thrashing on the ground, whimpering as the barbed wood refused to let go of his flesh. His friend’s face had drained of color as he fought to remain conscious while blood flowed from his foot and shoulder.
“Hurry the fuck up.” Diesel growled, glaring at the man.
“Okay, okay.” He stepped forward, looking down at his friend. “Sorry, Andy, I’ll come back for you, I promi - ”
An arrow embedded itself in the man’s chest suddenly. The man looked down at the shaft, surprised by its sudden appearance. Blood bloomed around the entry point, rapidly soaking the tan colored shirt the man wore. His legs gave out under him, causing him to drop. The big man’s hand shot out, grabbing the back of the man’s shirt, keeping him upright. As Brenna watched, the man slung his rifle over his back and brought his other hand forward to grab the man’s belt at his back. He stepped forward, planting one massive boot on the chest of the man who was impaled on the stakes, forcing the man’s body further down, and threw the other man’s body forward, onto the razor wire of the fence. The wire collapsed under the weight, pulling away from the nearby post.
Looking through the small gap in the window, Brenna saw the evil smile on the man’s face as he lowered his shoulder and stepped through the gap in the fence, into the yard.
Hurrying, she drew another arrow and put it in place.
Harold watched as Ricky urged the two men forward, nudging them in the back with the butt of his rifle each time they slowed. One of the men was clutching his shoulder, still smarting from leaning against a tree that had barbs embedded in it. The sharp point had penetrated the man’s thin t-shirt, digging deep into the muscle of the man’s shoulder. The barbed edges had made it painful to remove, but Ricky had shown little concern for the man’s injury as he yanked the man backward, leaving bits of the man’s flesh and blood on the tip of the barb.
When they approached the fence, Ricky pointed up the hill, towards where the other men had fallen into the trench. “Use your rifle to poke the ground,” he instructed, using his arm to help them steady as they stepped over the trench after they located it.
Tim, the first man across the trench, was stepping through the gap in the wire of the fence when they heard a soft, whistling sound. A meaty thud followed as an arrow embedded itself in Tim’s side, lodging itself firmly between the man’s ribs. Tim froze, his mouth open in disbelief, before falling into the yard, landing on his back. Eyes blinking, his mouth worked, trying to form words as blood flowed from the wound, coating the dust and pine needles on the ground.
“Hurry up!” Ricky yelled, no longer carrying about stealth. “Get through before they can notch another arrow!” As the next man climbed through the wires, Ricky pulled the trigger of his gun, focusing on the window on the side of the structure. Bullets slammed into the wood, pounding it repeatedly as he gripped the trigger.
Once through the gap, the man stood upright and began firing his gun at the window, providing cover as Ricky and Harold squeezed through the opening.
Inside the home, Paul sat on the floor, leaning against the outer wall of the home as he silently hoped that the extra wood and mud would be enough to protect him from the stream of bullets that chewed up the wood.
Even gripped with fear, he still felt buoyed by the fact that he’d been able to perform under pressure, sending that arrow straight and true into the man who’d climbed through the fence first.
Gripping his bow and arrow tightly, he waited for the shooting to stop.
“Keep your head down!” Daniel shouted over the sound of bullets hitting the front of the home. The men in front of the home had unleashed a hellacious barrage of gunfire after Ashley had shot the first man, hitting him with accuracy that surprised Daniel, even though he’d watched her skills improve over the last week.
Waiting for the gunfire to stop, Daniel looked towards the back of the house, where Serafina and Isabella were. He hoped the work he’d done to the rear of the home would be sufficient to keep them safe.
Rushing forward, Ricky and Harold followed the other man as he nearly tripped multiple times on holes that had been dug in the yard. Each time, bits of leaves and pine needles flew into the air ahead of them, forcing them to dodge in an effort to avoid whatever was coming at them.
Fifty yards from the house, Harold’s eyes traveled towards the back corner of the structure. There was a pile of firewood stacked neatly against the home. Beyond that, he saw the front of a Jeep parked up against the structure.
The man in front of them stepped awkwardly as his foot tripped on something. In front of the man leaves and pine needles exploded upwards. A piece of wood covered with spikes flew upward, hitting the man squarely in the crotch, stopping him suddenly. Dropping his rifle, the man looked down at his crotch, watching in horror as blood bloomed from the area. His mouth was open in shock as a scream formed in his throat.
The whistling sound that accompanied the arrow took precedence, cutting his scream short as the metal tip of the arrow shot through his throat before lodging in his spine. His body fell backward onto the dirt, landing with a thud.
Harold immediately broke left, heading for the corner of the house. He took long, leaping steps as the image of a spiked pole hitting him in the crotch filled his mind with fear. Ten yards from the house, he tripped over his own feet, flying forward.
The fall likely saved him. An arrow flew overhead, passing through the air he’d occupied moments before. It narrowly missed Ricky, who’d followed behind him as he ran towards the back of the house.
Ricky jumped over Harold, too focused on his own survival to bother offering assistance.
Harold scrambled forward, crawling on his hands and knees as he tried to get out of the line of sight of the shooter. Risking a look towards the window, he saw the point of an arrow staring back at him. He threw his body to the side, rolling over as the arrow planted itself in the dirt behind him. He kept rolling until his body was against the wall of the home.
Raising himself up on one elbow, he felt a pit form in his stomach. The magazine for his rifle had dislodged itself either during his fall or subsequent rolling. It sat on the ground ten yards in front of the window, directly in the line of fire of the shooter. Even the most inexperienced person wouldn’t miss at that range. Looking towards the corner of the house, he saw Ricky motioning for him to hurry up.
Shaking his head, he rose from his position, keeping his body close to the home as he worked his way towards the other man.
Inside the room at the rear of the house, Serafina sat in the corner of the room, holding Isabella close to her. Hugging the girl tightly, she tried to calm the girl’s fears as they listened to the sounds of gunfire and the screams of men dying.
Glancing toward the rear window, she saw a shadow move past as someone approached the opening. Though the window was reinforced like those at the front of the home, with a horizontal one-foot opening for firing through, she knew it was designed to stop bullets, and wasn’t exactly impossible to pry apart.
Setting the girl aside, she looked into Isabella’s eyes as she brought her finger up to her lips. Grabbing her gun, she rolled onto one knee, then rose to her feet. She crept quietly towards the window, releasing the gun’s safety.
Pressing her body tightly against the wall to the left of the window, she watched as the shadow moved towards the window. A second shadow joining the first near the window, growing larger as it came closer. She heard whispering outside the window, barely audible over the sounds of gunfire that came from the front of the house.
One of the shadows worked its way downward as its owner lowered his body, trying to peer through the glass into the room. T
aking a deep breath, she swung her body in front of the window and aimed the gun at the intruder. Outside the window, she saw a black man looking back at her.
His eyes went wide as she pulled the trigger.
Crouching down to look through the opening of the window, Harold saw the barrel of a gun materialize in front of him. Without hesitation, he dropped down as the gun coughed, the round sent from it sending glass flying outwards. The bullet sizzled along the side of his head as it passed by, ripping off the top half of his left ear. Falling to the ground, he brought his hands up to his ear, trying to piece back together what was no longer there while trying to shut out the ringing in his eardrum.
Above him, Ricky pulled a small cylinder from his belt, removed the top, and threw it inside the opening.
Seconds later, an explosion shook the structure.
CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN
When Serafina saw the small metal cylinder fly into the room, she didn’t know what it was, but she knew she had to take cover. More importantly, she knew she had to protect the girl. Dropping her gun, she dove towards the girl, tackling her and taking her to the floor. Sliding into the corner, she covered the girl’s body with hers just as the device detonated.
The world went blindingly white for a split second before darkness fell over her.
Luke worked his way up the hill, the other man with him breathing heavily as he struggled to keep pace with Luke’s long strides. On his shoulder, Luke carried a high-powered rifle, one which would allow him to send heavy, 300 grain rounds at targets over a 1,000 yards away.
Once in position, he’d rain hell upon those inside the home who tried to resist their advances.
Surviving Rage | Book 1 Page 72