Fire From The Sky | Book 11 | Ashes

by Reed, N. C.

  “Funny time to bring that up, isn’t it?” Greg looked at her in surprise.

  “I honestly just thought of it,” she admitted. “So, is it?”

  “The vehicle itself will,” Greg promised. “Supposed to stop anything up to a fifty, or so I’ve read. The glass, I don’t know. Might not stop a deer rifle, but I’d imagine it would stop a shotgun or handgun.”

  “You imagine?” Amanda risked a glance at him. “That doesn’t sound like warranty information, Sheriff.”

  “This thing was made by the lowest bidder, Deputy,” Greg reminded her. “Always remember the lowest bidder rule.”

  “Lowest bidder,” Amanda repeated. “Yeah. I don’t think I like that,” she added as she pulled into the gravel driveway.

  “I never did either,” Greg admitted. “Still better than a cruiser. Angle the front to the right a bit,” he ordered. “That will afford us some cover as we dismount.” She placed the Hummer where he wanted it, then pulled to a stop.

  “Well, I’m going to have to get out and go see if they’re home,” Greg sighed.

  “Not by yourself you ain’t,” Titus Terry said at once, his door already open.

  Greg was on the verge of ordering him to stay behind when he thought better of it. Titus was essentially a soldier now, and a sworn deputy at that. He was adult enough to make those choices on his own.

  “I got you,” Kevin Bodee said softly, the sound of a round being racked into the M240 above them giving proof to the promise. Greg looked at Amanda, who was tense, but appeared to be handling it well.

  “If you have to dismount, climb over the console and exit over here,” he told her.

  “Oh, I was gonna do that, anyway,” she assured him, her face so serious that Greg had to stifle a laugh. Looking over his shoulder, he found Titus Terry watching him.

  “Well, Titus, let’s go see if they’re home.”

  “Works for me,” Titus said, opening his door just as the first bullet hit the driver’s side of the Hummer.

  “Hey, looks like they’re home!” Titus said as he dove for the ground. Above him, Kevin Bodee began to methodically hose down the window the shot had come from, along with any other opening where he saw movement. Or what might be movement.

  Scrambling over the console between the front seats, Amanda Lowery dove headfirst out of the Hummer and onto the ground, her rifle still in hand. Greg reached around her for the microphone and keyed the PA system.

  “This is the Calhoun County Sheriff’s Department!” his loud announcement booming through the amplified system. “Come out of the house, unarmed and with your hand visible! I repeat, come out unarmed, with your hands-,”

  His orders were cut off by a fusillade of fire coming from the house. Behind him, Greg could hear Zach open fire with his gun, helping Kevin keep the people inside pinned down.

  “Well, this is turning out to be a fine day, ain’t it?” Greg said to himself.

  “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say they aren’t going to surrender,” Amanda told him, moving to place herself behind a tire.

  “Pretty sure she’s right,” Titus agreed. He was behind the rear tire, watching the house window in front of him for movement. He had reserved fire for now, waiting for his shot.

  “We can’t see what they’re doing around back,” Greg noted. “They could be out there right now, either preparing for a flanking move or else escaping while their buddies are still firing.”

  “I can probably get around to where I can cover the back,” Titus told him.

  “No,” Greg shook his head. “I won’t risk losing anyone to these thugs. We’ll take what we can and be satisfied. Kevin, which window do you think would be best for a 1060?” He was pulling a short, stubby looking weapon from the area behind the front seat.

  “A thermo?” Kevin sounded incredulous. “Really?”

  “I meant what I said, man,” Greg replied, breaking open what looked like a large shotgun and slipping a canister inside. “I’m not losing anyone to these guys. I hate to waste the round on them, but whatever they’re using, they’ve got a lot of it.”

  “Second window from the left has the most action,” Kevin informed him. “It and the third window are likely the living room windows, but that’s a guess. I estimate there are three shooters using those two windows.”

  “Copy that,” Greg replied. “All units stand by for forty mil fire. Repeat, stand by for forty mil round. As soon as the round cooks off, Titus and I will hit the carport and try the door there, so watch for us to move. All units acknowledge.” He waited for everyone to inform him they had heard his warning. Slipping around the front tire, he aimed for the window Kevin had told him to use and fired. He jerked back behind the tire at once, calling out.

  “Round out! Round out!”

  Almost as soon as he finished talking, the windows on the house seemed to belch smoke and flame. Greg had moved to the rear of the Hummer by then and tapped Titus on the shoulder to let him know it was time to move, while the people inside still had their heads spinning. Amanda began to fire single shots from behind the front tire in an effort to throw off anyone who was still conscious inside the house. Kevin Bodee also returned to firing the M240 in short, controlled bursts at each window to force the people inside to keep their heads down or get them shot off.

  Greg raced for the carport, Titus hot on his heels. As he hit the carport’s concrete floor, he heard Titus grunt behind him. Turning, he saw the teen holding his right arm, blood seeping through the sleeve.

  “Ain’t this some shit?” Titus complained. He pulled a compression bandage from his gear and Greg quickly wrapped it around the wound and tied it off.

  “You good?” Greg asked him, looking him in the eyes to check him.

  “It’s okay,” Titus promised. “I’m good to go.” Patting his shoulder, Greg nodded and turned toward the carport door. A solid kick from his boot splintered the cheaply made door, busting the bolt and lock completely free. Titus saw the spoon of a fragmentation grenade go flying just before Greg called “Frag out!” and ducked against the wall as the grenade bounced around the corner and into the house.

  Once more flame and smoke erupted from the house, though not nearly as much as the first round had caused. This round had produced a good deal more shrapnel, however, and Titus could hear someone crying out in pain. Served the fucker right, Titus decided.

  “All units, hold fire,” Greg called. “Moving in. Say again, all units hold fire!” He waited for the firing from outside to halt and to hear acknowledgments from everyone on the team before moving in.

  Greg moved cautiously through the door, sweeping the room with his rifle before moving on. Titus trailed him, watching their back as he followed Greg through the house.

  The house was a mess, and clearly had been even before the two grenades had made their impact. Whoever was making their home here clearly had no qualms about living in filth. The kitchen had a small bar but was otherwise open into a dining area. From there, a hallway stretched out of sight to other rooms, while a single door led to a front room of the house.

  A figure holding a shotgun appeared out of the smoke in that door and earned a three-round burst from Greg’s rifle for his troubles. Titus could see the body of another man lying in the dining room floor, clearly having caught the brunt of the frag Greg had lobbed inside. Just as Greg turned the corner of the doorway to check the front room, another man came running toward them down the hallway. Titus didn’t hesitate, firing a pair of three-round bursts into the man before the rifle he carried could be brought to bear.

  “That’s three,” Titus said, watching the hallway and the sliding patio door at the same time.

  “Two more down in here,” Greg informed him. Titus covered them while Greg checked the two figures. Neither was breathing.

  “They’re gone,” he said, returning to the door. “You good to sweep and clear the house?”

  “Right as rain,” Titus promised. Greg nodded and moved down the
hallway, stopping to check the man Titus had downed more from training than need. Six rounds had stitched him good and he was no longer a threat to society.

  The rest of the rooms proved to be empty of any combatants, though they were full of plunder stolen from who knew where.

  “House is clear,” Greg keyed his radio. “Say again, house is clear. Gunner and Arrow remain on cover. Everyone else move into the house.” He looked over at Titus, who was leaning against a wall, blood clearly soaking through his bandage.

  “We need to get you home, man,” Greg told the teen.

  “Yeah, I think that might be a plan,” Titus admitted, sliding down the wall. “I don’t feel so good.”

  -

  “Get him back as fast as you can,” Greg ordered Amanda. Petra Shannon was in back with Titus, trying to administer what first aid she could. Kevin would go with them and inform Clay of their needs on the site.

  “Go!” Greg slapped the door of the Hummer and Amanda took off. Greg watched them go before walking over to the MRAP and leaning against it.

  “He okay?” Corey asked, having dismounted when the all clear was given. Zach remained in the turret for the time being.

  “I think so,” Greg replied. “It’s a bleeder is the only thing that worries me. If they get him home fast enough it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Okay.” There wasn’t much else to say to that.

  “What do we do now?” Devon Knowles asked, still a little shell shocked. This had been her first time in any kind of actual combat.

  “We’ll wait for some help from the farm,” Greg told her. “I asked for a truck and some muscle to haul this stuff out of here. We’ll take the Blazer with us, or they will, while I head back to Garrett’s to let them know we took care of it. After that, I’ll need to check on Titus, and if he’s okay, I imagine I’ll take a shower and get a nap.”

  “That’s it?” she asked, though not challenging. She was genuinely curious.

  “That is it,” Greg assured her. “We’ve answered the complaint, solved the problem and eliminated a threat to the community. A good day’s work for any department. So long as Titus is okay, then it was a good day at work.”

  -

  Amanda Lowery drove much faster going home than she had getting to the original call. Petra was doing her best to stop the bleeding, but she wasn’t Tandi Maseo and it showed. Once they were moving and out of the immediate area, Kevin Bodee had dropped into the compartment and began assisting her.

  “Tee, are you a bleeder?” Kevin asked.

  “I seem to be bleeding right now,” Titus replied with a chuckle. “But if you’re asking if I make a habit of it, well, I try not to.”

  “Are you a free bleeder, you little ass wipe?” Kevin laughed as he slipped another bundle of gauze beneath the compression bandage and then tightened the bandage down.

  “Not that I’ve ever been made aware of,” Titus replied more seriously. “Maybe it was just a really big bullet?” He couldn’t stay serious for long.

  “Or maybe it hit a vein,” Petra told him. “I need you to stop moving around so much, Titus. Every time you move that arm, the bleeding starts again.”

  “A vein?” Titus sounded alarmed. “Damn, that can’t be good. I mean, it doesn’t sound good.”

  “It’s not good,” she assured him. “But it’s not the end of the world, or of you, so long as you stop moving around!” she hissed the last few words, trying to get through to him.

  “Okay, okay,” Titus held up his good arm in a placating manner. “This is me, not moving around. Sorry. See? Here I am, just a knot on an old log, laying here in the-.”

  “Does he ever shut up?” Petra asked Kevin, who was trying not to laugh despite the seriousness of the problem.

  “Only rarely, and never for long,” he assured her.

  “I’m right here, you know,” Titus reminded them.

  “Yes, we know.”

  -

  Amanda had warned JJ, who in turn had warned the clinic that there was a gunshot wound inbound, and that it wouldn’t stop bleeding. By the time the Hummer screeched to a halt in front of Building Two, three men with a stretcher were waiting to unload Titus and carry him inside, where Jaylyn, Patricia and Kaitlin all three were waiting.

  “Talk to us,” Jaylyn ordered as Kevin came through the door.

  “Well, I’m a Pisces,” Titus muttered. “I like picnics, pretty sunsets and big-,”

  “Not you, stupid,” Patricia told him with a laugh, covering his face with the nitrous mask as she patted his cheek fondly.

  “He took a round to the arm in a house assault,” Kevin reported. “Wrapped the wound and continued to clear the house before stopping to rest, at which point he didn’t exactly collapse but was pretty weak. We’ve worked all the way back trying to stanch the bleeding, but we couldn’t quite get it to stop. He’s lost enough blood that he’s punch-drunk, but I don’t think it’s enough to be threatening just yet. We saved all the bandage material so you could judge for yourself, as much as possible, anyway.” He held out the bloody bundle and Jaylyn quickly and efficiently looked through it.

  “He’s close, though,” she murmured. “Thank you,” she told Kevin without looking at him. “We need an IV started with fluids to help him build back his blood volume. We’re also going to have to dig around in there,” she pointed to the wound. “I think it’s likely that the bullet is still there since it’s a deep wound and there’s no exit. Whatever it hit, that is likely what makes the bleeding want to continue. I don’t think it’s arterial since it’s on the outside of the arm, nor a vein, but it could be a nick of some kind in the vein if it’s deep enough. Which means we’ll have to take a look and see.” She glanced at Titus.

  “Is he under?” she asked Patricia, who nodded.

  “Oh yes,” she replied. “Took about ten seconds and he was gone.”

  “Good,” Jaylyn nodded. “Let’s get this show on the road while he’s out. This will hurt like a bitch.”

  -

  Gordy was in the small ‘waiting room’ area in front of the clinic when Marcy George came busting inside, sliding to a halt at the clinic door. He had expected this, and before she could continue her bursting into the clinic itself, Gordy had grabbed her arms from behind and pulled her away from the door.

  “Let me go!” she shouted, and he did, but quickly enveloped her in a hug instead, continuing to pull her away from the doorway.

  “Dammit, Gordy Sanders, let me go!” she yelled, fighting him every step.

  “Stop it, Marcy,” he said gently. “He’s in surgery now, so you can’t see him or talk to him, and we would just expose him to germs he doesn’t need. Just wait until they get done and I’ll make sure you can see him even if he’s out cold.”

  “I need to see him now!” she insisted. “What happened to him? Who let him get shot? How bad is it? Are you gonna tell me or not?”

  “I will if you let me get a word in edgewise,” Gordy promised. “As to what happened, you already know that. He did indeed get shot, in the arm. He was helping go after some men who had murdered two people in cold blood up in front of Garrett’s Store. He caught the round as he made for the house. He and Greg wrapped it in a bandage and cleared the house, but Titus was still bleeding so Greg put him in his Hummer and sent him back right then. Now he’s in surgery and you know everything there is to know until they finish.” He concluded. He loosened his grip but tightened it again as she moved against him in an instant.

  “Marcy, promise me you’ll stay here and behave, and I’ll let you go,” Gordy told her gently. “I’ll stay here with you the whole time, I promise. But you can’t go busting down the door while they’re in there digging around for a bullet and sewing him up like that. Let them do their work and then you can see him. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Fine,” the answer came out sharp, as if it were a cross between surly and a sob. “Is he gonna be okay?” she asked softly.

  “I think so,” Gordy told
her, carefully releasing her. “The only thing they were concerned about was the blood loss, and from what I was told, it wasn’t quite enough to worry them based on the bandages. He was still talking and cracking jokes when they put him under.”

  Marcy turned suddenly and buried her face in Gordy’s chest, sobbing so hard that her entire body shook. Gordy hugged her close and let her cry. Marcy had held fast to Titus since her family had gone to Jordan. She had refused to go and been effectively disowned because of it. While she had friends and people who were as close as family all around her, it wasn’t the same as having your actual family about you. Gordy could understand that even though he had no way to empathize, since he had always been surrounded by his own family.

  But that didn’t keep him from realizing and recognizing the importance that Titus Terry played in her life. Sam was in a similar position, though her close friendship with his sister Abigail and her relationship with his parents through that friendship meant that Sam was not quite so isolated as Marcy felt.

  Gordy wondered if race played a part in her feelings of isolation. There were but seven black people on the farm aside from two of the orphans. Titus and Marcy were two of them, then there was Beverly Jackson and her son JJ, Moses Brown, Stacey Pryor, and now Janessa Haynes. So far as Gordy knew, there wasn’t a single person on the farm anywhere that had any kind of racial prejudice whatsoever, at least not in their group, but that did not lessen the impact that Marcy might be feeling despite that fact. Titus didn’t seem to feel it, but Titus had been friends with Gordy and the others for so long that they were more like brothers. Titus had spent many a weekend at the Sanders’ home, and even weeks at a time during the summer. They had played ball together, chased girls together, fished and drank beer together. Had anyone ever said anything remotely racial to Titus over the years, that someone would have found themselves surrounded by his friends, all looking for a piece of the offending party. They never had to bother declaring themselves as equals because it had always been so.

  Gordy didn’t know how Beverly and JJ felt about it, but neither seemed to notice the disparity. They were from a large city, however, where such things might not be as prevalent as they were in rural America. Moses Brown was an older man than any of the others, and had no doubt suffered that kind of isolation and discrimination through the years of his own life. Mister Brown was also possessed of a confidence and character that showed he had long ago mastered how to deal with the concerns he might face due to race. Gordy liked and respected Mister Brown a great deal.