by Reed, N. C.
Brick fell silent as Meecham lifted the rifle and peered through the scope. He moved the rifle more than once, looking over potential targets before he settled on a prone figure with a deer rifle that was obviously looking for where the shots had come from. Setting the cross hairs between the shoulders of the prone figure, Meecham held his breath and squeezed the trigger. . .
And fell over backwards as the recoil knocked him straight back. He managed to hang on to the rifle and prevent damage to it, though, holding it up and away for Brick to take back.
“I thought you said low recoil!” Meecham almost screeched.
“I said reduced recoil,” Brick pointed out dryly as he helped the gunsmith to his feet. “That isn't the same as low.”
“My shoulder may be broken,” he muttered as he moved his arm around to work the soreness out, proving that his shoulder wasn't broken.
“Just bruised,” Brick chuckled as he returned to the battle. “You’ll be okay in a week or so.”
“A week!”
-
“Okay, they've apparently decided their only chance to survive is forward,” Vicki said, flicking the selector switch on the SAW. “I still count ten in view and two of the scoped deer rifles are still in play,” she peered through the small sighting scope attached to the optic rail.
“We’ll stay quiet as long as possible and let Meecham and Brick take out all they can,” Mitchell decreed. “Aimed fire is a real morale killer.”
“I think after this we're going to have to review our heavy weapons disposition,” Vicki said over her shoulder rather than take her eyes off the action. “We can't keep getting lucky this way.”
“I agree,” Mitchell replied. “We've got other weapons in storage, we just hoped we'd not need them. We're also going to have to beef up this end of the farm after this.”
“Yeah.”
-
“I see eleven bad guys here,” Greg called softly to Clay. “Some with rifles and some with shotguns. They're definitely picking up speed.”
“Trying to get inside before-,” the heavy rifle boomed again and another Tango blew backward, blood spraying out behind.
“Before that,” Greg finished. “Can't say I blame 'em, really,” he added.
“We've got company of our own, looks like,” Clay said, looking to their right. “Three of them, about ten o'clock, one shotgun, one AK, one AR.”
“Got 'em,” Greg nodded. “Clear to engage?” he asked rather than fire.
“Get some,” Clay agreed and Greg was firing two seconds later. The two rifle armed intruders fell in a heap as Greg expertly hit each with a three round burst before they could react. The one carrying the shotgun was quicker and hit the ground, trying to crawl to safety, or at least cover.
“Don't let him get away!” Clay ordered, trying to keep his eye on both the survivor and the remaining attackers now pulling in range of the bunker outside. His words were wasted as bloody spray erupted from the ground when Greg stood up and fired twice more. The first three rounds kicked up dirt in front of the man but the second burst stitched down his back, leaving him lying in the dirt with one leg quivering in muscle spasms.
“Nice shooting,” Clay complimented.
“I am a Marine,” Greg quipped, dropping his magazine and inserting a new one.
“Yeah, but you still managed to get all three of them,” Clay jeered.
-
Mitchell waited for Brick to hit one more and Meecham's lighter rifle to speak once before flicking the safety off his rifle.
“Open fire,” he said simply and he, Titus and Vicki did just that, flaying the approaching survivors with controlled bursts that put down five of their number and sent the rest to ground.
“Keep them on the ground,” Mitchell ordered. “Let the rifles on the tower do the rest.”
-
“Five left that I can see,” Meecham noted and Brick merely nodded and he squeezed the trigger of his big rifle once more. As soon as he fired, both of them had to duck when multiple rounds impacted the heavy log siding of their firing platform.
“Well, I'd say the days of easy have come to an end,” Brick said philosophically. “Four remaining.” Just as he spoke Meecham fired through a slit between sandbags before stooping down again.
“Three,” he said simply, working the bolt on his rifle. Brick moved to a similar position on his side and tried to ease his rifle muzzle through the slit. He had to stop and move on sand bag with his off hand to utilize the position, and that drew fire yet again. Meecham was already back on the bar and fired at the muzzle flash, eliciting a yelp of pained surprise from below.
“Two?” Brick asked with a slight grin and Meecham nodded. Brick tried again to lift his rifle enough to get a look, but he was engaged by both remaining rifles, one an AK and the other apparently a high-powered rifle similar to Meecham's.
“I don't think they intend to let me get another shot,” Brick announced as he sat back, lowering his rifle. “I can draw their attention, but I won't have time to acquire a target and shoot.”
“Just sit tight,” Meecham shook his head. “Those two can't stay there for long, and while they're waiting for you, they aren't looking elsewhere.” He picked up the phone and cranked the handle.
-
“Sentry Five,” Mitchell said as he grabbed the phone.
“Tower Two,” Gary Meecham's voice came through. “There are two left and both have us bracketed. On your right, one o'clock at about fifty yards is a bolt action rifle, probably an oh-eight. On your left at about your ten o'clock, roughly forty yards, is an AK. They don't seem to be looking anywhere but up here, and we can't see anyone else.”
“Roger that,” Mitchell replied. “Sit tight. We’ll see what we can do.” He replaced the phone and keyed his mike.
“Bossman, come back.”
-
“Go for Bossman,” Clay replied.
“Two survivors, one AK and one bolt action, between sixty and eighty yards to our front,” Mitchell informed him. “We can't get a shot at the moment and they have the tower bracketed. We can keep them occupied.”
“Copy that,” Clay replied. “Thirty seconds and then suppressing fire,” he ordered.
“Thirty seconds,” Mitchell agreed. Clay looked at Greg.
“Let’s go see who's out there.”
“Works for me,” Greg nodded, moving to the back door of the cabin.
“We're gonna have to beef this place up some,” Greg said as he opened the door from the side, making sure the way was clear.
“Yeah,” Clay agreed, moving to the door. “I had hoped to avoid it but after this we can't afford not to.”
“On three,” Greg suggested. “I'm out and to the right.”
“Left for me,” Clay nodded. “One. . .two. . .three!”
The two erupted from the door, one behind the other, moving at once to the three Greg had downed earlier. All were gone. The two moved through the grass to the small line of scrub brush that prevented Mitchell Nolan and the others from seeing the last two known attackers.
“They see two, but that doesn't mean there isn't more,” Clay whispered and Greg nodded.
“Me shoot, you cover?” the former deputy asked.
“Works,” Clay nodded. “I’ll move when you do.”
Greg nodded his assent and crawled forward to where he could see around the brush. Seeing nothing nearby, he stood, took a deep breath and released it, then moved smoothly out into the open, not hurrying but not wasting time, either.
The man with the AK saw him first and yelled, coming up to move his rifle. It took too long and Greg cut him down. The further target, with the bolt action rifle, was badly out of position for a flank attack and struggled to get turned.
He didn't make it as one last heavy roar filled the air just as the remaining attacker slammed back into the ground, ripped apart by a heavy fifty caliber bullet.
“Clear,” Clay called. “We're checking the bodies.” Two clicks answer
ed him as he and Greg moved from body to body.
“Moving out on your right,” Mitchell called a few seconds later as he and Titus emerged, crossing the road to make sure the two there had been alone. Two minutes later the four of them converged on the truck.
“Two of them were women,” Greg said at once. “Make it three,” he toed over the body of one of the people caught in the blast of the wrecked truck. While burned and disfigured, the body was obviously female.
“Damn shame about that truck,” Titus sighed. “That was a good year model.” He noted, the others staring at him.
“What?” he asked, one hand help palm up. “It was!”
“You're right, kid,” Greg laughed lightly. “It was.”
The attack was over… for now.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
-
“They've sounded the 'all clear',” Corey said calmly as Teri Hartwell and Dee Talbot sat almost beneath the table he was sitting on, still petting the dog that had come to him. “Should be safe to come up for air,” he added.
“Should be?” Dee Talbot asked.
“Never really know, I guess,” the teen shrugged casually. It looked odd to see the move with just one shoulder.
“So inspiring,” Teri sighed, crawling to her feet as well. “What do you think happened?” she asked him, brushing off her clothes.
“Sounds like about two dozen tried to hit us from the back way in,” he told her, sliding off the table to his feet. “The five coming from yonder way,” he pointed northeast, “were likely meant to distract us and tie down most of the security force while that outfit came at us from behind.”
“Thank goodness they stopped them,” Dee said quietly.
“Yeah,” Corey agreed. “Well, I better go and see if I can be of some kind of use, I guess. You ladies take care.” With that he set off toward the cabin area, a huge Kangal puppy following, having decided she liked him. For now, anyway.
“How old are these pups?” Dee asked.
“They're around eight months old now,” Teri replied, looking away from the departing Corey to answer the older woman. “Give or take a week or so. They were about six months on the average when we got them. They aren't all litter mates. The seven are spread over three females and two males, so the blood lines are spread pretty even. I have their papers.”
“What about him?” she pointed to the school yard where a huge German Shepherd sat watching everything.
“That's Bruce,” Teri smiled. “He came here with Big Jake. The mechanic? I think he's about six or so. Bruce, not Jake,” Teri giggled.
“Bruce?” Dee raised an eyebrow. “They named him Bruce?”
“That's what they call him anyway,” Teri shrugged. “And he answers to it. But Bruce mostly stays around the school or else near Building Two where Jake and his daughter live. When she's here, he watches the school. When the kids are outside, he’ll stay between them and the road, even though the road is a hundred yards away.”
“Good dog,” Dee nodded. “Shame there's not more of them, too.”
“We might still find some more, but most dogs now have gone feral, I'm afraid,” Teri replied, then filled Dee in on the recent dog attack and how Gordy was injured.
“He killed a wild dog by hand?” Dee looked shocked.
“That's what Kade and Vicki said,” Teri nodded. “I saw it later as they were burying it. It was part wolfhound, I think. Large and long haired. Would have been a beautiful dog before the world died,” she said sadly.
“The world isn't dead, Teri,” Dee chided gently. “And neither are we. It will take hard work and determination, but we’ll survive if we work together. And Corey had the right idea,” she added, looking at the remaining Kangal pups who were obviously waiting for school to be out.
“We need a huge pack of them if we can get it. Let’s go look at their records.”
-
“I don't know any of them,” Gordon said as he viewed the row of dead bodies.
“I don't recognize any of them, either,” Franklin George added. “You would think some of us would know at least one.”
“I don't see anyone I know, or knew,” Greg was shaking his head. “No one else so far has either.”
“You think Holman might have hired some outside help?” Clay asked.
“I suppose anything is possible,” Greg shrugged. “Truck had Alabama plates. Can't make out the county but definitely a Dixie plate.”
“So, maybe they're not from around here at all,” Clay mused. “Which leaves either Holman hiring them to attack us, or else they just did it on their own. Dammit,” he muttered.
“What is it?” Gordon asked him.
“I didn't. . .we had a plan for this,” Clay scrubbed his face. “We expected to have predators that would see an operation like ours and think they could attack it and take what they wanted. We've been hit by locals so much that I had forgotten there might be other threats out there. Good reminder.”
“Could be that,” Mitchell nodded.
“That Browning is wrecked,” Gary Meecham announced mournfully as he made his way over to them. He had soot all over him from being around the burned truck. “I was hoping to salvage it, but it's toast. Man, that thing was an antique, too.”
“There are twenty dead people here,” Franklin said. “I think that's more of a loss than a gun.”
“They attacked us, intent on causing harm,” Gary shrugged. “They got what they had coming. That gun on the other hand was a piece of history. That's a worse loss than two dozen miscreants who would have killed us all and were planning on burning us out.” The gunsmith was adamant in his tone.
“Enough,” Gordon told them both, gently. “It's been a hard day as it is. Let’s not fight amongst ourselves, alright? Instead let’s see about getting things back to some kind of order around here.”
“Call for the backhoe.”
-
“We need to start manning the OP on that end of the ranch, I guess,” Jose Juarez noted as he and Clay reviewed the latest action.
“I don't disagree, but. . .what I'd rather do is have a better tower platform that would allow them to see as much as Jody can see from the cupola.” Clay was looking at the rough map they used that showed their defense layout. “The OPs are a good idea, don't get me wrong. But they're isolated. I'm not sure they're the way to go after seeing what we're up against.”
“Well, OP or no, we definitely need another hole about here,” Mitchell Nolan stabbed the spot on the map just across the road from Sentry Five. “We don't have sufficient coverage up there right now. For that matter,” he added, “we need a spot behind the cabin areas similar to the one we have behind here,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the rear of the buildings. “We didn't really anticipate any attacks coming from that direction as I recall, but I think this should end that notion.”
“For good,” Jose agreed. “I think we can all agree to get on that immediately,” he looked to Clay for confirmation and got a nod. Jose looked back at Mitchell.
“Get a crew together and go get it done,” he ordered. “There are still some logs cut for the defensive positions, so that's already done.”
“Be careful for snakes when you start picking them up,” Clay warned. “Rattlers and copperheads love stuff like that.” Mitchell started on his way, leaving Jose and Clay to figure out the next move.
“What if we raise the platform over the water tower, and then build wings out on all sides to let rainwater flow down into the tower?” Jose suggested.
“I don't know that we have anything that would make a good material for that or not,” Clay admitted after thinking it over. “If we do, then that would be a pretty good plan. And we can leave the lower platform as a good fighting position, too.”
“Yeah, hadn't even thought about that,” Jose agreed. “Alright, so what would make a good. . .wing, I guess?”
-
“Pine boards, probably,” Gordon said after listening to the problem. “
Pine boards will do better with rain most likely, at least for a bit. Be even better if we can manage to get some pitch from a few pines and use that to seal them. Honestly this will probably catch more rain than the tower did by itself.”
“A nice advantage,” Clay nodded. “We need to try and come up with some gutters for the cabins, I guess. At least have barrels where the rain runs off the roof. Even if we just use it to water the dogs or have it in case of fire, it's good to have on hand.”
“True,” Gordon agreed. “Problem with the pine board theory, too, is that we ain't got any,” he told his son. “And I don't know of a sawmill that's still operating.”
“Time to talk to the twins.”
-
“We have a sawmill,” two voices said in unison.
“What?” Gordon didn't bother trying to hide his surprise.
“We bought something called a wilderness sawmill,” Leanne told him.
“It uses a chainsaw to cut timber into boards,” Deuce was nodding.
“I've seen those,” Clay said. “Never thought about it.”
“We bought two small chainsaw mills and then bought a larger one that can cut up to an 8x4 board,” Leanne detailed. “The smaller ones can cut up to a 2x6. All you need is a chainsaw.”
“And we have plenty of those,” Deuce added.
“Man, you two are a national treasure,” Jose chuckled and both of the twins blushed ever so slightly, but also looked very pleased with the compliment.
“That means building materials won't be in short supply later on,” Clay noted. “Good job guys.”
“Thank you,” they replied in unison.
“Let’s go break out a sawmill.”
-
After some planning and discussion, it was decided to place the chosen mill tool under a hay barn currently not in use. Doing so would allow boards to be stored there out of the rain and direct sun and provide a place to allow the wood to dry out, making it suitable for actual building. But the first boards wouldn't need to be dry to make the 'wings' for the water tower, and work would begin the next day.
The mill would be run for several days so that they could build up a supply of boards to be drying out for use when needed. With building materials in such short supply, adding usable boards would be a big relief for future projects.