Was she really going to die like this? This was even more pathetic, with the door unlocked but…
No.
She wasn’t going to let it happen.
She went for it again, with both her useless hands grasping at the handle.
Somehow, she pulled it. She got the door open. Just a crack at first. But it was enough to wedge her elbow in, prying the door all the way open with her body.
How many times had she opened vehicle doors in her life? Many, many thousands of times. And here she was, struggling desperately with one, struggling for her life.
Somehow, she managed to claw her way up through the open door and into the driver’s seat.
It was glorious to be there, to be huddled up and freezing on the seat that she’d been desperately tried to gain access to for so long now.
But the truck was still off.
She then realized it.
The key was still out there in the door.
And now, from her new vantage point inside the truck, she was face-to-face with the reality that was the ignition.
The key needed to be inserted in the ignition, and turned, before the heat would come on.
Without the key in the ignition, without the engine running, the truck was useless to her. She’d die just as easily inside it as she would outside. It wasn’t even a degree warmer. Sure, if she closed the door and remained there, her body might increase the ambient indoor temperature ever so slightly. But she was so close to the point of no return, so close to death, that she doubted her body would really throw off any significant amount of heat.
Shit.
This wasn’t good.
Even if she went back out, got the key out of the lock with her teeth, got back inside the truck, then got the key somehow into the ignition, how in the world was she going to turn it?
The ignition was to the right of the steering wheel, exactly where it was in most vehicles. It faced off to the passenger seat, toward the side.
It was going to be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to turn the key in the ignition the way she had with the outside door.
And if she didn’t manage it, then she was dead. She knew that now. She knew in her bones that she was close to the end.
The end had come rushing up faster than she’d ever have thought possible. She’d read survivalist books and seen those shows where people tried to make it in the wild, but she’d always gotten the impression that there were long, boring, drawn-out periods in which the survivors or non-survivors had all the time in the world to contemplate the lazily-approaching end.
But that wasn’t how it was now for her.
She was looking death in the face, and she knew it.
17
James
The door burst off its hinges, falling flat on the floor. It made a tremendous noise.
He glanced over at Barb. She’d moved. She wasn’t frozen in fear. That was good. But how much good did it do them? Not much. Her non-working gun was in the other room. She strode forward, grabbed the largest kitchen knife there was, and held it ready.
They waited together in silence, the sound of the falling door echoing in their minds.
Then there was silence.
Nothing happened.
No one came through the door.
Nothing came through at all, except the scattered light snowfall blowing in.
But obviously someone was there. Someone wanted something they had. Someone thought Barb and James had that cop that they were looking for.
Finally breaking the silence, the deep voice called out again, “There are four of us. We’re heavily armed. All we want is that cop. Hand him over and we’ll leave you alone. You can put your door back up and that’s that. Alone and in peace.”
James glanced over at Barb, who met his gaze and gave him a short nod.
He thought he knew what she meant. Either way, he knew what he had to do.
Hopefully, he could talk his way out of this. If not, he didn’t think they stood much of a chance against four armed men.
Of course, maybe there weren’t actually four of them. That was already on his mind. It was like something from an old cowboy movie, when there was just one man, who tried to exaggerate his position by claiming there were more with him.
But so what? Even if that were true, and there was only the one man, did James and Barb still stand a chance?
He supposed they did.
But he’d rather avoid a fight. After all, no matter how much he’d been going to the range, how confident he was with a sidearm, it didn’t really matter. There was always the chance that he’d wind up dead, even if he did everything right and by the book.
Nothing was set in stone. This was real life, not some video game or movie where the right combination of correct decisions always led to a good outcome and a happy ending.
There’d be time for heroism later. There’d be plenty of chances to risk his life. But for now, if he could, he’d prefer to practice a little risk management.
“We don’t have him!” shouted James, speaking for the first time.
“Where is he then?”
“Dead.”
“Dead?”
“Dead!”
“Then where’s the body?”
“Buried.”
“The ground’s frozen!”
“Buried in the snow!”
They were still shouting. It was the only way to be heard.
It was strange to be having a conversation with a man who was threatening to kill you.
But that’s what it was, a conversation.
“I call bullshit!” shouted the man. “This is just some trick.”
“No trick!” shouted James. “He lost too much blood. Couldn’t save him. We tried.”
“But isn’t that what you’d say if he were in there?”
James had no answer. He was desperately trying to think of some way to prove that they weren’t harboring any cop.
The thing was, if the cop had lived, there was no way James would have given him up to save his own skin. He just wasn’t like that.
But since the cop was already dead, there seemed no point in dying over it.
“He’s not here!” That was about all James could think of to say.
Barb, fortunately, didn’t say anything. Hopefully, she had the same idea he did, which was it was better to surprise their intruders with the fact that there were two of them. Better than giving away all the tactical information about themselves.
“All right,” shouted the guy. “I believe you.”
That didn’t sound right.
James glanced at Barb. She made an expression with her eyebrows, making it very clear that she didn’t believe the man at all and that they needed to get ready.
Ready for someone to enter.
There was only one door to the house, but there were plenty of windows.
If the tables had been turned, what would James have done? He probably would have knocked down the door, then tried to shoot through the windows.
James glanced at the windows, looking for any sign of movement.
But the curtains were drawn. No one outside could see in.
But curtains didn’t stop bullets.
And if the guy outside was clever, he might be able to judge more or less where James was standing, based on how his voice sounded when he was yelling.
What was that? Was that something outside?
James thought he heard a noise, but he wasn’t sure.
He acted before really thinking it through. Grabbing Barb roughly by the arm, he pulled the two of them down to the floor.
He was too forceful though and his jaw made a cracking sound as it hit the floor. Pain shot through him. But he could deal with it.
Barb had it a little easier, since he’d basically pulled her down on top of him. She had James to soften her blow.
He lay there silently, clutching the gun in one hand, his finger already on the trigger. He still had it aimed at the broken-dow
n door.
But no one came through it.
No one made a sound. On either side.
Barb was breathing hard. He could feel her lungs expanding and collapsing since her body was pressed against his.
Nothing happened.
Several seconds passed. Maybe ten altogether since he’d pulled them down.
Then it happened.
Gunshots erupted.
They were very close.
A window shattered.
Fragments of glass flew through the air. Some landed on the floor. One hit James in the cheek. Another in his forehead. He felt a sharp hit of pain, as if he’d been bitten by an animal.
Luckily, nothing hit his eye.
More important, he hadn’t been shot.
And neither had Barb. At least on first inspection.
James’s heart was pounding like he’d just run a mile in five minutes flat, his record back in high school.
His vision was a tunnel.
His hands were shaking from the adrenaline.
What to do now?
The seconds were ticking by. It felt like everything was happening in slow motion.
He needed to make the next move. He couldn’t wait like a sitting duck. He needed to move. He needed to get some kind of tactical advantage.
The idea came to him in a flash.
Before he could think, he acted.
He signaled for Barb to stay down.
Then he moved, pulling himself out from under her in a swift motion.
She managed to catch herself as she fell to the floor.
But he wasn’t looking back anyway.
He was moving swiftly, crouched down, gun in hand, prioritizing speed over stealth, but still aware of the noise he might make.
James left the kitchen, heading into the main room, heading right toward the busted-down door, right toward the open doorway with the snow blowing in.
His heart was pounding like it never had before. His body was in complete all-out alarm mode.
Before he got to the entrance, he stopped.
He was inches away from the open doorway. He could have reached out and put his hand into the cold air that came blowing in, exposing it.
Instead, he flattened himself against the door. The gun in his right hand was pointed toward the opening. Its muzzle was only inches away from it.
If someone came in, James was in an ideal position to shoot them.
James’s ears were ringing badly from the previous gunshots.
But he heard, as clearly as ever, another round of shots burst through the otherwise quiet night.
James didn’t know where the bullets fell or what they’d hit.
He heard no screams. No grunts of pain. He glanced toward the kitchen, but he couldn’t see Barb. He supposed she probably hadn’t been hit, but he couldn’t know for sure. She might have suffered in silence if she’d been shot.
No time to worry about it.
A gust of wind blew. Loud enough for him to hear it over the intense ringing in his ears.
The wind brought more snow through the open door.
James’s heart was pounding. He could actually hear it. It was so loud it sounded like something outside himself.
His hand was gripping the gun too tightly, out of fear. It was a normal response. He noticed it and tried to correct it, intentionally keeping a slightly looser grip. Then he cupped his left hand around and underneath his right hand. He knew from experience that controlling the gun’s kickback was easier with a slightly looser, but proper grip. The technique was more important than simply gripping the hell out of the thing.
The seconds were passing.
He was beginning to wonder whether he’d made the right move.
Then it happened.
A foot appeared first.
He heard nothing as a warning. His ears were ringing too loudly to hear soft footsteps in the snow outside.
The foot was in a boot. A nice one. Military style. The kind James had seen new recruits at the airport wearing. The kind that was also popular with guys who weren’t in the military but wanted either a certain image or certain performance parameters.
James had a feeling he was dealing with a guy from the latter category, rather than the former.
The boot shifted ever so slightly, facing away from James.
James was ready.
As ready as he was ever going to be.
Before the rest of the body entered, following the foot, another volley of gunshots echoed around.
This time, they weren’t coming through one of the kitchen windows, but instead from one of the windows across from the wall that James was pressed up against.
This had been one of the main risks in getting to this position. He was more exposed.
A bullet struck the wall above his head. James’s first indication was the plaster exploding outward from the wall, showering down on his head.
He wasn’t hit.
He threw himself to the floor as more bullets struck the wall, more plaster and paint chips exploding, raining down on him.
The volley of gunshots stopped.
His ears rang intensely.
His field of vision was a very narrow tunnel. He had to turn his head to see the doorway.
The boot was gone.
Had they retreated?
So there were definitely at least two people out there. Maybe more.
Now, all of a sudden, the boot appeared again.
This time, the rest of the body followed.
He was a big man. Muscular. A big neck and a strong back. He wore regular clothes that struggled to contain his massiveness.
He had a terrible face. A mean one, all of his features focused into an intense scowl. A scowl that was directed right at James.
James was now on the floor, covered in plaster and paint. The gun was still in his hand. But it was pointed uselessly toward the wall. His finger was on the trigger, but it did him no good.
The man in the doorway had a handgun in his right hand. It was faced at a slight angle toward the ground. His arm moved now, bringing the gun up so that its muzzle faced James.
His eyes met James’s and locked on.
Everything was moving in slow motion
James was bringing his own arm up as fast as he could. He had to fight through the pain, the pain that he still felt from the intense beating he’d received days ago.
The other man was faster.
James didn’t yet have his gun up. And he could see that the other gun was facing him.
The man was about to pull the trigger.
James kept pulling, pulling up his own gun, hoping against hope that somehow he’d be fast enough.
It felt like an eternity, but mere seconds were passing.
James heard the gunshot before he felt it. He thought it would have been the other way around, but it wasn’t.
His body was slow to recognize the pain.
But it was there. In his leg. His thigh, to be exact.
The pain was intense.
But it didn’t stop him. His own gun was almost in position.
And James wasn’t going to settle for half measures. He was going to shoot the man dead. He wasn’t settling for a foot or a leg or an ankle.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, James had the gun raised high enough.
James took aim and pulled the trigger.
The gun kicked.
He had it just in one hand now.
But he kept it steady.
The bullet went right into the man’s forehead.
It was the cleanest of clean shots.
Surprisingly, not much blood appeared.
The man seemed to remain stiffly standing for several moments before he collapsed in a heap.
James was shocked.
But relieved.
Then he remembered he’d been shot himself.
How many of them were still out there?
Now that he’d definitely given away his position, he needed
to move. And fast.
Could he move?
Yes. He tried scrambling to his feet.
And to his surprise, it worked.
Sure, his left leg, where he’d been shot, wasn’t working right. He tried to put weight on it, but so much pain flared that he screamed out, despite his best efforts to keep quiet.
He somehow fought against the pain and, not putting any weight on the leg, scrambled into the kitchen. He moved so fast he barely knew how he did it.
“Barb?”
She was there, but she’d moved, getting herself partially inside the cupboard. Probably a smart place to hide, since the kitchen was now riddled with bullet holes.
She held the knife firmly.
Her eyes were wide when her gaze traveled down to his thigh, which was now soaked in blood.
She opened her mouth as if to say something and James managed to turn around, since he wanted to face the door, thinking that someone else was likely to enter.
But after he spun around, he collapsed, falling to the kitchen floor.
“James!” she cried out.
He grunted in pain.
The fall to the floor wasn’t bad. It was his leg. The pain was worse now. He had a mental image of the metal slug lodged deep in the muscle, perhaps fragmented into a thousand pieces, having collided with the now-shattered bone.
He still had the gun in his hand.
He needed to give it to Barb. He’d managed to shoot that man dead, but he knew realistically she had a better chance of defending the two of them with the gun. He knew that he couldn’t let his pride get in the way.
“Here,” he said, his voice cracking with the pain. “Take it…. take it…”
But before she got to it, something else happened.
What looked at first like a bundle of flames flew through the open doorway, landing on the floor.
Above the flames, snow could be seen, clearly illuminated, as if it were backlit.
James then realized what it was.
Someone had thrown a torch into the house.
James watched in horror, unable to even stand up, as the flames spread almost instantly. It looked like something out of a movie, with the flames suddenly running in a straight line toward the wall.
Had someone poured gasoline in there somehow?
James didn’t know.
But what he did know was that the walls were catching incredibly fast.
Constant Danger (Book 2): Defeat The Anarchy Page 13