by Dirk Patton
Back to the house I spotted movement on the second floor balcony that must have had a fantastic view of the lake. An overweight man with long, greasy hair walked out through an open set of French doors, stepped up to the railing and after a moment of fumbling with his pants pissed over the rail and onto the lawn below. After what seemed like forever he zipped back up, wiped his hands on the legs of his pants and lit a cigarette before going back inside.
I thought I could identify four different voices yelling and laughing, but between the generator noise and the music it was hard to tell. There could have been ten men inside and I was only hearing the ones that were making all the noise. I was sure there was plenty of alcohol being consumed and my concern for Rachel ratcheted up to outright worry.
Starting the motors I had a brief moment of concern that they would hear me, but dismissed it as another burst of laughter floated across the water. Moving the throttles to their first notch I steered the boat towards the shore. About a quarter of a mile to the right of the house there was a very small indentation in the shoreline where I could anchor the boat out of sight. Cutting the motors as I approached, the boat’s momentum carried it into the cove which was no more than 100 feet across and maybe 50 feet deep. I anchored as close to the center of this as I could, the boat swinging around the anchor point until it settled fully.
I had already reloaded my pistol after blasting my way out of the boat house, but I checked the loads in each of the magazines anyway. Pistol fully loaded with 16 rounds and two spare mags of 15 rounds each. Rifle with a full 30 round mag plus 1 in the chamber and another 9 full 30 round mags gave me a full military standard load out. I checked the security of my knife and was ready to go.
Taking the key out of the ignition I hid it under a seat cushion at the bow of the boat. No reason to make it too easy for anyone that happened onto the boat while I was gone. I planned to rescue Rachel and recover the cabin cruiser if possible. If not then we’d have to return to the speed boat. I didn’t even contemplate coming back alone. They’d have to kill me to stop me.
I slipped over the side of the boat into the water which was still over my head. Treading water I called softly to Dog who whined but finally came over the side as well and started paddling to shore. I followed, feet finding the lake bottom half way to shore. Wading out of the lake I paused to make sure my weapons were drained of water. Satisfied with their readiness I stooped over and grabbed handfuls of mud which I smeared on all of my exposed skin. I hadn’t worried about white skin showing when I was battling infected, but I didn’t want to give these guys any more of an advantage than they already had with sheer numbers.
Dog and I headed west towards the house, following the shoreline as we moved. The closer I approached the house the slower I moved until we melded into the trees, cutting through the forest at an angle that I calculated to bring us to the lawn at the side of the house. Pausing to listen every few yards I was glad to note that the tone of the party hadn’t changed. They had no idea death was coming for them.
Reaching the lawn I dropped to one knee, Dog flattening himself on the ground next to me. His ears were at full attention, his nose twitching as he sampled the air. He stayed silent and I took that as confirmation of my assessment that there were still no sentries on lookout and no infected in the area.
Across a long stretch of lawn a large diesel generator purred away. It was obviously built into the house and I couldn’t tell if it was the only source of power or just for emergencies. Next to the generator was a door that I suspected opened into a shop area where maintenance supplies for the house were stored.
The house was two stories with a patio and covering balcony on the lake side that ran the length of the structure. I took a guess that the home was close to 6,000 square feet which meant a lot of rooms to clear once I got inside. It was relatively dark on my end of the house and I moved at a quick jog across the open space to the wall. Pausing between the generator and the door I reached out and tried the knob, not surprised when I found it unlocked.
It turned easily in my hand and I opened the door a crack, just wide enough to peer inside the room. My guess had been right. A large workshop with an epoxy coated cement floor and walls covered with peg boards that held a vast assortment of tools. No one was inside and there was no other door, so no access to the house from this room. I reached in and fumbled around for the light switch, found it and turned it off. I would leave the workshop door ajar in case I needed to retreat to somewhere defensible and I didn’t want to be silhouetted by the light when I opened the door.
Creeping along the wall of the house to the front side, the side away from the lake, I peeked around the corner. A sleek Mercedes S Class sat in a circular driveway made of crushed stone. Surrounding the gleaming car like a pack of hyenas sat six mud splattered 4x4 trucks. Two of them had Confederate flag license plates on the front and all of them were obviously brush beaters.
Slipping around the corner I checked the closest truck and found it unlocked with the windows down. The keys weren’t in it, but that didn’t matter. I didn’t plan to steal it. Dropping to the ground I slid under the truck, risked my flashlight for a moment to locate the correct wire, and then used my knife to disable the truck’s starter. I repeated the process with each of the other trucks. When done with them I looked at the Mercedes and realized I wasn’t going to be crawling under it. Instead I settled with flattening two of the tires. Now no one was going anywhere that they didn’t walk unless they were on a boat.
Returning to the side of the house I made my way to the back and peeked around the corner. Still no sentry, and the party sounded like it had shifted into a higher gear. I rounded the corner and crawled to a well-lit window. Raising my head an inch at a time I finally got a look inside the house. A large room held three sofas placed along the walls. A pool table occupied the center of the room and seven men lounged on the sofas watching two others shoot pool. The fat man I’d seen take a piss earlier tried a shot that missed horribly to the delight of all the others who hooted and laughed like it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen.
Empty beer cans sat on just about every available horizontal surface, many more dribbling onto the expensive looking carpet. Several empty whiskey bottles lay on the floor and cigarette butts were everywhere, apparently just crushed out underfoot on the carpet. All of the men were armed with holstered pistols, several of them with hunting knives strapped to their muddy boots. None of them looked like they’d seen a shower or a razor in at least a couple of weeks.
Here were nine drunks, but no Rachel. I dropped back below the window and crawled on to the edge of a set of French doors. Peeking around the corner I saw a large kitchen filled with commercial grade appliances and a large oak table in the middle of the room. Two more men sat at the table, drinking and smoking. Rachel stood at the stove cooking something while they watched.
Rachel was completely nude. Her back was to me and I could see angry red hand prints on each of her ass cheeks. When she turned to bring the food she was preparing to the table I could see more marks on her face, neck, thighs and breasts where she had been grabbed and slapped.
She looked up as she walked across the room, spotting me and almost faltering in her step, but she recovered smoothly enough for the men to not notice. At the table she shoveled scrambled eggs out of a large cast iron skillet onto the waiting plates and was thanked with another hard slap on the ass. The other man reached up and grabbed her right breast and squeezed it hard enough to make her flinch, but she didn’t try to pull away.
Rachel kept her eyes on me while the men groped her, then the breast squeezer dismissed her with another slap on her bare ass that was hard enough to make her stumble. She recovered and quickly moved away to the safety of the stove. The men dug into the eggs, eating like they hadn’t had food for days.
I looked at Rachel and used hand signs to tell her I counted eleven men, then raised my eyebrows questioningly. She understood and without raising her h
ands very carefully extended all ten fingers then two more. Twelve. I had spotted eleven. Where was the twelfth? I pointed at the room with the pool table and held up nine fingers. Rachel nodded subtly enough to not be noticed. I pointed at the two in the kitchen, then raised my eyebrows again. Rachel shrugged her shoulders no more than a half an inch, but enough for me to tell she was saying she didn’t know.
Shit. The odd man out could ruin my day. Surprise and sobriety were on my side. I was confident I could take the two in the kitchen with my knife, then the nine with my rifle. The problem was getting blindsided by the missing man while I was finishing off the room full of drunks.
I made a calming motion with my hand to Rachel and moved away from the edge of the door before I was spotted. Dog was next to me, flattened to the ground and as alert as ever. I was glad to have his nose and ears to keep an eye on my back. I guess even Dog isn’t perfect because by the time he growled it was too late.
“Don’t fuckin’ move,” A male voice with a thick accent said, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being racked from the darkness at the corner of the house.
26
It has always amazed me how the mind speeds up in high stress or high danger situations. I know what it’s like in combat and I’ve heard professional athletes try to explain the same phenomenon. The body will dump a massive amount of adrenaline into the blood stream and the brain immediately goes into hyper speed. Your senses and reactions are so enhanced that everyone and everything else around you is in super slow motion and super HD clarity, your analytical and decision making processes going into warp drive. This is an incredible edge in combat, or on the field, and not many people can do this. Special Forces operators and pro athletes that play at a high level typically have this ability and it’s what lets us get to where we are in our chosen profession.
A fraction of a second after I heard the voice start to speak the world around me slowed down. I realized that if I was captured I’d be dead and Rachel might as well be. Fighting was the only option that gave us a chance at survival. This thought went through my head and the decision to fight was made in less than the blink of an eye.
My rifle was still slung and would take too long to bring to bear, but my pistol was inches from my hand and ready to go. Launching myself towards the voice with a mighty push of my legs I drew the pistol as I twisted to get into a firing position. Shotguns at close range are devastating weapons. If it was twelve gauge loaded with 00 buck shot it was essentially the same as firing eight .38 special pistols at the same time, each of the shot pellets being about the same size as a .38 bullet. As I pushed off my hope was that my assailant didn’t really have the shotgun pointed directly at me as most people rely on the intimidation factor rather than expecting to actually have to shoot.
My body reached full extension and as I twisted I started firing the pistol at the spot where the voice had come from. After my second shot sounded the shotgun boomed and a tongue of flame lit the corner of the porch like a strobe light. I felt something tug my left arm and the left side of my chest, but it didn’t hurt so I ignored it.
The flash from the shotgun firing gave me an aiming point and as I landed on the porch in a fully prone position I quickly put six rounds into the spot where I’d seen the flash. I was rewarded with the sound of a body hitting the ground and a shotgun clattering to the porch. Without pausing I dropped the pistol magazine, popped in a fresh one and holstered it, then swung my rifle around as I leapt to my feet.
The rifle I’d looted from the sporting goods store was most likely illegal as it was a military version of the M4 with a selector setting for Semi Auto and Burst. Semi means for every pull of the trigger one round, and one round only, will be fired and another loaded into the chamber. Burst will fire three rounds for every pull of the trigger. I thumbed the selector to burst and stepped in front of the window that looked into the room where the men were playing pool.
I couldn’t begin to guess how much time had elapsed since I’d fired the first round from the pistol, but it couldn’t have been long as the nine men in the room were still basically where they had been, not having reacted to the firefight yet. I was sure the alcohol they had consumed contributed to slowing them down, but I was moving at warp speed and they weren’t.
Aiming through the window I pulled the trigger and three rounds shattered the glass and punched into the chest of one of the pool players. Before he had time to fall I adjusted slightly and sent three more rounds into the second player. Now I had their attention.
Shouts and curses sprang from them and they all started moving. In slow motion I saw three of them reach for their pistols. I targeted each of them, putting each down in turn so quickly none of them had time to get their pistols up and into action. I shot two more as they tried to scramble across the floor and out the door that led to the kitchen. The remaining two were in opposite corners of the room but I had to swing my rifle to my left when the French doors leading from the kitchen burst open.
One of the men from the kitchen rushed out the door, pistol up and ready but before he could even spot and target me I put a three round burst into his head. I spun back to the rec room but only one of the men was visible. Three rounds in his back put him down, then I had to move as bullets started punching out through the wall right next me. Someone was firing blind and hoping for a lucky shot. I didn’t know if it was the other man from the kitchen or the last man from the rec room that I’d lost sight of.
I quickly changed the magazines in the rifle and fired five bursts back through the wall towards the most likely location of the shooter. The shooting from inside the house stopped and I moved to the kitchen doors, nearly shooting Rachel as she stepped into the doorway. Without a word I grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the house and past me as I moved into the kitchen. The second man I’d seen eating was lying face down on the floor, the handle of a rather substantial butcher knife sticking out of his back. I made a mental note not to piss Rachel off in the kitchen.
The only man not accounted for was the shooter that I thought I’d gotten when I shot through the wall. I briefly debated the wisdom of just getting out of there, but if he wasn’t dead I didn’t want to leave him behind to get pissed off, find some friends and come after us. Pushing ahead I kept the rifle up and ready.
Moving quickly but cautiously I entered the rec room, scanning with the rifle for any threats. The room was a slaughterhouse. The stench of blood, voided bladders and bowels and the overlaid haze of burnt gunpowder was a familiar smell that had a strange calming effect on me. I went to each body, counting as I went and making sure each was dead. When I found the one who was shooting through the wall I was pleased with my response. I’d fired five bursts, fifteen rounds, back through the wall and I counted thirteen holes in the body.
The adrenaline was quickly draining off and the post combat letdown started to set in. With it came the pain. Then I realized I was having a hard time breathing. I stumbled back to the kitchen and out the door to the porch where I would have fallen to the ground if Rachel hadn’t rushed forward and wrapped her arms around me for support.
27
Rachel staggered under the sudden weight as John collapsed into her arms. Letting him slip to the porch she quickly examined him in the light spilling out from the kitchen. Two holes that looked like bullet wounds in his left arm bled freely, but fortunately neither of them was pulsing blood like an arterial shot would do. Ignoring them for the moment she checked the wound in his chest. A couple of inches below his left nipple it was seeping blood and when she leaned close Rachel could hear the whistle of air in and out of the wound. Rachel had done a rotation in the ER at Atlanta’s Grady Hospital and knew what a punctured lung sounded like. He needed a modern hospital and a trained surgeon, right now, but all he had was her. A fourth year med student that supported herself by showing her tits and ass to men.
Never one to panic in a crisis, Rachel jumped to her feet and dashed into the house in search of
first aid supplies. Starting in the kitchen, Rachel ransacked every cabinet and drawer without finding anything more substantial than a box of bandages not suitable for anything more severe than a paper cut. She set aside a stack of clean, white kitchen towels and raced to the closest bathroom where she found a plastic handled X-acto knife and a small sewing kit. In the next she found more of what she needed. Rubbing alcohol, gauze pads, medical tape, antibiotic ointment, scissors, and a large vinyl bag with a heavy zipper. Inside she found syringes with unopened needles, a plastic baggie with a ball of black tar heroin, and a spoon and butane lighter. The spoon was stained from cooking the heroin. Zipping up the bag Rachel grabbed a towel off a rack, folded everything up in it and ran back to the kitchen.
Grabbing the white towels on her way by she stopped long enough to check on John. He was still bleeding and unconscious, his color not good. Dog sat by his head, furry hip pressed against him as he kept watch.
“Stay with him,” Rachel said to Dog and then sprinted down the lawn to the dock. Dog let out a low whine as if in answer then went back to scanning the area.
Rushing onto the cabin cruiser Rachel dumped her supplies in the main salon. A few minutes and a pinched finger later she had converted the dining table set up into a large bed. She was still naked as she worked, but had more pressing priorities than covering herself. Besides, there was no one to see her other than Dog, and so far he hadn’t seemed impressed with what she had on display.
She ran back up the dock and lawn, pounding onto the porch and kneeling next to John. His eyes were open when she looked down at him and he tried to smile but it came over as a grimace. Working her arms under his shoulders Rachel pulled him to her and sat him up, her bare breasts pressed tightly against his face.