by Paul Kirk
“Mac?” asked Amanda, concerned about the welfare of the vulnerable boy.
“We’re done with the question and answer session,” decided Connor.
“His blood’s on your hands, Mac, if he takes one,” said Marty.
The words were a statement, said in a neutral tone but with enough factual weight to give Connor pause. He studied Marty for a few seconds and realized that the newcomer had shifted from the easygoing traveler to a man comfortable with leading and evaluating the strategy of hostage situations.
“Have you done this before, Marty?” asked Connor.
“A dozen times,” he answered.
“Have you taken lead before?”
“Four times. What about you?”
“Much more than that. Enough times that I trained men in this type of tactical situation.”
“It’s your call, Mac.”
“You have any suggestions?”
“You should leave the kid as backup. He can provide cover fire if we need it upon exit.”
“Yeah, Marty, that makes sense. But today’s world adds five, maybe six, years to a boy his age.”
“So?”
“So...that puts him at about seventeen in my book. He’s a raw recruit who’s personally motivated and highly interested in the success of this mission.”
“That’s it?”
“I trust his competency,” said Connor.
“How can you possibly know his level of competency, Mac?”
“Same as I knew that I could trust you, Marty. It’s one of my skills. It’s one that I count on and it hasn’t failed me yet.”
“Okay, I'm with you. Let’s do it,” said Marty, needing no further convincing.
“All right, listen up. Marty, I want you on the right and Amanda, I want you scoping all the windows. Three Tangos are inside according to Cody—all male. His mom and dad are most likely tied up. I figure the father's beaten pretty and separated from his wife. Amanda you know the drill—cover us the best you can and be ready if we have to make a hot exit. Cody, you will be on my left and five feet behind me. Remember what I told you about yelling out if you see something. You understand?” asked Connor. He waited for Cody’s serious nod of affirmation.
“Okay, let’s go.”
CHAPTER 3.11-Declaration
When Liam heard his uncle’s words, he dashed toward the bear.
His mother turned at his abrupt approach. “Are you okay, Liam?” she asked, concerned.
He grabbed the rope without answering her and dragged the bear, his anger fueling his movements. He quickly was beyond his mother.
“Liam?”
“Let him go, Terry,” said Andy, knowing the boy would eventually regain control of his emotions. He wasn’t unsympathetic to Liam’s feelings.
Liam struggled with the carcass and it became apparent to them both that they shouldn’t offer any assistance to him in his current condition. Andy draped his arm comfortably over Terry’s shoulders.
“What’s wrong with him?” she asked.
“Umm, he’s beginning to realize that his daddy’s not coming home.”
"Oh."
Andy roughly wiped watering eyes with his sleeve and cleared his throat. “I guess... today...it’s kinda hittin’ home. Maybe...just maybe, my big brother isn’t coming back.”
She turned toward him, leaning into his chest so that he wouldn’t see her tears. “Oh, Andy,” she sobbed, embracing him and feeling the comfort of his arms.
“I never thought I’d out-live that sonofabitch," said Andy. "Anytime I ever bring it up with Ryan, he just tells me to shut the hell up. It’s messed up that Melissa and Megan are gone—he’d listen to them all the time, but he'd never listen to me. It’s five years since I seen my sisters and Mac. It still hurts.”
“I know, Andy.” They embraced for a minute more, their faces turned to witness the epic struggle of Liam with his bear.
Andy wanted eye contact and held her at arms length. “You know, Terry, I’ve always loved the way your eyes change from gray to blue when you get emotional. Mac told me about it once, after a fight you had that first year you were together. He said it was one of the neatest things he'd ever seen. And what was even more amazing to him, was the fact that they continued to change while you were making up. From gray to blue and back to gray. I think I’m in love with that look, Terry.”
She left his arms and took a few steps toward the house. He was unable to speak and she turned to face him, sighing. “Andy? What are we gonna do?”
CHAPTER 3.12-Cleaning Out the Rats
“Mac,” said Amanda. She intently studied the window of the house through the riflescope. “Primary action's near a couch in the back of the front room.”
“Okay, what else?”
“Nada.”
Cody and Marty were positioned on either side of the front door. While Cody kept his head down as told, Marty risked a quick glance through the tall, narrow windows set on either side of the door. Connor waited for Marty’s signal which, when it came, conveyed the situational status inside the house. Nodding, he acknowledged the update.
“Cover our asses, Snuff,” said Connor.
Connor quickly made his way to the front door. Without pausing, he delivered a brutal kick above the doorknob and the wood jamb splintered, door swinging open hard. Pleased, Connor caught Marty following him with such quick agility; he had prevented the door from returning after the violent bounce off the wall. Marty’s rifle barked once and they heard Amanda’s do the same, the sound of the front window shattering at the same moment as the rifle shot. A man holding a knife at the foot of the couch had time only to glance down at two blossoming spots on his chest before he died, his last heartbeat coming before he hit the floor.
Connor swept his shotgun forward, searching for targets and seeing a man and a woman lying on the couch.
"One down!"
Connor simultaneously witnessed the bare-chested man on the couch take hits to his chest from what had to be Marty's Colt Defender. The confidence needed to take such dangerously close shots to the prone woman registered in his brain. The dying man, a bulky bastard, fell forward, atop the woman. She grunted loudly with the unexpected weight before making a noise of disgust and pushing the man away and onto the floor.
Connor tracked the third man to his left and, much to his dismay, recognized the movements of an experienced soldier in flight. To the team’s advantage, the soldier was unarmed and moving quickly, rolling out of range before coming to his knees brandishing a silver handgun.
Before Connor locked on target, the boom of a rifle behind him provided him the opportunity to watch the soldier’s hard stumble against the wall. The soldier's slow motion descent to the floor smeared a bright red streak on the wall and Connor quickly jumped the couch. Worried, he delivered another round into the soldier’s body, ensuring his death. Cautious, he slipped into the kitchen while Marty snuck in through the dining room.
“Clear!” yelled Connor, lowering his weapon into a safe carrying position.
“Clear!” yelled Marty from the dining room doorway. There was no second floor to contend with in this home.
“Is anyone hit?” Connor yelled, knowing that not one of the bad guys had loosed a round, but asking anyway.
"No!" said Amanda.
"Copy that!" said Marty.
Connor heard the soft sobs of Cody’s mother and made his way back toward the broken front door where Cody vigilantly waited for additional orders.
"Nice shot, Cody."
“Mr. Connor Mac?” pleaded the boy. “Can I go to my mom or do I still stay with you?” The boy’s eyes had locked on his mother’s disheveled figure on the couch.
“Cody, you did real good, son. Go take care of your momma.” The boy needed no further invitation and flew to his mother, covering her swollen face with kisses. She sobbed with relief.
Connor quickly waved to Amanda that they were in control of the tactical situation and Marty slipped toward the front do
or to ensure continued safety during the recovery. Connor moved to the man on the floor in the corner, kneeling next to him. Studying the extent of damage, the man was tied excessively with baling wire, wrists crudely bound together behind his back and his ankles held firm. To be extraordinarily cruel, the assailants had taken the time to tie his ankles to his wrists, tightening the wire so that the man’s knees were bent and his back was arched, making him nearly immobile beneath the bay window.
The man’s eyes never left his wife and his son. “Sir,” said Connor, slowly demanding his attention and removing the sock gag from the man’s mouth, “we’re friends of your son. You’re safe for now. Do you understand?”
The man turned his eyes to Connor, nodding.
“You have any broken bones?” Connor would have to lean over the man to remove the baling wire.
“No, don’t think so,” croaked the man.
Amanda appeared in the doorway, Connor turning. “Snuff, see to Cody’s mom.”
“Sure, Mac.”
“Sir, I’m gonna slide you out from the wall a little bit so I can reach behind you.”
"Okay."
Slipping behind, Connor gently unwound the twisted wire. The man wept, tears slowly rolling along the side of his nose. Connor removed the baling wire from his ankles.
“Marty, maintain a thirty yard perimeter.”
“Yes, sir.”
Finished with the baling wire, the man was free, making determined eye contact with Connor, conveying his appreciation. Standing, the severely beaten man stumbled to his wife and child, quickly lost in their embrace. Connor stood ten feet from the reunited family. At intervals, he glanced out the window, keeping an eye on the area outside. After a few minutes, he decided it was time to expand the security perimeter.
“Cody? We need to settle down here, just in case.” The woman in Cody's arms shook uncontrollably, continuing to cry. She hugged her son and husband tightly, hesitant to relinquish their embrace. Her ripped and torn flannel shirt fluttered about her body and one of her legs stood free from her jeans. Connor noticed that her underwear was still intact, but her nose ran freely with blood. She wiped occasionally, smearing blood on anything she touched, including her family.
In obvious pain with any movement, Cody’s father removed himself from his wife’s embrace and stood, teetering. He held out his hand. “My name's Roger McIntyre. I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough.”
“Yeah, well, it’s good to meet you Roger. My name’s Connor Mac. You shouldn’t thank me—you should thank your son for doing what he had to do. He took out the cockroach in the hallway.”
“Cody did that?”
“Your boy handled himself exceptionally well, sir. He’s a well-trained young man and, from what he’s told me during our brief visit, you probably had something to do with that.”
Roger smiled through the pain of busted lips. “It’s nice to meet you, Connor Mac. It’s good to know Cody can find a friend when he needs one.”
“Yeah...it’s amazing who you can meet when you’re simply passing through.”
CHAPTER 3.13-Figuring it out
“Did you get that bear all by yourself, Liam?” whispered Ryan into his nephew’s ear. He had snuck up on the boy, a game they had played since Liam was able to walk. Ryan was a pro at startling Liam, but this time Liam had paid him no mind. He continued to strain under the weight of the bear. Ryan, who was Marine Recon and exceptional in staging any ambush, always counted on scaring Liam to elicit a nervous, frustrating laugh. This time, Liam redoubled his effort with the bear without so much as acknowledging his uncle’s existence.
“What the hell?” commented Ryan, confused at the behavior. He slipped his hands in his pants pocket and stopped to watch Liam dragging the bear toward the cottage. Staring after the boy, Ryan knew Andy and Terry were coming up on his position. Purposefully, he pulled a black-n-gold Steeler cap from his back pocket and slipped it on, figuring they would fill him in on what was going on.
Terry caught up to Ryan, "Hey, Ry." They stood next to one another, both watching Liam and his struggles.
“What the hell you wearing, little brother? Where’d you find a Steeler hat?” Andy strided toward them both, a few steps behind.
“What? This old thing?"
"Yeah, that old thing."
"Traded it with a hunter passing through Nemacolin. Gave him a pound of deer jerky.”
Ryan was pleased that his big brother had noticed. Both were huge Steeler fans before the Cuckoo Flu knocked the world into medieval times.
“Damn, can you find me one?”
“Nah, you get your own, bro. You know, that resort's popping with some new blood the past month,” he said, referring to Nemacolin. “There's close to four hundred traders there. It’s becoming a great flea market.”
“Yeah, I heard that.”
“What’s up with Liam?” asked Ryan. Terry slipped her hands into her back pockets, forcing herself to relax. She studied Ryan, the youngest surviving member of the MacMillen brothers, and thought that he was the most beautiful of the three by far. His long copper-brown hair, mostly hidden now by his hat, was smooth and shiny, eliciting the desire to touch the silky locks. Ryan sensed her gaze and turned, his brown eyes bright with intuitiveness. He considered her intense stare while she realized, once again, that his eyes had the same green flecks as Connor Mac’s. When she looked into Ryan’s eyes, those green flecks were a beacon of hope—hope that her husband was still alive. Sadly, the hope was always followed by ugly reality—the reality that she was alone on a mountaintop without Connor MacMillen and that he had been gone for too long to come home to her now.
“Terry?” Ryan stepped toward her. “Are you okay?”
She felt the strong, sexual power of the man. Damn it, she thought, he moves with such an animal grace. “I’m fine, Ry,” she answered, her voice slightly quivering.
“Okay,” said Ryan, unconvinced.
Andy sensed her anxiety, shifting closer for support. He too, moved with a well-trained elegance that spoke of incredible body control. He reached to touch her shoulder.
“Damn all you MacMillen men!” she exploded. She felt the animal magnetism and it made it hard for her to think. Angrily, she swatted away Andy’s hand. She was surprised that she had spoken aloud, but she didn’t hide from the fact that she had said what she said.
“Well...uh...” stammered Andy.
“What’s the deal with Liam,” pleaded Ryan. He knew it was time to change the subject, allowing the three to relax. Their focus now turned to Liam who had dragged the bear to the skinning area near the fire pit. Hands on his knees, Liam was thoroughly spent.
Kevin Kowalski came out of the house calling something to Liam, the sound of his voice making it to the three watchers, but not the specific words. Kevin helped Liam load the bear onto the stringer post. Terry’s eyes softened as she watched her daughter Shannon run to her older brother, bright red hair glimmering in bouncing locks.
“Andy,” said Terry, touching his arm, “let’s figure this out soon, okay?”
“Sure,” he answered. “Okay, we will.”
“Right now, I’m gonna see if I can help Sandy with dinner.” She strolled toward the cottage without waiting for a reply, her hands still tucked into her back pockets. Both men followed her movement until she reached the deck. The spell of her movement was broken.
“Animal magnetism, she says. Hear that, bro? Just fuckin’ look at her,” muttered Ryan. “I know I shouldn’t say this, but I’ve dreamed about her on more than one occasion. That's a fine ass. Very fine. I mean, I dreamed about her even before the Sickness.”
“Yeah, me too, Ry.”
They continued watching her. Shannon ran to greet her, bouncing with enthusiasm. They heard the little girl’s squeals of delight when her mother grabbed her hands to swing her in dizzying circles. Terry's own squeals of laughter brought a crowd to the deck. Besides Shannon, Liam, and Kevin, there were fourteen others, most standi
ng on the deck, smiling as if the laughter was contagious.
Out of habit, Ryan touched his Beretta in his hip holster and stared at his brother. Andy stared back and, as was often the case, each knew what the other was thinking.
“Are you planning something, brother? You writing Mac off now, is that it?”
“C’mon, Ry, We're talkin' over five years. It might be time to move on.”
“So, that’s what Liam is pissed about.” He snatched the hat from his head and ran his hand through his hair. “You’re an asshole, bro.”
“Listen, Ry, I know you’re gonna tell me to fuck off again, but it’s time we moved on. We should start claiming what we want.”
“Right. Right,” said Ryan, nodding his head wryly. “So, it’s time to snatch up Connor’s wife—that the fucking answer? You’re crazy, man. I know the woman is fine, hell, more than fine, but he’ll kill you when he gets back—he’ll fucking kill you. He won’t care that you’re his brother.”
They stood together for several moments without speaking. Upset, Andy brushed a few flakes of dust from his Mossberg. “It’s been five years, Ryan. We know he was in Australia at Craig's place when the Flu hit, but that’s all we know. He's not coming back.”
“Yeah?”
“Do the math, man. There’s no way he can make it back here.”
“Yeah? I say screw you. You never had the faith I had in Mac.”
Andy shook his head sadly. “You always thought Mac walked on water, little brother. But, I’ve seen him have to swim his way through some serious shit, and this... this is too much for anyone. He’s not coming back.”
“Whatever.” said Ryan. He turned his back on his brother and walked deeper into the woods. After a few steps, he disappeared from view.
CHAPTER 3.14-Private First Class
“Nicole, we’re leaving for Toledo in less than two hours. Prepare for departure.”
“Sure, major.”
“'Major’?”
“I mean, Mike. I’m sorry. It’s just that you sounded so...I don’t know...military that I forgot.”