by Johnny Asa
“You can keep your boxers on.” She wrinkled her nose at me. “The puppies are cute though.” With that, she shoved me into the shower.
I screamed like a little girl as the boiling hot water hit my ruined back. Crimson swirled around the drain in the floor as I leaned heavily against the wall, my legs shaking from the effort of holding myself upright.
“Turn around,” Mary Ann commanded as she reached into the spray and ran her hand over my back. It hurt, but as she picked out bits of rock and glass, I realized I was starting to feel a lot better.
It felt like forever, but eventually, the water stopped running red, and as Mary Ann shut the tap off and pulled me out, I realized she was standing there in her bra and panties. Her clothing had been neatly folded and placed beside the sink. I hadn’t even seen her strip her clothes off.
“Dry off while I find a first-aid kit,” she said, wrapping a towel around herself before handing me one. Then she knelt down and pulled open the cabinet beneath the sink. A second later, she was on her feet with a first-aid kit in her hand.
“I’m almost surprised he has one of those,” I said, my own towel now around my waist. “I half-expected you to pop up with rubbing alcohol or peroxide.”
“Oh, those are down there, but they’ll actually do more damage than help. Good old soap and water should be fine for you.”
She shot me a smile and stepped into the hallway, motioning for me to follow her out of the room when the sound of gunfire filled my ears.
13
Without thinking, I threw myself forward, grabbing hold of Mary Ann and dragging her to the floor as gunfire tore through the front wall of my dad’s house, shattering the windows and perforating the front door.
All pain forgotten, I tried to shield Mary Ann with my own body as all hell broke loose outside. As I lay there, the whole world coming around me and ricochets filling my ears, I grabbed Mary Ann and jerked her backward into the bathroom. So far, it remained relatively safe thanks to the couple walls between us and the front room, but I knew that wouldn’t be enough.
“Get in the tub,” I said, trying to be heard over the din as I grabbed my Glock from where it lay next to my pants and checked to make sure it was ready to go. She hadn’t moved by the time I was satisfied by the weapon, probably too shocked by all the shooting.
I could believe that though. While I’d spent enough time in combat to keep myself from freezing, I remembered my first time like it was yesterday, that paralyzing fear that fills you and lets you know you could very well die. The key to not dying though? Moving past that.
“I said get in the tub,” I hollered, trying to be heard over the din as I grabbed her arm and yanked her toward the still wet tub where I’d taken my shower. She looked at me, eyes far off and scared, and because I didn’t have time to argue with her, I forced her toward the tub. “Stay down. I’ll take care of this.”
“How?” she asked, snapping back to reality and fixing her perfect eyes on my face. Worry swam through them, and her lip trembled, but that was okay because I wasn’t going to let anything happen to her. I’d brought her into this situation, and I’d damned well get her out.
“I’m going to kill them,” I said as the gunfire stopped. The silence of it after so much racket was eerie. “Going to keep you safe.”
As I spoke, she moved into the tub and crouched down. “Billy…” She gestured at the gun in my hands.
“I don’t want a lecture right now, ma’am,” I said, nodding to her. “I’m of a mind that only God gets to judge us, so I’m just going to arrange the meeting.” She smiled at that, but I was already turning away and pushing her from my thoughts.
It was silent which meant they were waiting. I crouched down as I peered back into the hallway, but the door was still intact. Sure, it had a few more holes in it that let the sunshine through, but otherwise, it was still barring the entry. Good, maybe no one was inside.
I crept forward, gun at the ready. A head poked up past the window, and as the thug tried to look inside, I fired my Glock. The bullet caught him just above the left eyebrow, blowing a skull-sized hole in his head.
As he collapsed out of sight in a spray of blood and gore, more gunfire erupted from outside. I dropped flat on my belly, thankful I was still mostly shielded by the hallway. Bullets tore through the window and door, pelting the furniture in the living room and spraying the insides of the couch across the floor.
I focused, trying to divine the angle of attack from the impacts, but it was no use. There were way too many shots and ricochets for me to tell.
Instead of firing blindly and giving away my position, I began to make my way to the left, hoping I could get to the back door and make my way around to flank them. It might mean leaving Mary Ann alone for a bit, but it was my best chance because anyone willing to stay here and keep shooting wouldn’t think much of setting the place on fire and smoking us out.
“I should have never come back here,” I chided myself as I crawled forward on my elbows. “Of course the Scorpions would come here.” I shook my head in anger as I moved into the dining room. It was a small room attached to the kitchen and led into either the garage or the sunroom depending on which door you took.
As I got into a crouch and began to edge toward the sunroom so I could reach the back door, the garage door blew inward in a spray of wood. I fired, putting two rounds in the intruder’s chest and face without thinking. He collapsed backward into his pal, stunning him so he couldn’t shoot me with the shotgun in his hands.
I didn’t have that problem, so I shot him too. His life evaporated in a spray of crimson mist as he collapsed backward into a heap on the floor. The gunfire outside ratcheted up a notch, but I ignored it as I surveyed the scene. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened. These guys had come through the garage. It made me realize how dumb it was to have a security door on the back door and the front door, but not the one that led from the garage to the house.
Filing that thought away for later, I edged forward, glancing into the garage. Fortunately, I saw no one else. I bent down and scooped up the Remington 870 Express Tactical the second thug had dropped. All seven rounds were still in it. Good.
Just as I’d thought, the man door on the other end of the garage had been kicked in. Thankfully the garage door itself was still down. There were a few errant bullet holes in it, but nothing much. There was, however, my dad’s old yellow Mustang. He’d been working on it for years, and while it ran, it was far from restored. A smirk crossed my lips as I moved toward it and pulled open the door. Then I reached under the seat and pulled out the key hidden there.
I put it in the ignition, causing it to roar to life. As its engines rumbled, gunfire erupted from outside. Bullets blasted through the garage door, spraying debris across the floor, but I ignored it. I threw the car in reverse and wedged the shotgun down on the gas pedal. The Mustang took off in a squeal of tortured rubber as I launched myself from the car. It crashed backward through the garage door, and as it did, everyone outside focused fire on it.
I wasn’t so easily distracted. I took down the three thugs standing on the driveway while they were still focused on the Mustang. As their lifeless bodies hit the cement, the Mustang hit the gate, tearing it free in a shriek of tortured steel and revealing a black SUV remarkably similar to the one I’d seen at the docks. A long-haired guy smoking a cigarette leaned out the driver’s window.
We made eye contact the split second before the Mustang plowed into the side of the vehicle, rocking it sideways into the street. A quick look around revealed no more attackers in front of the house, so I sprinted across the clearing while the driver hit the gas. The SUV squealed in pain, pinned by the Mustang as I raised my gun and fired a couple quick shots into the tires.
They blew out, and the spinning wheels hit the ground, tearing the tires to shreds as the SUV started to lurch forward on its rims. Sparks shot from them as the SUV began to tear away from the Mustang.
I sprint
ed across the driveway as the driver grabbed for something on the seat next to him. He raised a Colt Python at me, and I gave him the meeting he’d always wanted with Saint Peter outside the pearly gates.
I stood there for a moment, chest heaving before moving forward. I tore the shotgun from the Mustang, causing it sputter and stop like a dying beast of war. Then I turned to check the SUV. Only before I’d even pulled the door open, Mary Ann’s scream from inside the house shattered my concentration.
14
As I spun back toward the house, gunfire erupted behind me. I threw myself to the side as bullets chewed up the front lawn, turning my dad’s pristine summer sod into so much torn up dirt. I rolled as the line of bullets tore an erratic path behind me. I came up in a roll and fired at the attacker.
My shots missed, but they were enough to make the guy beside the SUV duck behind it for cover. Damn. There must have been another one inside. How could I have been so careless?
Thankful for my second chance at life, I scrambled to my feet and charged forward, emptying my Glock in an effort to keep the son of a gun pinned down.
Thankfully, he didn’t decide to take one for the team and pop out to shoot me, and a second later, I was at the SUV. My Glock empty, I decided to use it as an improvised club as I put one foot on the hood of the smoking Mustang and vaulted over the hood of the SUV.
I came down on the thug just as he was peeking out to pump me full of holes. My Glock crashed into his rising shoulder with a loud crack.
He screamed in pain as I landed on top of him, using my body weight to drive him to the ground. His head smacked into the asphalt with a wet thud, and as his eyes went glassy, I smashed my gun into the bridge of his nose, putting him out.
Mary Ann’s scream still rang in my ears, but I pushed down the need to run back to her for a moment. The last time had nearly gotten me killed. Part of me expected to hear sirens, but I didn’t. That wasn’t good. It meant that for one reason or another the police were ignoring a firefight in the middle of the suburbs.
Damn.
Confident the thug beneath me was down for the count, I relieved him of his AK47 and got to my feet. This time, I glanced inside the SUV but didn’t see anyone but the dead driver.
As I turned back toward the house, I went to holster my empty Glock and realized I was still in my puppy dog boxers. A grunt of annoyance escaped me as I dropped the Glock to the ground, hoping I could recover it later and made my way forward with the AK47.
As soon as I got close to the garage, two more thugs shot at me from the back door of the structure, but the AK was more than enough to turn them to mincemeat.
I relieved them of their weapons and slung one over my shoulder. I made my way forward, one AK47 in each hand. Part of me didn’t really like the Russian weapons, but they were good for getting beat to hell and still firing, so I hoped they would work even if accuracy was more spray and pray.
As I ventured back into the house, I kept careful aim. The last thing I wanted to do was shoot at a thug and kill Mary Ann… if that happened.
No. That couldn’t be allowed.
I had to find her.
Another scream tore through the house, coming from the back room. I glanced down the hall, and seeing no one, I made my way forward. A quick glance in the bathroom made my mouth fall open. The tiny room was thrashed. The pictures knocked off the walls. Broken glass from their frames and the shattered mirror was spilled across the tile. I swallowed hard. What had happened here?
I didn’t have time for that. I pushed down my emotions and made my way out of the hall. There were only two more rooms in this hallway, my dad’s trophy room and his bedroom.
A quick glance in the trophy room revealed all the awards I’d ever won along with my dad’s fishing and sailing knickknacks. No one inside, and it struck me cold. What if they were in the bedroom because, well…
I grunted, forcing down a sudden bout of rage, and spun on my heel, racing toward the master bedroom. I couldn’t hear much inside, but that didn’t matter because I could see a bloody handprint on the door. That wasn’t good.
I pushed it open slowly and found myself looking at the back of a tattooed thug with a bald head. He had a roll of duct tape in one hand and was busy trying to force Mary Ann’s arms together. She was kicking and clawing and trying her best to fight him off, but it didn’t seem to have a lot of effect from my vantage point.
No matter.
As the guy grabbed hold of her wrists and wrenched her forward, I pressed the barrel of the AK47 to the back of his skull.
“No means no, dirtbag,” I said and pulled the trigger. His life evaporated in a spray of blood and bone, and as his body started to slump, I pushed him off the bed and onto the floor. Crimson oozed out of his ruined head, spreading into a puddle around him, but I ignored it as I pulled Mary Ann into my arms.
“I’m so sorry,” I said as she cried into my chest. “I never should have left you here.”
“You saved me… he… he was…” she mumbled through sobs.
“I know. It’s okay.” A cruel smile broke out across my face. “He won’t hurt anyone, anymore.”
“That’s unfortunate, Mr. Ryder,” said a voice right before a gun barrel pressed right between my shoulder blades. “See, I knew Max was dumb enough to play the bait,” the voice continued, “but I’m still sad to see him go.”
I whirled as he fired, feeling the sting of the bullet as it tore superficially into my back. The guy leapt backward, trying to bring his gun back around, but I countered by kicking his wrist.
He grunted, dropping his Beretta, and took a step back to bring his hands up. He was a bigger dude with skin the color of three-day-old coffee and a sneer just as angry. He wore a really nice suit with a white shirt underneath and a blue bowtie.
“I’d hoped for the easy way, but I guess that’s not happening.” He raised his ham-sized fists and threw a jab through the air so fast the wind of it buffeted against my face. The guy was quick. That was fine, I’d dealt with lots of quick guys before. The key was to hit them really hard.
He lunged at me, and I took a step back, trying to dodge. My legs hit the bed, and I stumbled. His knuckles collided with my nose. Blood and pain exploded from my face, and my eyes went blurry as he reared back to punch me again.
The blow came, knocking me to the ground. I tried to crawl away, and as I did, he kicked me hard in the stomach. My breath burst from my mouth in a spray of spittle. As I flopped onto my side, I saw him reach into his pocket and pull out a six-inch Buck knife.
“When you see your dad in hell, give him my regards,” he said, flipping open his knife and smiling at me.
I kicked at him, my heel catching him in the shin. He stumbled, but there wasn’t enough force behind the blow to make him do more. I tried to get to my feet, and as I did, he slashed at me. I dodged, narrowly, but hit the dresser with my hip. Pain nearly made my knees buckle as I reached out, grabbing onto it to steady myself.
“Nowhere to go,” he said, raising his knife to deliver the final blow, and as I debated trying to block it anyway, his head exploded into a spray of blood that covered my face and neck in hot sticky fluid.
As his body crumpled to the ground, I saw Mary Ann standing behind him. The assassin’s Beretta was clenched in her shaking hands. Her whole body started to tremble as she slumped to her knees, dropping the gun.
15
“It’ll be okay,” I said while I maneuvered the Tahoe down the street. My dad’s bullet-riddled house was fading in the rearview. As I watched it go, a sense of dread welled up from my stomach. My dad might actually be dead. No, I couldn’t believe that was true. Not for a second.
Still as much as I tried to push it out of my mind and refocus on finding him, worry plagued my thoughts. Guys who shot up a house in the middle of the day wouldn’t give a damn about killing my father, and worse? The police hadn’t come. Hell, I still didn’t hear sirens. That meant the police probably worked for them. Sure, there were
probably a few good ones. For all I knew, that was most of them, but someone had kept them from showing up.
“It’s not okay,” Mary Ann whispered from next to me. Her voice was so soft, it made me think of a broken angel. “I killed a man, Billy. I pulled the trigger and shot him. God, I feel sick.” My heart went out to her as she turned her tear-strewn face away from me and stared out the passenger window like she could find answers there.
“That’s how you know you’re a good person. Trust me, killing is never easy. It tears you up inside, but the thing is, you sort of want it to do that because if you can take someone’s life without it meaning anything, without it cutting you up like a big bag of glass, that’s when you know you’re gone for good,” I said, reaching out to touch her leg with one hand.
The moment I did, she jumped like an electric shock had run through her body. She turned, looking at my hand. Then, instead of pulling away, she put her hand over mine. Hers was warm and comforting and was shaking like a leaf.
“I suppose you’re right.” She shook her head and wiped her eyes with her free hand. “My God, Billy Ryder. You come back into my life for less than a day, and already I’m killing people.” She shook her head once more like she was trying to dismiss the thought. When she finished, her eyes settled on me with all the seriousness of a mama bear protecting her cubs. “What are we going to do now?”
“I’m not sure, really,” I said, shaking my head as I turned onto the main street and headed in a direction that could only be classified as away. “I’d planned on camping out at Pop’s house until my buddy showed up.” I nodded toward the laptop and phone sitting in the back. “But right now, much as I hate to admit it, I don’t have anywhere to go.” I slapped the steering wheel with my palm. “Destination unknown, I guess.”
“Well, you can’t play in the mud and expect not to get dirty, I suppose,” she said, biting her lip as she stared up at the ceiling in thought. “You really think your friend can help find your dad?”