The Systemic Series - Box Set

by K. W. Callahan

  “Not much up this way is there?” he asked after a few minutes.

  “Hope not,” I said.

  He gave a sigh, “I thought we were coming out here to see what was going on.”

  “We are,” I agreed. “And hopefully nothing is going on.”

  His shoulders sagged and his head dropped back in desperation. “Come on, John,” he pleaded. “I’m bored as shit. I want some action, some people my own age. I can’t stand hanging out with you…you old people all the time.”

  I just smiled and kept walking.

  “I mean, I’m young. I have things I want to do. I don’t want to sit around camp all day with a thumb up my ass. I need to find some chicks or a place to party and do a little drinking or something. You’re like, still kinda young. I mean, I thought you’d understand. I can’t talk to my parents because they’re all old and stuff. But I need to get the hell outta that camp for a little while.”

  I stopped and turned to face Brian.

  “Listen Brian, I know. Believe it or not, I still kind of remember what it was like to be your age. And I can understand what you’re feeling right now. But listen. I’m not about to put you or anybody else in danger just so you can go out and sow your wild oats.”

  He gave me a wondering look. “Wild oats?” he asked, squinting, confused by the terminology.

  “Blow your wad, jack your jimmy, whatever you guys call it now. I know it probably seems like decades since you’ve last seen a girl or had a beer or whatever, but that’s tough shit. Right now you just have to find a jackoff mag or close your eyes and imagine you last girlfriend or do whatever you need to do, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to risk anybody – including you and me – just so you can get your rocks off.”

  He looked embarrassed, but I didn’t care.

  “Now I’m not figuring that we’re going to go on a scouting mission and happen to stumble across a busload of playmates in need of a helpful hand…or offering one for that matter. So if this is anything but a trip to find out what else or who else is out here and that might either pose a threat or be of assistance to us, we might as well turn around and go back to camp right now. Got it?”

  I think he was surprised at my forthrightness, but he nodded in agreement. “Got it, boss,” he mumbled.

  “Good,” I said starting to walk again.

  I had to admit that I did feel a little bad for him, but then again, I felt bad for all of us.

  8:24 a.m.

  AVERS, ILLINOIS

  The armed men were next door now. They’d steadily been making their way down the short row of houses, and Joanna could hear them breaking in doors and smashing glass just a few yards away. It was only a matter of time.

  She crouched, waiting near the base of the stairway near the front door, leaning against the side of the sofa that she’d slid into place across the door. She tried to remain calm, taking deep breaths and letting them out a little at a time, but her lungs felt like balloons ready to pop. So the first sounds outside her front door came almost as a relief.

  She prayed that Janet was ready.

  The front door jamming in hard against the sofa followed by the sounds of cracking wood and falling debris outside let her know that Robby’s riggings had worked.

  Outside, the intruder’s kick had forced the door open just a few inches before it wedged against the sofa. The force of this blow triggered a rope that dislodged several carefully placed boards that Robby had perched in the front porch overhang. Their displacement released an avalanche of heavy rocks and bricks from above.

  The screams of pain from the rear of the house let her know that their preparations there had worked as well. She felt her stomach twist in knots at the thought of what was happening to the pour soul who had encountered the trap there. But he deserved it, she reasoned. The shallow pit they’d dug in front of the backdoor and then concealed with some of the timely fall foliage was only a couple feet square in diameter and not very deep, but the knifes, sharpened sticks, and long shards of metal and glass they’d positioned jutting upward from the ground inside the hole had obviously been enough to catch at least one of their would-be invaders off guard. But this would likely alert the intruders that there were people inside the home, and now they’d be more cautious.

  There were deep-throated shouts from the back of the house, more from the front, yells from the road, and then the roar of distant motors. This was followed by the sounds of squealing tires, then seconds later, the noise of vehicles drawing up outside the house.

  Joanna crawled over and lifted a portion of the window curtain just enough to peek outside. She could see one man dragging another, who was apparently unconscious, down the front steps and out to the street. Two more carried another man from around back who was writhing in pain with one pant-leg bloodied and torn near the knee. Outside in the road, six vehicles were drawn up in a line and she counted at least eight men formed up in defensive positions around them. They carried an array of guns…guns aimed directly at her home.

  She quickly dropped the curtain and hustled back into the protection of the kitchen at the rear of the home where she found Janet. She knew what was coming. So did Janet. Their eyes locked, they each took a deep breath, exhaled, and then waited. They crouched in protective positions, Johanna behind the refrigerator, Janet behind the door leading down to the basement.

  Johanna could see the fear in Janet’s eyes. She gave her a nod and Janet opened the basement door.

  “One, two and three,” Johanna whispered.

  Janet gave her a knowing nod and then disappeared downstairs.

  After a minute, the yells outside died down. And just as Joanna started to hope that maybe the injuries to their comrades were enough to discourage them and force them to move along to easier pickings, it happened.

  A single shot rang out from the street. It was followed a split second later by the eruption of gun fire. The sound of bullets tearing through wood, crashing through window panes, smashing into furniture, and thudding into walls, stairs, and ceiling frightened her at first, but then she found herself oddly exhilarated. It was something she had never experienced before. It was a situation in which she’d never expected to find herself. She felt alive, ready, and then she thought of Shane and she was immediately terrified again. She wasn’t scared of dying, but she was scared for him and maybe even more frightened by the prospects of him being left without her in this new and terrible world.

  She didn’t have time to dwell on the thought though. The gunfire continued but at a less intense rate. This was exactly how Robby had described it. His time spent in the Middle East had prepared him well. He’d been on the outside of such situations and he had seen how structures had been readied when his unit had stormed them. And he’d seen too many of his own brothers in arms injured or worse when trying to enter a combatant’s home. More often than not, it was the homes of non-combatants that had been the most dangerous…the ones where he and his men weren’t expecting a problem but got one nonetheless.

  A pang of guilt shot through Joanna now as she thought about Robby, the decorated veteran, and how he’d met his demise at her hands. But now was not the time for such thoughts. The moment of truth had arrived. This was the point that Robby had said would make or break the whole plan. He’d been right about things up until now; she just hoped he’d been right about this too.

  The second kick against the front door shoved it open about three inches before the couch in front of it again stopped its progress. The next kick moved it another two until the bottom step of the upstairs stairway stopped its progress for good. Joanna moved from behind the security of the refrigerator and out into the hall that led from the kitchen to the front of the house. From there she had a line of sight to the front door. She took careful aim with the handgun and fired three times at the door just above where the handle was located and where Robby said the assailant would be standing to place a well-aimed kick. The wood door splintered as the bullets struck and she could hea
r someone outside scream in pain.

  She ducked back to the shelter of the refrigerator and waited again.

  Robby said the windows would be next, and again he was right. Joanna heard the shattering of what little glass remained in the bullet-hole ridden panes. This was her signal. But Robby had said not to aim at the window itself, he had said to aim to either side. They had practiced this, and they had even fired several test shots to help her prepare for such a situation and to test the results. Again she ducked out from her cover, aimed the gun, squeezed the trigger just to the right of the window, and fired three rounds. Then – almost instantly – she moved her already straightened arms slightly to the left, still holding the handgun out in front of her, re-aimed at the other side of the window and squeezed the trigger three more times, just where Robby had said the assailants would likely be taking shelter.

  “They won’t stand directly in front of the window when they’re breaking out the rest of the glass,” Robby had said. “They’ll stand beside it and use the butts of their rifles to smash it out. Shooting through the window will only waste your bullets and give them a better read on your position. Put a couple rounds through the wall to either side and you’ve got a better chance of hitting them.

  She wished she could take a few more shots but she didn’t have the ammunition to spare. Bullets were precious. And now she was down to two left in the gun and eight in her pocket.

  She didn’t need the extra bullets though as her shots to the left side of the window seemed to have done the trick. They resulted in another brief scream of surprise and pain and then a thud as whoever was out there fell against the side of the house.

  “Another one down,” Joanna said to herself, digging bullets from her pocket and reloading the gun’s clip with the remaining eight rounds.

  “But then will come the most dangerous time,” Robby had said. “This is when it will be almost impossible to defend the house. They’ll realize they’re being stupid and losing people and they’ll regroup to send a bunch of guys from both sides of the house at the same time. Or they’ll pop something strong on you like grenades and you’ll really be fucked. You won’t be able to defend quickly enough or you’ll be dead or so dazed that you might as well not even try. Trying will only get you killed faster.”

  Joanna knew it was time to go, but she was getting greedy. It was almost too easy. But then she thought about Shane and decided it was time to follow through with the rest of the plan as Robby had laid it out for her. Robby had been right so far, so why chance it?

  Heavy gunfire was starting to erupt again outside, peppering the front of the house with bullets. They were giving covering fire while flanking the house, just like Robby had said. He was right. They’d started stupid, now they were brightening up and using a little strategy. Their losses were mounting, and it appeared that – whoever these people were – they were ready to finish this thing.

  Joanna could see two armed men dart past the kitchen window and take up positions behind a tree in the backyard. The groundwork was laid – any minute they would be inside the house.

  It was time.

  She slid from behind the refrigerator and army-crawled under the whizzing bullets to the dining room near the front of the house. She paused and fished a cigarette lighter from her pocket. The gunfire had diminished slightly now, but bullets were still ripping through the wall above her. She got to within reach of a bundle of oil and kerosene soaked rags and old clothing beside the couch and beneath the window curtains. There, she snapped open the lighter – given to her by Robbie and that had been given to him by a fellow soldier and friend of his who had died in Iraq – and flicked it, expecting to see the flame.

  Nothing happened.

  She flicked it again with similar results.

  “Shit!” She tried again. “Shit, shit, shit,” she said as she continued to flick the lighter.

  The gunfire was starting to intensify again. She knew she didn’t have long.

  She shook the lighter, turned it upside down, righted it, and flicked it again.

  It sparked. She shook it and tried again. This time it lit, and a quick touch, she set the rag pile next to couch ablaze with a “whump.”

  The smell of kerosene stung her nose and she quickly crawled back to the relative protection of the kitchen. She took a quick look over her shoulder just as the window sheers started to disintegrate into black smoke and light the curtain aflame in the process. The outer fabric on the arm of the couch in front of the door was already starting to peel away in a fine, wispy-white smoke, and the foam beneath it was starting to sizzle and melt.

  She made her way over to the kitchen sink, opened the cabinet beneath it and took several seconds to turn the handle atop a propane tank housed within. She then moved over near the back door where a kerosene-soaked rag pile similar to the one in the dining room sat. It took her just a few seconds to ignite the pile this time.

  She pocketed the lighter and rose from her prone position upon the floor to kneel just behind the dishwasher beside the back door. The smell of smoke was strong now and she could feel the heat from the flames near the back door. As they rose, they climbed up the side of the cabinet that housed the dishwasher, creeping slowly higher until they reached the countertop. Here they ignited a thin trail of lighter fluid that Joanna had kept fresh daily. The trail lengthened as it flickered across the countertop, moved past the dishwasher, and flickered along the open counter toward the sink.

  Joanna dove across the hallway back into the living room and behind the cover of a nearby sofa chair, covering her head and waiting. Several seconds later, a huge explosion rocked the house, blowing out the kitchen window above the sink and taking part of the wall with it. She heard a cry and then the back door smash inward.

  It was the final assault. She had timed it perfectly and must have caught one of the attackers as he approached the rear of the house. But now another assailant was in through the backdoor and she could see him, his assault rifle out in front of him. He quickly scanned the kitchen. Seeing the flames, he hesitated. It was all Joanna needed. She emptied three more rounds from her handgun into him, dropping him to the floor where he lay motionless just in front of the basement door.

  She jumped up, sliding the gun into her waistband as she moved to the basement door, sidestepping the motionless form on the floor along the way. Once there, she grabbed the basement door handle and yanked it open, but after opening it only several inches, the door wedged against the side of the dead man. Joanna yanked on the handle several more times, but this only resulted in sliding his body another inch, maybe two – not enough for her to get through – before it jammed again.

  “Damn it!” she said, ramming the door against the man’s body again but without result.

  The fire in the kitchen was growing around her, flames lapping at the ceiling from where the propane tank had exploded. The flames near the backdoor had spread across the wall and over the living room carpet to alight a loveseat and hutch.

  Joanna bent to get a grip on the body in front of the basement door. The man was bulky and probably weighed well over 200 pounds. Joanna therefore looked for a way to slide or push him. She finally settled on using his belt to half slide, half drag him on the linoleum tile just far enough to get him out from in front of the basement door. This done, she moved back across the kitchen to the door, using a forearm to shield herself from the heat. She could hear the fire starting to roar around her as it ate its way through the ceiling and became hot enough to begin consuming almost anything it came in contact with.

  She pulled the basement door all the way open. Cool air wafted up from below and it felt good against her face. She took a deep breath and carefully stepped forward, but something stopped her. It yanked her head backward awkwardly.

  “Where you goin’?” came a gravelly voice.

  Joanna tried to spin around, but a hand held her tight by the hair.

  “Just you causin’ all this trouble ‘lil miss?” the
voice said, spinning her around so that she faced a leather-vested, bearded bruiser that was sneering evilly as though he’d just woke up on the wrong side of a Tijuana brothel bed.

  The smell of his breath almost made her gag.

  “Oh…” he said, giving her a casual once over, as though the flames were but a slight annoyance, “…you a fine ‘lil thing. I think I’m gonna have fun with you. Come on,” he said, cinching her up close against him so that the stink of his breath hit her full on.

  She used the combination of his stupidity and obvious sexual depravity against him, locking eyes with the scumbag and giving him the slightest of smirks.

  It was just enough to catch his male ego, confusing that link between brain and balls, and leave him thinking that he might somehow have a chance with this beautiful woman. That almost instantaneous waver of thought when his brain was saying, “Uh, no way she’s into you, moron,” and his balls saying, “Oh yeah, she’s a kinky one who might actually be into this sort of thing.”

  Before his brain could respond with, “Come on, dipshit, get the fuck out of here first, then figure it out,” Joanna rocked the unknown loser in the nuts as hard as she could with her knee.

  The guy let out a high-pitched wail unbefitting his badass persona and keeled over onto the floor. In the process, he dropped the assault rifle he’d been holding in the other hand. But Joanna didn’t waste the time to pick up the weapon and shoot the now crumpled man. He didn’t deserve an ending that humane. Instead, she used the delay to duck back around the basement door and disappear downstairs.

  In the basement, she crouched at the base of the steps behind an empty oil tank. It wasn’t long before she saw the man again, framed at the top of the basement stairs. She waited to watch his final moments, wondering why men were so stupid.

  Just leave me to burn down here you idiot, she thought to herself, watching him step forward.

  But no, even with the house burning down around him, this guy wanted his revenge.