No Cry For Help

by Grant McKenzie

  But Carly was gone now. That was fact. There was nothing to stop him from embracing exactly who he was always meant to be.

  Gallagher gripped his gun tighter and stepped into the open room just as a woman screamed.

  Gallagher twisted around.

  Carly?

  NO! Carly was gone.

  It was almost a relief. Bone, damn his eyes, was right. This woman no longer held any value.

  Alicia stood in the doorway of the bathroom with one son clutching her leg. His eyes were closed, terrified, while his mother screamed at Bone.

  Bone stood at the base of the unfinished wooden stairs. He was holding the other boy under his arm. The youngest one with the ginger hair like his mother’s. The boy was squirming, afraid, lashing out with tiny fists, but his blows were completely ineffectual.

  Gallagher had watched Bone hold red hot coals in his bare hands without flinching. The impact of a young boy’s fist would be like the fluttering of an eyelash.

  “We can sort this out, Bone,” Gallagher called.

  “Too late,” Bone replied. “Carly and Katie had the right idea. I don’t need you, either.”

  Gallagher’s face burned with fury as he brought his M4 to bear, but Bone’s little black handgun was faster.

  The lone bullet smacked Gallagher in the chest, breaking two ribs and burrowing deep into meat inches from his heart.

  Gallagher gasped and reflexively squeezed the trigger of his own weapon. Bullets stitched the floor and walls, forcing the woman and her remaining son back inside the bathroom. He tried to readjust his aim as he pumped the trigger again and again, but by the time his last bullets found the steps, Bone wasn’t there to meet them.

  Gallagher watched the last surviving member of his unit run up the stairs to nowhere.

  Bone fired his handgun again, but this time he aimed up and the bullet chewed wood and buckled the lock’s hasp. The trapdoor sprang open as Bone hit it full bore with his shoulder, then he and the boy vanished into spider webs and darkness.

  More wood splintered from the direction of the kitchen as the rear door was forced open. It was followed by the arrival of heavy, clumsy feet.

  Gallagher knew he had to move. Live to fight another day.

  He snapped his last magazine into the M4 and heaved himself to his feet. Sucking air deep into his lungs, he heard and felt some of it hiss from the oozing hole in his chest. A fucking suck wound. Bone’s parting joke.

  Gallagher fought the pain and ran, heading straight for the last place Bone had been. The place where two human shields still cowered in fright.

  CHAPTER 67

  Wallace kicked open the kitchen door and rushed inside with his shotgun at the ready. Crow followed close behind, his handgun in a solid two-fisted grip.

  The house reeked of war, anarchy and blood.

  Wallace scanned the kitchen, looking for any sign of Alicia and the boys.

  It was empty.

  He swallowed and moved on, knowing that if he stopped for even a second, fear would catch up and whisper its cold words of logic in his ear, make his muscles freeze and his courage vanish. He had faced that once before when he hung above the ocean and reached out his hand to a terrified young girl who likely imagined he was Death itself.

  He had fought it then. He would fight it now.

  Two doorless archways led off the kitchen. The one on the far side of the table opened near the first rise of a wooden staircase that climbed to the upper level. Anyone perched near the top of the stairs would have a perfect spot for ambush.

  Wallace turned to his left and took the doorway beside the two broken windows. He moved cautiously into a formal dining room that connected to a large, open-plan living area with floor to ceiling windows.

  Keeping his back to the wall, his stomach churning with terror, Wallace moved closer to the corner where a wide hallway led back to the stairs and the second kitchen archway.

  He stopped at the corner and looked down at several large puddles of fresh blood on the floor.

  “Fuck!” Crow swore behind him.

  A sudden scream.

  Alicia!

  Wallace had no choice. He took the corner.

  There was no one waiting on the stairs, but an unfamiliar face was vanishing into a small room further down the hallway. Behind him, Crow instantly fired off three shots from his handgun, stitching the plaster.

  “Stop!” Wallace yelled. “He has Alicia in there.”

  “Good call,” a man shouted through the wall. “You almost gave the boy a lobotomy.”

  Wallace sucked in a deep breath and exhaled heavily.

  “Alicia,” he called out. “Are you okay?”

  Wallace heard a heart-wrenching sob, followed by his wife’s barely-controlled voice.

  “Alex and I are okay.”

  Wallace hesitated. “What about Fred?”

  “The other man took him. I don’t know where he is.”

  “I can tell you,” said the man. “You let me leave. I’ll tell you where.”

  “He’s badly wound—”

  Alicia’s words were cut off by a howl of pain.

  Reacting on pure instinct and adrenaline, Wallace rushed headlong down the hallway and kicked open the bathroom door. The shotgun was pressed hard against his shoulder, his eyes locked in on his target, but the stranger sat inside the bathtub with the barrel of his weapon sunk into the soft underside of Alicia’s chin.

  Alex sat on the other side of his mother. His face was sickly pale and tears ran freely down his cheeks.

  “Let them go,” said Wallace. His voice broke. “You can have anything you want. Just please let them go.”

  The stranger sucked in a deep breath and his chest gurgled. The act of breathing caused him noticeable pain.

  “You’re not supposed to be here.” The stranger laughed ruefully. “I had everything planned. It was perfect.” He paused and his tone lost any trace of humor. “But then you have a knack for ruining perfect, don’t you?”

  Wallace blinked away a sudden arrival of tears at the sight of his wife and oldest child. So close and yet . . . The shotgun grew heavy in his hands until all he had left were words.

  “You’re Gallagher, right?”

  The man nodded and a defiant brightness returned to his eyes.

  “I talked to your wife in the ambulance before we were taken to hospital,” Wallace continued. “She told me she had been running away. She was scared. So scared she thought she could outrun a bridge full of oncoming cars.” Wallace locked eyes with the man as though attempting to burn his way inside his brain. “If you loved her so much, why was she so scared?”

  Gallagher swallowed and sneered. “I’m a bad man, I guess.” Sarcasm dripped like venom.

  “You chased her,” continued Wallace. “Sent her driving in front of a bus and off a bridge. Your child was in the back seat.”

  Gallagher flinched. “I didn’t chase her. I was looking for her, I wanted to talk, to fix things. I didn’t know she was in Canada until—” He hesitated.

  “Someone was chasing her,” said Wallace. “She was terrified and driving like a madwoman to escape him. She told me.”

  Gallagher’s face fell. “Bone,” he said. “Always too eager. He was the one who located her. He told me where she was, but by the time I got to the hospital, she was gone again.” His eyes went cold. “You were in the same hospital. You helped her disappear.”

  Wallace swallowed. “What do I know about running away?”

  “Yeah,” Gallagher said wearily. “A real fucking hero, huh?”

  Wallace shook his head. “No. Just a man.”

  Gallagher shook his head. “I could have made it right. If you hadn’t interfered. Hadn’t helped her vanish, I could have convinced her to come back. You ruined that.”

  “Wallace didn’t even know,” said Alicia. Her wounded voice cut through the tension like a razor across skin. “He underwent four surgeries on his leg. They kept him doped up or asleep for the better
part of a week.”

  Both men turned to her.

  “I helped Carly and Katie,” she said. “I saw them at the hospital when I was visiting Wallace. I wanted to meet the women who were so important that my husband foolishly risked his own life. They were both so frightened that it broke my heart. I pried. I listened. And then I finished the job that my husband started when he pulled them off that bridge. I helped them begin a new life.”

  Gallagher snarled and pressed the gun barrel deeper into Alicia’s chin. Her neck stretched to an extreme angle until her head seemed on the edge of ripping free. She groaned but remained defiant.

  “You can’t keep someone by force,” she cried. “That’s not love. Carly and Katie were on that bridge because of you. Not us. It’s time to let them go.”

  Gallagher recoiled as though slapped and seemed to deflate before Wallace’s eyes. His grip eased and his eyelids lowered to half mast. His tongue darted out from his mouth and ran circles around dry lips. It was obvious that he had lost a lot of blood.

  Nervously, Wallace took a chance. He moved his gaze to his oldest son.

  “Come here, Alex. Quickly.”

  Gallagher flinched again, but he didn’t resist as Alex scrambled out of the tub and rushed to his father’s side. Wallace hugged him tight, but kept his eyes on Gallagher.

  “Go to Uncle Crow,” Wallace said.

  Alex resisted, but suddenly a pair of strong hands swooped in to pull him out of the doorway and into a massive, bone-crushing hug.

  “That’s all you’re getting,” said Gallagher. His momentary daze had faded and his voice was filled with renewed strength. “Until I’m clear of here.”

  Wallace lowered his shotgun and laced his own words with venom. “Need a hand?”

  Gallagher grinned, showing bloody teeth. He spat on the floor. Thick and arterial red; signs of a critical wound.

  “Just keep your distance,” he said. “Your wife and I can manage.”

  WALLACE WATCHED Gallagher struggle to his feet, the barrel of his gun never slipping from beneath Alicia’s chin. His wife’s stare was cold, calculating and so far away from the eyes that Wallace knew that he almost felt afraid.

  When Gallagher was standing, he signaled for Wallace to move out of the way. Wallace stepped back, moving slowly down the hallway and into the living room. He raised his arms and rested his shotgun on his shoulder. Crow had moved off to the side, keeping Alex safely behind him.

  Gallagher stepped into the hallway and stared at Crow.

  “Loyal friends you have,” he said to Wallace. “I used to know some, too.”

  Keeping his gun pressed against Alicia’s flesh, Gallagher turned and walked backwards through the doorway to the kitchen. Wallace followed, his hands still raised.

  “Where’s my other son?” Wallace asked.

  “Where’s my wife?” asked Gallagher. He moved around the table and edged toward the back door.

  Wallace swallowed again. “Alicia told you, I don’t know.”

  “I don’t believe you. Either of you.”

  “Don’t you think I’d tell you if I did? I’m not that good a liar.”

  “I think you are,” said Gallagher. “Your wife didn’t tell me about her involvement. And I asked her quite vigorously. You’re both fucking liars.”

  Wallace looked into his wife’s eyes. There was no hate or mistrust, only love. He sighed in resignation. “Tell me where my son is and I’ll tell you where your wife and daughter went.”

  Gallagher smiled thinly. “I fucking knew it. You sure you’re just a bus driver?”

  “No.” Wallace’s voice was scratched and raw. “That’s just a job. I’m a father and a husband who loves his family. Now where’s my son?”

  Gallagher shrugged as if deciding it no longer mattered. “Bone scurried upstairs with him.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “You’ve cornered a fucking monster there. If you think I’m bad, you haven’t seen a goddamn thing.”

  Wallace blinked and released a long, slow breath. They were in the middle of the kitchen. The night was dark and still. Behind Gallagher, Crow had moved silently through the dining room and now stood in the other doorway. He raised his handgun in both hands and aimed it at the back of the man’s head.

  “You can let Alicia go now,” said Wallace. “Last chance.”

  Gallagher’s brow furrowed in confusion.

  “I think you’re forgetting—”

  “Mom!”

  Alex rushed past Crow and sprinted into the kitchen, obviously misreading Crow’s intent.

  Gallagher released Alicia and spun around. As he pivoted, he aimed his M4 toward Crow.

  “Get down!” Wallace screamed.

  Alicia and Alex crumpled to the floor as Wallace’s shotgun boomed.

  The gun dealer had been right about what happened when your aim was high.

  Scrambling off the floor, Alicia took one glance at Gallagher’s headless corpse before running into her husband’s arms. Wallace squeezed her, but no matter how hard he tried, it just didn’t seem to be enough.

  When Alicia finally released him, her eyes were dry and her voice unwavering.

  “We need to get Fred,” she said.

  Wallace glanced behind him at the unfinished staircase and nodded.

  It wasn’t over yet.

  CHAPTER 68

  Wallace stood at the base of the stairs and looked up at the trapdoor.

  “He could pick us off one by one,” said Crow. “It’s too narrow an opening for the both of us to go in at once.”

  Wallace reached into his pocket and lifted out the white phosphorous grenade.

  “This is too dangerous.”

  He sighed and dropped the canister to the floor, but as he moved to kick it away, Crow stopped him by trapping it with his own foot.

  “Maybe not,” said Crow. “We could ignite it in the back bedroom. He won’t stay up there if he thinks the house is going to burn down around him.”

  “What about Fred?” asked Wallace.

  “He’ll still need a hostage to leverage his escape,” Crow reasoned. “He won’t harm Fred until he’s no longer useful, but we stand a better chance of rescuing him out in the open.”

  Despite the obvious danger, Wallace didn’t see any other option. He turned to Alicia who stood in the kitchen with Alex. Alex had his head buried in his mother’s stomach and Wallace felt his heart crack. His son should never have witnessed what he had to do in the kitchen.

  “Hide in the woods,” said Wallace. “If it all goes to hell and this bastard gets past us, I want you to get out of here. Don’t stop. Steal a car and drive straight to Canada if you need to.”

  Alicia opened her mouth to protest, but Wallace was one step ahead of her.

  “You’ve already done your part,” he said to his wife. “You kept our sons alive for this long. I’ll get Fred, but you need to get Alex home where he belongs. I need you both safe.”

  Alicia nodded and leaned down to whisper in Alex’s ear. After a moment, they both headed outside.

  When they were gone, Crow picked up the grenade and headed down the hallway, past the bathroom, to the master bedroom.

  “You ready?” he called.

  Wallace stood back from the staircase, his shotgun leveled at the trapdoor. He nodded.

  Crow pulled the pin and tossed the grenade into the room. He closed the door to keep the phosphorous contained and hurried back down the hall to join Wallace.

  The grenade exploded with a deafening boom that splintered wood and shattered glass. Smoke leaked out of the buckled bedroom door, but it quickly headed for the ceiling.

  Wallace wiped his brow as he concentrated on the trapdoor above.

  “Aim for his knees or ankles,” said Crow in a whisper. “Your gun can take a leg or foot clean off. I’ll grab Fred and take him to safety, then we can scalp the motherfucker.”

  Wallace gulped, but nodded his agreement.

  They waited.

  The smoke rose hig
her, thick and hot, stinging their eyes and scratching their throats. The crackling sound of burning could be heard from the bedroom and sweet wood smoke joined the chemical garlic stench of phosphorous.

  A heavy thumping sounded above them, followed by the breaking of more wood. A clang of metal and then—

  Two bullets pierced the trapdoor and chewed into the stairs, driving Wallace and Crow back a few paces. But the bullets weren’t aimed, the noise more than the lead serving as warning shots to keep away.

  Wallace glanced at Crow. “He’s not coming down.”

  “He will,” said Crow. “He’s not the kind of man to martyr himself.”

  “The smoke’s too thick for Fred,” said Wallace. Panic thickened his throat. “He’ll be choking to death.”

  “Patience. He’ll come.”

  Wallace tried, but he couldn’t. His youngest son was in too much danger.

  Gritting his teeth, Wallace broke rank and pounded up the stairs. Crow screamed at him to stop, but it was too late.

  Wallace raised his left arm above his head and smashed through the trapdoor. The door crashed over on its side and Wallace immediately dived to the floor.

  The room was thick with clawing smoke as Wallace rolled onto his stomach, desperately searching for the soldier’s feet.

  Instead of feet, Wallace saw the smoke pouring out of a large hole in the wall where a sheet of rotten plywood had been torn from its anchors and tossed aside.

  Yelling for Crow, Wallace ran to the hole. The smoke was too thick to see through. It was like standing in the middle of a toxic cloud with your shoes on fire.

  Wallace had no choice.

  He leapt out into a blanket of weightless air and plummeted like a stone.

  CHAPTER 69

  When he hit the soft ground, Wallace attempted a paratrooper roll, but he wasn’t a trained Marine. His knee smacked him on the chin, breaking two teeth, and his shotgun tore loose from his hand to vanish into a deep puddle of mud.